Biscuit’s Last Day Went Exactly How She Would Have Wanted It To

And I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way

Soon after we arrived home after a day of boating, my wife and I were pleasantly greeted by the smiling face of our 16-year-old pup, Biscuit.

She went downstairs to welcome us just like she had every time we arrived home. Pandora and Squeaks never came down to greet us, but Biscuit always did.

That’s what made each greeting from her so special; it was more Biscuit’s way of showing how much she loved us more than an indictment on her lazy sisters. Unbeknownst to us then, this would be her final greeting.

She followed us upstairs into the living room, where I quickly noticed something was wrong. She lay in her dog bed, unable to catch her breath.

She had been battling congestive heart failure for the past four years, so coughing here and there wasn’t out of the norm. She took three different medications daily to keep her ticker pumping.

This was different.

I could hear the fluid in her lungs choking her with each breath. She was literally drowning, so we had to act fast.

My wife rushed to the kitchen where Biscuit’s pharmacy was stashed and grabbed a quarter of a Furosemide (water) pill. Biscuit spit it out a few times; however, not getting her to take the pill was not an option.

“I’m going to have to use a syringe for her to take it,” my wife said.

She returned to the kitchen, dissolved the pill in water, and loaded it into a syringe. We forcibly held open Biscuit’s mouth, squirted the watered-down Furosemide pill down her throat, and waited to see if her breathing improved.

It didn’t.

Our vet wasn't open since it was Sunday at 5:30 in the afternoon. We rushed Biscuit to the emergency vet, about 20 minutes away.

I knew things were somewhat serious, but I fully anticipated the vet would be able to get the fluid out of her lungs, and we’d bring her back home.

I remember, at times, doctors used to have to remove fluid from my grandma’s lungs when her congestive heart failure would prevent her body’s ability to remove it.

Since I thought dogs were the same as humans in that respect, I was concerned but not panicked. I thought Biscuit would be fine.

As we gathered everything to take her to the vet hospital, she tried to stand up but looked disoriented with what I could describe as “wild eyes” and immediately collapsed.

I screamed, “No!” and lowered down to her dog bed, hugged her, and immediately started to sob. My concern instantly morphed into panic, and for the first time, I felt this might be the end.

Thankfully, my wife was calmer and picked her up. We rushed towards the truck to leave.

We weren’t ready to lose her.

My wife held her the entire trip to the emergency vet. We rode mostly in silence, with one ghastly exception.

I’ll never forget the terrifying raspy, gurgling sound of fluid in each breath as Biscuit gasped for air — it’s tattooed in my memory. I can hear it a year and a half later; the gurgling sound still haunts me.

The helplessness and unknown of the moment was sobering. All I could do to help was drive 30 MPH over the speed limit to get there faster.

We were minutes away from the hospital when Biscuit used the remaining strength she had left, picked up her head, looked over at me as if it was her farewell, turned, looked at my wife, and then her head snapped back and fell down into my wife’s lap.

And just like that, her time on earth was over.

After sixteen and a half years together, she appeared to be gone.

Moments later, we arrived at the hospital, and I rushed over to the passenger side. I grabbed Biscuit from my wife and ran her into the emergency room, hoping that there was something they could do.

She was the heaviest I can ever remember her being. It was the first time in our 16+ years together that she wasn’t squirming or fighting me to get down. It was the most eerie feeling I had ever experienced, carrying my lifeless dog into the hospital.

I handed her to the vet tech, who rushed her back to the doctor. We sat in the waiting room, shell-shocked and overwhelmed by what had happened.

We blamed ourselves for boating that day and not taking her in as soon as we got home.

How could we have been so selfish and leave our elderly dog at home?

We held out hope as we sat in the waiting room and prayed for a miracle that maybe we were wrong and they could save her.

Less than five minutes after the vet tech took her back, the doctor confirmed that Biscuit had passed away before we entered the hospital.

We didn’t need the doctor’s confirmation; we felt her leave us in the truck while she was in my wife’s arms — less than five minutes from the hospital.

For as crushed as we both were, I was flushed with a sense of relief and gratitude. I knew we were on borrowed time with her, so I often prayed that she would go naturally.

I did not want to have to put her down.

I feel horrible for pet owners who have to make that decision. My mom had to put her dog down in December, and I don’t wish that on anyone. I know it’s the humane and loving thing to do, but I’m thankful Biscuit went on her own.

The fact that she died that day was uncanny because she showed no signs all day of feeling ill until we arrived home. Even when she greeted us from boating, she was completely fine until we went upstairs.

She had the energy to walk down two flights of stairs, enter our garage, and then walk back up the same set of stairs with no problem.

Then, in an instant, she was struggling to breathe, and soon after, she was gone.

It’s almost as if she knew it was her time to go, but she wanted to wait until we got home instead of passing away while we weren’t there with her.

The hospital was so kind to us. They ushered us into a grieving room and wheeled Biscuit in. We spent forty-five minutes with her. We cried, we hugged her, we talked to her, and we thanked her for being the best pup.

Ever since my wife entered my life, I always asked Biscuit if she was my best girl or my second-best girl. Her ears would fold back, and then I would follow up by telling her she was my best girl. She was, and she knew it.

It was so surreal when they wheeled her into the grieving room. How they had her positioned on the table, wrapped in a blanket with her eyes closed and her head peacefully resting on her front paws, was so peculiar.

It reminded me of a photo I saved on my phone from 2019, where she was positioned the exact same way, sleeping on my parents' couch.

Several times over the next month, she sent signs to me to let me know she was okay and ultimately made me believe that our deceased loved ones could communicate with us.

Those signs filled me with the peace I needed to start the healing process.

My wife always felt like the deceased could communicate with us before I became a believer. She was driving home from work a few days after Biscut’s death and was overcome with feelings of intense guilt and regret for not taking her to the hospital sooner.

As tears flowed down her cheeks, she said to Biscuit, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t do enough to help save you.”

Soon after, she felt Biscuit’s presence and was comforted by her. She felt Biscuit tell her that everything was okay. She let my wife know that she passed precisely as she wanted.

In her final moments on earth, she was surrounded by the unconditional love of her mom and dad as she was ushered into her next life.

Biscuit was perfect in life and death.

I have no doubt she waited for us to get home before passing, and she died exactly as she would have wanted — being held, feeling gentle strokes on her head, and in the presence of my wife and me as she crossed the rainbow bridge.

Sixteen and a half years flew by, and I enjoyed every minute of it with her. Her passing marked the end of an era for me, and I’ll always carry her with me.

Heck, it’s been a year and a half since her passing, and I still can’t remove her photo from my phone lock screen.

I hope when you met God, he said, “Well done, Biscuit. You did an incredible job.”

Miss you and love you, little Bubba!

If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one about my neighbor’s dog, who came as a funny surprise: