A Sweet, Short Life (from APRIL 20, 2015)

A week ago, I was just back from a trip to Mexico with my family.  I was very sick, sadly a common situation for me over the past few years.  I spent several days resting on my couch with my dogs keeping me company.  The three geriatric dachshunds usually hang out on the couch, each finding a way to be in direct proximity to me.  Layla, my German Shepherd, takes up most of the other couch, which sits directly under the window, so she can lay with her head on her paws watching the street below for suspicious neighbors (they are all suspicious, she says).  Cara, my 3 year old collie mix, spends most of her time about 5 inches from my left knee, wagging her tail tentatively and, whenever possible, nudging me.  Pet me, pet me, pet me.  It can be exhausting.  A firm voice is required to encourage her to go nap on her bed or to join Layla and watch for intruders.  Sometimes, though, I just ask her to sit and then pet her.  Maybe I make space on the couch next to me, and she quietly curls up there for a snooze.

My fourth day home, I woke up coughing a little less.  I could speak and not end up in bronchial spasms.  I could breathe through my nose, both nostrils.  I decided to get through the morning throat-clearing of nastiness and then go to work.  When I went to let the dogs out in the back yard, I noticed Cara, usually a very cheerful, tail-wagging bundle of doggy smiles, was walking slow, and hanging her tail down between her back legs.  She didn’t seem too interested in breakfast, either.  I managed to get her to eat a biscuit or two, but she was decidedly devoid of enthusiasm.  I was worried, but not terribly so.  Dogs eat weird stuff, and sometimes they don’t feel that great after eating, say, half of a pine cone or a hunk of dirt.  Still, I watched her while I was getting through the morning coughs.  At one point, my dachshund, Cassidy, started barking at something in the front yard.  Cara perked up and jumped up on the couch, staggering a little, then flopping onto her side.  She looked at me.  I patted the cushion next to me, which normally results in a blur of yellow dog, landing half in my lap.  She didn’t move, she just started panting.

I was on the phone with the vet within five minutes.  Something was very wrong with my dog.  She wasn’t getting up to follow me while I threw on some clothes and jammed my feet into my sneakers.  She wasn’t interested when I picked up my car keys.  Ultimately, I had to pick her up and carry her to my car, lay her in the backseat.  I drove to the nearest veterinary emergency clinic, and there had to pick her up again, hurrying her into the waiting room and checking in with the front desk. An hour later, I had a tentative diagnosis of anemia, and my dog was installed in a hospital cage for further tests.  It was confirmed that she was very anemic, and needed a transfusion.  I was advised that Cara likely had an autoimmune disease which was causing her to lyse her own red blood cells.  I was told that such diseases could sometimes be managed, but not treated, and that dogs generally had about a 50/50 chance of getting through their first crisis.  After that, about 30 – 75% died, despite treatment, within a year.  I felt sure Cara would be one of the small percentage of dogs that pull through and live long lives on medication.

In the end, Cara spent three and a half days in the hospital.  She received three transfusions and lots of immune-suppressing drugs.  I visited her Thursday, Friday and Saturday.  We sat in a room they furnish for visits, and I patted Cara continuously.  I brought a favorite stuffed toy, gorilla, for her to have in her cage.  She didn’t really want to play with it, but I tried to think it would make her more comfortable, anyway.

The first couple days, it seemed like Cara was just not going to improve.  She didn’t get worse, but she didn’t get better.  When her cell counts were high, she would eat, drink, even wag her tail.  When they were low, she just lay in my lap, her heart fluttering, too weak to keep her eyes open.  Saturday I spent hours at the nearby human pharmacies trying to get a new medication the vet wanted to try, then dropped the pills off and spent an hour with Cara in the visit room. She wagged her tail when she saw me, and walked somewhat energetically back to the room. She got up to greet the veterinarians when they came to bring water.  She ate her medicine and a portion of her dinner.  She did get tired quickly, and she was not the constantly playful, nudgy, exuberant girl I have grown to love over the past few years, but she was still sweet, gentle, friendly, and happy to get a long, long pat.  Sunday, her numbers were still going down, but much less slowly.  We even discussed having her come home for the night, though ultimately I decided to hold off, afraid of having her out of the veterinarian’s watchful eye.  I did get her crate ready for her return, and started thinking about people who might come check on her during the workday when she was home for good.

No good phone calls come after midnight.  So when my phone rang, I knew it was bad news, and I knew it was about Cara.  Her numbers went down, further down than ever.  She was really weak, and her heartbeat was too fast.  The vet said that in cases like Cara’s, if there is not improvement after three transfusions, there probably will not be improvement at all.  Even if she survived this crisis, it didn’t bode well for being able to manage the disease without seriously impairing Cara’s quality of life.  I got up and got dressed.  I brushed my teeth.  I drove to the clinic and rang the overnight doorbell.  I sat on the floor in the visiting room, now a different kind of room, waiting for Cara to arrive.  She came in slowly, but wagged her tail when she saw me.  Just a little, slow wag, but still, a wag.  She came over and pressed her head against my shoulder, and I hugged her, scratched her, and helped her lie down in my lap.  She lay there, her heart fluttering under my hand, and I patted her.  She hardly looked up when people came and went from the room.  The vet came in and patted her too, and then she gave her the injections.  A little water to flush the catheter in her arm.  A thick, white drug she pushed in slowly.  The pink stuff that comes at the end.  Little more than ten seconds, and my dog was just a body, blank eyes, limp limbs.  The vet asked if I wanted to sit with her, but I didn’t.  Cara was gone.  This body on the ground was not my dog.  I didn’t want to look at it.

I’ve lost other dogs, and have had to euthanize two of them.  I have never lost a young dog, though. The grief is different.  I keep thinking about all the things I thought I would do with her: more hiking, lots of walks, maybe therapy dog training.  I thought about things I promised her would come one day when the old lady dachshunds had passed on, like Cara sleeping on the bed, Cara always getting the couch spot next to me, Cara getting more snuggles, more pats, so many that she would have no need to be so nudgy.  But I am trying to think about the things that Cara did have, that I did have because of Cara.  So these are the things I will write about, now.

I met Cara at the Georgia Renaissance Festival, where a rescue group had a few puppies and a few kittens for adoption.  I knew right away that I was going to adopt her.  I didn’t have any plans to get another dog, but something about her eyes just made it obvious that she was going to have to come home with me.  She didn’t come that day, but I did fill out the forms and talk to her foster mom.  One week later, she came home to stay.

Cara was the first dog I ever had that loved stuffed toys, as in, truly loved them.  She bonded with them.  She had certain toys that she kept with her all the time, no matter how decrepit they became.  She also pinned my dachshunds sometimes if they came near one of the toys, and in fact, for the first few weeks Cara lived with me, I thought often that I had made a horrible mistake.  Fortunately, this behavior stopped pretty quickly, and anyway, there were so many wonderful things about Cara that I stopped doubting my decision to adopt her.  I took her to doggie daycare and she greeted everyone, every morning, with a happy smile, a giant tail wag, and sometimes a hug.  She became the social facilitator dog, brought out to meet newbies and help them integrate into the bigger group.  She learned fast, and though sometimes she seemed very aloof towards me, she did insist on sitting in my lap in the car.  I allowed it, until she got too big for it to be at all safe.  It took a canine seat belt attachment to get her used to sitting on the passenger side. She loved going on walks, hikes, or really anywhere.  She greeted every creature with a grin and wagging tail, tolerated intense, long embraces from my young nephew, and slowly, she seemed to become attached to me.  It took a long time.  The first time I realized she had bonded to me was about a year after her adoption.  I went to nap at my parents’ house, lay down on a sofa in a quiet room away from the other people, and Cara, though she really did love meeting and playing with new people, finally came over and lay down on the floor next to me.  Though she did look up and wag her tail when other people came into view, she stayed there, with me, until I decided I was done resting.  After that, I never needed a leash to get her to the car or feel secure she would not run off during a hike.  She always followed me, and I guess I felt like I had finally been chosen.

The past year has been a little tough for me. I have been getting sick a lot, and missing a lot of work, and spending portions of my last two vacations too ill to leave my room.  I lost some weight, then gained it back.  I’ve been fighting off depression for the past few months.  All of my dogs are special to me, and I know pet owners will understand what I mean when I say that they all have their unique contributions, none of them replaceable.  Cara is the sunshine.  I have had many dogs, known many dogs, loved many dogs, but I have never known any animal … or possibly any person … as happy as Cara.  She smiled, as some dogs do, and she did it often.  She wagged her tail, and she wagged it the direction dogs wag when they are truly being friendly.  She knew not to jump on people, but sometimes she just had to rear up and hug a person, and she gave those hugs out to strangers, readily.  She sat and cocked her ears and waited for her reward: a kind word, a pat on the head, a biscuit.  She woke up happy and went to sleep happy and walked happy and ran happy.  When something challenged her, like say another dog stealing her toys, she found a way around it: she just hid the toys from the other dog, and checked on them now and then when nobody was paying attention.  When she was hungry and it wasn’t time for dinner, she silently pushed open the food bin latch with her nose and shoved her head under the lid. If I came into the area, she ran up smiling, wagging her tail, and sat, the epitome of well-behaved.

I’m going to miss that constant ray of light.  I hardly knew how much I relied on it.  It will be nice not to have to put heavy objects on the food bin (Layla doesn’t do naughty things, even when I can’t see, and the dachshunds can’t reach).  It will be nice not to find paw prints on the edge of the kitchen counter (another silent strategy of Cara’s for finding illegal but delectable tidbits).  I’d say it will be nice not to have constant wet, black nose on my laptop keyboard begging for attention, but in truth, I already miss it.  I wish I’d never told her to go lay down and leave me alone.  I wish I’d taken her on more walks, and cut that mat off from behind her ear, and let her sleep on the big bed.

Mostly, I miss the smiles.

#dogs #collies #pets #adoptingdogs #rescuedogs #euthanasia #hemolytic anemia

Canine therapy

Cara with her favorite toy

My collie mix, Cara, passed away suddenly and unexpectedly from hemolytic anemia.  One of the most immediate and difficult results was that my German Shepherd, Layla, became practically unmanageable.  She whined constantly.  She was pacing around, edgy, in need of exercise but unwilling to spend time in my large fenced in yard if I was not there, too.  She barked nonstop from the large roofed kennel where she has always been content when I am not home.  She had a hard time listening to easy commands that she mastered years ago.  She was miserable and clingy and I was not enough.

I spent more time with Layla, and I spent more time in the back yard, too, so that she would play and wear herself out a little.  Still, she whined and paced.  When Layla came to live with us, she was supposed to be a visitor.  She was a stray, thin, collarless and covered in ticks. She had been dropped off at a wildlife rehabilitation center where I was volunteering.  I agreed to take her home for the weekend after attempts to find a microchip failed.  She was to go into foster care with a local rescue or perhaps to be reunited with her owner, if I could find him or her, but while I worked on these things, she would stay with me and perhaps provide some playtime for my young collie mix, Cara.  Cara was about a year old.  She was playful, loved other dogs, and never met anyone that wasn't a friend.  I figured she would have fun with this shepherd, and if things didn't work out, it was only for a few days.

Layla (stealing Cara's toy ... )

Of course, if I am being honest, I knew by the time I got home with Layla that I was probably going to keep her.  She got in my car readily and almost immediately lay down and put her head in my lap. When I figured out that someone had been beating her, probably with a stick,  I stopped looking for her owner.  I didn't ever call the rescue.  Layla spent days wooing Cara, who resisted a bit, I think because she knew Layla would end up being the dominant dog.  After a few days, Cara gave in, and the two of them became good friends.  They had their spats, but still, they kept each other company and protected my back yard from the vicious pug next door and the various menacing neighbors strolling down the street with baby carriages or, particularly threatening, other dogs.

I knew, when Layla was having trouble after Cara's death, that she needed a new companion.  I couldn't afford another dog, however, especially given the amount of money I owed to the vet for Cara's care.  I spent more time training Layla, gave her more attention, spent time outside, debated various training classes I could attend with her.  However, her barking and whining, particularly when I was not home, kept increasing.  It was reminiscent of the first few months Layla lived with me, when she broke out of numerous 'unbreakable' and 'inescapable' crates, was asked not to return to doggy day care after spending all day trying to scale the fence, and caused at least one pet sitter to have a nervous breakdown.  I built an outdoor kennel specifically for her, and added a section for Cara so that Layla had company outside.  They had a mesh panel between them, because otherwise I knew Cara wouldn't be allowed to keep hold of her many and beloved toys.  There was no more barking, no more escaping, and I was able to keep pet sitters.

Without Cara, Layla was again unable to handle the separation from me that working full-time required.  I hated that she was so unhappy for so much of the day.  I started looking through adoptable dog lists, searched for training classes that might help reduce her anxiety, and considered putting her on medication for separation anxiety.  During that time, I saw a picture of a puppy who looked a lot like Cara had, as a puppy.  I started emailing with the rescue group that had the puppy, and eventually agreed to take Layla to the rescue's location.  The woman that ran the rescue had worked with many German Shepherds, and I hoped she would have some advice.  I honestly did not anticipate that I would take another dog home with us; I was not sure I wanted another dog, even if I could afford it, which I could not.  I just wanted some help figuring out how to help Layla.

It was a 2 hour drive to the rescue's location.  Layla panted and drooled in the back seat, excited and nervous.  She often kicks into overdrive when I take her out.  We ended up in a very rural part of south Georgia, slowly passing endless long dirt driveways that disappeared into thick foliage.  The woman from the rescue had to meet me at an intersection of two equally empty, narrow roads so that I could follow her to the proper house.  The rescue center was essentially a private residence with a dozen enormous crates inside, each containing a dog, and many large kennels outside, each of these with several dogs inside.  I walked Layla to the gate of a small fenced-in area to the side, and the rescuer went inside to fetch the puppy.  When the puppy came out, she ran to Layla immediately.  Layla barked and started circling me, keeping the puppy away from me.  The puppy hovered out of range watching us, but did not try again to approach.

The rescuer watched us for a while and then pointed out that Layla was trying to protect me from the puppy.  I had to carefully make it clear to Layla that I was not in need of her protection, and she did start to calm down, allowing the puppy to come closer.  Still, Layla was clearly nervous.  I exited the yard and waited on the back porch.  The rescuer worked on getting Layla to calm down, and after quite a while, she did.  She allowed the puppy near.  She never, during any of this, growled or otherwise threatened the puppy.

The rescuer seemed reassured.  I, however, was now sure that I was not going to bring in another dog.  I told the rescuer this, and she was quiet for a few minutes, watching Layla.  Finally, she said she really thought I should try the puppy out at home.  She said that if I didn't bring in a new dog soon, it might be too hard for Layla to handle, and that this puppy was just the sort of dog that would be a good companion for Layla if she would accept that I was bringing the puppy into the pack.  Taking the puppy home with us might be exactly the thing to demonstrate to Layla my intention.  I resisted at first, but eventually was convinced to take the puppy home on a trial basis.

The puppy, a smallish brown-red dog with a bushy tail, was very shy. She wouldn't let me approach her, and barely approached me, particularly with Layla watching.  When the rescuer put the puppy on a leash and started walking her towards my car, the puppy thrashed around like only dogs completely unacquainted with a leash will do.  She dug her heels in.  She refused.  Eventually, the rescuer picked the puppy up and brought her to my car, where Layla was waiting and watching from the back seat.  When the puppy was set down on the seat next to Layla, there was no visible reaction.  Layla was completely focused on me, enormous triangular ears alert and upright.

The rescuer closed the door and leaned in the front passenger-side window, which I had partially rolled down.  She told me to stay in touch, and I assured her that I would, thinking to myself that I would be back in a few days to return the puppy.  I headed home, a long drive with two quiet, watchful canines in the backseat.

I thought about the puppy during that long drive, and checked on her regularly in the rear view mirror.  She sat very still, watching me intently.  She was probably 30 pounds, tall and lean, 8 months old so unlikely to grow too much more.  She was dwarfed by Layla's 70 pound, muscular build.  She had been a feral dog until about three months of age, running with her mother and litter mates in a rural neighborhood.  The rest of her pack had been euthanized because they were so wild that they could not be safely adopted out.  This puppy had been sweet, but shy, and the rescuer had been determined to save her where everyone else had said no, it was not worth it.  Now this shy and slightly wild dog was in my car.  A few short hours later, she was in my house.

There were a number of interesting things that occurred that first day.  First of all, Layla completely accepted the puppy the moment she was put in that backseat, and showed absolutely none of the anxious behavior she had exhibited at the rescuer's house.  Secondly, my trio of geriatric dachshunds showed no concern about the puppy when she came in the house, no concern about the puppy sleeping on my bed with them, no concern about the puppy at all.  I have fostered many dogs over the years, and this has never happened before.  Never.  Thirdly, the puppy, once she was at my house, was less shy.  It took her a day or two to approach me without hesitation, but she slept soundly draped partially across my legs and quickly took to sitting behind me on the couch, her head resting on my shoulder.

A few hours after I had brought the puppy home, I looked up from my laptop to check on her. She and Layla had been napping on an adjacent couch.  Neither of them were paying any attention to me, and they didn't notice that I was watching them.  The puppy was wagging her tail slowly and poking Layla's neck with her nose.  Layla started wagging her tail, too, and within a few moments they were playing, carefully, on the couch.  The puppy was pretty active, jumping around and mouthing Layla's head, while Layla lay still, gently play biting the puppy.  I have to say that I never saw quite this kind of play between Layla and Cara.  Between them, there was always a tiny bit of tension.  Layla and the new puppy, however, were completely relaxed.  Careful, exploring, gentle, relaxed.  In the yard that afternoon, they played chase and had bouts of wrestle/bite play where Layla would lie down on the ground and allow the puppy to maul her head and legs.

About a week later, I was standing at my kitchen sink and watching Layla and the puppy run around outside.  I realized that the puppy had one of Cara's old toys, more of a rotten rag by now, and that she was baiting Layla with it, hanging it in front of her and then darting off, over and over.  Layla was playing along, not really trying to steal the toy but giving chase, anyway.  Eventually she did grab the toy away and bounded off, but stopped and waited for the puppy to catch up and try to steal the toy back.  They played this game of keep away for a pretty long while, and I was amazed.  In the past, toys had been a source of competition for Layla and Cara.  Cara would never have allowed Layla near her when she had a toy, and inside, she hid all toys behind the couch and only barely pawed at them when Layla was not watching.  In the yard, she hid the toys in the ivy and only retrieved them when she was far from Layla and had enough space to make a run for it if Layla tried to approach.  When Layla and Cara were in the outside kennel, they were separated by a mesh wall so that Cara could have her toys and enjoy them, unmolested.  It was a sight to see, Layla and this puppy playing a relaxed and clearly noncompetitive game of keep away with a toy.  I removed the mesh divider from the kennel, giving them one larger and shared space for the time I am away from home.

Loki on her first adventure to a patio restaurant

I named the puppy Loki, after the Norse God of trickery.  Loki was considered a trickster, usually malevolent, and was male.  My puppy Loki is female, and definitely not malevolent, but she is clever, and very playful, and she found a way to charm my lonely German Shepherd.  She also has become the kind of companion that the rescuer was sure she would be: a good friend, a submissive friend, a playful friend that Layla adores.  Layla quit her whining, barking, pacing, and overall anxious behavior the day that Loki joined our family.  That would be enough for me to love Loki, but she is also a sweet dog who, once she learned she could trust me, became the most cuddly, affectionate dog I have ever had.  She literally falls asleep with her foreleg stretched across me.  It makes me laugh because I find human spooning to be a little claustrophobic, but with Loki, I just feel flattered that she has so much confidence in me.

I give up on thinking that dogs are pets you choose.  Sometimes, sure, you choose a puppy or a dog, but most of the time, they just come to you.  And when they do, you have to open up your doors and your heart to whatever they are going to give you. It may not be what you thought you wanted ... but it will be what you need.

#adoptingdogs #dogs #pets #rescue