Alexander was turned into rescue by his owners. Their reason was that they had too many dogs and needed to “downsize.” My question to them was “Why this dog? What not one of the other dogs?” Their vague mumbled answer was that he was not getting the attention he needed, he was lost in the crowd at their house. I knew this was not the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but by first appearance Alex seemed healthy and certainly well cared for, so I accepted him into the program. He is a gorgeous black headed tri-color corgi, with striking features. The next few days would give me the real answer to my question. As she walked away, his owner mentioned Alex was a little food aggressive with other dogs, but not people. Mmmm hmmm.
I didn’t worry too much about the dog on dog food aggression. Corgis, as a general rule, are so food motivated many of them will guard their food. As long as Alex didn’t bite the hand that fed him, we would be OK. Whoever adopted him would just have to know that Alex would need to be fed separately from any other dogs, and as a secondary precaution I would not place him in a home with small children. After a couple of meals, with Alex snarling and growling over his bowl at the mere sound of another dog in the next room, I changed Alex’s adoption requirements to a home without other dogs and without children under 10. I never want one of my placements to cause harm to another animal or person, and I take extra care to ensure that doesn’t happen. Alex’s food aggression was severe.
Alex was already neutered and microchipped and was just a month past due on his vaccinations, so there wasn’t much for me to do in the way of preparing him for adoption, except to access him over the next couple of weeks. After a home change, dogs need time to adjust and settle in and show me who they are. Alex was like an onion, and every day a new layer of himself was revealed.
I put him in a play group of a few other dogs, nice dogs I knew could be trusted not to stress him out. But eventually a fight would erupt and Alex would have to be removed. He was a very odd character. One minute he would be playing with another dog, and the next minute it he would be in a knock down, drag out fight with that same dog. I called the former owner to ask about this odd behavior. She feigned surprise. He had always played very well with all her other dogs…. well, except the time he was got into a fight with their German Shepherd and was nearly decapitated. Mmmmm hmmmm.
Eventually, my only option was to keep Alex in a private play yard at my facility, DogSweetDog, away from the other dogs, for everyone’s safety. That private play yard is still to this day referred to as “the Alex yard.”
Alex was very skittish around new people and men especially. The male kennel attendants terrified him and they were not able to get near him. He would bark hysterically at them, then run and hide.
Alex seemed happy with his private yard for a while, but then he began pacing the yard. All day long he would pace along the fence line in the 10×10 square yard, in the same clockwise pattern. He was clearly stressed, so I took him to see Dr. Nita. I also wanted to get her opinion on the shape of Alex’s head. It was sort of bulbous in the front. I was concerned about the possibility of hydrocephalus (water on the brain). His eyes are oddly spaced and small. Alex, as a whole, was rather odd. He was the least corgish corgi I have ever met. He seems a bit retarded actually.
The visit with Dr. Nita was very informative. Muscle testing was done and Alex was consulted on his preferences and fears. A list of dogs names that frequent our shop was recited out loud to Alex and he tested a high negative on two of them… both German Shepherds, amazingly enough. I had not shared the breed of these dogs, and I had not shared the breed of dog that had hurt Alex so badly as a pup. It was a very revealing revelation. The presence of those two dogs was making Alex even more crazy than he already was. I was advised to remove Alex from my facility and take him home, where he would be less stressed. Alex was advised that he would have to live separately in the guest room and not have as much outside time, because he could not be with my dogs. He tested that he was OK with that… for a while. I was hopeful that I could do some behavior modification training at my house and get him on track.
Alex had been OK with my dog, Stormy, so when we got home I allowed them some time together. They played nicely for 15-20 minutes and then Alex aggressed and had to be removed. I set up a large crate in the guest bedroom for him to sleep in. He was very reliably housetrained, so he was allowed full access to the room during the day. There is a nice floor to ceiling window so he could watch the birds and squirrels.
On day one we introduced Alex to the doggie door. The flap scared him. After several attempts, he finally went out and did his business, but then couldn’t figure out how to get back in. While Alex is not a fan of other dogs, he does not like to be alone, so it wasn’t long before he braved the flap and came back inside with us. Every morning for about a week, we had to reteach the doggie door to Alex. We laughed because living with Alex was like the movie 50 First Dates. Drew Barrymore’s character in that movie suffered complete amnesia when she went to sleep, so every morning she had to relearn everything. That was Alex with the doggie door. Every morning, holding the flap open, coaxing, waiting for him to finally decide the doggie door was not going to eat him alive, and go outside.
He was skittish around my husband for the first several days, but Scott has a way with dogs (cheese treats) and eventually Alex came around and they became good friends. Scott’s lap soon became of Alex’s favorite spots. Alex continued to have very odd behavior, startling at nothing, walking into walls, hiding under the bed when it rained, to name a few. His depth perception seemed off too. When trying to jump onto the ottoman, he would often jump so hard he would overshoot the footstool and land on the other side. When attempting to get on the couch, again, he would jump so hard he slammed into the back of it. Often he would jump onto a chair just as I was sitting down, and almost get sat on. He dug in the carpet and chased shadows.
Alex lived in the guest room for 4 months before we received an application on him. A nice couple with a teenaged son had recently lost their corgi to old age and were ready to have another. It sounded like a great home, no other dogs and no young kids. We went for a test run, Alex would have a sleep over to see if the adoption would work. I explained Alex’s issues with other dogs to the family. I also explained that it would probably take some time for him to warm up to the husband and the son, but since he made friends with Scott after a while I felt certain it could be done. After lots of instructions, I left Alex in their care. After what was reported as a good first night, where Alex ignored the cat and slept in the boy’s room, the family came out to sign the adoption papers. He was skittish around the husband but they felt it would improve over time. Adoption papers signed, adoption picture taken, and Alex went off to his new forever home.
But it wasn’t to be. Less than a week later Alex was brought back and exchanged for another more stable corgi without issues. Good for Hayley, but not so much for Alexander. Alex still lives with me, in the guest room. Sometimes, late at night, like tonight, I just spend time with him. He’ll sit next to me on the couch and stare lovingly into my eyes, with his almost crossed ones, and I say “what am I going to do with you?” And I wonder… what WILL I do with him?
October 23, 2011.
Wednesday morning Alexander refused to go outside. He hid under the bed and I had to physically remove him and carry him to the yard. The wind was blowing and he stood frozen in fear for several minutes before darting back in the house, without taking care of business. He ran into the wall and then back into his crate. He ate his breakfast as he always does, quickly and with great enthusiasm, then peed on the comforter that had fallen off the bed. He stood looking at me, with a question in his eyes I could not interpret. I cleaned up the mess, returned him to his crate and left for work. I had a vet appointment for Rory that morning, so I made a point of stopping back at home to check on Alex on the way. Alex again, stood there staring at me, his eyes pleading with me. I called the vet’s office to see if they could fit Alex in today as well. It would be his last appointment.
After securing Rory in for surgery, the staff showed Alex and I into the rainforest room. This was the same room I said my last farewell to Trooper in, and the tears began to flow. As always at times like this, I began to doubt my decision. Perhaps he’s just having a bad day. Maybe there was some medicine that could fix him. The vet tech asked me if I wanted to be present for the euthanasia and I nodded yes. She needed to take Alex to the backroom to have the IV inserted into which the vet would inject the fluid that would end his life. He shied away from her and I had to pick him up and place him in her arms. They were gone for several minutes, and paced around wondering if there was anything else I could’ve done, could do, to make this action unnecessary. Alexander was miserable. I knew it, I could feel it, he was telling me to let him go. But I love him so much. His antics were hilarious, if sad. Snuggle time was fun, and I had been sleeping in the guest room with him for the past 6 months, trying to provide him with more one on one time, more comfort and security, in an effort to make him better.
The tech brought Alex back to me and we waited for the vet to arrive. I spoke to him about my concerns and asked him what I should do. He gently licked my hand and face. He trusted me. He trusted ONLY me, and I was going to give the order for his death. It always amazing to me how physically painful grief is.
Dr. Nita came in, and I broke down completely. “I don’t know what else to do,” I told her. “His behavior has just been so eratic. And this morning it seemed like he was asking me to do this.. pleading with me to do this. I can’t let him spend the rest of his life under the bed.” She told me that when the tech had brought him to the backroom she noticed his eyes weren’t right, and his head was seriously misshapen. After examination and muscle testing, she concluded that he had a really bad headache. Her diagnosis was tumor or fluid on the brain, causing pressure which affected his vision and motor skills. It really didn’t matter whether his pain was caused by fluid or tumor, but it certainly made my decision easier. No matter how much training or socialization I did with Alex, he was not going to get any better.
He went quickly and easily and the sense of relief was overwhelming. Alexander was finally at peace and painfree for the first time in a very long time. He had lived with me since April, and after several adoption failures, he had simply become one of my own dogs. I miss him terribly.
We placed Alexander’s remains near Holly, who died earlier this year, where he will provide nutrition to a new hydrangea planted in his honor. Next spring our landscaping will be more colorful, and I look forward to seeing Alex’s hydrangea bloom.
Rest in peace, finally, Alex.
Ted and his girl, Emaleigh.
Ted came to Celtic Corgi Rescue in June 2010. I received a call from a citizen that a little corgi had been roaming in her neighborhood. She fed him and tried to integrate him into her household with her little Shih Tzu, but it wasn’t working out for her. The little corgi was a marker, and her own dog was adopting the bad behavior. Try as she might, she could not housetrain the little dog, and she tried to make him an “outdoor dog” relegating him to the backyard. Being a very social fellow, he found holes in her fence easily and would make his way back to her front porch every time. She didn’t feel she could manage the behavior and called me. She told me he traveled from household to household in the neighborhood, and accepted whatever food or affection the community would give him. I named him Travelin’ Ted and went to pick him up on a Sunday. Then I went to the local shelter, where I picked up another dog male corgi, a black headed tri-color that I named Choctaw Chuck. Chuck was a beautiful, healthy dog, but Ted was emaciated with awful skin. His coat had a pink cast to it.
We were in the middle of storm season in Oklahoma, and had had heavy rains all that week. Choctaw Chuck was skittish and shy and obviously had little human contact before now. I suspected both boys were ex-breeder dogs. Ted, however, was very social, loving all dogs (especially the girls) and people.
On Monday morning, I let Chuck and Ted out into my yard to potty and then went back into the house to take care of my own toilet needs. There was a light rain falling. In less than five minutes, I returned to the empty yard. Both dogs were gone. They had found a compromise in my fence that no other dogs before them had found. As I surveyed the 9 acres behind our fenced dog yard, I caught a glimpse of Chuck’s flashy black and white body heading into the woods. Ted was nowhere to be found. I called work and told them I’d be late, then pulled on a pair of capris and a tshirt and ran out to find the dogs.
I headed out in the direction of where I last saw Chuck. Hours later, I was bloody from the briars and soaking wet, but found neither dog. I came back home, quickly prepared some flyers and got in my car to make the rounds. It was then that I noticed Ted sitting patiently three driveways down. I was thrilled that he immediately came to me and got in the car. I took him home, dried him off and settled him back into his crate. Still no Chuck. I passed out flyers in a 10 mile radius of my house, returned home to change and relunctantly went to work.
Later that evening, I received a call from a little girl who had found Chuck on her porch. He had crossed a major highway and traveled 3miles from my house. Maybe HE should’ve been named Travelin’ Ted, instead. I picked up Chuck, gave the little girl a monetary reward and got him home.
Both dogs were vetted. Beautiful Chuck was became social very quickly and was adopted to a wonderful home in Oklahoma City.
But, Ted was diagnosed with a serious bladder infection and treated with antibiotics. The infection was unresponsive to the treatment and an xray revealed a number of bladder of stones so large that surgery was required to remove them. Finally, an answer to the marking problem. The stones were removed during Ted’s neuter surgery and dental cleaning, to keep him from having to go under anesthesia multiple times. Afterward, Ted suffered some complications from the surgery. He spent 10 days at the clinic where the veterinary staff worked diligently to save Ted’s very life and an important body part.
For months after the surgery, Ted continued on antibiotics for infection. He was put on a special food to prevent recurrence of bladder stones. He struggled to keep weight on, let alone gain any. His ribs showed through his sad coat and his hip bones were prominent. Standard weight for a male corgi is 27 pounds, and Ted weighed a very slight 15 pounds. Ted was a nervous boy and barked and marked nonstop. These behaviors kept Ted crated a great deal of the time. He irritated some of the other dogs in the rescue.
The months passed, Ted’s face and profile were posted to our Petfinder page. There were no applications. People are more likely to adopt an aggressive dog than they are one who is not housetrained. My own pride was taking a hit as well. I’ve never failed at housetraining a dog, and have always felt that housetraining was possible with every dog. Ted proved me wrong on this. He could not make it through the night without soiling his crate. Every morning, his crate had to be cleaned and Ted bathed. Every vet visit resulted in more antibiotics for an infection that would not go away. Ted’s veterinary bills were climbing into the thousands, and I am so grateful for CorgiAid. Without CorgiAid’s help, this rescuer would never have been able to afford to get Ted healthy.
I took Ted to the kennel I own to stay until he was adopted. I hoped that he would learn better socialization skills and at leave my own house would be saved from all the marking. There were a few more adoption applications for Ted, but whenever his issues were revealed to the potential adopter another dog was chosen. Ted began to bond a longterm guest at the kennel, a little mixed breed named Gazelle. When he shared Gazelle’s kennel, he was able to keep it clean all night. Gazelle’s owner adopted him, but he came back a few days later. The issues were too much.
I could not bring myself to put Ted back in the kennel and was trying to come to terms that he might be with me forever. So, I took him back home with me where we continued to work on housetraining. He wore what I call a “weiner wrap” when in the house and in his crate at night. After many months, he began to rip the weiner wrap off and we slowly noticed the marking was going away. It was like he was saying “Hey, I don’t need this weiner wrap anymore!” His new best friend was a little terrier mix I own named Stormy. They played hard together and were bonded almost too closely.
Ted soon just became part of the household. Sometimes I would sleep on the couch with Ted, while hubby slept in the bedroom with the rest of the dogs. Ted slept through the night on the couch with me, without an accident. He loved the attention, he loved the closeness. He slept soundly on the couch with me.
Ted got Christmas gifts like the rest of the crew, a new collar, new ID tag, new toy and a chewie. He sat on Santa’s lap for a picture. My family and friends assumed he was just going to be a ‘failed foster” and stay with me forever. I love Ted and he will always have a place in my home if he needs it, but I KNEW deep down in my heart that his home was not ours. There was a home for him out there; a home where he would be able to blossom and become the dog he was meant to be.
A dog communicator contacted me and said she had ”talked with” Ted. He told her he wanted a home with children, and a job, and didn’t want to run anymore. I sort of put that information in the back file of my head, because… well…
Applications came and went, and were either withdrawn or rejected. I didn’t want Ted to be the dog someone settled for, or to be relegated to a backyard. I wanted someone to want TED. One application wanted him as protection. He’s a 20 pound dog, how much protection is he going to be? One wanted a barker…. well, Ted can bark but… Another wanted him as an outside only dog. No.
Then, as the New Year dawned we got an application from a family in East Oklahoma. The application looked good. I checked the vet reference. Wonderful. “Which dog are you interested in?” I asked. The response was “Ted.” It wasn’t “any dog” or “this dog or that dog or Ted.” It was “Ted.”
I held my breath. Although their home was 2 hours away, I knew I had to do the home visit myself. I had to be 100% sure that Ted would fit in this family, and that they understood what being Ted’s family involved.
Ted and I talked last night. He sat in my lap and I told him about the family who had applied to adopt him. I told him there was a 4 year old girl, a stay at home mom and a dedicated dad. I told him I loved him dearly and that this application would be the last. ”If this is family is not your family, Ted,” I told him, “Then I will take your listing down and you will be my dog, forever.” I told him it was time. He needed his forever home. He deserved his forever home. But both of us were tired of waiting for it. It was now or never. He sighed heavily and lay his head on my shoulder. It seemed he was hopeful too.
Little Emaleigh met our car as we pulled into her driveway. When I got out of the car she asked “Do you have my dog?” Then when she saw Ted she said “That’s my Ted. You have my Ted.” She sensed Ted’s shyness and was gentle with him. She didn’t tug at him or push on him. She knelt and offered her hand. He followed her around the house. Emaleigh’s parents were wonderful, and addressed all my concerns before I had a chance to voice them. They had bought the food he had been eating, a new collar and ID tags were purchased. We went to the backyard where the neighbor dogs barked and lunged at the back fence aggressively, and Ted placed himself between the dogs and Emaleigh and gently moved her away. Ted adopted that little girl immediately. He had his child. He had his job. He had his family.
Given his prior issues I had discounted Ted’s adoption fee, but Ted’s new family insisted on making an additional donation to the rescue. Ted’s value was now MORE than his peers, instead of less.
With the signing of the contract, and promises of updates and pictures, I left my little Ted in the hands of his new family. I spent the two hour drive back home crying and laughing at the same time.
It wasn’t until I looked at the picture of Ted and Emaleigh together that I realized what a lovely dog Ted had become. His coat looks great and while he’ll always be a small corgi, he’s no longer the bag of bones he was. He’s really a good looking little dog.
The house is quiet. Ted’s crate is empty, but oddly I’ m not worried about him tonight. His family, his new family, has everything under control. I can’t wait to hear about how wonderful he is for them.
I think Travelin’ Ted has just become Ted now, his travelin’ days are over. God speed, Ted. Do me proud. Do yourself proud.
]]>Bailey, Ziggy, Trooper, Boomer, Sadie, Bluebonnet, Bluebell, Georgie Sweetheart, Little Bitty, Rusty, Jake, Rodeo, Ella, Dot, Treasure, Larry, Bubba, Zippy, another Sadie, Candy, Tilly, Pralines, Marbles, Freckles, Daisy, Tack, Belfour, DJ, Dudley, Toby Joe, Fergie and Prince Andrew, Elvis, Nina/Mojo, Monte, Gracie, Petey, Krissy, Butterscotch, Pocket, Bob, Joy, Ginny, Lollipop, Diesel, Max, Romeo, Charlotte, Flint, Joseph, Taylor, Kaydee, Megan, Penny Sue, Sallie Mae, Lizzie, Yogi, Hunter, Diana, Kayla, T-Tucker, Olivia, Harry, Tippy Too, Freckles, Colleen, Tater, Amy Lou, Ernie, Mater, Cricket, Captain, Bonnie Jean, Cubby, Shun, Mickey, Willie, Fancy, Mousse, Steele, Bubba, Latifah and Rabbit. All these dogs came through my door, and survived to find their forever home. Whew! Now I feel better about rescue, and I hope you do, too.
I heard from Jake’s new owner last night, which arrived shortly after Eddy’s departure. It was good timing.
“Jake is doing AWESOME! We’re in love with the sweet boy. He’s been a near-perfect dog for all of us…he likes to lay at my daughter’s feet and he likes to play tug-of-war with my crazy son. Since I’m home in the summer, he’s with us basically all the time, which has been really fun. The only real adjustment we are having to make is getting used to the HAIR! Bless the poor boy’s heart—it’s everywhere in my house. Literally everywhere–even floating around in the air. HA! But other than that, we couldn’t have asked for a more perfect fit for our family. Thank you so much for everything you did for him. Hope all is well in your world, dogs and otherwise! Thanks again!”
I had WARNED her about all that corgi hair. But once you love a corgi, the hair is just something you live with.
Jake’s new family are great people and I really wanted to provide them with a great dog. Jake had found himself at the pound multiple times. His owners didn’t want to put up a fence, invite him into the house, or pay another impound fee, so he was left there to receive whatever hand fate would deal him. After meeting him, it was difficult to imagine leaving him to possibly die at the pound. He was a happy guy, eager to please, ready for fun. He needed a fenced yard, he needed a bed inside the house, he needed children to play with, he needed a family. There were a few things to work out, such as training a good recall and getting him housetrained… neither easy as Jake had never been in a house and had always been allowed to roam free. But we did it, and the placement was successful.
For me, rescue is about enriching the lives of people with the gift of a dog, which has the added bonus of improving a dog’s life. I’ll continue to do it as long as I am able.
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I brought him home and gave him three baths and removed so many ticks I lost count. He stood patiently, although it could not have been pleasant for him. He was at the vet’s office the next day. They pronounced him not the oldest corgi in the world, but the oldest looking 5 year old in the world. There was no sign of trauma, so it was doubtful he was ever hit by a car. His had been a rough life and it showed. We were hopeful we could bring him back to health with some really good food and lots of TLC. He loved the lap. He loved his food. He loved the treats. He could sit and down and even do a sloppy sit pretty. He did NOT want to be outside. He would go out, do his business and head right back in the house. Guess he figured he’d been out there long enough. He was a funny little guy, very easy and never made a sound.
Today he had a little cough. He didn’t eat his dinner. He collapsed on his walk.
We lost him today. His little body just could not recover from the neglect, and his immune system could not fight off the enemies. I would’ve loved to have seen him at proper weight, with a wonderful new coat and a new family to call his own. But sometimes rescue comes too late.
Rest in peace Eddy. We’ll see you on the other side.
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This day I say goodbye to an old friend.
Trooper came to live with us back in the Spring of 2003. He was 4 years old at the time. I was an independent corgi rescuer living outside Atlanta, Georgia. I was contacted by Trooper’s second owners, Lorrie and John. They had adopted Trooper from his first owners and had done their best with him. Lorrie had taken him through obedience training, and had given him a good home with their other two corgis and their cats. Trooper was often aggressive toward the other pets in the home, had growled at a senior relative with a walker and had bitten a party guest dressed as Elvis. Lorrie and John were now expecting a child. They made the wise decision that, for the safety of their future child and her playmates, Trooper must be rehomed again.
Trooper was fear aggressive, storm phobic and terrified of anything and anyone new. While he took to me quickly (after an order of French fries on the ride home) he did not trust others. During his first week with us, he bit my husband in the shin as he opened the front door to a neighbor. Then he bit a young boy who came to the door soliciting for football donations. Soon it was evident that I had two options for Trooper. I could put him down or keep him as my own. I chose the latter. I thought I could fix him, but I knew it would take time.
Eventually he and our puppy Sean became good friends, often rough housing like two young brothers. Trooper hated every foster dog I brought in, with the exception of Daisy, a corgi I rescued from a shelter and placed in a home in South Carolina. He adored her during the 3 months she lived with us. Daisy died just a few months ago. Cats were the bane of his existence. No felines were safe with Trooper.
Over time, with desensitizing and some drug therapy, Trooper’s storm phobia became more of a slight discomfort. His aggression toward people was always at the door, one quick bite to the shin and retreat. Once a person was in the house and seated, everything was fine, as long as that person allowed Trooper to come say hello on his terms and not theirs. He was a loyal family pet. He showed total devotion to me, my spouse and our two children and things settled into a pretty good rhythm. However, even as things improved, caution was always practiced. The kids knew that Trooper must be crated or put in another room when they brought new friends in. Soon it became second nature to us… “Where is Trooper?” “Is Trooper away?” “Wait just a second, let me put Trooper up.” Once Trooper knew you, everything was fine, but you had to get past that first meeting.
It is amazing what one will get used to. My spouse and I took separate trips to see the kids when they grew up and moved away, because Trooper could not be boarded safely anywhere. Sometimes we’d take him with us, but he’d stay in a crate in the hotel, or in a back bedroom at the kids’ house. All the while, we worried that an accident would happen, that we would forget to lock the crate or someone would accidentally walk into the room.
I owe Trooper a great deal. It is through owning Trooper that I got much of my training chops. I studied everything I could on aggression, body language, traditional medicines, holistic medicine, nutrition, all in an effort to make him normal. Eventually, I had to come to the realization that not every dog can be fixed, some are just managed. Most can be improved on, but sometimes you just have to admit that the dog cannot be completely trusted. Most every trainer I know has or had a dog like Trooper. We take them in, confident we can fix them, and sometimes we cannot. But, it is because of what I learned from Trooper, that I have been able to help many other dogs and their owners.
Trooper was never sick, until his final illness. As a 10 year old, he had the good looks and energy of a dog half his age. Then, as he neared his 11th birthday, I began to notice a few tics, just small little double takes really, when he was concentrating and during training sessions. He began to show aggression toward his long time housemates Sean and Bonnet. He would attack without provocation and we were no longer able to trust him alone with the other two. They were separated whenever we left the house. Things escalated, he began having more obvious seizures, and soon he was living a totally separate life from the other two. He ate his meals alone, had outside time alone, and slept locked in a crate. We rotated dogs, his turn out with the family, then back in the bedroom and the other two out with the family. His behavior continued to deteriorate. He growled at the walls, ran into doors, and attacked the picnic table. The other dogs were constantly on alert, walking on egg shells, keeping an eye on the door to the room he spent most of his time. The stress was really wearing on all of us. We had multiple visits to see our vet. Finally Thursday, we got our answer. Trooper had a brain tumor. He was in pain. The tumor had damaged the nerves, and his vision and hearing were affected. Even if the tumor could be removed, the damage could not be reversed. The prognosis was not good. We took him home, spent the weekend spoiling him rotten and took him for his final visit to the vet’s office today.
We were grieving, hot painful tears streaming from our eyes, and pains in our chests. But, oddly, we were also completely at peace that we were doing the right thing. Yes, we could’ve let him die naturally, which would’ve been 3-6 months, but he was in pain and he was not going to get better. He wanted to go, he let us know that. He was tired and ready for it to be over.
Our wonderful vet gave him quick sedative shot, so there would be no catheter, no struggle to get the tourniquet on his arm. She was so gentle, intent on making his passing as peaceful as she could. Once he was fully asleep, she administered the fatal overdose. Trooper died in my arms, today, March 8, at 5:30 p.m. When the life moved from his body to wherever a dog’s energy goes at that time, I felt a lightness within myself and in the room. My husband, our vet and the assistant felt it as well. I felt so much joy that a laugh sprang from my lips. “This is good,” I said to him, kissing his sweet face, “this is very very good.” The feeling of relief was overwhelming.
We buried him on my parents property, next to their dachshunds Rex and Boston. When we got home, I opened up all the rooms in the house, before letting Sean and Bonnet and our current foster dog, Rodeo, out of their room. They briefly looked around the house, looked at me, and relaxed completely. The three of them are asleep at my feet now. While there is a Trooper shaped void here, it is a light void which is hard to explain.
When I sat down to write this memorial, I thought it would be a short sweet love story about a girl and her dog. And it is, but not in the traditional sense. I have loved Trooper for 7 years, and will continue to love him for the rest of my life. But I know most of his life was terrifying for him. The responsibility lies with whoever had him during those early formative weeks. He should not have been locked in a crate, he should’ve been out in the world, learning, experiencing and meeting new people. There were many times over the years, I had resolved to take him in and put him down. “One more time,” I’d tell him, “One more time!” But then I would remember the good things about him, and look into those adorable eyes, and he’d be granted another pardon. He was a major pain in the butt a great deal of the time. But in the end, he was gracious enough to somehow make what I thought would be one of the most painful events in my life, so easy and right.
Thank you, Trooper, for helping to make me the person I am today. It was a long rocky road for the both of us, but not one I would trade for anything.
I love you. Rest in peace, darling boy.
Major Storm Trooper
January 22, 1999 – March 8, 2010.
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I responded to an ad from someone looking to rehome a corgi. The owner, Ashley Bain of Oklahoma City, stated her grandfather was moving in with her and was allergic to dogs. He had to go immediately or she would take him to the shelter. I will do anything to prevent a member of my beloved breed ending up in a shelter, so I told her I would take him and find him a good home. I met her at her apartment on the evening of October 9. It was pretty cold, but her toddler was running around outside with nothing but a dirty diaper on. She wanted $25 to prove I was legitimate. I figured she could use the $25, so I paid it.
She brought out Kobie. He was a lovely four year old sable corgi boy with a happy smile. She told me she purchased him from a pet shop in Florida, that he’d been vaccinated in February but she didn’t have the paperwork because of a house fire. He was wearing a current rabies tag. She mentioned he’d scratched his eye, and gave me some ointment for it. There were other family members in the home, but none of them seemed the least bit interested or concerned that their dog was leaving. The television was much more interesting. I handed her the cash, she turned over Kobie’s leash, his crate, and a bag of bargain brand dog food. There was no sign of regret, no grief, she just turned and walked back into the apartment.
When I got Kobie home, he had to poop immediately. It was bloody. The next morning we were at the vet’s office. In the waiting room, I called the vet number on the rabies tag. The tag was registered to a Japanese Chin, not owned by Ashley Bain. No one there had ever heard of Ashley or Kobie.
I contacted Ashley in an effort to get her to come clean with me. I just needed true information so I could help Kobie. Did he still need to be vaccinated, could this be parvo? She refused to be honest with me, saying “bring him back if you don’t want him.”
The vet prescribed prebiotics and probiotics and antibiotics, and a better ointment for the multiple scratches on his cornea. We went home. Kobie showed me how much he loves toys, belly rubs (was that a shelter tatoo on his belly?), and playing fetch. His temperament was wonderful. He didn’t mind me clipping his nails, didn’t mind me checking his teeth (they were nasty, he would need a cleaning).
The next day, Sunday, Kobie’s urine was red, so we were back to the vet on Monday. The vet found three marble sized bladder stones, which had to be very painful. You wouldn’t know it by Kobie’s attitude. He was friendly and loveable and willing to take what we were dishing out. He was scheduled for surgery on Tuesday, where he would also get his teeth cleaned and they would tack down his eyelid so the cornea would heal faster.
I had mentioned Kobie at work, and one of my co-workers there wanted to adopt him. He had recently lost his dog to old age and he and his wife felt ready to be dog owners again. This was going to be a wonderful home, and wonderful life for little Kobie.
I brought Kobie home Wednesday, with even more medications, but after a night of vomiting, he was back at the vet’s office on Thursday. The vet felt he’d had a negative reaction to the anesthesia and that he just needed a little supportive care before being released. He spent two days there, on IV fluids and medication. By Friday, he had eaten a small meal and the vomiting had stopped, so we brought him home again. He ate a little bit, took a few short walks with me, and sat near me for petting. He slept well all night. We had hope he was going to be fine.
Saturday morning, I noticed his belly was closer to the ground than it was the night before. He had the appearance of an old bloated horse. He had vomited in his crate during the night. The vet said to bring him in. An xray revealed that he was retaining fluid and 700 ccs was drawn from his belly. He had to stay for more testing and support. Over the next couple of days, he rallied, then lost ground, rallied then lost ground, his kidney and pancreas putting up a good fight, but in a very weakened state.
Tonight, Tuesday, October 20, 2009, with the help of his vet, Kobie made the only request he’d ever made of me, besides throw the ball. Knowing that he knew better about the state of his body than I did, I granted his request.
It was a hard 11 days, painful and exhaustive. The emotions that go with caring for a chronically sick pet are like a rollercoaster. When caring for a sick human patient, you don’t have the option of just putting them out of their misery (and you shouldn’t). But, as humans we have the responsibility to ease the suffering of pets in our care. It is our decision to make and we must make it in the pet’s best interest.
Do I wish I had never answered that ad? No, because Kobie would have likely died in extreme pain, instead of being eased out of it. He would’ve likely gone alone, rather than in the presence of love. But mostly, because I will never regret having met the fine gentleman who was Kobie. He showed me and his medical team that you can be gracious and gentle in the face of pain and heartache; and that play can take one’s mind off the trials of this life.
To steal the title from a Carrie Fisher novel, the honor of being there for Kobie was The Best Awful.
Special thanks to CorgiAid for covering Kobie’s medical expenses. I can’t adequately express my gratitude to that organization for their help, not only for Kobie, but for the many many corgis they have helped over the years. Tax deductible donations can be made at www.corgiaid.org.
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I met Daisy back in 2004. I was living outside Atlanta, and had my own independent corgi rescue. I received a message from another rescuer in Tennessee that two female corgis had been dumped at the shelter by their owner, a profit breeder. The girls had stopped producing puppies, and they were of no further value to him.
The Tennessee rescuer only had room for one and she asked if I could take the other. I took Daisy, while Molly her sister, stayed in Tennessee.
Daisy was a delightful girl, funny and sweet. Trooper (the former foster turned life long resident) always took offense at my bringing in foster dogs. He didn’t like it and he didn’t like this newest addition, either. He charged at her, snarling, but Daisy pushed her little bunny butt aside in Matador fashion, then “bonked” Trooper with her pointy nose as he slid by. He came back and “bonk, bonk” again, as she wagged her little nubbin of a tail. Trooper was taken aback, no other foster dog had behaved this way. Usually, they ran or rolled over on their back and peed themselves. But not this girl. Then Cupid’s arrow hit its target and Trooper was completely smitten. They were best friends from that point on.
After introductions, the first order of business was a trip to the vet. Bad news… she was heartworm positive. More bad news, she had breast cancer. As her temperament was outstanding, I committed to saving her. The vet decided to remove her breasts and do the spay surgery together to save the rescue money, and keep Daisy from having to go under anesthesia twice. He also cleaned her teeth. Removal of the tumors and uterus, was an instant weight loss of about 6 pounds (if memory serves) for Daisy. Her poor belly looked like a jigsaw puzzle, but the vet was confident he got all the cancer.
After she recovered from surgery, Daisy underwent treatment for heartworm. Heartworm is a preventable disease, but a difficult one to treat. The dog has to stay quiet and confined for up to 30-60 days. After her treatment was over, and she was given a clean bill of health, she blossomed.
Daisy was completely amazed by life as pet dog instead of a working girl. What’s this? Carpet, don’t pee on it. What’s this? Your own clean bed inside the house. What’s this? Your own food bowl. What’s this? It’s a toy. Who’s that? You, that’s a mirror.
Daisy Boo, as we started calling her, soon learned from the resident corgis appropriate house behavior. She learned that when the people of the house open the back door, it is appropriate to go charging out, barking wildly. She didn’t know WHY she was supposed to do that, and she wasn’t sure what she was barking at. Often she would run out, bark, then look back as if to say, “is this correct, am I doing it right?” She learned the value of chew toys, leash walks, good quality food, and belly rubs. To get the attention of a potential playmate, she would “bonk bonk” the candidate with her pointy nose, then serious frapping (frenzied, random, acts of play) would ensue.
Meanwhile, I posted her face on CorgiAid (a non-profit organization that helps fund expensive treatments for rescued corgis), and waited for someone to apply to be her forever family. It didn’t take long for Susan to contact me. Susan already had a corgi named Dodger. Corgis are like potato chips. Once you have one, you have to have another.
Daisy went to live with Susan and Dodger and another mixed breed dog named Libby. After a home visit by another rescuer, Susan and I met halfway between my home in Georgia and her home in South Carolina. It was hard to say goodbye, but I knew she would be well loved and well taken care of. I cried all the way home.
The years have passed, and I’ve received updates from Daisy’s mom, telling me what a dear sweet treasure she is, and reporting on her little Daisy antics. It has been very rewarding being a part of saving such a wonderful dog, and helping her become what she was created to be - a human’s companion.
Yesterday I received the news that, after a very brief illness, at the good age of 11 years, Daisy Boo moved on to the Rainbow Bridge. Her mom is heartbroken, as is this rescuer. Rest in Peace, sweet corgi girl.
]]>If your puppy is in the teething stage, chewing soothes the gums, so make sure your puppy has an adequate supply of appropriate things to chew on. When your puppy starts to chew or nip at your hands, resist the temptation to either pull your hands away, shove your hand hard into her mouth, or push her away. All three of these acts can be interpreted by the puppy as more play, and will leave her coming back for more. The instant your puppy’s mouth makes contact with your skin, give a marker word (”ouch,” “oooops,” “eh-eh”) so your puppy knows what behavior you are addressing, then get up and walk away. Leave the room entirely and close the door behind you. Wait a minute, return and start over, giving your puppy a chance to do it right next time. Don’t expect your puppy to do it right the next time, or the next, or even the next. It will take several repetitions of CONSISTENTLY marking the bad behavior and leaving the room before your puppy starts to associate his biting with your leaving. Dogs are social animals and having the owner leave after bad behavior is a very clear and strong signal, without being abusive. I like the practice of owner leaving the room BETTER than taking the puppy and putting him in time out. When the puppy does begin to play with you, without biting, give lots of treats and praise for a job well done
While mouthing is most often a problem in puppies, some breeds (retrievers for example) are prone to it well into adult hood. Your neighbor is much more likely to be forgiving if your 10 week old puppy bites her hand, than if your 2 year old Golden does. Therefore, it is important to train your puppy early to avoid potential problems in the future.
]]>It can be frustrating, but following few simple guidelines, you should have your dog housetrained in no time.
Before starting, if any accidents have occurred in your house, you will need to thoroughly clean all messes and puddles with an enzymatic cleaner (such as Nature’s Miracle) designed to remove pet odors. A dog will return to the scene of the crime if he can smell it. Use a black light to detect any stains you cannot see, and clean them thoroughly.
Crate training in conjunction with housetraining, makes housetraining that much easier and the success rate is higher. We will, for the sake of this lesson, assume that your dog is cratetrained. If you opt not to use a crate, the housetraining will be more difficult, but it can be acheived by keeping his leash on him, and tethering him to your belt or to another stationary item near you.
The key to housetraining is consistency. Dogs learn better in positives, not negatives. It is easier to teach a dog where he is supposed to go, rather than teach him where he is not supposed to go. Determine where in your yard or exercise area you would like your dog to relieve himself, then take him, on leash to that spot every time. Wait for him to squat and say “go potty” as he is in the act. Once he finished, give him a treat and lots of praise. When I say treat and praise, I mean good treats like cheese or hotdogs and throw a party. Let him know that when he just did was the most fantastic thing any dog ever did in the history of dogs. Then have some play time. DO NOT simply open the door and let him go outside while you watch from the window, then wait until he comes back to treat and praise. This rewards him for returning to the house, not the thing he did in the yard.
You must keep him supervised or crated during training. Keeping him leashed and tied to your belt is a great way to have him near you, uncrated, but in a situation where he is not likely to have an accident.
Adult dogs can go longer periods between bathroom breaks, but generally dogs will need a chance to go outside first thing in the morning; 15-20 minutes after eating or drinking; immediately upon rising from a nap, and after play time. Be careful not to take your dog out too often, or he will not learn to control himself. But, be careful also not to ask him to hold it too long.
When he does make a mistake, don’t scream at him, swat his behind with a newspaper and then throw him outside. No matter what your friend, parents or neighbors tell you, rubbing a puppy’s nose in it will not housetrain him. It is ineffective and CRUEL. DON’T DO IT. Showing it too him and saying “bad dog” will not help either, in fact, it may cause your dog to hide their messes.
If you find that he has had an accident without your seeing it, remind yourself that he would not have been able to do that if you had been paying attention. He must be supervised or crated during the housetraining period. If he squats in your presence, firmly say (don’t yell) “No!” and scoop him up and take him to his designated potty area. If he finishes his business out there, treat and praise him. If he’s an adult dog, this is where keeping a leash on him comes in handy. You can immediately grab the leash and escort him outside. Then treat and praise when he relieves himself. Then make sure to inspect the area he squatted in, and clean it thoroughly the enzyme cleaner. Dog urine and feces leave a distinct smell that will remain unless neutralized. Dogs will tend to return to the spot if they can smell it. Clean it immediately.
Soon, with time and consistency, you will have a successfully housetrained and crate trained dog.
Ramp it Up: It’s a good idea (but not imperative) that the dog’s designated potty area be clearly defined. You could create a space using bricks or other gardening barriers, or even a hula hoop. The benefit of using something movable like a hula hoop is that you can use it on vacations, when visiting other locations, or if you have to move to a new home.
Potty On Command: After your dog gets the idea of this is where I’m supposed to go, you can add the command “go potty” so he learns to go not only where but when you tell him. Begin by saying “go potty” at the time she squats so she learns to associate the command with the action. If you are consistent, you will so be able to say “go potty” and your dog will take care of her business right away.
Rule of thumb: A puppy should be able to hold his bladder up to 1 hour for each month of his life. If he’s 5 months old, he should be able to hold it for 5 hours, once he’s housetrained. This rule has to be used with reason. Of course don’t expect a two year old dog to hold it for 24 hours. I’d never ask a dog to wait more than 10 hours, and only that long if absolutely necessary.
Provisos: Some dogs are easier to housetrain than others. If your dog was purchased at a petshop, you may have more difficulty training him. Petshop dogs are not taken out and are forced to eat, sleep and go to the bathroom all in the same little cage. In the case of petshop dogs, close monitoring is imperative and crating him may not help. Some toy breeds often prove diffcult to housetrain as well.
Keep in Mind: If your dog enjoys being outside, either on a walk on in the backyard playing, and you immediately take him back inside as soon as he finishes his business, he may learn to prolong his business so he can stay out longer. Give him some play time, or walk a little further after he’s gone, so he doesn’t learn that potty means the end of fun.
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Handsome
It never fails when I go off the beaten path, something happens to make me believe it wasn’t a random happening. Easter morning, 2009, I was on my way out to Choctaw, to my parents house for Easter lunch. I was a little early, so I thought I’d go out a little farther and see the house a friend had just put under contract. On the way back to my parents house, in the distance I thought I saw a small horse walking down the center of the road. It was weaving and stumbling, and as I got closer, I realized it was not a horse but a very large dog. He didn’t seem to notice that I was coming straight toward him, and he continued on his path down the yellow line. He was on the bottom side a hill now, and I knew a car coming too fast from the other side might have trouble avoiding him. It was cold and rainy and the roads were slick. I pulled over and approached him. He was disoriented, but very calm. I always carry leashes, collars, blankets and dogfood in my car, so I offered him some food. He refused it. He was hip high to me, emaciated, wearing a black collar two sizes too large and no tags of course. His muzzle was grizzled with age, and one eye had the milkywhite appearance of cataracts. I could see the fleas and ticks crawling all over him. He was soaked to the skin. Looking up I noticed a man in his yard approaching me. I asked him if the dog was his and he said it was not. He told me a mile back down the road, some people had mastiffs, which is what this dog appeared to have once been. I could not leave him there. A line of cars had accumulated behind me and another man got out of his car and together the two men lifted him into the back of my SUV. I turned back and found the house with the mastiffs. Two large friendly male dogs greeted me with their owners. The dog in my car was not their dog. The woman made some phone calls, while the man asked me if I could train their dogs. “What do you want to train them to do?” I asked. He said “to stay away from ME!” They were his wife’s dogs and while he really didn’t like all their attention, he WAS thinking about getting a female to breed with Max. Augh! The phone calls accomplished nothing, and I thank them and headed back to my folks’ place, stopping at each house along the way to ask if anyone knew where the dog belonged.
Since the old dog would not take the dog food and was obviously in pain and emaciated, I thought the best thing to do was just make him comfortable until I could get him into the vet tomorrow and have him put down. As an after thought, I made him some scrambled eggs, sprinkled it with cheese and offered it to him. He inhaled it. He spent the rest of the afternoon in my SUV. My little sister, Amy, came out to see him and was deeply affected. Her older son, Zachary, had been wanting a large dog so she asked him to come see him. I was very hopeful, as Zach is a very kind hearted young man. He came, petted him for a while, but then said he just couldn’t deal with him dying as he most likely would sooner than later.
As I started toward home that evening, I noticed he had moved from the back to the more comfortable back seat. He had pressure sores, from laying his heaving self on the hard ground, and he really appreciated the soft seat. I noticed some scaping on one of his paws, that looked as if he might’ve been dragged involuntarily. Some force him out of a car? It happens all the time out there.
After stopping at the daycare center to pick up some good canned dog food, and a Capstar, I took him home. I gave him the Capstar and two cans of food, which he wolfed down, applied a double dose of some Advantix I had, and bedded him down in the garage. Then went inside to check Craigslist for the remote possibility someone might be missing him. I also posted a “found” ad there and commented on his awful condition and that humane euthanisia might be the best option for him. He slept quietly all night. In the morning I called the vet and got an appointment, before tending to him or my own dogs.
After my dogs were fed and sent outside to do their business, I took a deep breath, before going into the garage. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d died in his sleep. He didn’t move when I turned on the light, and his smell was overpowering. He had released his bowels and bladder all over his bed, and I sighed, thinking, “well, at least he died in a warm dry bed, and not out in the rain and cold.” But then he looked up at me and smacked his lips. “Well, hello, Handsome,” I said. He responded by trying to get up. I helped him and took him outside. He leaned on me to walk. After cleaning him up the best I could without actually bathing him (I didn’t want to wash the Advantix off), I prepared another large bowl of food, which he wolfed down, and gave him a clean bowl of water. I got another stack of clean blankets, which he plopped down on and immediately fell asleep.
I put the soiled blankets in the wash, and went to deal with daily stuff until the vet visit. I teared up often over the next several hours. I had been nicknamed the Angel of Death when I was working at a shelter in Houston, because I was the one who often had to make that decision on aggressive or sick animals. I often had to make that decision for dogs I had fosters with my own rescue group, and over the years, had made the decision for dogs of my own as their health declined. It never got any easier. Taking life was, and should be, very difficult.
Other customers sneered and frowned at me as I led this emaciated, smelling, slobbery old dog into the vet’s office. He slipped on the linoleum floor, and was clearly uncomfortable there. In the exam room, a tech took his temperature and some history. I assumed he’d be heartworm positive, and have a host of other problems, and knowing that would make it easier for me to have him put down. The tech took him back to run the tests and then brought him back a few minutes later. He and I were together in the room alone. He put his head on my knee and looked right into my eyes, then into my soul. I began to cry. How could someone have loved this dog for all these years, then just discarded him when he needed them most. He was a gentle soul, not a mean or aggressive bone in his body. A few minutes later, a Cardigan corgi who had been brought in off leash, wandered into into our room. He gentle approched the old fellow and licked his face clean. It was a very tender moment, Pal (I could hear his mother calling him) gave a final look, then walked away.
The young vet came in. “Well, I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” she said. “The good news is … no heartworm or any of the other tickborn diseases, and he has an eye infection which can be treated with ointment. It is not a cataract.” I was stunned. “The bad news is he is painful in his joints, it could be displasia, and he’s got several types of intestinal worms.” She said that with some Rimadyl, probably for the rest of his life, and some good quality groceries, he should have a pretty good quality of life. Then she looked to me to make the decision. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it. I paid the $250 bill, got him back in the car, drove to Walmart for yogurt (for his intestinal distress) and a plastic covered baby crib mattress for him to sleep on. During the drive home, Amy called and said “don’t put him to sleep, I’ll keep him.” Phew! I told her I would keep him a few more days, then we’d move him out to her place.
When I got home, I walked Handsome (I’d called him that all day, and he was responding to it), then set him up with the new mattress. He lay down on it and quickly went to sleep. It was a hard couple of hours on him. I went inside to check email, maybe someone had been missing him. I couldn’t believe all the hate mail I had received over the mere mention that I might put him down. People didn’t understand at all, the awful shape he was in. But… then, I didn’t put him down did I?
Someone from mastiff rescue contacted me and working on finding him a forever retirement home.
HANDSOME FINDS HIS BARK.
Six days with Handsome and he’s finally found his bark. It was just yesterday I was saying to my husband, “he sure is quiet, I wonder if he barks.” This morning, after being let out in the backyard for while, he stood at the back door and barked. He’d had enough of the backyard and was ready to come back in. I was glad to hear his bark, as I want to take it as a sign that he’s coming around well.
Days 3, 4, and 5, have been difficult but also rewarding. I now know a little of what carrying for an elderly parent might be like. I get up in the morning, dress quickly, and tend to the needs of my little family. I have three dogs of my own and they have to be let out to take care of business, then fed. Then I make my way into the garage where Handsome sleeps on his orthopedic baby crib mattress. There is that short moment of dread when the light comes on but there is no movement from the body on the mattress. The sound of the door opening doesn’t wake him, nor does the light. Wait, wait, ah, there is the light rise and fall of his chest to tell me he’s still with us. “Hey Handsome” is my standard greeting now. His standard greeting is a groan, then he lifts his head and grins. Yep, he grins. He looks up and I see his the full set of front teeth, where his lips have somehow gotten stuck behind other teeth. Ok, some would argue it’s not an authentic grin, but I’ll take it. He survived another night, and we will enjoy the day together.
Things like a clean bed in the morning are reasons for celebration. But some mornings his bed is soiled and he looks ashamed. I reassure him that it’s perfectly OK, telling him “no big deal, we’ll just get you cleaned up in no time.” Again, much in the way I imagine caretakers speak to their elderly charges.
Getting him up off that bed has become easier now, since realizing I must let him do most of the work and let him do it in timing. He must get himself into a sitting position, first, which times some effort. His joints are stiff from laying still all night. After he’s in a sitting position, he moves his front legs off the bed to the floor, then wiggles his way up to standing. He cannot stand from a lying down position, he must get into sit first.
The first thing I do is give him a Rimadyl wrapped in cheese. He LOVES cheese, so giving him the medicine is very easy. Then he gets a glucosamine tablet also wrapped in cheese. Then we take a walk outside. His bladder capacity is amazing to me. As he stands there, watering the lawn, I quote Madonna from A League of Their Own “That’s some good peein’ Mister.”
After a brief walk (he takes the leash in his mouth and let’s me know when he’s tired and wants to go back home), we get breakfast. Senior formula dry dog food, a can of wet mixed in, yogurt to aid digestion, and cheese to encourage his appetite. He needs to gain about 50 pounds. I’m caring for a dog who needs to gain weight, while I am on a weight loss regimen. While I don’t think I need to lose 50, I would like to give 20 of my pounds to him. My morning weight training routine has been replaced by carring for Handsome.
We made the decision not to send him to my sister Amy’s house, after a particularly rough morning, probably Day 3, where he had messed his bed and had been unable to get out of it. Giving a 115 pound dog a bath, when he doesn’t want a bath, is not an easy job. The morning started with my usual routine, get my crew up and feed, then out for potty breaks, poo clean up, and then out to deal with Handsome. The smell there before I even opened the door to the garage. We did all the usual things, getting him up and out and medince, but postponed breakfast until I could get him cleaned up. It took 30 minutes to simply get him into the tub. I didn’t want to just hose him off outside. It was still cool at that time of the morning, and I didn’t feel cold hose water would be good for his painful joints. Front legs in first, then back legs. As soon as the back legs are in, he takes his front legs out. Front legs back in, back legs back out. He fought with strength I did not know he possessed, but in the end he got his bath, and so did I. After drying him (using about 5 towels), I took him outside to finish drying and rest. We were both exhausted, and the sun was shining down warm on the patio, so he could rest and sun himself. With him resting comfortably, I went back to the garage, pulled the old bedding off, shook the solid pieces out, and put the blankets in the washing machine. Then with a bucket of bleach and water, I washed down the mattress, the floor and the wall behind it, because all were smeared in dog poo. The cleaning rags all went into the washing machine with the blankets. Then I cleaned up the bathroom and took another shower myself. By the time I was finished, he was dry and hungry, so I prepared his meal and he wolfed it down.
Amy weighs about 90 pounds soaking wet, and she works a demanding full time job. Her mornings don’t have room for this type of activity. “Sorry, I missed the board meeting, I had to give my dog a bath….” When I told her about this, she agreed it was probably something that wouldn’t fit into her lifestyle. But, she’s willing to take him for the weekend. We’ll see how that goes.
Handsome met the neighbor kids on Day 4 and was terrific with them. He just loves being loved on. He’s very social and affectionate.
He craves canine companionship, but my corgis are terrified of him. It could be his size, or his unsteadyness, but for now they are kept separate, which adds another complication to my day. I want to provide companionship to Handsome, but I also do not want to neglect my own crew. Again, this all seemingly parallels carrying for an elderly parent. You are torn between hanging out with your family or sitting by the bed reading to your parent.
I’m growing very attached to the old fellow, I find his care rewarding. I had an epiphany yesterday. Since I took a hiatus from over a decade of being really involved in dog rescue, my marriage has started to crumble. But, this week things have improved. Why? Why? Well, maybe, just maybe, it’s because when I have an poor starving animal to care for and rehabilitate, I’m able to leave my husband alone and let him deal with his own issues. Am I the type of person who needs someone to take care of? Even my husband has enjoyed having Handsome around. He has some heart issues right now, but needs to get some light exercise. Handsome is just the right walking speed for him. Could it be that Handsome is the angel who will help save my marriage?
But, back to reality, I also know that this is not the best home for him. He should be allowed to come in and stay with us all day, instead of just having a few hours each day. There is a Mastiff rescue in Austin willing to take him, and the local Mastiff rescue is also searching for him a retirement home. If one is found this week, terrific. If not, I’ll drive him to Austin next weekend.
So starts Day 6 with Handsome.
NOT JUST ANOTHER PRETTY FACE.
Each new day with Handsome comes with new challenges and new accomplishments. While his appetite continues to improve, he obviously has a discriminating palet. California Natural Lamb & Rice in the can and one scoop of Candidae Platinum (it has glucosamine in it), three times a day. Nothing else will do.
This morning I was pleased to find him lying in a clean dry bed again. This is cause for celebration, not only because I know he hates lying in a soiled bed, but because I have gone through a full bottle of laundry detergent since Sunday, and few of my clothes are getting washed.
On our pre-breakfast walk, he actually attempted to lift a back leg and mark a tree. He managed only to lean into it, and point the stream in the general direction of the tree, but it was a good effort. He gives clear cues that he’s getting ready to poo, by pacing in ever small circles until he comes to a stop. This could take up to 5 minutes, which is awesome because it gives me time to get him out of the house.
I think the eye infection is starting to improve as well. The cloudy spot seems to be getting smaller, or maybe I’m just hopeful.
Sean, one of the corgis, is really irritated that he’s here. Maybe in Sean’s opinion, dogs shouldn’t be the size of ponies. Sean has never appreciated another dog looming over him, but Handsome has no choice in that matter. Even if he’s laying down, he’s still taller than Sean. One thing that Sean does appreciate, however, is that Handsome is a very messy eater. Sean likes to bat cleanup.
We’re still anxiously waiting to hear from Mastiff Rescue whether a foster home is available for him here in Oklahoma. While I love having him here, and I think he likes being here, I think he’d be much happier with canine companions of his own size and activity level. He seems to crave the companionship of my dogs, but they do not share his enthusiasm.
I’ll miss the old fellow when he’s gone.
ONE STEP FORWARD, TWO STEPS BACK
While increasingly social and increasingly vocal, Handsome’s physical health seems to be deteriorating. His urine is foul smelling and he’s starting to leak again. His back end is very weak and he cannot squat to poo. The poo sort of just falls out of him when he’s walking, or at night while he sleeps. It’s solid poo, and a lot of it, and man does it smell!
He’s developed ulcers on his back legs which I believe are caused by his efforts to stand. I have both wrapped now to provide some protection and promote healing. They are oozing through the bandages.
He seems unable to find a comfortable position. The orthopedic baby crib mattress is no longer soft enough for him. He’ll balance himself on the smallest cushion if he determines it to be the softest available spot. Is he in pain? Would that he could speak so I could ask him. Are you happy here? Do you want to continue?
He’s stayed the night with my sister last night. Her dogs are not afraid of him, and she has a larger yard. I missed him terribly. My morning seemed oddly vacant not having him to tend to. My own dogs were happy to have more of my undivided attention, and I appreciated being able to sit and have that cup of coffee on the patio with them and contemplate the day. Still, my mind returns to him at my sister’s house. What’s he doing? Does he feel I abandoned him too? Will he feel abandoned if he ever gets into the Mastiff Retirement Home?
Some days I see that he’s going to be OK,and will get through this. Other days I think, to what end and for how long? I’m encouraged because he is still social and because, while his appetite is not great, he’d do anything for a piece of cheese. He has a passion for cheese and having his ears scratched. A life without passion is not worth living, but is passion alone enough to sustain? Do I continue to drag this poor soul along? Should we preserve life, just to continue the breathing process?
He’s such a lovely soul, but his body is quickly deteriorating. Can we bring it back, and if we do how long will he be with us? Is it too late? Will the cost to him and me be too much? He’s lived a long life. I can’t stay if it was a good life, I can only say it was long. It is unbearable to believe Handsome lived this long without love and compassion in his life, so I must believe he once did. What happenedbetween a good warm loving home, and that cold lonely country road on Easter morning? Did he wander away? Where they vacation and he went looking for him? Are they still looking for him? Why no tags on his collar?
While many people tell me he is lucky I found him, but I say I am the lucky one. He has been gracious and appreciates any small gesture. He doesn’t want toys or expensive collars or much else besides a soft place to land and an affectionate touch. He has shown me that whatever the age or health or appearance, we all need respect and compassion. What is the next move…. how else can I show him respect and compassion?
RESCUED BY HANDSOME
After sending Handsome for a sleepover at my sister’s on Sunday night, I returned to get him Monday afternoon. He was out of all his medicines, the ulcers on his legs were getting worse, and Amy said he was distressed all night. I made another vet appointment for him.
When I got to my sister’s place, I went round the back to the yard where I was greeted by Polie and Lulu, the Jack Russell terriers. As I opened the gate, I saw Handsome laying on the patio. “Hey, Handsome” I said, walking through the gate and turning to close it behind me. He was by my side immediately. I didn’t see him get up (which always takes several minutes and much effort), I didn’t see him walk over…. he simply was at my side. He grinned, wagged his nub of a tail and leaned into me. He was clearly happy to see me.
Then, I noticed the strong smell of sick urine; a smell I remember from my corgi Ziggy who passed away from kidney failure many years ago. There was a light stream leaking from Handsome, now.
We drove cross town toward the vet’s office. Last week’s vet appointment had been with a young veterinarian I had never seen before, as my regular vet had been on vacation. Today we would see my vet, a seasoned veteran whom I trust to give me sound advice. As a holistic practioner, she uses more than modern medicine to the animals in her care.
Once there, Handsome seemed very anxious to get out of the car. It’s easier to get a 115 pound dog out of a car, than into it, but not by much. He sort of fell out of the car and I caught him, amazingly, and we both landed on our feet. The back of the car was urine soaked, as was I. Handsome walked straight up to the door, a little wobbly but with what seemed like purpose and waited for me to open it. There were some gasps from the other customers as we walked in. Some moved to the other side of the waiting room, others just stared. The floor was slippery and he fell, a pool of urine spread across the linoleum.
We were led into the examination room, where he collapsed at my feet. He was panting heavily now, something he had not done before. He placed his paws on my foot and looked at me. I rubbed his ears.
When my vet came in she let out an involuntary groan, then recovered quickly “Hello, old boy.” To me she asked “how old is he?” I told her I had no idea, as we had only met a week ago. She said that there was an amazing connection between the two of us, for us to only have known each other a week. I explained how we came to meet and that the other vet said he could have a pretty good life with some food and pain meds.
“He’s been a REAL blessing to you, hasn’t he?” she asked. I sobbed, nodding my head, and said something about how silly it was for me to be this attached to a dog I’ve only known a week. “He’s your angel.” she said, “it’s very important that you know that.”
I told her that Mastiff Rescue had offered him a place to live out his life in Austin. “That wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do,” she said. “He’s telling me he wants to stay with you.” More urine squirted out in short bursts, and Handsome’s body began to twitch. “He’s seizing, and that strong smell tells me his kidneys are shutting down. Honestly, I can’t believe he’s still alive.” The seizure stopped and he relaxed.
I asked her how long and she said “I think he wants to go now, but he wants you to be there.” Handsome licked my hand, and looked at me. There was that goofy grin again. “He’s telling me he’s ready to go, but let’s ask him again to make sure.” She had her assistant bring in different bottles of medicine. The bottles were all the same shape and size, but were labeled differently. She turned the labels to the back. Then she proceeded to muscle test on the different bottles. Muscle testing is a natural diagnostic tool. When she was done, she picked up a bottle and showed it to me. “Do you know what this is?” I shook my head that I didn’t. “This is euthansia medicine. This is the one he chose.”
Handsome turned toward me as I sobbed and he licked my face, confirming what the vet had said. After several minutes, I asked, “How old you do think he is?”
“Let’s ask him,” she said and motioned for my arm again. Counting up, she muscled tested for his age. “He’s just a few months shy of his 15th birthday,” she said. Then to be sure she retested it. “I’ve never known a Mastiff to live that long. The muscle test isn’t always 100%, but I trust it to be close.”
“Why did the vet tell me last week that he would be fine?” I asked.
“Because Handsome wasn’t ready to go last week.” she answered. “He wanted time with you. Hasn’t this week been a blessing for you?”
I had to admit that it had been. Nursing a stinky old dog with leakage problems and really bad breath; pulling off countless ticks and inspecting poo for worms doesn’t sound like a grand week, but it was indeed grand. The pain I was feeling at this moment was worse than any I had every felt before, but I do not regret taking responsibility for Handsome. Being in rescue for over a decade, I’ve had to be the angel of death for many dogs… dogs with temperament issues that could not be fixed, dogs with health problems that could not be overcome, and even my own dogs Ziggy and Doodles, when their times came, but never had it been this painful. Still with all that pain, I knew it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t send him to Austin. I couldn’t send him to another home. But, I could send him out of his pain, and reward him for blessing me the way he had. This is the first time I’ve not second guessed this difficult decision. It wasn’t my decision to make, it was just my job to facilitate it.
When he took his last breath, I felt lighter. The heaviness in my shoulders was gone. He went peacefully, with his head resting on my foot.
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Some readers may find this story a little “out there.” I admit I would too, if it had not happened to me. Even reading it back, I know I would find it hard to believe if someone else had written it.
I know there is a reason I met Handsome and felt such a strong connection to him and from him. I believe it was no accident that on Easter morning, the holiest day of the year, he was walking toward me down the middle of a road I wouldn’t normally be driving. In just one short week, I learned much from him. Patience, gratitude, unconditional love, celebration of small accomplishments, not worrying about little things, living life to the fullest, taking chances, appreciation of a little spot of sunshine, ear massages, and eating only the things you love (but in moderation). He inspired me to restart my passion for writing and do something with it. I dedicate this blog to him.
I was truly blessed by this chance meeting with an angel dog, and now I must go out and earn that blessing.
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