We awoke this morning to the incredibly sad news that Oatmeal was very sick and unresponsive. Our very kind, loving housesitter took her to the vet where they discovered she had cancer in her spleen with more tumors in her liver.

We were faced with the choice of surgery over putting her to sleep and in the end, we chose the latter. Oatie is 11 and very frail and we don’t think the surgery would have given her a more comfortable quality of life–especially if the tumors were spreading.

Pa is just a puddle of goo right now because more than anything, he wanted to be with Oatie when it was time. But given that home is a three-day journey, at least, it wasn’t feasible. There was no point in making her suffer any longer.

Scout, our fearless puppy, will be by her side when she falls asleep. We know, at the very least, he will bring her comfort.

Pa brought Oatie home on Halloween 1997–only a month after we met. To him, she was part of the trifecta: a new house, a new dog, and a new love — and so seeing her go (or, in this case, not seeing her go) leaves a gaping hole, the size of Ukraine.

Na is taking it as well as he can…given that he’s six, I don’t think it’ll sink in until he comes home and sees she’s gone.

Anyway, not the news we wanted to hear (or post) during this trip, and it certainly brought about an astronomical level of homesickness.

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