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.

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....

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.