Nuno Cuddles Bettencourt


Nuno fell sick a week before his death.

The first vet said it was a mild flu infection. I was somewhat relieved to hear that. However, as the days wore on, instead of getting better, Nuno's condition remain unimproved.

I remember one night, we took him on his regular walk, and after a few minutes, he stopped and couldn't walk anymore. He looked like a sick old man trying his hardest to breathe even though it hurt to breathe. I went up to my room and cried that night because I hated to see my once healthy and happy puppy not being able to enjoy his walks anymore. He couldn't even eat anything I fed him, even though I gave him all my chicken.

Eventually when nothing seemed to improve, we took him to another vet who said his heart was extremely weak and he had a major amount of fluid in his lungs. The vet treated him, and we took him home. I sincerely believed that Nuno's condition would progressively improve after that, but I was wrong. He wanted to stay outside the entire night after we came home from the second vet. The next morning, I came outside to see him, and he was still there. But at 1:45 pm, my father called me at work and told me that Nuno had died.

I still cannot understand why my dog had to die eventhough he was still happy and jumping around a week before. I tried to keep my hopes up and I sincerely with all my heart believed in his recovery, but for some reason, he died anyway. I used to think that once an animal died, that's it, but somehow, I find it impossible to think that Nuno has died for real. I think his spirit is roaming somewhere, and I miss him dearly. My whole family misses him. Even my mother who used to hate dogs, misses him.

We loved Nuno because he was different from any other dog we ever had. He had beautiful, white curly hair and a handsome, expression filled face. Everytime me and my sister cried, he would come to us and comfort us in his own special way. Even when he was really sick, he comforted me when I cried for him.

Nuno was so beautiful and intelligent it is hard to believe that now he is no more. Sometimes I feel like digging up his grave so I could see him again, but I know there is nothing there but his bones.

Nuno was only eight years old when he died. Everyone elses' dog seems to live until 15 or 18 years old. My dog was perfect and I will never understand his death for as long as I live. It seems that over the last few years, he was already beginning to grow sick, but we never knew, and I still cannot forgive myself for not treating him sooner.

I love you always, Nuno. God is your owner now. Stay with HIM.

Love, Melissa (Ching)

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