THE FINAL CHAPTER We had gone on our regular 90-minute Sunday morning walk. Walks had gotten a little slower, but the enthusiasm was constant. We went to Dairy Queen for ice cream and a drive on backroads. That evening, I caught her and Apache sharing a bed:, which was odd; it was the first time I knew of in the 6 years they’ d lived together. Their relationship was respectful and tolerant, sprinkled with rare occasions of very brief play. They got along just fine but were not close. I captured a picture since it was“ so cute,” not knowing Emmie wouldn’ t ever be the same in a few hours, and I’ d be making The Call. I don’ t know who lay down with whom, but by the positioning, I’ d say Em lay down with him. I now believe they were saying goodbye. They knew what I didn’ t know.
That night, around midnight, she got up and could barely stand but was determined to walk. I carried her down the stairs and outside, thinking maybe her leg was acting up and she had to toilet, even though she never woke up in the middle of the night to go out. In the yard, she shakily walked in slow circles, and she seemed confused. She did urinate, and I carried her back inside, and when she calmed, I lay with her. By now, the tumor was screaming. Screaming at me. Forcing me to acknowledge what I’ d been blind to before: the telltale tumor would no longer be ignored. The evidence was in my face, seizing my Emmie, stealing her from me, and my powerlessness mirrored her helplessness, and we both succumbed. I suspect it had been screaming all along for Emmie, but for her, it now fell silent.
In the morning, it was more of the same: she could walk, but wobbly and erratically, and she could not control her movements effectively. And she was … vacant. She appeared confused and out of it. Emmie was no longer Emmie. Yet, she insisted on eating breakfast and unsteadily took part in the puzzle feeding with much gusto. I was grasping at routine, and I knew it, but it brought a small comfort. For a brief time, I tried to convince myself she’ d be OK, half-believing she’ d come out of it. She rested most of the day, and it seemed so … normal. I made her a cake. It was all I could think to do. I spent the day assessing the situation and trying to make her last day comfortable, but it felt futile. And permanent. Although I knew she had a tumor and her time was limited, it was devastating and yet a blessing at the same time to go from our usual ice cream and a Sunday stroll to euthanasia in less than 36 hours.
I know it’ s not my fault Emmie had a brain tumor, but I feel as though I should’ ve questioned more, investigated more, and done more. I can only imagine a dog’ s frustration, confusion, depression, knowing something is off, especially one who is as sensitive to what’ s going on with her body as Emmie and can only scratch her ears until they bleed, and her humans are not figuring it out. How lonely that must have felt for her. To know she suffered on some level in silence breaks my heart, guts me. And guilts me. Apache is giving me separate concerns as well. Three vets have taken similar approaches to his current issue: trying various allergy medications and topical treatments. I’ m pressing harder. I don’ t want to be paranoid, but I don’ t want to miss anything this time if I can help it.
I’ m so grateful Emmie’ s last four months were active and enjoyable. I’ m so thankful she had so much fun, experiences, and love in her life. I’ m so glad I always spent what some thought was“ too much time” with her. I’ m comforted to have shared part of my life with her. But I miss her. Everything aside, it is what it is. There’ s no blame to be cast, nothing that could’ ve been done differently. My brain can come to terms with that. Now, I need my heart to catch up.
Rachel Brix is a Certified Behavior Consultant Canine- Knowledge Assessed and Certified Professional Dog Trainer- Knowledge Assessed through the Certification Council of Professional Dog Trainers and has been working with humans and their dogs over 15 years. She has both managed and volunteered at shelters and is an advocate for animals at both the local and state levels. Rachel has also been nominated for several Dog Writers Association of America Awards and this year won the Maxwell Medallion for her article on trauma in dogs. She lives in Missouri with her goofy, adorable, resilient rescue, Apache.
RESOURCES Cooper-Khan, R. S., Frankovich, A. N., Thompson, C. A., Thomovsky, S. A., & Lewis, M. J.( 2024). Clinical Findings and Outcome in 30 Dogs with Presumptive or Confirmed Nerve Sheath Tumors. Veterinary Sciences, 11( 5). https:// doi. org / 10.3390 / vetsci11050192
[ DVMCellini ].( 2021, July 23). Vet Neurologist Explains Brain Tumor Symptoms [ Video ]. Youtube. https:// www. youtube. com / watch? v = 5mhAYtrxuf8
Hass, J. A.( 2023, August 29). Nerve Sheath Tumor in Dogs. Retrieved March 7, 2025, from www. dogcancer. com
[ Southeast Veterinary Neurology ].( 2022, April 14). Causes of Muscle Atrophy on One Side of the Head in Dogs [ Video ]. Youtube. https:// www. youtube. com / watch? v = jHfRAv04goI
30 Better Training Through Education Photos: Rachel Brix