On Thursday, November 6th, Mina started throwing up white foam and yellow-green bile. She stopped eating, drinking, walking, and even going to the bathroom. At first, my parents thought she might just be constipated or feeling down. But what scared them most was how different she became. Mina, who normally followed the family everywhere, always wanting to be part of every family moment, suddenly began hiding and distancing herself. She would quietly lie in the corner, as if she didn’t want my parents to see how much pain she was in. It was like she was trying to protect her family from worrying. By Saturday morning, her condition had worsened, so my parents rushed her to the hospital. After running blood tests, the vet gave my mom and dad the devastating news that Mina was in Stage 4 chronic renal failure, the final stage. The doctor told mom and dad she likely had only one to two days left, as both of her kidneys and pancreas had completely failed, and gave two heartbreaking options: to hospitalize her for palliative care or to proceed with euthanasia to end her suffering.

My parents called my brother and me to break the news. I remember standing there shaking in shock, hearing that my sister and best friend, Mina, the pure soul who’s been with me through every chapter of my adolescent life, was dying. Without thinking, my brother and I immediately booked the next flight from Massachusetts to California. We didn’t care about anything else. We just needed to be home with our pup.

When Mina finally saw my brother and me at the airport, I could see it right away; the faint glimmer returning to her eyes. She had been weak and motionless for days, her body frail and her spirit dimmed. But the second her eyes met mine, something in her changed. Her ears perked up just slightly, her eyes widened with recognition, and she gave me the biggest smile, the kind of smile that said more than words ever could. In that instant, it felt like she was telling me, “You came back for me.” Even though she was still shy, turning her head away as if to hide that she was in pain, she kept glancing back at me every time I stopped petting her, wanting just a little more affection. For the first time in days, her eyes sparkled again, a faint glimmer of the playful, loving Mina we know. It was like her soul lit back up the moment she realized her whole family was together again.

We took her straight to the beach, her favorite place in the world. For the first time since Thursday, she drank water on her own and even took a small lick of a Starbucks pup cup. We couldn’t hold back our tears; it felt like we were witnessing a tiny miracle, like a piece of her old self had returned. That evening, we brought her to watch the sunset. She sat quietly in her wagon as the sun dipped below the horizon. It almost seemed like she wasn’t watching the sunset at all; she was watching us. Her eyes followed each of us gently, as if she was taking in every moment, every face, and silently saying thank you for being there with her.

The following Sunday morning, we woke up early to take her out to watch her last sunrise and her final morning walk with the family. Once we came home and the vet clinic opened, we called to schedule Mina’s euthanasia for 2:30 PM, our hearts breaking but wanting her to be at peace. We wanted her final hours to be filled with love, so we spent more time doing her favorite things. Gently rolling her favorite ball toward her, spraying water for her to “chase,” and laying her down on her favorite patch of astroturf in the backyard, where she always loved to sunbathe.

But then, something miraculous happened that none of us could believe. Mina, who hadn’t been able to stand or move on her own since Thursday, suddenly began to walk. Her legs trembled, but she managed to stand, steady and determined, before peeing for the first time in three days. We stood there in shock, tears filling our eyes, unable to process what we were seeing. After days of weakness, that small act felt monumental. It was as if Mina was telling us, “I want to fight. I still want to stay with the family.” In that moment, and without hesitation, we cancelled the euthanasia appointment and called another vet clinic for a second opinion.

At the clinic, the doctor carefully explained Mina’s situation to us. Because there were no previous blood test records, he said he couldn’t confirm that Mina had chronic renal failure. After running new tests, he told us he believed it was acute kidney failure instead, a sudden and severe decline due to something Mina ingested rather than a long-term condition. She was still in critical condition, but unlike what we had been told before, there was now a small chance she could recover. He warned us that it would be a gamble if we chose to hospitalize her, but after seeing how hard Mina was fighting to stay alive, we knew we had to take that chance.

We left Mina in his care for the afternoon while he performed an ultrasound on her abdomen and began the first rounds of treatment. The ultrasound showed that her kidneys were severely inflamed and enlarged, and the doctor explained that the pancreatitis was a secondary effect, caused by the inflammation and failure of her kidneys, placing extreme stress on her other organs. Despite this, the doctor said he was doing everything possible; going beyond standard procedures and giving her intensive, rigorous treatment to support her organs and ease her pain. When we returned that evening, the doctor sat us down and told us that Mina was in tremendous pain and that her kidneys were severely damaged, so much so that it was a miracle she was still alive. It was such an extraordinary, rare case that everyone in the room was in disbelief; Mina was surviving through sheer willpower alone.

After staying overnight for her first round of treatment, Mina’s spirits have noticeably lifted. She looks brighter and more alert than she has in days. She’s even been able to walk a little on her own and continue going to the bathroom, small but meaningful signs of progress. We’re taking things one day at a time, staying by her side and praying she continues to get stronger with each passing day.

Mina has always been more than a pet; she’s family. She’s grown up with us, traveled with us, and comforted us through every joy and heartbreak. Her love has been unconditional, constant, and pure. Now, in her most fragile moment, we want to give that love back to her in every way we can. We’re doing everything we can to give Mina the best chance to recover, holding onto the hope that she continues to defy every odd stacked against her. Any help you can give, whether it’s a donation, a share, or simply a kind message of encouragement, means the world to us. Every bit of support helps us continue her treatment and gives Mina the chance she’s fighting so hard for.

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