The Magic left the steroids. Despite the fact Goober was still on them, and not getting weaned off yet, she woke up and stumbled around, clearly not doing well. The swelling in her belly was worse, but the vet had no new clues, no new miracles. Just a shot of poison to put her out of her misery. Here are a few nice pictures of her: one, two, and three.

R.I.P. Goober, November 2, 1997 — June 8, 2005


Added a few days later:

Signing up a pet for a shot of poison is never easy to do, even when the decision itself is easy to make. When Goober woke up the second time stumbling around, about to fall over, I knew that unless the vet had a miracle up her sleeve the shot was the best choice. The decision was easy, because it was the right one. But the act itself is always hard.

Well, harder for the vet giving the shot than for me watching. But still.

I've gotten poison shots for a small handful of birds. I like to be in the room when it happens, sometimes I'll hold the bird as it dies, I always cry, I always take the body home. The vet who's administered the last two shots — Ovaltine and Goober — always asks if I want her to give the bird some anesthesia first, so it won't feel the shot.

The thing is, I've watched vets give birds these shots and other, less dreadful shots, and it never seems to bother them. And the poison works pretty quickly. So I always figured the offer falls into the category of Things That Make The Pet Owner Feel Better, not anything that really affects the pet.

Until it was Goober's turn. That lump in her belly was pretty big, and hard enough, as it turns out, to make it tough for the vet to get the needle in. Goober had time to struggle and bite the vet and the syringe a few times before the needle got in and the poison started working.

Ouch.

Next time, I'll get the anesthesia.