Goodbye, Daisy

If you follow this blog at all, you'll know I've had a very hard time posting since we lost Loretta. It's hard to explain, because we've had dogs since February 1974 - our first, Schatze, a rough coat collie, came to live with us less than two months into our married lives - and so we've had over the last 37 years what sometimes seems more than our share of good-byes. But Loretta was just special, and her death was so untimely.

We lost Loretta in November 2009, and we lost Daisy in November 2010. It was different with Daisy, though. She was 13 - a remarkable age for a golden retriever, an astonishing age in "big dog" land. Tony always called her our "two-fer." We contracted for Loretta before she was even born, and the breeder let us visit the litter about 3 weeks after they were born. So, we didn't even know who Loretta was yet, in a matter of speaking! When we visited at 4 weeks, Daisy had been returned to the breeder (per a contract that puppy purchasers must sign) because her owners didn't want her anymore. They were childless, got a designer dog because they couldn't get pregnant, got pregnant and then didn't want the dog. Daisy was 4 1/2 years old, and in critical health - basically, she'd been neglected physically, and worse in golden retriever land had been neglected emotionally. Tony and I said we wanted her, and the breeder said that she didn't think Daisy would live, but if her health turned around she was ours. So, two weeks before we were able to bring Loretta home, Daisy came home, too.

It took almost two years to turn Daisy around. She would do all the "good dog" things she was supposed to - ask to go outside, come when called, etc. But she had absolutely no joy. And then, all of a sudden - she came to life! She romped, played, barked, and generally became a no-good, worthless, rotten dog in the best tradition of such. She knew she was ours, and more importantly that we belonged to her. Every day after that was pure joy. Her physical health never compltely recovered - she had to stay on thyroid medication, and at about the time she emotionally recovered she got mast-cell cancer. We had a couple of tumors removed, but when she was about 10 one came on her side that was bascially too large to remove without a very difficult recovery, so we opted to leave well enough alone. And she lived another 6 or 7 happy years, so we did the right thing.

Every dog we've ever had has taught me something. Daisy taught me that it's perfectly okay to be silly, and that maybe there always is a warm bed, good food, people who love you, and most importantly, a way home.

The mobile vet

Yes, expensive, but worth it. About 3 years ago Emily started having seizures whenever we'd try to move her, including picking her up. As she has very bad arthritis in her hips, there are a number of things that require her to be picked up - for example, lifting her into the bathtub for a bath (she can't jump even close to that distance any more) and into the car for trips to the vet. She can no longer hop into the car. We solved the bath problem by buying an attachment for the kitchen sink so that we're able to hook up a hose, snake it through the living room, out through the garage, and into the back yard. Voila! Warm water for baths with no lifting or stress. We had the mobile vet (www.mobilevetaustin) to the house when she needed her routine physical, about 6 months ago. We knew it would most likely be pricey, but thought it might be the best solution. To my delight, although it was a bit expensive, I adored the vet - Carol-Lynne Meissner. She got right down in the floor with Emily and gave her a VERY thorough exam. Emily stayed on her pillow the whole time, primarily just enjoying hte individual attention.

A couple of weeks ago, Emily had a horrible gastrointestinal something going on. As it came on early in the week, Tony said, "Well, I just take her to the vet on Wednesday (his day off). I'll back the car up to the porch and she can just step right in." His thinking was 1) it would be easy (and different this time?) and 2) it would be a good deal cheaper than the Mobile Vet. As Carol-Lynne is "on the road," she doesn't have her own lab facilities, so everything has to outsource. Anyway. Emily had a very small seizure as we were getting her in the car (NO, of COURSE she didn't just want to "step in!). But, she had a MAJOR seizure when Tony pulled into the vet's parking lot. Like 2 or 3 minutes. Tony knows Emily is MY dog, and I'm truthfully surprised HE survived the episode. He called the vet from his mobile, and they came right out to the parking lot with a Valium shot - but by that time she was fine. Long story short (I know I know too late) he brought her home without any tests being run. Don't ask me why, he's a man, explanation enough. So, when Emily got worse later in the week, I called Carol-Lynne. She was out the same day, and gave Emily all the loving attention and good care that Emily deserved. YES, holy crap, it was expensive. But worth every every penny.

Emily seems fine now, still waiting on the last test result from A&M. I don't there will be any further discussion about Mobile Vet expense....

Can't save them all...

Had to say that to myself over and over again last Thursday morning. I was on my way to work - it had been pouring rain just a few minutes before. As I turned on to a side street off a VERY busy main street, I thought I saw a dog laying in the grass, not three feet from the busy road. "Couldn't be," I said to myself. And, of course, quickly said, "What could I do anyway?" But of course I turned around. I'm in the "new" car - the one with the ivory-colored leather seats....sigh. Sure enough, there's this big dog just laying in the rain. He looked at me, and I put out my hand, and he came right to me. Smoke colored with liquid brown eyes. What now? I opened the back seat door and he climbed right in the car, but immediately broke my heart as I could tell he had arthritis. I keep a blanket in the back seat for dog-transporting events, and he sat right down on it. Calm, sweet, old.

As he was male - and I'm pretty sure I heard him cough a couple of times - I had no choice but to take him to the animal shelter. I couldn't risk exposing the girls to whatever. One of the hardest things I've ever had to do. The guy there asked me to fill out paperwork, and I started crying. I think he thought it was my dog, that I was abandoning him, and he told me that I didn't have to complete it if I didn't want to. That solid stainless steel door clanging shut. Ugh.

I placed an ad in the paper, and on PetFinders. Called all the veterinarian offices in the vicinity. Drove the entire neighborhood Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Made sure his picture was listed on the animal shelter's website. But I haven't had the heart to go back and see if somebody claimed him.

If only I COULD save them all. Or better yet if they didn't NEED saving at all.

Life in the pack

Life with the other girls is good. Daisy turned 14 in April! That's old for any dog, and very old for a golden retriever. Ruby will be 12 in July - also impossible.

Our pack extends to our yard, as well. Squirrels and birds abound (and probably other things that I don't want to know about!). On Saturday morning, I had to do squirrel rescue. We have a pair of corn cob holders in the oak tree outside the living room window. They're a wire spiral, wider at the top than the bottom, and as they near the bottom the wire is coiled more tightly. We've had them up for years, but Saturday morning a squirrel managed to get caught in one - he somehow managed to get one of his toes caught in the lower part of the spiral. He was trying to get away in the opposite direction of the spiral, so he was only successful in getting himself (please don't ask me how I know it was a he...) more firmly stuck. I stood in the living room for a couple of minutes, watching him struggle, thinking about who I could call. When I saw him start trying to bite off his foot I knew it was up to me. So, in my robe, I went out and climbed up on the milk crate we used to restock the corn. Squirrel freaking out. Yep, toe firmly caught. I climbed down, grabbed my thickest pair of garden gloves. Back on the milk crate, I grabbed his foot in one hand (please don't bite me please don't bite me) and the holder in the other hand and twisted in opposite directions. Voila! Freedom.

Time for update

Obviously, this blog has been even more silent than the bead blog.

We lost Loretta the day after Thanksgiving. I'm still literally heartbroken. Just can't seem to move past it. I took a day off sick the 12th of November, which allowed me a few extra minutes in bed. Loretta rolled over on her back for a tummy rub, and as I was rubbing I felt this large swelling. She shifted, and I couldn't feel it...but I was just so sure I'd felt something. I got up and called the vet, and Tony and I took her out there that afternoon. They did an ultrasound, and found a tumor - a hemangiosarcoma - on her spleen. They removed her spleen on Friday. She didn't do particularly well after that, but enough so that we decided to put her on chemo. Loretta was one of those dogs that, even though a golden retriever, wasn't particularly animated. So, it wasn't always easy to tell if she felt bad. Anyway, we were going to start the chemo, which at best would have given us about 7 to 8 months, on Monday, but she didn't make it until then. She died at home late Friday night, only 8 1/2 years old.

Since then I've read that this kind of tumor isn't particularly uncommon in dogs, and is most common in German Shepherds and Goldens. It's very aggressive and the outcome is almost never good. I'll just say for now that we're in discussions about a new puppy - Tony is holding out, I'm as ready as I can be. We actually bought Loretta from a top breeder after loosing Susanna (the original Yellow Dog) to leukemia. We took every precaution that she was well-bred as possible to eliminate any kind of problems. Daisy - now going on 14, which is exceptionally old for a large dog - is from the same breeder. We miss her every day.