This is one of the hardest posts I’ve ever had to write. I’ve had Pomeranians pass away before, some peacefully, others needing to be euthanized. Each one shattered me in its own way, leaving scars that never really heal. But this… this was different. Out of nowhere, the universe delivered a sucker punch to my heart, and I don’t know how to make sense of it. I won’t sugarcoat this: it absolutely sucks. Right now, as I sit here writing, my stomach churns, and I wish I had something stronger than 100-proof to dull the pain.
“No Immediate Danger”
We took baby Luka to the vet earlier this week because he wasn’t himself. He was panting, lying on his side, and refusing food—none of it made sense. Luka had always been a little tank, tough and resilient, just like his Pommy Daddy. He could mask pain like a pro, which is part of what makes this so unbearable. You never knew when something was truly wrong with him—until it was too late.
The vet told us there was “no immediate danger.” Those words haunt me. If I’m honest, it makes me furious. Right now, I’m grateful that I haven’t acted on that anger. Usually, my husband, the former mobster with a streak for vengeance, is the one who lets rage take over. Tonight, though, I’m the one wishing I could have someone whacked—anything to release this venom boiling inside me.
The Warrior Spirit of Luka
Baby Luka was a fighter through and through. He wasn’t just a pet; he was family – with a swagger like no other. a Pomeranian with the heart of a lion and the soul of a stubborn old man. He wasn’t just our dog—he was a little warrior who made every moment count. Baby Luka soaked up life, embraced every belly rub, and lived with a kind of enthusiasm that most people can’t even imagine.
He reminded us so much of his namesake, Luca Brasi, the hitman from Mario Puzo’s The Godfather (the book, not the movie). When Baby Luka came to us as a foster, he had that same stout, barrel-chested toughness. He was an undeniable presence. Naming him Luka just fit—it was who he was. And, like the character, he exceeded every expectation. He was too awesome for words, a ball of fur with more personality than most people.
The Unthinkable Happens
Just days ago, I took Luka’s photo for one of our new product launches, and he was so excited, wagging his tail and posing like a pro. It felt like everything was falling into place, and then—just like that—everything shattered. Six years old. How? Why?
At home, he looked at me one last time, then made his way over to his daddy. Baby Luka knew. He knew he was leaving us, even when we were still in denial. He collapsed, and his breathing became erratic—something was terribly wrong.
And then it got worse. Blood started dripping from his mouth, a sight no pet parent should ever have to witness. Panic set in as we rushed to the emergency vet, praying for a miracle. But when we got there, it was over. They told us Baby Luka was gone, just like that.
Heartbreak at the Emergency Vet
The moment they pronounced him dead, the world stopped. We couldn’t breathe. My husband clenched his fists, wanting to punch a wall—or something, anything. But thank God he didn’t. Everyone at the clinic looked terrified; they knew not to mess with a man in that kind of pain. Baby Luka was his little boy, and in an instant, he was gone.
I can’t express how much it hurts. We always imagined more years of chaos and joy with Luka and his brother Niko—years filled with zoomies, barks, and unconditional love. But now, that future is gone.
Naming Him Luka: A Perfect Fit
When Baby Luka first joined our family, he carried himself with the same swagger and toughness as his literary namesake, Luca Brasi. Luca is the book’s short, broad-shouldered enforcer—like our Baby Luka, a fierce little protector in a furry coat. He wasn’t just a dog; he embodied everything bold, brave, and stubborn. We loved him for it, and he never let us down.
Even now, just hours after his passing, the grief is unbearable. My heart feels like it’s been ripped from my chest, and I can’t stop wishing he was here with us, wagging his tail, barking at the wind, and demanding treats.
The Final Goodbye
At the vet, I held him in my arms, hoping against all reason that he wasn’t really gone. I kept waiting for him to jump out of the towels, give us one of his signature grins, and tell us with his eyes that he was okay. But he didn’t.
Our little warrior is gone. Baby Luka fought until the very end, but this was one battle he couldn’t win.
Grieving the Loss of a Best Friend
There are no words to make this better. Baby Luka was everything good in the world, and now that he’s gone, the emptiness is suffocating. I miss everything about him—his playful barks, wet kisses, and mischievous grin. I hate that he’s gone and that life keeps moving forward without him.
But even in this dark moment, I am grateful for our time with Baby Luka. He was a gift, a little ball of joy that made life brighter every day with us.
Rest in Peace, Baby Luka
I don’t know how to move on from this. Right now, it feels impossible. All I know is that Luka was, and always will be, our little warrior. His spirit lives on in our hearts; even though he’s gone, he’ll never be forgotten.
Rest easy, Baby Luka. You were too awesome for this world. We’ll love you forever.
Related Posts:
A Pomeranian Tribute: Luka, A Tough Little Boy
Do You Have a Possessive Pomeranian?
When Your Pomeranian Reverse Sneezes
7 Most Common Pomeranian Emergencies