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…Finnegan Two. It may seem strange that we have gone about it this way, but we picked up the very last male from the breeder. We also named him Finnegan. Telling the youngest two of the three kids just didn’t seem like something we were ready to do. They are just still too young to really understand what happened.

So we brought this little guy home, and all the kids believe is that he is back from the doctor. He is making busy work of filling the hole in our hearts (mine, Andy’s and Drew’s), though it is not taking very much effort on his part in the least. While he is so similar in appearance and even personality, there are some definite distinctions, and I can’t help but compare them. I just told Andy, that I will know all is well when I stop doing that, and just love this new one for who he is.

Thought I would share a picture…

Just look at that face. How on earth could anyone NOT love him just as he is?

In the midst of all of this, we have experienced the genuine goodness of the human heart. The breeder we worked with (and I will most likely never work with another as long as we get Irish Water Spaniels), relayed our story to her breeder club. The members have told her that they want to donate to us to assist with the medical expenses we incurred. I don’t care if five dollars comes our way. The fact that she took the time to share what happened, and that they feel compelled to help is, purely and simply, a blessing.

Thanks to all who sent well wishes our way.

Almost three weeks ago we brought our furry little bundle of joy home to join our family, and today he is fighting for his life.

I debated about posting this, but I fear my head may explode if I don’t hash it all out.

Wednesday night we were playing with him in our living room, and he needed to go out for a potty break. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then ten minutes later he was at the back door wanting to come back in. When he did his breathing was very labored and his gums were going grey.

Within ten minutes I had him in my car headed for the emergency vet. There he has been since. He has pulmonary edema, which, in laymen's terms is fluid build up on the lungs. He has a severe case. There are two types. Cardiogenic (having to do with the heart), and non-cardiogenic (obviously not having to do with the heart). He has the second type.

Causes could be: anaphylactic shock (brought on by a sting/bite), choking, head trauma, electric shock, or heat stroke. We have no idea what it was, but we know it wasn’t any of the above with the exception of choking. We don’t know if he may have swallowed something and it restricted his airway for a few minutes, or if his collar got hung up on a bush he plays in and freaked out, thereby choking himself.

In any case, most cases of this typically resolve themselves within 24hours. Finnegan has been in the vet hospital since Wednesday night and shows no improvement. Because he hasn’t worsened, they keep suggesting more time. So…we’ve been continuing to give him more time.

My heart is sick with worry, I cry out of no where throughout the day, I look at his toys strewn about my living room and cry again. I am a huge mess. There is already a hole in his absence. I can’t imagine what will happen if he doesn’t make it, and yet the vet has said we need to start preparing for that. How? I am not God, nor do I want to play God. The thing is, we don’t have an endless supply of money either.

I think the consensus that we have reached is to try to give him until Monday to show improvement. If he doesn’t go into respiratory distress before then. If that happens, then I will consider it his way of letting us know he can’t do it anymore.

In the meantime we are trying to figure out how we will come up with the money to support our little guy until then. Our bill thus far is over $3,000.00. Now is one of those times when I wish I were still working.

So…we wait. Just like we’ve been doing since this began. Waiting and hoping that he starts to show us that he is going to pull through. Meanwhile, I am an emotional wreck and was ill prepared to answer my precocious daughter’s questions about his whereabouts. “The doctors will tell us when he can come home, right mama?” “Mama, Finnegan is our dog…so he needs to come home to be with us.” “Do you promise they will tell us when he is ready, mama?” What on earth do you say to that?