a dog's dash

"...but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years."

 (from The Dash, by Linda Ellis copyright 1996)

I've been missing Bennie a lot this past week.  Maybe it's the holidays.  Maybe it was my birthday, which is when I usually reflect on the previous year rather than on New Year's Day.  Or maybe it's just that my heart has healed enough to allow my brain to start thinking about her again.

I still can't believe that she's gone.  That little dog was a fighter from the moment she wandered into my life right up until the moment she took her last breath.  I knew she would fight the ending.  I told Mitchell that she would.  I worried so much about it that I considered putting off the appointment for another day.  I wanted her to give up, but she wouldn't.  Her body had given up;  it was her spirit that hadn't.  Her final days consisted of a cycle of her lying down on the bed, sleeping, and going out to the bathroom.  She had stopped eating altogether three days prior.  Her seizures had increased in frequency and in severity.  I witnessed two that I thought would take her life.  Yet, still she fought.

She fought the injection by the vet.  She had to be catheterized.  She jerked her leg back again.  I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, "STOP!!!  JUST STOP!  I'm taking her home!"  But, I didn't.  I knew that it was time to let her go.  I knew that her life had lost all pleasure.  I mean, really.  This dog had lived to eat, and now she couldn't be enticed by any of her favorite treats.  I knew that she must be in pain.  Her liver was not working properly.  She was toxic.  It had affected her brain.  I knew that it was time.  I knew that my duty now was not to take her home and keep trying to keep her alive.  I knew that it was my job, my duty, my responsibility, to help her die.  I knew that I loved her enough to face that task.

I left her side and went to the end of the table--to her head.  I cradled her little face in my hands, and I buried my face into her cheek.  "You can go now," I whispered.  "It's OK to let go.  You don't have to fight anymore."  I felt her relax--not from the sedative, but from the comfort of having me close.  She stopped fighting.  She trusted me, and she let go.  She let one last sigh pass through that perfect, little, black, wet nose, and she left her no-longer-useful body behind.  She left me behind.

I debated about sharing her last moments.  I felt guilty for telling her to go when I so desperately wanted her to stay.  I felt like a fraud for putting her to sleep when I should have been doing more to keep her alive.  I felt like a failure for not being able to fix her. 

But, the truth is that I had already fixed her--at least a couple of times.  I had already saved her life.  She probably wouldn't have lived more than a few years longer if I hadn't found her.  She was so heavily infested with heartworms that her heart would have become unable to beat.  She was nearly bald and would have likely lived in constant pain and discomfort from her irritated skin.  She was not yet spayed and would have probably become pregnant again and again, bringing litters of unwanted puppies into the world and becoming more and more depleted and malnourished with each pregnancy and nursing cycle.  She would continue to wander loose, perhaps being hit by a car, maybe being picked up by someone with less than noble motives, certainly never knowing as much love as I would eventually feel for her. 

She wouldn't have received treatment for her heartworms, or if she had, she may not have survived.  She nearly died on me following her second injection.  She wouldn't have had the x-rays that revealed the pain that she lived with daily, her ribs splayed outward on one side, her left rear femur bone had been out of the hip socket for so long that it had created a pseudo socket from wearing down the pelvic bone, and her left rear kneecap refused to stay in place due to the angle of her hip.  She wouldn't have received the care she needed when one of her molars became infected.  It was during the pre-anesthetic bloodwork for that tooth extraction when her liver issues were first hinted at.  She wouldn't have been on a daily supplement to support her liver from that first early warning. 

She wouldn't have survived the gall bladder issue that emerged in May 2012.  She had only missed one meal.  Most owners wouldn't rush their dogs to the vet over that.  I did.  I knew better.  The stars aligned and she received an ultrasound that day that diagnosed the severity of the problem.  Her vet had just been to a workshop on the same topic.  She knew that surgery was the best solution, but didn't feel that Bennie would survive it.  She prescribed a medication that was compounded especially for Bennie.  I believed that she would heal, and she did, surprising every vet who had seen her.  She wouldn't have been put back on the gall bladder medication when things seemed "off" again later that year.  She wouldn't have had the last sixteen months.

And when she had the first seizure, she might not have gone to the vet immediately.  She may not have been diagnosed as being in the end stages of liver failure.  She may not have gotten the medication that helped her body shed the toxins that were building up within it.  She may not have gotten a choice of chicken salad (from Leblanc's, not Albertson's) or hot dogs or cat food or cooked chicken or whatever-she'll-eat.  She may not have been able to stretch a two-week prognosis into a two-month process of living each day to the fullest--a prolonged kiss goodbye.

She would not have had any of these experiences.  She would have lived and died in Indiana.  She would have never seen the inside of a U-Haul truck on its way to Chattanooga.  She would have never lived on or near a mountain.  She would have never spent a week without power after an early Nor'easter.  She would have never been to the city that housed the famous coffee shop where her namesake "donuts" were made and sold by the millions every year. 

She would have never, ever, ever have been as loved as deeply, madly, truly as she was by me.  And, I never would have known what an amazing little soul she was.  I wouldn't have been saved by her.  I wouldn't have known her constant and faithful companionship.  I wouldn't have experienced her soft moments.  My life would have been much emptier.

I miss you, Bennie.  More than words can ever say...

In memory

Beignet

~4/1/97-9/16/13

a perfect gentleman

re: need a foster for an 8 year old PERFECT lab in Baton Rouge
This fellow came from the Baton Rouge shelter.  He is housetrained and gets along with all dogs.  He is incredibly sweet and has perfect house manners.  He is ½ thru his heartworm treatment.  He is easy to keep calm.  His foster mom is pregnant and getting close to her due date.  Can any one  foster him for 3 weeks????


That was the email I responded to when I agreed to foster Bach.  It was March 7, and he came to me on March 12.  My 3 week, easy fostering assignment has turned into a 7-weeks-and-counting mission to save a dog's life.

Bach is the sweet, good-mannered boy described in the email.  He's clearly lived a rough life.  His elbows and heels are heavily calloused, and his teeth are worn down to nubs, probably from chewing on rocks out of sheer boredom.  He hates to be outside without a human, and he loves tennis balls with an obsessive joy.  He climbs on the couch to snuggle, and he flops over on his back to wriggle and scratch at least four times a day.  He really is a wonderful dog.

There's no telling how he ended up in a shelter at his age, but it's clear that he wasn't valued by the people tasked with caring for him.  He had not been neutered, and he tested positive for heartworms, a preventable and potentially fatal parasitic infection.  He was saved by the rescue organization and neutered.  He was then treated for the heartworms, a risky and potentially fatal procedure on its own.  And then, I realized that he was occasionally dripping urine.  
 
Combined with the fact that he had some weakness in his hind end, we guessed that he had some sort of nerve damage.  The rescue coordinator was advised by one veterinarian to euthanize Bach, because he was "unadoptable" as he was.  I urged her to at least have him examined by another vet to determine what the cause might be and whether there might be any medical options available.  I let her know that I was committed to his care and wanted to give him every chance possible.  I bought him custom made belly bands, and I cut up blue pads to use as "panty liners."  I made special beds for him in his favorite spots (right next to me) that could be washed easily and kept the floors protected.  I started giving him homeopathic drops.

As suspected, an X-ray showed that two of the sacral vertebrae are closer together than they should be, indicating that the disc between them is likely bulging or ruptured and pressing on the spinal column.  This explained both the urinary incontinence and the difficulty getting up in his hind end.  We added steroids to his daily regimen of an NSAID, glucosamine, and chondroitin.  I ordered two more belly bands.  Bach continues to be a happy guy, unaware of any problems.  He sometimes goes for days without dripping, and then he sometimes drips all day. 

I urged the rescue coordinator to put out an emotional plea for Bach, and we both shared it far and wide.  I hoped for an immediate response from someone with a big heart and a patient soul who wanted to give him the retirement home that he deserves.  No such offer has yet come in, but we have been contacted by a chiropractor who would like to help.  She has offered to treat Bach without charge.  Again, I become hopeful.

I believe in a forever home for Bach.  I know that he didn't survive his rough life, his time in the shelter, and his heartworm disease and treatment only to be "put to sleep" over some dripping pee.  I'm sure that there's someone out there for him.  I imagine him leaving my house to have his happily ever after, and I'm doing everything I can to get him ready.  He's learned to take treats nicely and gently.  He knows how to sit now, and he sits for his food and treats.  He has become acquainted with cats, and he's learned that they exist on level somewhere above even the humans in the home.  He walks well on a leash, rides well in a car, and (sort of) understands what "go potty" means.  He's an old man with some medical needs and some routine maintenance requirements, but, other than that, he's absolutely perfect.

Bach's Petfinder profile can be viewed at: http://search.petfinder.com/petdetail/25746894.

Update!  
Bach was adopted and is a much loved family member living in the Bronx, NY.  The day after meeting him, his new parents wrote:

"Yesterday morning we went up to Exit 14 in Spring Valley arriving at 8:30.  A large van was in the parking lot giving a family a dog.  The driver said that he was going off to Danbury, Connecticut and that another van would soon arrive.  About 10 other cars arrived with children and adults  At 9:00 a.m. the second van arrived.  Each family stood in a row holding a leash.  The driver asked, "What's the name of your dog?"  Then the driver went into the van returning with their dog.  There were yellow and black Labs and an assortment of other dogs.  They were all wagging their tails and all the families had smiles on their faces and were joyful.  The driver came over to Val and asked her dog's name.  "Bach" she said.  The driver went into the van and walked back with Bach, the king of all the dogs who was wagging his tail.

We brought him home and he played catch most of the day.  His tail never stopped wagging.  We love him and he loves us!  We gave him his pills and his dinner at 6:00 p.m.  He is loving, beautiful and friendly--we feel he has adopted us.  Bach is a great dog.

Thank you for all you do for Labs and for bringing Bach into our lives."





 

1 question

While enjoying one of my favorite pastimes, i.e. randomly surfing the Internet, earlier this week, I came across the website of a self-described "spirit guide artist/clairvoyant." She offers the opportunity to ask one free question of your spirit guide via email. Figuring that I had nothing to lose, I shot off an email. I asked, "How should I proceed with my parents?" (You know there's a story there, but I will save it for later. The tale has yet to completely unfold.)

The response came just 12 minutes later. I guess both the clairvoyant and my spirit guide had pretty open schedules that day. Lucky for me, huh? The answer was simple, if not a bit vague. My spirit guide said, "Love each of them for their own qualities, stay open, let go of the judgment, and stay on a Spiritual Path."

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit perturbed by the suggestions. Perhaps I was hoping for something more like, "Screw them! They don't deserve you!" or, "Stick to your guns and wait for them to take responsibility for their roles in the situation." I must have read and re-read the email about six times. I was annoyed that I was being asked to be the "bigger person." The part of me that believes that life should be just, even when it's not fair, was pissed! I had wasted my one free spirit guide question on this??? I wanted a do-over!

Still, I didn't delete it. I decided to think about it and to see what, if anything, it might mean to me later. It had touched a nerve, so I knew that it could have some validity somewhere. I also couldn't shake the feeling that something in its essence reminded me of my grandmother's unwavering plea to me regarding my difficulties with my parents in years past. She used to say, "Just be sweet." Me, sweet? Hardly a word I would use to describe myself, but if Nanny saw it, it must be there...however deeply buried.

I don't know what happened, but while I was washing dishes this evening, I thought about that email. It's not unusual for me to have moments of clarity while performing mundane chores, so I went with it. I thought about how I wasn't exactly ready to follow each piece of advice offered by my free email spirit guide with my parents, but I decided that each was something that I could strive for in my interactions with others in general.

Therefore, I declare that my New Year's resolutions (or intentions) will include:
1. Loving others for their own qualities.
2. Staying open.
3. Letting go of judgment.
4. Staying on a Spiritual Path.

Thanks, free email spirit guide. And, thanks, Nanny.
xoxoxo
Shannon