Where do I even begin? I got sick a few days before New Year’s Eve and ended up ringing in 2026 sick. Is anyone surprised? Because I’m not. I was down for a full week with a terrible case of strep throat—and I don’t even have tonsils. My doctor basically said I’m just prone to strep… because of course I am. Just my luck.
Let’s back up to a few days after Christmas. My husband goes on his annual hunting trip every year, which is usually why I end up ringing in the New Year alone. But this time, I decided to go with him. We packed up the Frenchies, Bruno stayed with my sister, and we headed west for a long weekend of hunting. He always brings a couple of deer home, and that meat lasts us through the year.
I know hunting isn’t for everyone. We don’t kill for sport—we hunt for food, and we use every part of it. This was actually my first time going to truly hunt. I’ve been out to the land before to shoot guns, fill feeders, and hang around camp… but I’d never gone hunting until now.
It was up at the crack of dawn, sitting there for hours, having to stay quiet—which I’m honestly not very good at. But we still managed to see a lot of deer. Since I don’t have my hunting license, I wasn’t allowed to actually take the shot, so I helped where I could.
We didn’t get anything during the morning hunt, so we headed back to camp to regroup and then went out again later that afternoon. The weather was perfect—cold in the morning, warm in the afternoon, and cool again by evening. And honestly, having our camper and Starlink out in the middle of nowhere felt like a pretty nice little luxury.
Our late afternoon hunt was a success. About 30 minutes in, I spotted a decent buck. We were watching a doe and her fawn eating at the feeder when, out of nowhere, an 8-point buck appeared.
We calculated the distance, got into position, and my husband took the shot while I watched through the binoculars. The gunshot rang out—loud and sharp—and the buck went down hard. His hooves flew straight up in the air, he hit the ground, and then immediately got back up and ran into the meadow behind the feeders.
It was shocking. I felt completely drained, and I didn’t even know how to process what I had just witnessed. I know what happens when you hunt… but seeing it with my own eyes was different. It was emotional. I just sat there and cried.
My husband gave me the space to have my moment and reassured me that what I was feeling was completely normal. We waited about 45 minutes before climbing down to look for the buck. For safety reasons, you have to wait after a shot to make sure you’re not putting yourself in danger.
While we waited, I scanned the meadow and finally spotted him. He wasn’t moving. He was down.
When we found him, he was gone. I couldn’t bring myself to touch him or even really look at him. One moment he was alive, and the next… he wasn’t. I didn’t like that feeling at all. And honestly, I don’t know if I could do it again.
My husband loaded him onto the side-by-side and took him to the designated “gutting area,” which was another part of the process I couldn’t help with. I stayed in the side-by-side with my back turned and my ears covered. It was all just a little too much for me.
When we got back to camp, I went straight into the camper to snuggle the puppies and try to collect myself—let’s be honest, I was still crying. The buck was placed in the walk-in freezer we keep at camp, and I couldn’t stop thinking about whether I’d ever want to do this again. Maybe next time I’ll just stay back at camp and let my husband do the hunting. That night, my throat started burning and my whole body began to feel awful. I tried to shake it off, chalking it up to everything I was feeling.
The next morning, we packed up camp and loaded the buck into the back of the truck to take to the meat processor. I had recovered a little, but my emotions were still running high. At the processor, I got to choose how I wanted the antlers mounted—my first euro mount.
I went back to work, only to start feeling even worse. It wasn’t just emotions or allergies—I knew it was strep. I know the symptoms all too well. A doctor’s visit confirmed it: strep throat. Two weeks of antibiotics, including a full week of feeling miserable and being banned from the office.
And that’s how I rang in the New Year—an accomplice to my first hunt, and coming home with strep throat.
A few weeks later, we had to put our sweet Bruno to sleep. We’d been preparing ourselves for that moment for a couple of years, and honestly, I’m surprised he made it as long as he did. The one thing I’m grateful for is that he didn’t suffer for long.
Wednesday morning, he was completely fine. He had the zoomies, prancing around like he was five years old again. I even told him how much energy he had and that he must be feeling great. (Mind you, Bruno had been deaf and slowly going blind for the past two years—but his energy and spirit were still completely there. He had good days and bad days, but he never acted like he was in pain. As he got older, we were always very mindful of his comfort, his state of mind, and whether he was hurting.)
When I came home from work, Bruno was up and walking around, ready for dinner. We did our usual evening walk with the Frenchies, and somewhere in that 30–45 minute window, something changed. I think he must’ve had a stroke, because when I got back from the walk, he had vomited all over the kitchen and toward the back door. Something wasn’t right.
That evening, we did everything we could to comfort him. He didn’t want to eat or drink, and he was very out of it. We got him as comfortable as possible and decided we’d take him to the vet the next day.
We had a 4:30 p.m. appointment on Thursday. My husband stayed with him all day, and by lunchtime, he still hadn’t improved. That’s when we both knew it was time.
At the appointment, the veterinarian confirmed what we were afraid of—his quality of life wasn’t going to get better. His body was shutting down. It was time to let him go.
This one hit me hard. Bruno was my dog. He came into my life when I didn’t have a job and I was home alone all day. He was my companion, my little shadow. He was truly the best pup I’ve ever had.
It’s been almost a month since he passed, and this loss has hurt a lot. I miss my little man so much.
It’s been a rough start to 2026—one of those seasons where it feels like life just keeps piling it on—but I know this won’t be the whole story. Things will get better.