We took Shipley away on the 21st so he could be at the Florenceville animal hospital bright and early on the 22nd. Time for surgery on his right leg. The day I had been waiting for and dreading since the last surgery in June.
First we walked him down the hall in the waiting room so Shannon, the vet, could see how he walked. After a needle that made him nice and sleepy, (I really should have taken pictures of Joseph laying on the floor cuddling him while he fell asleep) Shannon came in and checked out his leg. Her news was encouraging yet not. She felt there was not a lot of damage, but lots of arthritis. I didn't like the sound of him being full of arthritis at such a young age. But we would deal with it.
Once things were moving along, we left and spent the day out doing "stuff". We first drove to my grandparents grave. It is leaning a bit forward and needs to be straightened and there was an old floral arrangement that was mostly just wire and foam. I wanted to take a couple of pictures of the stone so I took the holder off the stone and Joseph wiped it down a bit. I felt a bit sad, walking away. I don't normally visit graves but I will go back again next time we are up that way. My sadness stemmed from the fact that I may be the only/last one in our immediate family to visit their grave. Robert doesn't go anywhere. He has no need of heading to Woodstock/Hartland so he won't go there. Lenora and Glendon do travel but they have no need of going that direction, either. Maybe someday Lenora will want to go and will make a point of going. She always has been the one who knew who was related to whom and how they were related. I doubt if my parents will go that way again. Dad with his heart problems along with issues with his legs..he just can't drive that far right now and I don't know if he ever will again. Mom with her memory problems, now nervous about driving. I doubt she would set out to go visit the grave. I am not one to visit graves because I know they are not there...oh sure, their bodies are, but Gram and Gramp don't care if we visit their grave or not. It isn't important to them nor to me. I have my memories and I know I will see them again some day. Where they are buried isn't a big deal. Yet...I have been there twice...so there is something that draws me there.
We left and did a bit of shopping. Not much because we knew the bill from the vet was going to be high.
We ate at a Chinese restaurant that I really enjoyed. Many "Chinese" restaurants I have been to haven't been good places...there is very little Chinese food and one place I went to was just scuzzy. If it had been clean and friendly, I might have enjoyed the food but I couldn't enjoy food from there because it wasn't really clean and the people who were running it weren't really friendly...and it was COLD in there. The place we went to this time was different. Plenty of Chinese food. (I know, most of the food they call Chinese isn't)...This place has a great selection and a buffet that wasn't over the top expensive. Nor was all the food covered in sauce so sweet that you almost went into sugar shock. We both enjoyed the food.
We got the call that the surgery was done while we were finishing up eating so we headed back to see our pup. Granted, when we got there, he had NO idea we were there since he was still snoring away but we sure were glad to see him. Shannon told us the damage was WAY worse than what she had originally though the tendons and Meniscus were both totally "shattered" (her words). BUT, there was little arthritis! THAT is a good thing. She could fix the tendons and meniscus. She wouldn't have been able to fix the arthritis. She managed to get 4 strands of line in this leg and the kneecap didn't need any work since it had tightened up and had seated back into the proper position. Another plus. :)
The next day, on the 23rd we picked a sore, groggy dog up and loaded him into the vehicle. He was already touching his toes on the ground and seems to be doing very well. He cried a lot on the boat, so Joseph laid down on the blanket beside him and cuddled him (as much as you can cuddle a 115lb dog.) That settled him right down and he slept the rest of the trip. (I did take pictures of that one) He slept good all night and this morning has been up and outside twice, putting a bit of weight on his leg each time.
So that adventure is almost over, except for the healing. I wonder what comes next.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Children-grand children.
I have a step-grand baby...well, really a toddler/little boy, but still he is my grand baby and maybe the only one I will ever have. My oldest, Sam, doesn't want kids and has several good reasons for her decision. My youngest doesn't want kids of her own. She is not a "baby person"...neither of my girls are for whatever reason and I respect that.
My youngest, Bryen, went into her marriage with her eyes wide open. She knew she would have a stepson and she was ok with that. Unfortunately, due to someones meddling, the baby's mom was led to believe that Bryen hates babies and wanted nothing to do with the little guy. Nothing could be further from the truth. She doesn't want to have children, but is perfectly ok with this little guy...and since the mom finally started giving her a chance, Bryen and her husband, Claude, have had the chance to get to know Sky who is a very loving little boy.
He doesn't talk much yet. He CAN talk, he just chooses to make noises instead. I am sure this kid could charm crows out of the trees because he can sound exactly like a crow, along with many other sounds. And his laugh is contagious. When he laughs, you can't help but laugh with him.
He is far from perfect and can throw a temper tantrum with the best when he is tired. But so can most. And even then, in full tantrum, I can be serious and let him know I am not going to put up with it, but at the same time, I can laugh because it isn't a big deal anymore. I guess that goes along with being older when you are dealing with kids. It was harder to deal with a tantrum when I was younger.
Now, many people tell me "Oh, your girls might change their minds, they are just young yet." Yes, that is true, but they are also 25 and 27. Old enough to know their own minds and if they choose to not have children, then I don't think it is fair for me to hold onto hope that they will change their minds. I would LOVE to have more grandchildren. But I refuse to pressure them and hoping that someday they will change their minds may put pressure on them without me realizing it. Would they love their own child? I am sure of it. But if they don't want kids, then I hope they never have one.
The world is changing. The girls and I talk about it often. Parents thrown in jail for disciplining their child. Not beating or abusing, just swatting the child on the butt for bad behaviour...someone sees it and the parent ends up in jail. Yes, it has happened here in Canada. :/ Kids have a "You can't touch me" attitude as they are told from early age that parents can't touch them. Bryen and I have talked about genetically modified foods. It is in the news now...and the more you learn about them, the scarier it gets. They don't have to be labeled, they ARE on the market and we aren't being informed. We talk about chemicals in foods that make children mature MUCH faster than they should. We talk about wars and pollution and all that sort of thing and that is another reason she doesn't want a child...she doesn't want to bring kids into a world that seems to be falling apart at an ever increasing rate. I cannot fault her for that.
Once in awhile I feel a pang of regret that I will never have blood grandchildren to snuggle and spoil but then I look at all the things I have to be thankful for. My children are happy and healthy. They know what they want in life. We have a very good relationship and they can talk to their father and I about pretty well anything. I refuse to wish for MORE when I have so much already.
My youngest, Bryen, went into her marriage with her eyes wide open. She knew she would have a stepson and she was ok with that. Unfortunately, due to someones meddling, the baby's mom was led to believe that Bryen hates babies and wanted nothing to do with the little guy. Nothing could be further from the truth. She doesn't want to have children, but is perfectly ok with this little guy...and since the mom finally started giving her a chance, Bryen and her husband, Claude, have had the chance to get to know Sky who is a very loving little boy.
He doesn't talk much yet. He CAN talk, he just chooses to make noises instead. I am sure this kid could charm crows out of the trees because he can sound exactly like a crow, along with many other sounds. And his laugh is contagious. When he laughs, you can't help but laugh with him.
He is far from perfect and can throw a temper tantrum with the best when he is tired. But so can most. And even then, in full tantrum, I can be serious and let him know I am not going to put up with it, but at the same time, I can laugh because it isn't a big deal anymore. I guess that goes along with being older when you are dealing with kids. It was harder to deal with a tantrum when I was younger.
Now, many people tell me "Oh, your girls might change their minds, they are just young yet." Yes, that is true, but they are also 25 and 27. Old enough to know their own minds and if they choose to not have children, then I don't think it is fair for me to hold onto hope that they will change their minds. I would LOVE to have more grandchildren. But I refuse to pressure them and hoping that someday they will change their minds may put pressure on them without me realizing it. Would they love their own child? I am sure of it. But if they don't want kids, then I hope they never have one.
The world is changing. The girls and I talk about it often. Parents thrown in jail for disciplining their child. Not beating or abusing, just swatting the child on the butt for bad behaviour...someone sees it and the parent ends up in jail. Yes, it has happened here in Canada. :/ Kids have a "You can't touch me" attitude as they are told from early age that parents can't touch them. Bryen and I have talked about genetically modified foods. It is in the news now...and the more you learn about them, the scarier it gets. They don't have to be labeled, they ARE on the market and we aren't being informed. We talk about chemicals in foods that make children mature MUCH faster than they should. We talk about wars and pollution and all that sort of thing and that is another reason she doesn't want a child...she doesn't want to bring kids into a world that seems to be falling apart at an ever increasing rate. I cannot fault her for that.
Once in awhile I feel a pang of regret that I will never have blood grandchildren to snuggle and spoil but then I look at all the things I have to be thankful for. My children are happy and healthy. They know what they want in life. We have a very good relationship and they can talk to their father and I about pretty well anything. I refuse to wish for MORE when I have so much already.
Friday, August 9, 2013
A couple of months ago someone noticed that Shipley was "tucking" his hind end as if he was in pain. I hadn't really noticed but after that, I started paying attention and realized that his hind end was generally "tucked under" as if something hurt him. He wasn't running like he used to although he had never run very fast and he preferred to play while laying down. Then one day he tried to jump over a small brick wall that was less than a foot in height. His front end made it...his hips hit the bricks quite hard. He did not fuss or even yip but it was obvious it hurt him and he spent the rest of his play time laying down, trying not to use his hind legs. I called a vet and made an appointment.
A few days later we were off to the vet. The results broke my heart. After manipulating his knees, and almost getting "punched" in the face (She hurt him, so Shipley tried to hit her in the face with her nose. His mouth was closed but she kind of accused him of trying to bite. She didn't actually say it, but her words suggested that he tried to bite.), the vet decided to put him under and do some x-rays. The results: Cruciate disease and Luxating Patellas. In other words, his tendons in his hind legs were badly torn and his knee caps were snapping off to the side due to not being seated right. While some of this might be chalked up to his breed, most of it would probably come from being locked up in that little 5x5 room for the first 6 months of his life. :( (After that vet manipulated his legs, the left one started making "clunking" noises when he walked. Not clicks but actual clunks! I think that when she manipulated it, she tore the last bit of tendon that had been holding the bones together. I will NEVER go back to that vet clinic due to that and the way we were treated)
The vet told us we would have to take him to a different province and the cost of the surgery (called TPLO) for each leg would be in excess of $5000...not counting travel and room. I was devastated and very close to tears. We don't have that kind of money. We were given NO options...this was the ONLY thing they said would help him. I wondered if my pup would have to be put down...and then I thought "No". I would not put my pup down. If I couldn't afford the surgery, I would surrender him to the rescue I got him from if I had to...they often fix animals that are in need like my pup was/is. But first, I started sending messages to vet friends letting them know what was going on. I included the vet, Shannon, who runs the rescue where I got Shipley. Over the next few days the messages flew back and forth between us. I got the vet hospital where I got the x-rays done to send the films and notes to Shannon. She and another vet believed a different type of surgery could be done. If she hadn't, we were considering a wheelchair for him.
We agreed to try this other, cheaper, surgery which consisted of putting the equivalent of 3 pieces of 80 lb test fishing line in his legs (along with hardware to hold it there, and deepening the "v" where his kneecap was supposed to sit so it wouldn't keep snapping out. A couple of weeks later, we were off for surgery. Thankfully we had friends we could stay with while off the Island.
Shannon went in on her afternoon off to do the surgery! That is dedication. Four hours (or so) later, surgery was done on his left leg. Oh, my heart ached for my puppy when he woke up in so much pain. I knew he was going to feel better after a few days, but how do you explain that to a dog? All we could do was sit on the floor, pat and talk to him and try to keep him calm. Joseph was determined to sleep in the clinic overnight, on the floor, with no blankets, so he could be with the pup. I talked him out of it since Shipley would be sedated anyway. We left but were back early the next morning to see him. The pain was less but it would be awhile before he walked on it. Already his range of moment was more than it had been as he was holding his hind leg way up, close to his body. Further than he had been able to hold it up before. We headed home later that morning.
Ten days later, I took a video of Shipley walking slowly down the driveway on a leash. He limped badly but he was doing well. Now, almost 2 months after surgery, he puts plenty of pressure on the left leg. Thankfully his right leg isn't as bad. It gets tired while walking (only 17 or 18 minutes twice a day) but not horrible pain. We are trying to build up some muscle in his hind end...very slow going. Especially when I am trying to work, my dad had another heart surgery that had me away from home for a week and it has been raining so much this summer. *sigh* But we keep trying.
Shipley still lays down most of the time to play. He may always do that. But it is obvious the pain is MUCH less. We moved our bedroom into the basement (partially finished, so we have bathroom, bedrooms, kitchen, laundry, living room all downstairs) so Shipley doesn't have to climb stairs. Hopefully by Christmas he will be able to do steps again.
In another month or so, we will get the second surgery done...hopefully taking care of the remainder of the pain.
Monday, February 4, 2013
New puppy.
After losing Melmo, my heart was broken. Mo had been part of our family for 12 years and 9 months. The hole he left in our hearts was immense. Our home became too quiet. Our 10 year old dog, KC ate and slept, but he was lonely. He was growing old quickly. KC had always looked and acted so young that people thought he was a pup. His bounce was gone and his face took on a time worn look.
As far as Joseph and I, we walked into the house and were constantly looking for Mo. We couldn't get used to the idea that he was gone. I cried often...not that I felt that was wrong...I believe in grieving for family members and our pets are part of our family.
One evening while checking out the internet, I found a 6 month old pup that had been rescued from a 5 x 5 sun porch. He was a skinny, 65 lb. Great Dane Mix. He was mostly black, with a white, spotted chest, a long tail and Doberman colouring. He was beautiful and of course, his story touched my heart. He was so filthy from living in there 24/7 and it seldom, if ever being cleaned, that it took 3 baths just to make him presentable. His muscle tone was so bad when rescued that he couldn't run. He would try, fall, get up and try again. Thankfully, being a puppy, it didn't bother him much. He spent his first weeks of freedom with a vet and then was fostered by a woman who was running a doggy daycare.
I wasn't ready for a new dog...but I went back and read his story again. I asked questions about him and decided to put in a pre-application for just in case. Since I knew the vet who ran the rescue, my application was accepted immediately. I had mentioned "Manley", the pup, in the application. It wasn't long before the foster mom called me. I was getting more excited but still held back. I knew, when we lost Mo that I was going to have another dog, but hadn't planned on a pup. Manley was still young...by this time he was 7 months. But when his foster mom said he was gentle, I teared up and said "We used to call Melmo our Gentle Giant". And I made arrangements to go to the mainland on Sunday to meet this gentle pup. I told the mom that the only reason I wouldn't take him would be if KC wouldn't accept him.
We discussed names because Manley just didn't fit this puppy. We wanted something nautical. My daughter, Bryen, has a pup named Mayday. My nephew has a boxer named Trawl. But try as we might, Joseph and I didn't agree. He came up with some good ideas, but either they didn't work for me or I would say "No...there is already a dog on the Island with that name." Being dog constable for 7 years came in handy when it came to dog names. Eventually we exhausted nautical names and I said "Look, the foster moms last name is Shipley. I know it isn't nautical, but it sounds like it could be...and since this is the foster moms first time fostering, I think it would be nice to use her name for the pup." My husband agreed. Some people might think it would be insulting to have a dog named after them, but those of us who love dogs know it is actually a compliment!
Sunday came and we got lost a few times heading to Keswick, but we made it there and found the foster home/doggy day care. Manley was brought in to meet us and we told the workers there of the name change. As I thought, the foster mom took it as a compliment and the other workers thought it was great. Once Manley, now Shipley settled down with us, we brought KC in. They got along well, even with food present. Although KC chose to put Shipley in his place a couple of times, he never actually touched him, just growled and snapped at the air. Shipley accepted KCs authority. After about 1/2 an hour, I told them we were taking Shipley home with us. Paperwork was done and we headed home.
We have only had a few problems with Shipley, mainly due to his chewing...the sofa, the wiring in my vehicle, the carpet in the vehicle, my new boots....but he has quickly been forgiven and given the proper things to chew on....and not left alone in the vehicle for even a few minutes. Why he is house trained, I will never know. I guess he is happy to be able to go outside, do his business and come back in because the only times he has made a mistake in the house were the times I didn't listen to him when he told me he needed to go outside. It didn't take many puddles for me to start paying attention.
KC plays now and although he still looks older, it just makes him look more dignified. Shipley has ballooned from 65 lbs to just over 100. I hope to have him weighed again soon, to find out how much more he has gained. He is a big puppy and still has a lot of growing to do. And yes, he IS gentle. We have not allowed him to jump at all. When someone comes in we can be heard saying "Four on the Floor, Puppy!" We haven't even taught him to give us his paw. Those things are HUGE and heavy! No hitting people with his paws.
I am so thankful I saw that pup online. Shipley has filled each of our hearts. There will always be a part of us that misses Mo, just as we still miss our other dogs. They are never far away in our hearts and minds. It is because of our previous dogs that we knew we wanted another dog. I know many people feel that they cannot put themselves through loving and losing another pet. I feel that I can do it because I still have a lot of love left to give a dog. And they give so much back to us.
As far as Joseph and I, we walked into the house and were constantly looking for Mo. We couldn't get used to the idea that he was gone. I cried often...not that I felt that was wrong...I believe in grieving for family members and our pets are part of our family.
One evening while checking out the internet, I found a 6 month old pup that had been rescued from a 5 x 5 sun porch. He was a skinny, 65 lb. Great Dane Mix. He was mostly black, with a white, spotted chest, a long tail and Doberman colouring. He was beautiful and of course, his story touched my heart. He was so filthy from living in there 24/7 and it seldom, if ever being cleaned, that it took 3 baths just to make him presentable. His muscle tone was so bad when rescued that he couldn't run. He would try, fall, get up and try again. Thankfully, being a puppy, it didn't bother him much. He spent his first weeks of freedom with a vet and then was fostered by a woman who was running a doggy daycare.
I wasn't ready for a new dog...but I went back and read his story again. I asked questions about him and decided to put in a pre-application for just in case. Since I knew the vet who ran the rescue, my application was accepted immediately. I had mentioned "Manley", the pup, in the application. It wasn't long before the foster mom called me. I was getting more excited but still held back. I knew, when we lost Mo that I was going to have another dog, but hadn't planned on a pup. Manley was still young...by this time he was 7 months. But when his foster mom said he was gentle, I teared up and said "We used to call Melmo our Gentle Giant". And I made arrangements to go to the mainland on Sunday to meet this gentle pup. I told the mom that the only reason I wouldn't take him would be if KC wouldn't accept him.
We discussed names because Manley just didn't fit this puppy. We wanted something nautical. My daughter, Bryen, has a pup named Mayday. My nephew has a boxer named Trawl. But try as we might, Joseph and I didn't agree. He came up with some good ideas, but either they didn't work for me or I would say "No...there is already a dog on the Island with that name." Being dog constable for 7 years came in handy when it came to dog names. Eventually we exhausted nautical names and I said "Look, the foster moms last name is Shipley. I know it isn't nautical, but it sounds like it could be...and since this is the foster moms first time fostering, I think it would be nice to use her name for the pup." My husband agreed. Some people might think it would be insulting to have a dog named after them, but those of us who love dogs know it is actually a compliment!
Sunday came and we got lost a few times heading to Keswick, but we made it there and found the foster home/doggy day care. Manley was brought in to meet us and we told the workers there of the name change. As I thought, the foster mom took it as a compliment and the other workers thought it was great. Once Manley, now Shipley settled down with us, we brought KC in. They got along well, even with food present. Although KC chose to put Shipley in his place a couple of times, he never actually touched him, just growled and snapped at the air. Shipley accepted KCs authority. After about 1/2 an hour, I told them we were taking Shipley home with us. Paperwork was done and we headed home.
We have only had a few problems with Shipley, mainly due to his chewing...the sofa, the wiring in my vehicle, the carpet in the vehicle, my new boots....but he has quickly been forgiven and given the proper things to chew on....and not left alone in the vehicle for even a few minutes. Why he is house trained, I will never know. I guess he is happy to be able to go outside, do his business and come back in because the only times he has made a mistake in the house were the times I didn't listen to him when he told me he needed to go outside. It didn't take many puddles for me to start paying attention.
KC plays now and although he still looks older, it just makes him look more dignified. Shipley has ballooned from 65 lbs to just over 100. I hope to have him weighed again soon, to find out how much more he has gained. He is a big puppy and still has a lot of growing to do. And yes, he IS gentle. We have not allowed him to jump at all. When someone comes in we can be heard saying "Four on the Floor, Puppy!" We haven't even taught him to give us his paw. Those things are HUGE and heavy! No hitting people with his paws.
I am so thankful I saw that pup online. Shipley has filled each of our hearts. There will always be a part of us that misses Mo, just as we still miss our other dogs. They are never far away in our hearts and minds. It is because of our previous dogs that we knew we wanted another dog. I know many people feel that they cannot put themselves through loving and losing another pet. I feel that I can do it because I still have a lot of love left to give a dog. And they give so much back to us.
Me holding KC, Joseph holding Shipley
What bear? I didn't do it, mom!
Mayday, KC and Shipley after a hard day of play
Mom said I am not allowed to lay on the couch. I'm not laying....
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Losing Melmo
It has been ages since I last wrote anything. This seems like a good time to update a bit. I won't promise to write more often because I know I won't.
Sept 4th was a hard day for our family. Our old dog, Melmo, was put to sleep on that day. A week prior to that, he had lost his mind. Literally. He did not seem to recognize us. He was in panic mode all the time. Confused, anxious, scared. Nothing soothed him, not even the 10 Valium that he took every night just to keep him calm enough to keep him from hurting himself. It made him sleepy but he actually slept very little. He had gone from a house dog to not wanting to be inside. He broke our pen, so he had to be tied and for some reason, he was ok with that. We didn't have a dog house, so I had a piece of plastic draped and taped over a couple of things to make a shelter for him.
On Melmo's last night, I went to the basement door so I could check on him. He sat in front of the door, as if asking to come in, for the first time in over a week. I opened the door, untied him and let him inside, then went to the couch and sat down. Mo came over, put his front feet up on the couch and looked at me like he had a million times before. I saw recognition in his eyes for the first time in days. I saw Mo. I patted him and talked to him, hoping against hope that the Mo I knew was back to stay. But about 4 minutes later, he was back to pacing, and panting...the confusion was back again and he no longer knew who I was. For a moment I hugged him tight, then, he pulled away and I broke into tears. I knew that our Mo wasn't coming back.
I felt that I had been given those few minutes to realize how much Mo had changed. To understand that something was desperately wrong with my old dog and that it wasn't going away. Doggy dementia. That is what the vet called it. We could try all sorts of drugs but in the end, it wouldn't have changed the outcome. Our Mo was gone. And as we thought about it, we realized that he had been slipping away for some time. We chalked the changes up to old age. After all, Mo was a giant breed who was "supposed" to live 8 to 10 years when you go by the average age of dogs over 100 lbs. He was now 12 almost 13 had he lived until January 10th. At times Melmo had panicked but we felt that it was because, in his old age, he had become sensitive to noise. He didn't like staying at home anymore so I took him mowing with me. He never had cared to go but now, he was a constant companion along with my other dog, KC. He couldn't jump anymore, so one seat was removed from the back of the Aztek to make it easier for him to get in and out.
In that last week, Mo not only broke the pen, he broke the baby gate that kept him out of the spare (cats) room. He had never done that before. He went in the bathroom and messed all over the place...it was almost impossible to get him to settle down and stay out so I could get it cleaned up (this is the short version as the long version would take too long to type) so I had put him in the pen to keep him out of the bathroom, which is when he broke the pen. He got into stuff he had never touched before...but the whole time, he never turned aggressive so even though our last memories are difficult, we don't have any aggression in our memory.
So on the 4th we traveled to the mainland. Mo was calm, but not normal by any means. My daughter, Sam, wanted to be there, too. She might be an adult now, but Mo had been there for so many years that she wanted to be able to say goodbye to him. I also took my other dog, KC. I felt he had the right to know what was going on. My husband, Sam, KC and I went into the room together and after giving him the shot to make him sleepy, the vet left us. It wasn't as simple or as quick as that...we talked to the vet about his symptoms, she told us we could try this or that, but when she asked for our opinion I told her that we felt that if we took him home again, it would be for us, not for him. That we felt it best to have him put down as his quality of life was almost non existent. Not with the fear, anxiety and panic that he was having. She felt we were making the right decision and gave him the first shot so he could relax. We surrounded Mo and let him know how much we loved him and what a good dog he had been but that now it was time for him to rest. And slowly Mo relaxed and slipped into a deep sleep.
The vet came back and we knew it was time. We made room for her on the floor as she prepared the final shot. As I am certified to euthanize, I knew exactly when Mo slipped away from us. It was quickly and calmly. He was ready to go...he didn't wake up and he didn't fight it, not even a little bit. We all burst into tears and the vet was kind enough to leave us for awhile. Even KC lost his ever present smile and pushed between Sam and the wall. He knew his friend of 6 years was gone. Eventually we managed to pull ourselves together and get Mo into the back of our vehicle, wrapped in a sheet. We took Sam back to her place and then headed home for Mo's last trip.
We buried him that night under the trees, next to Gypsy who we had lost just months before we got KC. I asked Joseph if he wanted to get a backhoe in to do the work but he refused. He told me that he had to do this himself. KC stayed in the vehicle. Eventually, the hole was dug and Mo was buried.
The next day I was outside tending to the chickens when I realized KC had disappeared. I called and after several seconds, he came up the driveway from the spot where we had buried Mo. He had never gone there before and I believe he went to say his own goodbyes to Mo. He has never gone back there since that day although he has had the opportunity.
On October 28th, two days past my birthday, Shipley, a 65 lb, 7+ month old, bundle of energy moved into our home. He had survived a life of neglect and I was lucky enough to find him. But this isn't the time for Shipley's story. This story belongs to Melmo. Shipley can wait for another day.
Sept 4th was a hard day for our family. Our old dog, Melmo, was put to sleep on that day. A week prior to that, he had lost his mind. Literally. He did not seem to recognize us. He was in panic mode all the time. Confused, anxious, scared. Nothing soothed him, not even the 10 Valium that he took every night just to keep him calm enough to keep him from hurting himself. It made him sleepy but he actually slept very little. He had gone from a house dog to not wanting to be inside. He broke our pen, so he had to be tied and for some reason, he was ok with that. We didn't have a dog house, so I had a piece of plastic draped and taped over a couple of things to make a shelter for him.
On Melmo's last night, I went to the basement door so I could check on him. He sat in front of the door, as if asking to come in, for the first time in over a week. I opened the door, untied him and let him inside, then went to the couch and sat down. Mo came over, put his front feet up on the couch and looked at me like he had a million times before. I saw recognition in his eyes for the first time in days. I saw Mo. I patted him and talked to him, hoping against hope that the Mo I knew was back to stay. But about 4 minutes later, he was back to pacing, and panting...the confusion was back again and he no longer knew who I was. For a moment I hugged him tight, then, he pulled away and I broke into tears. I knew that our Mo wasn't coming back.
I felt that I had been given those few minutes to realize how much Mo had changed. To understand that something was desperately wrong with my old dog and that it wasn't going away. Doggy dementia. That is what the vet called it. We could try all sorts of drugs but in the end, it wouldn't have changed the outcome. Our Mo was gone. And as we thought about it, we realized that he had been slipping away for some time. We chalked the changes up to old age. After all, Mo was a giant breed who was "supposed" to live 8 to 10 years when you go by the average age of dogs over 100 lbs. He was now 12 almost 13 had he lived until January 10th. At times Melmo had panicked but we felt that it was because, in his old age, he had become sensitive to noise. He didn't like staying at home anymore so I took him mowing with me. He never had cared to go but now, he was a constant companion along with my other dog, KC. He couldn't jump anymore, so one seat was removed from the back of the Aztek to make it easier for him to get in and out.
In that last week, Mo not only broke the pen, he broke the baby gate that kept him out of the spare (cats) room. He had never done that before. He went in the bathroom and messed all over the place...it was almost impossible to get him to settle down and stay out so I could get it cleaned up (this is the short version as the long version would take too long to type) so I had put him in the pen to keep him out of the bathroom, which is when he broke the pen. He got into stuff he had never touched before...but the whole time, he never turned aggressive so even though our last memories are difficult, we don't have any aggression in our memory.
So on the 4th we traveled to the mainland. Mo was calm, but not normal by any means. My daughter, Sam, wanted to be there, too. She might be an adult now, but Mo had been there for so many years that she wanted to be able to say goodbye to him. I also took my other dog, KC. I felt he had the right to know what was going on. My husband, Sam, KC and I went into the room together and after giving him the shot to make him sleepy, the vet left us. It wasn't as simple or as quick as that...we talked to the vet about his symptoms, she told us we could try this or that, but when she asked for our opinion I told her that we felt that if we took him home again, it would be for us, not for him. That we felt it best to have him put down as his quality of life was almost non existent. Not with the fear, anxiety and panic that he was having. She felt we were making the right decision and gave him the first shot so he could relax. We surrounded Mo and let him know how much we loved him and what a good dog he had been but that now it was time for him to rest. And slowly Mo relaxed and slipped into a deep sleep.
The vet came back and we knew it was time. We made room for her on the floor as she prepared the final shot. As I am certified to euthanize, I knew exactly when Mo slipped away from us. It was quickly and calmly. He was ready to go...he didn't wake up and he didn't fight it, not even a little bit. We all burst into tears and the vet was kind enough to leave us for awhile. Even KC lost his ever present smile and pushed between Sam and the wall. He knew his friend of 6 years was gone. Eventually we managed to pull ourselves together and get Mo into the back of our vehicle, wrapped in a sheet. We took Sam back to her place and then headed home for Mo's last trip.
We buried him that night under the trees, next to Gypsy who we had lost just months before we got KC. I asked Joseph if he wanted to get a backhoe in to do the work but he refused. He told me that he had to do this himself. KC stayed in the vehicle. Eventually, the hole was dug and Mo was buried.
The next day I was outside tending to the chickens when I realized KC had disappeared. I called and after several seconds, he came up the driveway from the spot where we had buried Mo. He had never gone there before and I believe he went to say his own goodbyes to Mo. He has never gone back there since that day although he has had the opportunity.
On October 28th, two days past my birthday, Shipley, a 65 lb, 7+ month old, bundle of energy moved into our home. He had survived a life of neglect and I was lucky enough to find him. But this isn't the time for Shipley's story. This story belongs to Melmo. Shipley can wait for another day.
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