First things first, Franky is half of my heart. The other side belonging to my chihuahua, Ginger. Dogs are everything. Franky is strong-willed, confident, and endlessly cuddly. After I saw those eyes online, I knew she was mine. She flew to me on a small plane from North Carolina, just her and the pilot, and when I picked her up at the airport, my life instantly became funnier. She loves Ginger, though Ginger only tolerates her, and that dynamic is very funny to live with. Franky has endless supplies of licks and looooves to be loved.

Hiiiiiiii, my name is Taylor. On Friday, November 7th, I turned 36. The same day my Franky girl suddenly became extremely sick.

It began with something so small - it always does, right? I accidentally bought the wrong dog food, the kind without a velcro seal and while I was at work, Franky sniffed it out and helped herself. I didn't think anything of it. She had done this once before, but never with access to an entire 16.5-pound bag. Friday morning, I woke up to two large piles of vomit and two accidents on my rug. The amount of food was far beyond what I had given her. Then she just kept. on. vomiting again and again, each time bloodier than the last.

We rushed her to the emergency vet. She was in shock, severely dehydrated, and admitted overnight. She received IV fluids, X-rays, anti-nausea medication, and pain relief. By the next day she seemed herself again - bright-eyed, hungry, happy. I was able to pick her up and take her home around 3:30 on Saturday. Naturally, I thought we were in the clear. But early Sunday morning, around 3:30 a.m., she vomited her dinner. For the next ten hours, she regurgitated everything, refused food and water, and grew weaker by the minute.

Back to the hospital we went. Her PCV levels were dangerously high (68%, just shy of clotting). Liquid pooled in her stomach, refusing to empty even with strong medication. I ended up leaving her there again to be monitored overnight. At 1:30 a.m. on Monday, I got a call. Half-asleep but guided by instinct, I agreed to surgery. They opened her up, searching for obstructions. None were found. Biopsies were sent to Michigan State. The surgeon explained that her stomach and esophagus were very inflamed and irritated. They inserted a feeding tube, started antibiotics, and told me they needed to rule out cancer.

The surgeon admitted he had never seen such a severe reaction from food bloat. Perhaps she tore her stomach lining, perhaps stretched muscles beyond repair. Whatever the cause, she was in pain, yet still fighting. Franky is currently being treated for secondary pancreatitis. She has endured multiple nights in the hospital. She still won’t eat on her own, but she tolerates the tube feedings. She hasn’t vomited since surgery, so a very encouraging step forward.

The bills are mounting, but there was never a choice. I cannot lose her. She’s only six, full of energy and joy. She loves nothing more than riding with her head out the window and for her, I drive slower now, just so she can savor that 30mph breeze. She is my outdoor girl, my fighter and I need her back. We still have so many miles left to travel together.

If you are able to help, know that you are not just supporting a dog’s recovery, you're helping me save my best friend.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.