Content Warnings: pet illness/injury, grief, mild medical details, mention of potential animal harm, car accident
🦴 • • • 🦴 • • • 🦴
Welcome back to The Crippled Cryptid–
a cozy corner of the internet where disability, chronic illness, service dogs, and everyday magic all sit at the same chaotic, creaky old table.
Around here, we believe in honesty, humor, advocacy, and telling the truth about what it means to live in a haunted meat-suit that does not always follow the rules. Whether you visit for education, solidarity, or just a soft place to rest your bones for a moment, I’m glad you’re here. Pull up a chair, grab something warm, and settle in.
Because it’s Friday- which means it’s Luna Day.
Our resident ghoul.
Our Bringer of Tennis Balls.
Our tiny, determined storm cloud.
The reason we’re all here (myself included).
Today’s pupdate comes with some heavy things, some strange things, some healing, and a whole lot of love. So, let’s talk about how Luna’s been doing since everything changed.
🦴 • • • 🦴 • • • 🦴
Losing Bear, and the Days That Followed
Since Bear’s passing on October 28th– less than a week after the car accident that totaled our family’s only vehicle and left both M&M and me nursing some pretty severe injuries- life has been… a lot.
If you’d like the full story on the accident, I’ve linked that post for you here.
And if you want to read about Bear’s sudden illness and the hope we hung onto for our grouchy old man, that’s linked here as well.
Bear really was a grouchy old man in the most loving and endearing way possible- part German Shepherd judge, part Basset Hound curmudgeon. If he thought you were being dramatic, he’d side-eye you so hard you could feel it in your soul. He’d “mmf” under his breath, toddle over for cheese, then pretend it was his idea all along. He had this way of making every room feel like his room, and honestly? We were honored to be his guests. Nothing was better than the way he’d snuggle up to you, then headbutt you with his giant head, or slap you with his ears in the most loving way possible.
In the middle of all that chaos, something else started brewing- quietly, subtly, then all at once.
🦴 • • • 🦴 • • • 🦴
The Mystery of Luna’s Arm
A little while before Bear passed, M&M noticed something odd on Luna’s front leg- maybe a tick, we thought. It’s been a terrible year for them. But when I checked, all I found was a tiny scab. We cleaned it, treated it, and sent pictures to the vet. They told us to monitor it unless it got worse.
On the day of the accident, M&M thought the arm looked swollen. I didn’t see it, and Luna wasn’t showing any signs of pain. No warmth, no limping, no tenderness. Everything seemed fine.
But shortly after Bear died, Luna started favoring the leg.
And then we saw it:
A huge, unmistakable swelling- like a softball tucked into her shoulder.
The vet suspected an abscess. We were given antibiotics and a steroid and told to watch her closely.
And then the next morning… it burst.
Luna was on the bed with us, soaking up all the grief-softened love in the world, when the abscess opened. M&M and I spent more than twenty minutes draining it while Luna whined, squirmed, and desperately tried to escape the situation. We felt awful- but we also knew it had to be done, especially when we couldn’t get through to the vet.
When we finally reached her, the vet agreed: draining at home isn’t ideal, but sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.
(Really uncomfortable ones for everyone involved.)
Luna ended up needing an extended course of meds and a short-lived career as a gauze gremlin, complete with a tiny sweater to keep her from messing with the bandage.
(No cone of shame here, thank you.)
The good news?
Her arm is healing beautifully.
The scab is gone, the fur is growing back in, and she’s back to full function.
The unsettling news is what fell out.
What came out looked like a metal BB.
From a BB gun.
Or pellet gun.
We didn’t shoot our dog.
We don’t mistreat our animals.
And without proof, I’m not accusing anyone- but finding that inside her arm was chilling.
So, we’re installing cameras along the fence line soon, especially facing the side with neighbors. I hope it was something else- a freak accident, a weird fluke- but I’m not willing to gamble with Luna’s safety.
🦴 • • • 🦴 • • • 🦴
How Luna Is Coping Without Bear
Honestly? I still don’t have a perfect answer for you.
Luna has never been an “only child.”
She might’ve had a companion before we adopted her on May 11th, 2024, but in our family, she always had Bear. He was her constant- furry, stubborn, loud, dependable. Even when their training diverged, she watched him to figure out if she was doing things right.
- They raced the fence line together.
- They barked at every car, hog, and golf cart that dared exist within three zip codes.
- She played ball while he heckled waterfowl from the piers at the park.
- She played ball while he supervised from the porch- daring to try and get in on it here and there.
- They begged for pizza crusts during family shows and movie nights — Supernatural, Hazbin Hotel, you name it.
(Season 2 without him on the couch was a punch to the chest.)
Bear didn’t just exist alongside her- he taught her things. How to greet the day with a bark and wagging tail. How to patrol the yard with gravitas. How to claim the comfiest spot on the couch and defend it with deeply dramatic sighs. His legacy lives in her, quietly and constantly.
And when he died, she felt it. You could see the absence hit her.
She stopped playing.
Stopped seeking out her toys.
Needed prompting to eat.
Refused to go outside alone- partly so she wouldn’t chase stray cats, partly so she wouldn’t roll in something unspeakable, and partly because she simply didn’t want to be by herself.
Sometimes, it still looks like she’s searching for him.
Because dogs grieve too.
Even when you do everything you can to help them understand- letting her sniff his body, letting her stay with us while we buried him- they grieve too.
And dog grief is real grief.
Their bodies show it:
Changes in appetite.
Reluctance to play.
Clinginess.
Sleep changes.
Pacing or searching.
Mirroring your sadness.
They don’t understand death the way humans do, but they understand loss, disruption, and emotional tones. Luna is highly attuned to my body and emotions as a service dog- and it’s a strange, tender thing, watching a dog whose job is to monitor your heart try her best while hers is hurting too.
We’ve been supporting her the best we can:
- Keeping routines steady
- Offering extra cuddles and gentle reintroductions to play
- Letting her choose closeness
- Letting her sleep where she feels safest
- Letting her be a dog in grief- not a worker expected to perform through heartbreak
🦴 • • • 🦴 • • • 🦴
🐾 When Dogs Grieve: What It Looks Like, and How to Help
(A little guide for tender hearts- human and otherwise)
Dogs don’t understand death the way we do, but they feel absence, disrupted routine, and the emotional weight in their home. When they lose a companion, their world changes shape- the rhythms they relied on suddenly go quiet.
Grief can show up in their bodies and behavior:
- Changes in appetite
- Disinterest in toys or play
- Sleeping more (or less)
- Clinginess or constant proximity
- Pacing, searching, door-watching
- Increased vocalizing- or going very quiet
- Mirroring their humans’ emotions
These reactions are normal and temporary, but they deserve gentleness.
Soft ways to support a grieving dog:
- Keep routines steady- predictability is comfort.
- Offer play or enrichment when they’re ready, not before.
- Let them choose closeness: curled beside you, on your legs, tucked behind your knees.
- Reintroduce small joys slowly- a sunny nap spot, a familiar toy, a safe walk.
- Speak softly and often; they understand tone more than words.
- Most importantly: give them space to feel, grieve, and heal at their own pace.
Grief isn’t just a human thing. Our animals are stitched into the fabric of our days- and when one thread is pulled loose, the whole pattern shifts. With patience and love, they learn to weave themselves into the world again.
🦴 • • • 🦴 • • • 🦴
But here’s the hopeful part:
She’s starting to play again.
She’s digging through her toys again.
She’s eating more easily.
She’s initiating affection.
She’s rediscovering her routines, her joy, her spark.
She’s also trying to work again and not due to prompting- initiating DPT, insisting that she sleep with me or on my legs at night. Tucking herself behind my knees and snoring like a tiny jet engine. The constant that I need.
Grief is heavy, but she’s carrying it with us- and slowly, we’re all learning to walk forward together.
🦴 • • • 🦴 • • • 🦴
Give your pets a little extra love for me.
-Sky, The Crippled Cryptid
Written with coffee on one side, and Luna snoring on the heating blanket like a tiny jet engine. (Her current favorite nap spot.) Here’s to healing, to community, to softness, and to the small victories our animals help us notice.
© The Crippled Cryptid- Disability, honesty, and a little chaos.
https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa
If you’d like to support our journey as we navigate life after the accident and work toward a new family vehicle, I’ve set up a GoFundMe. There’s absolutely no obligation- sharing love, kindness, or stories of your own pets is just as meaningful.
https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-skys-journey-to-health-and-mobility
Leave a comment