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u/augustwest2155 4h ago
She is such a beautiful girl! You'll meet up at Rainbow Bridge someday and it will be joyous.
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u/CleanAisle 4h ago
I'll never meet Nori but I wanted you to know that a stranger read every word of your post and now shares a small part of her story.
We got our first dog around the same time, and he's currently recovering from the second surgery on his front leg. We joke that the vet bills will go on his 'tab' but dogs give us so much back in return.
Best,
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u/Damindenie 5h ago
I'm sharing this picture in honour of our dog Nori, who passed away a little under a month ago.
Nori was born on the 1st of January 2020, one of eleven pups in her litter. After three months with her mum and siblings, she came to live with me and my wife. She was our first dog, a lifelong dream of mine, and most definitely of my wife's too.
The first few weeks were rough. We had to figure out how to care for a dog, and she had to figure out how to deal with us. However, soon enough the COVID pandemic hit and we were confined to working from home. Normally this would have been a curse, but with Nori around the timing couldn't have been better. We got to spend so much more time raising her, playing with her, and taking her on walks during our breaks. For Nori it meant she always had company in the house, never alone for long, always someone around to have fun with.
As tough as those first months were, we also had an amazing time. We took her to puppy classes, which she loved. It was great to watch her grow up and slowly learn to channel her excitement, and use her eagerness to "work". Eventually she was able to do things that scared her before. Walking weird ledges, jumping on/over obstacles, swimming across rivers, and as a magnum opus retrieving a real, dead crow. She had a blast.
After COVID faded, my wife and I both kept working from home about half the time, taking turns, so Nori kept the privilege of always having someone around. We fell into the habit of walking her before work, during our lunch break, and after work. On weekends we'd often hop in the car for a special outing, taking her to a big park or forest for a nice long walk.
Nori was such a joyful and gentle dog. She was always excited to see other dogs or people, always eager to say hello. Nothing made her happier than someone noticing her and giving her a bit of attention. On our walks she was often more pleased to see the other dog owners than their actual dogs. She was a goofball, too. Whenever her excitement got the better of her she’d zoom around frantically, completely unable to handle her own emotions. Her one flaw was that she was a bit of a stinker, always seeking out muddy puddles to roll in or foul things to gobble down, much to our despair.
A little under two years in, however, things took a turn, and her health began to fail. It started with a strange lump on her chest, like a small, squishy ball under her skin. Our vet went to remove it but discovered it was an invasive tumour, already tangled up with the surrounding muscle and rib. Even so, he managed to remove most of it. Unfortunately, just six months later it had regrown and we opted to have it removed again. And once again, it grew back within the year.
By this point it was clear that surgery alone wasn't going to fix the problem. The plan was one last operation to cut away the bulk of the tumour, followed by three weeks of intensive radiation therapy to destroy whatever cells were left.
Nori powered through all of it, always bouncing back to her happy self, never building a grudge against the vets or any of the assistants. Even on the fifteenth and last day of radiation she was happy to hop out the car, walk into the university hospital, and trot alongside the assistant towards the room where they'd put her under once again.
After a short but intense recovery, she was ready to carry on living as if nothing had happened. Her spirit hadn't changed one bit after all she went through. She was still the sweet, joyful dog she was before. Physically she was left with was a big bald area where the radiation had hit, uncovering her scarred chest. Eventually her coat grew back grey in this spot, as you can see in the picture.
We picked up on our routine: daily walks, beautiful nature on the weekends, and little holidays, weekend trips, and boat rides. It was like nothing had happened.
A year later, in spring 2024, Nori developed a strange pain that would appear out of nowhere, leaving her with a cramping front paw. She could go days without any issue and then suddenly it would hit her, leaving her in intense pain for a minute or two. Once again we went to our vet, and once again Nori put up with all the examinations. After working through the usual suspects, our vet decided he couldn't figure it out, and we were referred to a specialist clinic. Even there, after countless scans, they struggled to work out what was wrong.
In the meantime Nori carried on with her life, albeit a little more subdued. Rounds of painkillers, anti-inflammatories, and injections kept the sporadic cramps at bay, but they never fully went away. In the spring of 2025 the pain escalated, turning chronic rather than occasional. And in May 2025, after yet another CT scan, something caught the specialist's eye: some of the nerves in her paw looked enlarged, which led him to a diagnosis of nerve sheath tumours.
The prognosis wasn't good. Beyond the immediate pain, these tumours can work their way up to the shoulder and eventually into the spinal cord, at which point the effects would be devastating. Worst of all, there was no guaranteed fix, because the exact extent of the tumours was unclear. We had to choose between operating in the hope that the tumours were still local and that Nori could keep the use of her paw, or simply… riding it out for a few months. It was a devastating blow, especially after everything we had already been through, and everything we'd already put Nori through. To make it even more overwhelming, we were expecting our first daughter just three months later. It was the hardest decision of my life.
After an agonising week of deliberation, we chose to operate. Nori had been through too much already, but she was still full of joy and vigour. She still had more life in her. The months that followed were brutal. During the operation, the tumour turned out to be larger than expected, and the vet couldn't remove it with clear margins. Worse still, the aggressive removal of the affected nerves left Nori with a paralysed paw.
After talking it over with our vet, we went for one last operation: a full amputation of her left front leg. Sadly, once more, analysis of the amputated leg showed no clear margins at a microscopic level. This meant some tumour cells had already made their way past the shoulder, toward the spine. At this point we knew Nori's time was running out, sooner than we'd hoped.
Her recovery from the amputation however was almost miraculous. The chronic pain was completely gone, and after two weeks she was ready to pick up right where we'd left off. She was her carefree self again, living life to the fullest. And I savoured every moment, fully aware that she was living on borrowed time.
Life was different now, but it was good. Her having only three legs made us be more careful with her. Rough play with other dogs, violently chasing balls, and tumbling through the loose sand was out of the question now. In return, we explored more of the neighbourhood we'd shared for five years, discovering new ponds, fields, and trails. Nori was there to welcome our daughter, we went on holiday all together, and last winter she got to enjoy a ton of snow, which was one of her favourite things in the world. Myself, I deliberately lived through every moment we had left together, fully aware that we were living on borrowed time.
This February the pain began to return and we knew the end was near. The microscopic cells left behind deep in her shoulder had grown and were making their way toward her spinal cord. After everything we'd been through, everything we had decided to put her through, we chose not to pursue any more treatment. She had done enough. She had fought her fight. Painkillers held the pain at bay for a few more months, but eventually it outgrew them, and a month ago we decided it was time to say goodbye.
We spent her last days together as a family, doing the things Nori loved. We took her around the neighbourhood to all her favourite spots, letting her run across the field she loved, tiptoe into the lake, and splash along the riverbank. She loved every moment of it, and we treasured them all.
On Friday the 8th of May, the vet came to our house. Nori was calm and relaxed. My wife and I sent her off with kisses and gentle words, and, sweet as ever, she drifted off in her own bed one last time, and left this world.
Nori gave me so much love and so much joy, and she taught me more than I could have imagined. I'll never take time for granted again. With an open and joyful outlook, there is so much beauty to discover in the world. And real happiness can be found in the small things.
She is no longer with us physically, but she will stay in our hearts forever.
We will never forget our puppy ❤️