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I lost a friend but she lost more


Yul Catchum

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Manny Moon, our Boxer dog, died Monday. He was 11 and one half years old the equivalent of 80 human years. In the last year he suffered a series of strokes which incidentally is an affliction most Veterinarians will tell you dogs do not suffer. According to my Vet, they are wrong.

His first stroke in January of 2010 almost killed him. The Vet gave him less than a 10 percent chance of surviving. Over the course of a week our female white Boxer, Fiona nursed him back to health. She washed and cared for him, slept next to him and nudged him to the food or water bowls. I honestly believe he would have given up and died had it not been for her persistence. In two months he regained much of his strength but the stroke left him mute, he never barked or even whined again.

In the third month the strokes returned, sometimes two small ones a day. And then in the fourth month the big strokes returned often leaving him disoriented and weak for days after. I learned a lot about dogs and strokes in this last year. You may not know this but the majority of their strokes occur while the dog is sleeping. And because they are sleeping they end up lying in their urine when they lose temporary control of their bladders which is why they so often smell of urine. So yes, part of my education included which cleaning agents work best for removing the associated stains and odors. And surprisingly I learned how human nature is not confined to humans. Fiona, throughout Manny’s ordeal, has cared for him like a wife would her sickly and failing husband of 50 years.

In November we took both dogs to the Vet for their bi-monthly Spa day. When you own two large dogs getting toe nails clipped and coats washed is a necessity lest they destroy or “hair-up” everything you own. The Vet proclaimed Fiona a chubby sweet natured girl who needs to lose about 10 pounds. In celebration the Vet Staff danced with her and sang “My Fiona” to her stubby tailed delight. She likes people.

Manny was judged to be in pretty good shape but because the small strokes very becoming more frequent we began a new treatment regimen. Things did not go well and the week before Christmas we returned to the Vet with a dog so drunk he could barely navigate the back door’s steps. Whoops, turns out we were over medicating him. Happy the condition was reversible we cut back to the correct levels and took our 70 pound old man home.

We saw an almost immediate improvement. Instead of staggering about like he was doing a reprisal of 1960’s bearded comedian Foster Brooks’ drunken man Manny perked up and recognized things like stairs, food bowls and me. His tail wagged and on a few occasions he even played. Then suddenly last week he had a hard stroke and went blind. He lost ten pounds in a week. He couldn’t eat or drink unless we held his bowls at nose height. Blind he bumped into walls and doors until his forehead was covered with two oozing scraps and his left eye brow was so swollen he seemed to always be squinting. Monday I took him to the Vet hoping the medication was again the problem.

It wasn’t and by late afternoon we had digested the heartbreaking but not unexpected prognosis. Manny would never improve, his vision would never return, he could not recognize either of us and only Fiona’s presence seemed to calm him. He was suffering and things were only going to get worse. We made the decision and with heavy hearts we put our old friend down.

I held and talked soothingly to him while he went to sleep knowing that while he might not recognize me he would find some comfort in the smell of Fiona whom I had hugged long and close before coming to see about him.

Returning home we were met at the door by Fiona and maybe I am foolishly investing emotions in an animal that isn’t that intelligent but it she seemed to sense our moods. Several times I found her curled up on blankets that smelled of Manny. She was not interested in much of anything; even food, a rarity for her. Tuesday she mopped around the house and barely ate. So last night when I awoke to the sounds of one of Fiona’s midnight kitchen counter top raids I thought, ‘well even though it is against the rules at least she’s eating”. I snuck through the house to catch her and when I peeked around the kitchen door I found she was busy muzzling Manny’s collar off the counter top. When it clunked to the floor she curved up with it. I left her alone.

At breakfast I noticed Fiona seemed not to be so depressed, she ate breakfast as she usually does, like a shark that’s been on a diet. And, while pouring my coffee I noticed Fiona was wearing Manny’s collar so I asked Roxann how that might have happen. It seems after I returned to bed Roxann, unable to sleep, went to raid the fridge and discovered Fiona asleep around Manny’s collar. My girls shared a good cry and decided that since it would be silly for Fiona to wear black in mourning (after all she is a dog) it would okay if she wore Manny’s collar. Fiona seems happy with the plan.

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My condolences to you and your family Pard. Thanks for sharing.

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Yul, I am so very sorry for you loss. Losing one of our four legged family members is almost as difficult as losing a two legged one. Of course you know the story about Rainbow Bridge. I have several awaiting me there. But you are blessed with little (?) Fiona.

 

Dogs are funny. My next neighbor's Mother, who was blind, was cared for by two salvaged dogs. One was my black lab, Maggie, and the other was Lucy. They would stand beside her and guide her through out the house. No body taught them that, it was an instinct. Let me tell you a little about both of them.

Lucy was a hound but she did not have the instincts. A former owner beat her with a whip until she had

scars on her back. She was with us in the neighborhood for about seven years. It took five years before she would let us even get close to her. Before she died, she would come over to our house when ever it was frightening to her. She loved to join us on the deck for supper and we would give her doggie treats and she would throw them in the air and then pounce on them. Her eyes would look into your soul.

 

Maggie was another story. She was rescued by another neighbor. He saw her everyday on his way to work.

She was on a short 3 foot chain tied to her dog house. The bast__d at least gave her a doghouse. Her water bowl was always upside down. He went up the the door and ask if he could have the dog. The guy gave her away in a heartbeat. When the neighbor moved, he could not take Maggie and since she spent

most of her time with me in the yard, he asked if I would take her. She dined and slept in my house that evening.

 

So take comfort in what you had and what you have. Time will help.

 

Sorry to ramble

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My prayers for peace and healing... Anybody that has had to put down one of their best friends knows this pain... It will get better and you have all the memories that you have of him... When I had to have Moose put down, I wore a long-sleeved red T-shirt to the vets... I still have the shirt, but have never been able to wear that shirt since that day... That was about 15 years ago...

 

 

Vaya con Dios

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Sorry to hear of your loss, pard. Animals do mourn for their lost companions. When Indy, our nearly 14 year old Lab/Golden mix lost his battle with cancer, his littermate Lovey wandered around the house and yard like she was looking for him for several weeks afterward and slept on his bed for awhile too. When Lovey died at 15.5 years, Samson, the rescued Newfie/Chow mix we got after Indy died moped around for a couple of weeks, then one day stepped out on the deck, took a long look out toward the woods in back and let out the most mournful heartbreaking howl I've ever heard come from a dog. Samson perked up again when we got Jake, a 6 year old rescued Golden and they quickly became fast friends and boon companions. Now Samson has lymphoma and even though he is doing well on his meds, we know he won't be with us much longer. Jake seems to know too, because he sticks closer to Samson than usual, and if Samson wanders off alone in the yard or house, Jake goes to check on him.

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The story of rainbow bridge never gets old, nor does the reminder of what Will Rodgers said.

It was something like "If there are no dogs in heaven I want to go where the dogs are".

 

My time of having dalmatians ended last August when Traveller passed away at age thirteen plus. He was the son of Harley, my home protection specialist and Dominoe, a rescued dalmatian female. Harley was nearly fifteen and Dommy we figure was twelve or so.

 

Schoolmarm and I have had dalmatians for nearly twenty years and probably will again soon.

 

For now we have Jezebel, a rescued pit/boxer mix who made Traveller's last years more fun and active. She misses Traveller even now, but is a comfort to Schoolmarm and joins us on the road at some shoots.

 

Give Fiona all the love and attention she deserves and later maybe a companion to fill her sad place with fun and friendship.

 

Peace and comfort to you all.

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I've had two dogs suffer from strokes.

 

The first had a stroke at 10 years old and we were told that "at best she'll last another month". She died at 16 1/2 in my arms.

 

The second had her stroke at 12. I had her to the vet in a half hour and inside of another hour she was gone.

 

Two of the best little ladies in the world, one a natural nanny and friend, the second a rowdy, hell-raising playmate.

 

I miss all of my dogs. My condolences.

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Our special needs lab, Tawny, died of a massive stroke. She was standing there one minute, then all four went out from under her. Happened at the OR State Match. I had just met Thunder Rider, but he pitched me his pickup keys and said, "Get her to the vet!" (we were in a motorhome)

 

She was too far gone, and the vet helped her on her way to the Rainbow Bridge. That was a very hard moment for us, so we know your pain. But it also shows you what a good bunch of people we shoot with. Having just met you, they loan you their pickup.

 

We got back in the saddle with another lab, and got a German shepard to boot. It helps ease the pain. Our best to you.

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A brief follow up. Fiona, wearing Manny's collar, has decided she needs to sleep with her Mother every night and hawith dogged determination forced her way into our bed. She just won't leave and at 100 plus pounds she isn't going nowhere she doesn't want to. Sleeping with us she has begun her healing.

 

At night she will snortle her toes or nether regions until one of us make her stop those gross noises but then, we have to fend off aromatic kisses from a polar bear in a dog suit. And sometimes, when things are quiet, she will awake with a start, so suddenly it brings me up from dreamland and. together, careful to never leave Momma's bed, we will peer down the hall hoping we heard her Old Buddy coming to join us. But he never will and so she sighs, deep and long, an emotion I can understand and share. Then, she will lay a massive head across my bladder, if I'm lucky its been emptied and, gently rubbing her ears we will slip back to sleep.

 

Her expression says, "give me some time, Daddy" and I will, it gives me some as well.

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Pard, you are in good company here. There are plenty of us that have suffered a loss such as this. Rest assured, you did the right thing for him. keeping him going would have been more for your benefit and less for his. he is now healed and healthy, waiting for you to join him...

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