"It was only 83 degrees that morning in Arizona."
Those words still haunt me six months later.
My name is Jessica, and I live in Scottsdale with my husband Mike and what used to be our 6-year-old English bulldog, Bentley.
For six wonderful years, Bentley was our world. Our "practice baby" before we had kids. Our hiking buddy. The heart of our family.
He'd been going out to our backyard at least 10,000 times before that Tuesday morning in June.
Same routine every day. Out the back door, sniff around the yard, do his business, come back to the door when he was ready.
That's why when he didn't come back after 20 minutes, I wasn't immediately worried.
"Maybe he found something interesting," I told Mike. "You know how he gets distracted by lizards."
But after 30 minutes, that familiar knot formed in my stomach.
I called his name from the door. Nothing.
I walked outside and found Bentley collapsed under our covered patio, panting heavily, unable to stand.
The drive to the emergency vet was the longest 15 minutes of my life.
"We're losing him," Dr. Martinez said after the examination. "His core temperature is 108 degrees. His organs are shutting down."
"But it was only 83 degrees outside!" I protested through tears. "No humidity! I thought that was safe!"
Dr. Martinez looked at me with the tired eyes of someone who'd had this conversation too many times.
"Mrs. Thompson, I've lost four bulldogs to heatstroke this month. Most owners think they're being careful. They check the weather app, avoid the hottest parts of the day, provide shade and water."
"But they don't understand the hidden mechanism that's actually killing their dogs."
Despite three hours of intensive treatment and a $4,200 emergency bill, we lost Bentley that afternoon.
The vet's words still echo in my mind: "This could have been prevented if you'd known what I'm about to tell you."
