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Hello, our names are Paul and Gina, and our sweet little dog was Pepper. She was the center of our world. This is certainly not how we hoped to end our year, but it is with heavy hearts after being blindsided by Pepper’s death that we are in need of some assistance. A lot of people have reached out to ask how they could help, and this fundraiser is where we could really use it.
Pepper was the sweetest dog imaginable. A shelter dog that was so nice from the start, and so playful and goofy. She would put a smile on everyone’s face. Anyone that passed her on walks would stop us to ask about her and fawn over how cute she was. Everyone wanted to know what such a unique looking pup was (Merle Pomeranian with a genetic mutation that kept her hair short). When we got her DNA results, they told us that out of every single dog in their database, there wasn’t a single one they had seen like Pepper. She was one of a kind. She filled our lives with so much happiness and joy.
Pepper was in great health and we thought we had many more years together. Just last year she had a full blood panel run which came out perfect, and had actually just been back from a very positive vet checkup a couple weeks prior. We had been told our perfect little Pepper was in tip-top shape. About a week and a half ago, Pepper stopped keeping her food down. After a day and a half, we took her to the vet on December 20th. We anticipated Pepper having some tests, needing some antibiotics for a possible infection, and then being returned to us later that day.
After a $500+ vet visit that ran some alarming blood tests, we were told we needed to rush Pepper to a more equipped pet hospital for an immediate ultrasound. Our vet recommended MASH, Metropolitan Animal Specialty Hospital, one of the most respected pet hospitals in Los Angeles. Still hoping to get her back that day, we tried to stay hopeful. More blood tests and an ultrasound indicated that Pepper’s bilirubin levels were a bit high and that she might have an infection in her liver. They began treating her with fluids and antibiotics, but she would need to stay overnight in the hospital.
One night would turn into six.
On the 22nd we received a call telling us that Pepper needed emergency gallbladder surgery and had to decide on the spot if we approved, because they were already prepping her for surgery and time wasn’t on our side. Of course we wanted to do anything to save her and agreed. We were told the surgery had a 25% mortality rate and that if she would die as a result of the surgery, it would happen in the first 48 hours. She pulled through like a champ, and after a sleepless 48 hours, we thought she was in the clear.
Even though the surgery was successful, on Christmas Eve Pepper’s blood tests started showing even more alarming numbers, for both her liver and her kidneys. That was the first day we were warned of the possibility of organ failure if her numbers didn’t improve. She was moved back into critical care.
On Christmas we were told that her blood tests looked even worse, and the likelihood of both of her organs recovering was nearly impossible, and either one of those organs shutting down would be the death of her. The ICU doctor who came to know her and us well suggested one more day. We agreed that we would all pray for her to turn the corner, but if she didn’t show signs of improvement by the following day, he told us it would be time to let her go. That night was unimaginable as each minute slowly ticked by waiting for the phone call that would determine her fate.
We got the call and her numbers were worse. After many difficult phone calls over the prior six days, that one was the most devastating, because we finally knew for sure what that meant: we’d have to say goodbye to our little girl. We told the doctor we wanted to come get her, she wouldn’t spend another moment away from us in the hospital and certainly wouldn’t die there after all the fight she had put in to come home to us. The hospital arranged for her to be discharged to us on home hospice care and we went to get our girl.
As devastated as we were, we were at least grateful to bring her home. It is time that we wouldn’t trade for anything. To get her back, to love her and pet her and make her feel safe and comfortable again, we will always cherish that time. She still had a catheter that needed to be drained every few hours, but we didn’t mind. She needed to be monitored the entire time she was home to make sure she wouldn’t walk on the tube and pull her catheter out, but we didn’t mind that either. Over the next 30 hours, we spent every minute with her. We slept in shifts if we were sleepy, but we gave her as much love and affection and comfort as her tiny body could handle.
The following night we hired an in home vet to perform her euthanasia. We spent the day with her out on the daybed of the balcony so she could get some fresh air and see the sunset for the last time. She was so cozy and snuggled into her blankets sitting between us or on our laps. We just sat out there with Pepper for six hours, petting her, kissing her, or just watching her while she slept. When it was finally time to say goodbye, we held her in our arms as it happened, hoping that she was as comfortable and at peace as we could make it. It was one of the most difficult moments of our lives. A couple days later and we are still reeling.
Two weeks ago we never would have imagined this happening. It’s unbelievable to think that we’re here now without Pepper. We are still in shock that we went through so much, racked up an incredible amount of hospital bills, and still lost her. But here we are, as we wrap up the worst week of the worst year, and we could really use some help. We know that the holidays have just concluded, and that most people are hurting financially right now from the pandemic. Many people, Paul included, are out of work. But if you can help us out in any way, no matter how big or small, it would mean the world to us and Pepper.
Her first vet visit was $515, the hospital bill was $15, 575, and the euthanasia/cremation was another $800, bringing the total amount for this whole nightmare to just under $17 thousand. We are not expecting to raise the full amount. We agreed to take on debt in order to do anything possible to give Pepper the best shot at pulling through. But one of the hardest parts about this is still facing down these bills without having our Pepper to show for it.
Pepper enriched our lives so much, doing everything we could to save her was the least we could do for her. If you can contribute anything in the memory of our sweet girl Pepper, all three of us would be so grateful. Thanks so much for taking the time to read about how special she was, and we hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself. Pepper loves you, and so do we.
Pepper was the sweetest dog imaginable. A shelter dog that was so nice from the start, and so playful and goofy. She would put a smile on everyone’s face. Anyone that passed her on walks would stop us to ask about her and fawn over how cute she was. Everyone wanted to know what such a unique looking pup was (Merle Pomeranian with a genetic mutation that kept her hair short). When we got her DNA results, they told us that out of every single dog in their database, there wasn’t a single one they had seen like Pepper. She was one of a kind. She filled our lives with so much happiness and joy.
Pepper was in great health and we thought we had many more years together. Just last year she had a full blood panel run which came out perfect, and had actually just been back from a very positive vet checkup a couple weeks prior. We had been told our perfect little Pepper was in tip-top shape. About a week and a half ago, Pepper stopped keeping her food down. After a day and a half, we took her to the vet on December 20th. We anticipated Pepper having some tests, needing some antibiotics for a possible infection, and then being returned to us later that day.
After a $500+ vet visit that ran some alarming blood tests, we were told we needed to rush Pepper to a more equipped pet hospital for an immediate ultrasound. Our vet recommended MASH, Metropolitan Animal Specialty Hospital, one of the most respected pet hospitals in Los Angeles. Still hoping to get her back that day, we tried to stay hopeful. More blood tests and an ultrasound indicated that Pepper’s bilirubin levels were a bit high and that she might have an infection in her liver. They began treating her with fluids and antibiotics, but she would need to stay overnight in the hospital.
One night would turn into six.
On the 22nd we received a call telling us that Pepper needed emergency gallbladder surgery and had to decide on the spot if we approved, because they were already prepping her for surgery and time wasn’t on our side. Of course we wanted to do anything to save her and agreed. We were told the surgery had a 25% mortality rate and that if she would die as a result of the surgery, it would happen in the first 48 hours. She pulled through like a champ, and after a sleepless 48 hours, we thought she was in the clear.
Even though the surgery was successful, on Christmas Eve Pepper’s blood tests started showing even more alarming numbers, for both her liver and her kidneys. That was the first day we were warned of the possibility of organ failure if her numbers didn’t improve. She was moved back into critical care.
On Christmas we were told that her blood tests looked even worse, and the likelihood of both of her organs recovering was nearly impossible, and either one of those organs shutting down would be the death of her. The ICU doctor who came to know her and us well suggested one more day. We agreed that we would all pray for her to turn the corner, but if she didn’t show signs of improvement by the following day, he told us it would be time to let her go. That night was unimaginable as each minute slowly ticked by waiting for the phone call that would determine her fate.
We got the call and her numbers were worse. After many difficult phone calls over the prior six days, that one was the most devastating, because we finally knew for sure what that meant: we’d have to say goodbye to our little girl. We told the doctor we wanted to come get her, she wouldn’t spend another moment away from us in the hospital and certainly wouldn’t die there after all the fight she had put in to come home to us. The hospital arranged for her to be discharged to us on home hospice care and we went to get our girl.
As devastated as we were, we were at least grateful to bring her home. It is time that we wouldn’t trade for anything. To get her back, to love her and pet her and make her feel safe and comfortable again, we will always cherish that time. She still had a catheter that needed to be drained every few hours, but we didn’t mind. She needed to be monitored the entire time she was home to make sure she wouldn’t walk on the tube and pull her catheter out, but we didn’t mind that either. Over the next 30 hours, we spent every minute with her. We slept in shifts if we were sleepy, but we gave her as much love and affection and comfort as her tiny body could handle.
The following night we hired an in home vet to perform her euthanasia. We spent the day with her out on the daybed of the balcony so she could get some fresh air and see the sunset for the last time. She was so cozy and snuggled into her blankets sitting between us or on our laps. We just sat out there with Pepper for six hours, petting her, kissing her, or just watching her while she slept. When it was finally time to say goodbye, we held her in our arms as it happened, hoping that she was as comfortable and at peace as we could make it. It was one of the most difficult moments of our lives. A couple days later and we are still reeling.
Two weeks ago we never would have imagined this happening. It’s unbelievable to think that we’re here now without Pepper. We are still in shock that we went through so much, racked up an incredible amount of hospital bills, and still lost her. But here we are, as we wrap up the worst week of the worst year, and we could really use some help. We know that the holidays have just concluded, and that most people are hurting financially right now from the pandemic. Many people, Paul included, are out of work. But if you can help us out in any way, no matter how big or small, it would mean the world to us and Pepper.
Her first vet visit was $515, the hospital bill was $15, 575, and the euthanasia/cremation was another $800, bringing the total amount for this whole nightmare to just under $17 thousand. We are not expecting to raise the full amount. We agreed to take on debt in order to do anything possible to give Pepper the best shot at pulling through. But one of the hardest parts about this is still facing down these bills without having our Pepper to show for it.
Pepper enriched our lives so much, doing everything we could to save her was the least we could do for her. If you can contribute anything in the memory of our sweet girl Pepper, all three of us would be so grateful. Thanks so much for taking the time to read about how special she was, and we hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself. Pepper loves you, and so do we.