Old Man/Big Brother

So much has been written, since before writing was even formalized, about pets, especially the domesticated dog. He has been companion, bearer, hunter, protector; he has soothed us, warmed us, worked for us and been abused by us. Still through it all the dog remains, indeed, one of man's best friends. Poets have praised their courage and loyalty, authors have expounded on their soulfulness and apparent ability to "know" us. Scientists are learning more about and extolling their extraordinary intelligence and their ability to help the sick and injured.

Dog ownership seems to fall along a continuum. On the one end is the "working-only" dog; the dog who has no place in the heart of humans, but rather is kept because there is a job to do. On the other end are the "accessory dogs"; the dogs who ride in purses, have more jewelry than I ever will, have outfits for every occasion and who define anthropomorphism to (creepy) extreme. Most of the dog owners I know are somewhere in between, but more towards the accessory dogs than the other end. Dogs in my world are part of the family. Our dogs inevitably share our lives. Whether that sharing includes our physical space ("dammit Blue, move over!") or something less tangible, we are as committed to them as we are to each other. OK, yes, that sounds crazy-I would definitely save my CHILD before my dog if there was a fire-BUT, I would go back for the dog- just sayin'.

The commitment we make to our pets (I am focusing on dogs at the moment) is not taken lightly, nor is it lightly let go.An interesting example is our dog Blue. He is an aussie/heeler mix who desperately needed a home at almost two years of age. We took him after we met him and decided there was a good rapport. Blue suffered from separation anxiety; first when he was suddenly put outside, away from the person who had brought him home as a tiny pup, never to be brought in again, and second whenever we leave the house. Now being an inside/outside dog, Blue has plenty of opportunities to vent his frustrations. Add to that, the fact that Blue is deaf, and the normal "tone of voice" methods have zero effect. In the first year we had him, Blue chewed up my wood window blinds, an ottoman and my passport, among various and sundry other interesting items. I could have very well taken Blue to a shelter and not given another thought and in fact began the process of trying to find him a home...Oh wait, I COULD NOT do that. My commitment to Blue is unconditional. Instead, we keep working with him, loving him and learning/teaching sign language.Soon he put on some weight, the stress-induced rash that he came with cleared up and he is now a genuine (if sometimes challenging) part of our family.

Another huge part of our family for the past eleven years has been Calvin, a rottweiler/shepard/?? mix brought home by my husband before he and I met. Calvin became David's medicine; providing the unspoken and unconditional love that helped David navigate some very painful times. When he and I met, David paid close attention to Calvin's reaction to me (as did I to my dog's reaction to him-ahem). Calvin and I hit it off immediately. His big, sweet, slightly goofy demeanor was offset by how protective he could be of us, our house, the car, etc. He was, however more bark than bite. A year after my papillon, Cricket, died, we brought another papillon into the house. Twelve week-old Baci followed Calvin around from day one. Calvin, initially impatient with the teeny little fella, eventually became Baci's best buddy. We took them everywhere we could. Our trips from NM to CA were always done by car so we could take "the boys" with us.Then came Nora. Born in 2005, I am sure Calvin saw Nora as a hairless, sometimes stinky, sometimes loud, squishy creature who needed too much of our attention. He was patient, though and when introduced on Nora's 3rd day of life, was nothing but gentle, if a little stand-offish. In time Calvin became her protector too; laying next to her stroller or car seat if we were in the yard. And so the years went quickly by; Calvin chasing anything we threw-going into a stream or the ocean to get a ball or stick; Living for belly rubs and quietly staying within sight of us, no matter which room; and barking at "interlopers" be they toddlers being guided up the street or the meter reader walking onto HIS property. Through the years, Calvin had never really been acutely ill. He was diagnosed with hypothyroidism, so he took meds; he had a bad tooth so it was removed; he decided to mess with my cat and she nearly removed his inner eyelid (the vet finished the job); and once he got into David's fishing gear and came out with a treble hook in his lip. Other than that, we were extremely lucky, and probably somewhat oblivious to the fact that he was nearing 13 yrs.

One day our boy slowed way down. He refused to eat-a huge red flag. We watched him a couple of days and he kept drinking water and became mobile again. After the fourth day he ate again, although slowly. We decided to take him to the vet. Now, I am nothing if not thorough so when the diagnosis came from the first vet and sounded kind of wonky, I called two more (one my cousin) and we then took him to a fourth where he had an ultrasound. The vet came in and the news was impossible; our boy was dying. His kidneys were failing and he had an enormous tumor on his spleen (neither of these things being unusual for older, big dogs). It would be a crap-shoot as to which would kill  him first There weren't a lot of options. We could do surgery to remove his spleen, but that would have been akin to putting a100 year old grandfather with bad kidneys under the knife. We could bring him to the vet several times weekly and leave him 24 hours at a time while he had diuresis (an IV infusion of fluids). We could take him to the vet for subcutaneous infusion of fluids (a quicker but still not so comfortable option for Calvin). Or, we could take him home, spoil him rotten and wait for the first signs that he might be near suffering, at which time we would say goodbye and have him put down.

We chose the latter.

From that night on, I made him dinners that included baked chicken, baked potatoes (with butter), pork roast, hot dogs, steak, and ice cream (Please, no comments about how ice cream is bad for dogs - kind of like telling a terminally ill patient  to watch their saturated fats...). I made him liver treats (a noble but odorous and somewhat disgusting task) from a recipe given me by a friend.  I fed  him by hand when necessary, made sure he had water everywhere in the house and made him a bed at the foot of ours out of a merino blanket and a down comforter. He did relatively well. He had two nights where we thought we had reached "the point", but both times he rallied and was mobile and hungry the next day. One night his breathing had me concerned and when David went to bed he saw me curled up on the floor with Calvin and sound asleep-he left me there. It all felt like such a reprieve. Calvin greeted us in his same old tail-wagging-where's-my-dinner-way for so many nights that we could almost...almost, forget he was not going to make it. We had no idea what would take him first; his kidneys giving up or the tumor rupturing and bleeding out. I prayed all the time that when the time came we would be home so we could do right by him (the thought of him suffering until we got home from work devastated us). Then one night he seemed a bit slow once again. I put him on the bed this night and curled up with him. At 5:30a the next morning, exactly three weeks after his diagnosis, I told David that I thought it was time. Overnight, Calvin had gone from mobile to unable to stand for more than a few seconds, his breathing was rough and his tummy distended. At 10:40 that morning we took him to the vet. The vet very respectfully and kindly let us hold Calvin-he lay across both our laps while I held his head. As the catheter was inserted into his leg, I told him to just look at me-and he did, with those trusting brown eyes. I am sure he knew it was time. When the euthanasia meds were injected, death came quickly and quietly to our boy and David and I just sat there, holding his lifeless body, and sobbing into his thick, soft, black fur..

I never thought I would react as I did when Calvin died. I had, after all, expected this outcome.I had lost pets before; death is part of having pets. This time, though, I had to go outside the vet's and put snow on the back of my neck to keep from throwing up. Perhaps I was dehydrated from crying all morning, or cumulatively exhausted by the past month, but whatever it was, it was palpable and visceral. On our way home, I realized that during the past three weeks, I had secretly, desperately, hoped that some sort of miracle would occur and Calvin would be fine.Turns out he outlasted all predictions and we were lucky he lived, and lived well, for as long as he did.

Our pets-they never live long enough...

Twenty-four hours later we still look for Calvin, keep calling his name accidentally and are trying to give some extra loving to little Baci who seems a bit lost without his lifelong pal. Am I anthropomorphizing? You bet! And when we are ready, and we start looking at shelters and rescues for a playmate for Blue, we will do the same. I am thinking a youngish (not puppy) female, with the same interests as Blue (chewing, chasing shadows and balls)- is there an online dating site for dogs?

While we waited to go to the vet that morning, we all cuddled with Calvin and Nora started singing a song from the Muppets:

Saying goodbye, why is it sad?
Makes us remember the good times we've had
Much more to say, foolish to try
It's time for saying goodbye


RIP Calvi - XOX




Climbing on my soapbox now - Some facts:

• Black dogs are less likely to be adopted than white or other light-colored dogs. 
• Allowing a dog to have puppies creates the potential for exponential increase in the numbers of dogs-many likely to not have homes and who will die in shelters.  
• Approximately 5 million to 7 million companion animals enter animal shelters nationwide every year, and approximately 3 million to 4 million are euthanized (60 percent of dogs and 70 percent of cats)
• Twenty-five percent of dogs who enter shelters are purebred.
• The cost of spaying or neutering a pet is less than the cost of raising a puppy or kitten for one year.