I lost my fourteen year old cocker spaniel in december. About a month ago I decided that I'd missed him long enough and that it was time to get a new dog. And was I in luck. A couple weeks ago I found the dog of my dreams...in my town. Basset hound puppies, reasonably priced. It was like winning the lotto, basset hounds are not a common breed anywhere near where I live. All I had to do was wait a couple more weeks and then they'd be weaned and I could take one home.
So we picked one out, a beautiful little girl. She was smart. She was sweet. The moment we picked a name she answered to it, wiggling her little body in excitement. Couldn't wait to bring her home.
Two days ago some other potential owners visited the litter. What they failed to mention until they were on their way out is that they had just lost a dog to parvo.
Now, the puppy I was so excited to have is at the vet, too sick to move. To eat. To do anything. She's on an IV and they're watching her...but at eight weeks her chances of survival are slim. I guess I just wasn't meant to have a puppy after all.











































