So, I’m leaving the base yesterday afternoon when the Hobbit called, a tremor in her voice: “Lady’s bleeding,” she said.
Now Lady, as long time readers know, is the Venerable Bird Dog. She’s been with us for eleven years and a bit. Since Eldest Daughter was 5 and Youngest Daughter 2. She’s never been terribly bright – they breed that out of setters, I think – but for unalloyed sweetness, love and loyalty you could do no better. She’s the kind of dog that’s always happy to see family, always keen to make friends. She loved nothing better than going on a hunt, even though she wasn’t particularly talented that way. She’d start to groan with anticipation when the guns came out of the locker, and moan all the way to the field, checking into an immediate “kennel point” once she finally escaped the car.
Too goofy though, and would run on and on with all the wild smells in her nose, and all the open spaces to race through and the joyous sound of the wind in her ears that must have blocked out the shouts and curses from those she’d left behind. We haven’t taken her out in the last couple of years. She isn’t young anymore and she’s carrying around a few more pounds than she ought to (are not we all?) but she, at least, doesn’t know it. Refuses to acknowledge it. An eleven year old puppy that’d run with delight until her heart broke.
Always happy to see you at the door, the kind of tale wag that made her whole body writhe in delight, even if you only just left the house and immediately returned, having forgotten your car keys. Dogs have no sense of time passing. No sense of mortality.
Even walking by her in her sleep at 4 AM you’d get a tale thump or two on the deck. Glad to see you. Against her best canine instincts she even tolerates the intolerable, if only because she knows that’s what the rest of us would want.
And she was very, very sick. How sick I couldn’t know, they don’t allow you to use cell phones in the clinic. But she’d been lethargic lately, hadn’t been eating much and had coughed up much of what she did get down the last day or so. We agreed in that “maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after” kind of way that we should probably run her by the vet if things didn’t get better. And now she was bleeding. And at eleven years and a bit, that couldn’t be a good thing.
Wife and Eldest Daughter were already at the vet’s clinic as your correspondent sat steaming, bashing his forearm on the wheel in soul destroying, afternoon rush hour traffic on the way to pick up the Kat, herself being then at the barn. I’d called her on the phone, told her what was going on, asked her if someone might take her home or did she want to go with me to the vet’s? In case we had to say goodbye. Would she want to come for that?
“It’s OK,” she replied, which of course doesn’t mean anything. It’s just the kind of thing a 13-year old kid says when she’s just received an unexpected blow to the solar plexus. One of those little temblors that warn of a change in the time line, a change in the way things have always been. They way things have been expected always to be. I understood, and waited. It was only a few seconds later when she told me in a firm, brooks no argument tone, “Pick me up. I want to go. I want to see her.” Proud of that kid.
She jumped in the car with a smile on her face when I got to the barn, strapped on her seatbelt and immediately broke into tears, sobbing. “We don’t know, kiddo. Maybe she’ll be fine,” I said.
“I know,” shuddering.
So we talked of horses for a while instead, and those happy thoughts passed the time until we got to the clinic. Found the Hobbit looking up at us with her eyes red, the Biscuit at her shoulder in support. A welcome sight, even in unwelcome circumstances. It’s been loggerheads of late, when it hasn’t been hammer and tongs. Teen aged girls and mothers. But family pulls together.
The Biscuit called the Kat over to sit in her lap in the little room. Lady was in the back somewhere, out of sight. I knelt down by my wife who was still trembling – she cries when the dry cleaning goes out – and told her it was nobody’s fault. Things get old, they wind down. It’d be OK. We’d know soon. She managed to somehow nod and shake her head at the same time. For a woman that experience and necessity have made strong, she can be such a soft thing at times. She takes too much on her shoulders.
–
“Pyometra,” the kindly veterinarian said after walking into the waiting room. An infection of the uterus. Quite common in unspayed females, especially those of a certain age. Quite dangerous also: Inevitably fatal if not discovered in time. Lady would require surgery, that very day. Bit of heart murmur too, but there would be time to talk about that afterwards. So long as everything, you know: Went well. I looked over in the corner where the girls sat together. Saw them looking back at me, two pairs of identical, teary, unblinking eyes. Dark brown “see through you” eyes.
My eyes.
The vet walked out, promising to send an assistant in with the cost estimate. Major surgery for pyometra. In with the big sticks, everything comes out. High risk. And, as it turned out, damned expensive. I couldn’t help but sigh a bit when I saw the bottom line. It’s always something. Sometimes you feel like you can’t get a break. Felt more than saw those eyes looking at me from the corner, didn’t have to look. Dark eyes, unblinking. Waiting. Felt the moment stretch, felt the Hobbit touch my arm. Known her almost 30 years. I know what she’s thinking.
“I know she’s an older dog,” the assistant asks, hesitating. “Do you need some time to talk about it?” Thought about having that conversation in front of the girls.
“No, no.” I replied. “Where do we sign?” Felt something in the room… break.
But this was a no-brainer. She might be only a dog. But Lady’s family.
–
Got a call from the vet late last night. She’d done well, the sweet thing. High hopes. Take her home tomorrow maybe. Need some observation time of course. Resting well, sedated. IVs to replenish the fluids, and antibiotics of course. A good girl, but a close call.
So thanks for small blessings.
–
So. Do you have a female dog of your own? Unspayed? Think hard on taking her in for a spaying – an inexpensive and routine bit of veterinary surgery – unless you’re set on having puppies.
Don’t worry if she’s getting older. It’s the one sure way to prevent a possibly fatal presentation of a pyometra – a very common illness for older females as it turns out. It might save you more than stress in the long run. After all. They do become like family.
Don’t they?
They are family, aren’t they? Having grown up with dogs all my life (mom’s a professional dog breeder), they were the brothers and sisters I did not get to grow up with.
I am grateful that she is doing well and that she has such a wonderful family to take care of her. And, painful though it may be to have a family member be ill, I’m glad that it brought your family together like it did. Silver lining, isn’t it? Always have to look for those.
Just like family… Hope all turns out well .
*teary-eyed* (seems to be happening a lot, lately)
This made me think of all the dogs I’ve known and loved–particularly that bit about a tail flop of hello when you walk past. Sadly, none were fated to linger with us into their dotage, but they were always family. Beautiful post, Lex. Thank you for sharing.
Good to start with a branch of the ASPCA. They offer phenomenal deals on spay/neuter procedures for animals, usually somewhere in the $100 neighborbhood depending on the medications they prescribe. Sorry to hear about the trouble though, sir. Our family recently had to say goodbye to our dog and it just sucks like hell any way you cut it.
~Ens Tim
I appreciate the title of the post. I didn’t like where the narrative was going for a while there, but the title led me to believe that the end wasn’t what we dread.
I have a 13 year-old cat myself, and it’s hard to watch them age.
Lex, when I was your age, couldn’t understand this thing with dogs. Never owned one, never would. Then, against my better judgment and entirely by accident, I ended up with a dog. The dog died – I never got over it. Funny thing. Absolutely the best of luck with yours.
Been there unfortunately.
First I was in 10th grade doing community service at my old primary (elementary) school. No, it wasn’t Court ordered, just a requirement of my High School.
Max went in as he didn’t seem well, died two hours later. Funny how he refused to not have physical contact the night before.
Tigger was a fighter, my first pet, my Aunt and Uncle gave him to us. An RSPCA rescue, son of two stay cats. His name came from his first Christmas when he brought the whole Christmas tree down. Tig was tough as nails, and had the tears in his ears to prove it. As he grew older he didn’t like the cold, used to sleep under the covers, body safe in your armpit with the nose poking out. One day he had a massive tumour, virtually overnight. I wasn’t at the Vet for his end unfortunately.
Now we have Zac, a golden lab. Arthritis it is, an injection a week four four weeks, one every three months thereafter. Goofy bastard is already short a claw, a bunch of skin on his head and a tooth or two…
Cap’n
The Lady Katherine and I are the proud ‘parents’ of two female Chocolate Labs (sisters from the same litter). I’d hate to see something like this happen to them. A trip to the Vet for ‘The Operation’ is DEFINITELY in order.
My sincere thanks for this post.
I have a bit of a graveyard at the rear property line, next to the shed. Gus (cat) hid from us for about a week; I found her curled up on some rags in an almost inaccessible corner. The vet said that it was some kind of parasite she’d gotten from eating a bird she’d caught and it would cost hundreds for a 50-50 chance. We had to put her down. Sam didn’t eat one day and was dead the next, on my daughter’s bed. Rocky was a mutt, mostly German Shepard. He was the kids’ first dog and died when they were about 8 and 12. Found her dead in the back yard – I suspected the neighbors (don’t ask …) but had no way to prove it without spending $1000 on an autopsy (I asked!). Many tears shed each time. I dug the graves myself. And I’m afraid that it’ll be Jordan’s time soon – she’s a Golden Retriever and she’s a 13+ year old permanent puppy. Her face is getting white and she’s slowed down quite a bit. Still up and all over you every time you come home though. It’s going to be real tough when she goes.
Babs was our dog and the name I took for the internet years ago. She was one hell of a frisbee dog and my best friend. Yeah, it truly does suck to say goodbye.
Hopefully Lex, your dog will live a few more years at least.
Glad she’s doing better. We feel for you. I’ve grown up with dogs and cats and have made many of those same trips to the vet and it’s excruciating. And a couple of times we’ve had to come home empty handed and the house is one family member short. Through the years it’s been Elsa, Buddy, Baba and Sheldon. I miss them still.
I don’t care what I’ve heard some non-pet owners say, like “it’s just a dog– or cat” or whatever. They’re never “just.” They are part of the family, they have personalities and love you unconditionally.
We get Wilson the dog’s tail thump on the floor in the middle of the night when we get up to use the bathroom. And the loud exhaling at bedtime, the signal that he’s about to fall asleep. And the way he flops his front paws down in the “Lets’s play!” stance when we play fetch.
Growing up my wife was forbidden pets and as soon as we moved from a condo to a house we found Wilson, a (fixed) rescued dog from a troubled home. He’s ours, and we’re his.
*sniff*
I’ve had dogs and cats throughout my life, but I only have cats now. One is 16 years old. Every month I swear she’s going to die, but never does. One of these days, I’m gonna be right… and I’ll cry and mourn her loss.
“In Roman Catholic theology, the beatific vision is the eternal, direct perception of God enjoyed by those who are in Heaven, imparting supreme happiness or blessedness. While humans’ understanding of God while alive is indirect (mediated), the beatific vision is direct (immediate).” –http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beatific_vision
A very wise aunt of mine who is also a Catholic nun once told me that when dogs look up at us, *we* are their beatific vision. We, their human family, are their canine experience of God’s love and grace. And they return complete, unconditional love and acceptance –along with “a tale thump or two on the deck.” I don’t have much patience with church-going, but somehow this made perfect sense to me.
When our dogs are in our presence, however distracted we may be with all the human things we gotta keep track of, they are simply in their heaven. Their sole wish is to remain with us as long as they can.
BZ to your family , and good luck to Lady
damn dogs…they make you love em…
All of my birdogs are setters but since #1 I’ve always had ‘em spayed after the first season. good gouge though. Glad to see she’ll be OK.
As you already know Lex, I am a “SetterMan” and I do hunt ‘em- hard. Coast to coast over the years. I own one now that’s 8 and I’ve buried a couple in the past.
What got me was the name of your’s.
Believe it or not, same name as my first Setter “Lady (Badbob last name-insert) Hunter” in the Field Dog Stud Book FDSB). I bought her as a started pup, 5 months old in that area of northwest FL/S. AL that is famous for ‘em. Grandaughter of Mighty “Thor”- champion of the ’70’s.
The one, and only, birdog I’ve ever had that was a natural-no BS. Pointing -retrieving you name it she could cut off a running pheasant, find a covey quick in square mile, or hold a ruffed grouse. We hunted coast to coast including the Sonnoran desert, the Rockies, Texas, the midwest and up/down the east coast. I reckon I harvested close to a thousand birds over her points..She had an interesting life. She lived in Pensacola, San Diego, Pax River, VA Beach and CT. Most summers she spent in MT or on the beach. Wherever I went, she went. If she couldn’t be with me I wasn’t interested in being there. I’ve got a passel of stories about hunting with that dog that could fill several books- skunks, grizzly, procupines, Coatamundi, Javelina you name it..that dog got me involved in more adventures…
Believe it or not, that dog lived to be a little over 17 years..she went stone deaf at 13-14 and still hunted up to 16 with hand signals! Never used a shock collar or a beeper..just a low freq cowbell. A natural. When it was time to go I took her to the vet. The vet wanted me to bring her inside so’s they could weigh her but I compelled the doc to administer the shot while she was in her kennel on her comfy pad. I put the smelly hunting vest with the bird scent still on it near her and I could see that glint in her eye. She went out like a Lady. She’s buried on my point o’land facing out over the water…..
I’ve got another to look after now. She’s talented, too, at finding birds and has her own idiosyncracies but that ol’Lady..What a dog.
Thanks for the memories and good luck with your Lady.
b2
As Jeopardy said, the title of this post at least allowed my heart to beat normally, even if the tears started to spill in spite of it.
So glad Lady is recovering nicely. Our “fur babies” really do wriggle and wag themselves into our lives. I am sitting at someone else’s desk today -covering for a coworker – and there is a picture of a dog here. Garden variety mutt with some shepard I think. The picture has a digital date in the corner – 1981. 26 years ago – and this coworker still has the photo up at her desk.
Yes, they do become important don’t they.
Allergies prohibit me from having my own fur babies (though if I could it would be cats, sorry Lex). But I do live vicariously thru the fur babies of my friends – and each time one of them dies my heart breaks again. 2 cats within 6 months last year for my dearest friend. And one dog who is going on 15.
They ask for so little, yet give us so much in return. Hope you take Lady home today and that her tail is wagging as she walks into her beloved home.
So glad Lady is going to be okay, Lex.
Its funny what will bring a family together though.
We always had a dog growing up but the very last one wasn’t “ours” (my brother’s and mine), but “mine”. Shortly after my dad died, I was promised a dog just for myself.
We got Prince when I was 9 and when I moved from Western Canada to the East Coast to go to university, I left him behind with mom. Shortly before my wedding, mom phoned to tell me that she had to have him put down. I think I cried for a week straight, even though I hadn’t been home for a visit for about 2 years by that point. But that lovable dog (part collie, part german shephard) was my best friend for many years.
CPT J, I think you were right on. Its amazing how they look at you at times, like you are indeed God. Prince wasn’t allowed out of the kitchen and he knew it. So if we were sitting in the living room watching TV, he would keep the nails of one back paw right at the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room and stretch out the rest of his body as far as he could to get as close to us as he possibly could. Then he would just lay there with his head on his paws and watch our every move.
Thank heaven the Exterior Guard doesn’t need to sing.
My family had two GREAT dogs when I was growing up. The male was a border-shelty colly mix. Smart and brave that dog saved our car from being stolen once, chased down another burglar and was shot with a bb gun. I can still remember the sound of his toes on the hardwood floor in the middle of the night as he made his rounds from bedroom door to bedroom door and then return to stand his post at the front door. We had to put him down after he was diagnosed with prostate cancer, a weird illness for a dog that was neutered. The other was a female golden and black lab mix. Great dog and a gentle soul. She used to come and get me for bed every night and i I tried to lock her out of the bedroom, she would bang on the door until it gave way and lay next to me. She was like the Na na in Peter Pan, and I miss her.
Nice post Lex, it is good to remember those that have gone on especially those that gave us so much joy.
We had our Border Collie Sam (yes she was a she) for 17 years. At the age of 11 I would never have thought twice about it if she had needed surgery.
We had her spayed when she was a pup so never ran across this problem. She was in excellent health her entire life.
When she finally did get sick – it all hit at once – they still wanted to treat her and that was when we said no. 17 is a good long life for the best dog ever. I still miss her.
I think you’ll be lucky and have your wonderful dog with you for quite a while yet. Give her a hug for me.
“If I have any beliefs about immortality,
it is that certain dogs I have known will
go to heaven, and very, very few persons”
James Thurber
Sums it up nicely if you love dogs, and I do..
Dogs don’t live long enough. Neither do cats.
They make life worth it.
Glad to know that she is looking good after her surgery. I understand the thought process, and would have done just as you did. They are family, no doubt about it.
take some time for a chat with Saint Francis this coming October 4th. might help, couldn’t hurt.
we’ll keep her in our thoughts here.
I knew an English Setter with the same problem, once. Sally Jane, her name was. Very friendly, and pretty sharp, at least more so than the “Irish” setter who lived in the same house. She had been spayed years before, but the job was botched. There was apparently enough girl-tissue left in there to get infected, and also to attract the attention of the autistic Dobermann Pinscher who also lived there. (Really! He would get bits of kibble out of his bowl, carefully line them up on the floor, evenly spaced, and then sit back and stare at them!)
I hope yer doggy is doing well.
P.s. The Sweety had a similar problem recently with one of her girl cats. Same solution.
At least being humans, with reason, (hah!) we get to argue against what our gonads want us to do.
Sometimes we win
We lost our English bulldog last month to cancer, and I’m not anywhere near over it yet. Treatment prolonged his life for 11 months. It was expensive, but worth every penny for those precious extra months. I marvel at the closeness of the relationship between dogs and people – it’s truly a gift from God.
Best of luck with your sweet girl.
We’re all so happy Lady is doing better! We raised Fox Terriers (2 litters) before our kids… and I know we were better for it. They really helped us prepare and be better parents. Four labs, at appropriate time intervals, helped us with our four.
Now, as empty-nesters, we’re raising puppies again, two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels and they’re oh, so easy to love!
Here are some “Dog Quotes” we’ve enjoyed and hope you’all do too:
The reason a dog has so many friends is that he wags his tail instead of his tongue.
-Anonymous
There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face.
-Ben Williams
A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself.
-Josh Billings
The average dog is a nicer person than the average perso n.
-Andy Rooney
Dogs love their friends & bite their enemies, quite unlike people, who are incapable of pure love & always have to mix love & hate.
-Anonymo us
Anybody who doesn’t know what soap tastes like never washed a dog.
-Franklin P. Jones
If your dog is fat, you aren’t getting enough exercise .
-Unknown
My dog is worried about the economy because Alpo is up to $3.00 a can. That’s almost $21.00 in dog money.
-Joe Weinstein
Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.
-Robert A. Heinlein
If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you; that is the principal difference betw een a dog and a man.
-Mark Twain
Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.
-Roger Caras
If you think dogs can’t count, try putting three dog biscuits in your pocket and then give him only two of them.
-Phil Pastoret
I’d also like to add my tidings that Lady is doing well. We had a royal standard poodle named Brandy, and street mix cat named Fluffy. Loved ‘em both, and still miss them.
Oh yeah MajMike, and also Saint Barbara (kaboom! lulz!)
And of course Saint Dymphna, the one who looks out for people like me. (I hope!)
Hope she continues doing well, Lex. I’ve had to do the “put down” thing twice and it’s really, really hard to do. My last one was “my” dog instead of the family dog and after my divorce I ate an awful lot of peanut butter so that I could buy the “people” drugs and special food that kept my Maltese alive for two additional years (to age 13) with an enlarged heart. I’d do it again in a minute if I had him back! He stayed so close to me his whole life that when talking to people, I had to spell words that I didn’t want him to hear & react to. I cry every time I see a Maltese.
For when that time comes, as surely it …
This really helped Mrs. ORC and I when my golden, Elvis, passed on a few years back. May help the gals (and even a salty ol’ captain) in your house. http://www.petloss.com/poems/maingrp/rainbowb.htm
Prayers, good thoughts, and best wishes – Rob
Happy to hear Lady is doing well. Better to have been an open pyo rather than closed.
Surgery is nearly always the preferred treatment. Rule in school and practice, “Don’t let the sun set on a pyometra”.
So glad for the title, as well. These stories are hard. I’ve heard that God invented dogs to show us how much He loves us, and cats to show us how we treat him (grin)
We always had so many animals around when I was a kid. I don’t remember the end for most, I don’t remember having the tremendous attachment that sneaked up on me when we got a dog “to help our son.” She’s been amazing, part terrier, part beagle, all heart and very little sense. She socialized the boy in ways that all the therapists in the world, with all their degrees, could not. Believe it or not, one cat helped a great deal, too (while the other hid.)
But my greatest loss to date was a wonderful 7/8 Arab horse, Murphy’s Mistake, who gave me nearly all of his 20 years of life. His sole fault (besides being hard to capture in the pasture, and is that a fault or just a horse?) was trying to roll over on the saddle, when young. Cured him of that rapidly…..and from then, he was nearly all that was good of the world. Smart, and such a smooth mover–and one of the most beautiful of his kind who ever lived, especially before he grew out of the dapples. He knew it, too, and would spend hours on his tiptoes, prancing around the pasture admiring his shadow, tail a-flag and neck arched just so.
In his age, he got a bit too close to a rattler, and didn’t let us know for about three days. The venom dissolved the cartilage in his fetlock….
The vet college (long hours away with a horse trailer) said, there would be enormous expense and he’d never leave his stall again, or he’d have excruiciating pain as his shoulder turned in a way it couldn’t, until he lay down and died. We brought him home and one morning my dad took him to his final resting place and said goodbye alone. I wish he’d let me be there, but he didn’t tell me until after. I still have a lock of his mane.
I comforted myself with the idea that he was old, and that at least, it wasn’t one of my children, but I’ve never let myself get close to a horse again. And shortly after, because God was listening, the long slide into impenetrable autism for my beloved only son.
And in the long hard months when my boy couldn’t bear our presence, couldn’t show us any affection of any kind, couldn’t speak anymore, and the “experts” told us to just forget him…and the seizures came, and we thought he’d not survive, even…
The things the animals taught me, helped me through, helped me cope, helped me show love in other ways, different ways, needed ways. I will always be grateful.
d
I’m glad things worked out, Lex. And I truly enjoyed reading all the dog stories in this thread. I have one of my own, of course.
The Second Mrs. Pennington turned 40 and found out she was pregnant with our first and only the same week. The day after her big announcement I came home from work at the usual hour, put the car in the garage, and walked in the house to silence…which is to say without the usual rambunctious greetings from our 16 year old border collie/lab cross (which we raised from a pup) and the indeterminate-aged rat terrier, who we adopted after finding her as a stray ten years earlier.
“Where’s the dogs?” sez I.
“I put them down,” sez she.
There are more than a few things I’ll never forgive that woman for, and this one is near the TOP of the list. She never asked, and didn’t tell me…she just did it. That night was pretty danged frosty and it remained frosty for a few days following. Her rationale? “I can’t have old dogs and a baby in the same house.”
I never understood that.
As a dog owner (or one owned by a dog, never sure which), married to a dog LOVER, this story hit me where it hurts.
Our current dog is a 11+ year old Lab and we went down the hard road with a terrier mix, pound puppy a few years ago after 15 great years of love.
Not looking to making that trip again, but it is the price you pay for the unconditional love they give you on the journey.
Glad it turned out ok and best of luck when you and the family do have to make that trip.
Dang, Buck, that was right cold! Hope it didn’t make you a stone misogynist.
There’s nothing like a post about a pet to get the commenters going!
For Buck, there’s no better baby sitter than a dog. When my youngest brother was working out that crawling thing, my mother would put him on a blanket on the floor and without being asked Raggs, the dog of the day, would take up watch. If said brother wiggled to the edge of the blanket, Raggs would put a paw across his diapered backside anchoring him within the blanket boundaries. It usually had the effect of making the baby change direction and the paw would be removed until he reached another edge. Raggs kept this up until a human retrieved the baby.
Difficult as that last visit to the vet is, I wouldn’t trade all the years of companionship to escape it.
I like my dogs more than I like most people. Not much I wouldn’t do to help ‘em. I want to believe I’d never see a dog of mine put down over something as fleeting as money. Glad to hear your beast will be okay.