This isn't a political diary. It does not address the Iraq War, voting rights, illegal NSA domestic spying nor anything else typical in Kos diary pages. This is, simply, a memorial to a dear, sweet, little old stray dog that stumbled briefly into my family and then, in an act that I can't help but feel was a betrayal in spite of the reasons, was killed ("euthanized") at our hands 3 weeks later. Forgive this diversion from the normal topics but because it is said that our postings on the internet tend to be permanent, I am taking advantage of that to give this little guy, whom we named Weezer, a permanent tribute as a means of trying to make up for his being dumped and forgotten. The internet never forgets and so, Weezer, you will never be forgotten.
The little, clearly elderly, malnourished and ill Beagle came upon our house at some point during the day of Friday, 19 March 2006. My wife and I returned home from work and let our three other dogs out to run and play and relieve themselves after spending ~8 hours indoors during our work day. I watched them as they exited the house and instead of racing around as they normally did, immediately take great interest in some scents left by "something" in our front yard. I stepped away momentarily to get a drink and when I returned, there he was, a strange dog.
We live in the country on 5 acres surrounded by corn and soy bean fields on a back country road. We don't generally see stray dogs here as it really is out of the way and sparsely populated. Our dogs were gathered around him, tails a-wagging, greeting this new guy who was himself happy to see them.
I approached him slowly as he was wary of me but finally got hold of his collar, such as it was, after coaxing him over with a dog biscuit. His collar was nothing more than an old flea collar - no tags, naturally. He was thin and white in the face the way old dogs get. He was thin and somewhat boney, had good teeth, still had his testicles (SPAY/NEUTER YOUR DOGS PEOPLE!) his spine was clearly visable, and he stank. Most noticeable of all, he didn't sound good, suffering a terrific, painful to listen to, wheezing almost nonstop.
I brought him into our home and offered him some water and food. He took a quick drink but was too excited by the interaction with our dogs to have any interest in food right then, in spite of his clearly needing it. My wife saw him and immediately stated, "Somebody's dumped him, he's too frail-looking to have wandered far on his own".
Hoping against hope that he did just wander off from his home, a home where he was loved and wanted, I put him in my truck and paid a visit to my various "nearest" neighbors in hopes that they knew where he came from. He rode with me very nicely, standing with his front legs on my right thigh, wagging his tail, watching the world go by out the window. No luck. As expected, he came from nowhere and no one. It looked like he would be spending some time with us until we could sort him out.
I took him back home and gave him a bath as his smell was nearly intolerable. He sat and wheezed nicely enough as I washed a lot of dirt and stink off him. That done, we called to Humane Societ to see if anyone had reported a Beagle missing (of course not) but didn't even have to think about the idea of transfering him over to their "care" - NO WAY (I refer to them as the Euthanasia Society because that is their default action. The slightest issue with a dog (or cat), be it the "wrong breed", age, minor illness, or more than two days without an owner coming forward, and that animal is euthanized) and instead called a couple no-kill shelters in our general area. They were full-up at the moment but would be willing to take him as soon as a cage opened up, but only if his breathing condition were corrected first. They are rightfully fearful of "kennel cough", which is highly contagious and potentially devastating to kenneled/confined dogs. We told them we would hold onto him for a couple weeks until a cage opened up and have his condition treated.
The next day, Saturday, we took him to one of the few vet clinics in the area that was open at the time. These things always have to happen during a weekend. He was examined and it was happily determined that his wheezing wasn't due to chronic heart failure (He wasn't then checked for heartworm but it was thought unlikely as well). He was clearly not used to being handled by veterinarians as he did not get along with the manipulations that go with exams, and he hated getting the shot in his back leg, a steroid shot to ease inflammation. The shot seemed to do its thing pretty well as his wheezing eased shortly thereafter, before we even left the clinic. We were also given 2 weeks worth of antibiotics to treat his bronchitis plus a mild tranq to help him over bad periods. He was definitely going to be hanging with us for while, and after it was over, we fully intended to hand him over to one of the no-kill shelters.
We have a lot of animals (3 dogs, all rescues, one of them a stray that came to us on New Years Day 2006; 3 horses, one of which is a rescue; two cats, one of them a rescue; a tortoise, yes, a rescue; and 4 birds, 3 of them rescues). I should say that my wife is herself a veterinarian, though no longer practicing - she's a university vet who deals with lab animals, making sure they are properly cared for, that none are suffering, that the law and regulations are followed, etc. She knows a lot but is out of practice, so to speak, when it comes to dogs and cats. She prefers to leave their diagnosis and treatment to practicing vets. Basically, we both felt we were all loaded up and just couldn't take on another. It is expensive. We had no intention of taking on another.
But things change.
First, we had to call him something. The name that naturally came to mind for this sickly old character was "Weezer" or "Geezer". We prefered Weezer and he quickly came to recognize and respond to it. He was a sweet little guy who bonded particularly closely to our youngest, the New Year's dog, Nikki. Wherever Nikki went, Weezer followed. If Nikki disappeared from view, Weezer would wander around looking for him. There were a few times while Nikki and Weezer were out wandering our pasture where Weezer, with his small stature, would lose sight of Nikki in the tall grass as they each found interesting scents to follow. Weezer would begin to wander around, sniffing and looking everywhere for Nikki. On these occassions I would go out and call Weezer to my side and walk him back into view of Nikki so that he could rejoin his friend.
Happily, as the two weeks of antibiotic treatment progressed, Weezer did get better. He wasn't laboring to breath most of the time, just some of the time and mainly after getting a drink of water. Every time. There were also other problems with Weezer. Likely due in part to his being unneutered, he had a tendency to hike his leg wherever and whenever he felt like it...in the house. We had to keep a very close watch on him, not allowing him out of one or the other of our sight so we could intecede with a stern "NO!" when he lined up to hike followed by putting him outside (followed with a "GOOD BOY!" when he did his thing out there). We nevertheless failed to catch him sometimes and were left (too often) cleaning up wet spots on the carpet or puddles on the kitchen floor. It was tiresome but it was only for a couple weeks, then he'd be gone. At night, he went into a dog crate with the TV left on at low volume to give him human voices as company so he wouldn't feel all alone.
After about a week of this cleaning up pee, I'd had enough and told my wife that he's well enough to take him in and get him neutered. I called around and got him an appointment the next day. Afterwards, actually too fast for the neutering to have had an effect, Weezer apparently decided that he was done with the leg hiking (neutering will cut down on this marking nonsense but it generally takes a bit for the neutering - the loss of testosterone - to "take"). A definite improvement. We liked him more at this point though it fast became apparent that there was another related problem: he "leaked". As he would walk around, he would periodically dribble. Sometimes where he lay dozing he would let loose a small flow as well. We ended up placing towels at a few places on the floor about the house and fortunately he would, with almost no coaxing, choose those spots to lay down.
A few days after his last antibiotic, with him doing pretty well (though still wheezing after drinking) my wife decided to try to deal with his dribbling, so she put Weezer on a drug to help treat his incontinence. Within an hour or so of his receiving this new drug, he suffered a prolonged wheezing fit. It came on suddenly and would fire up whenever he lay down to sleep. The poor little guy had to sit up and wheeze and cough and gag for a bit to clear it, only to lay down and start it up again. Bad news. That evening I doubt the poor little guy got much sleep under those conditions but it was late so the vet was out. I tranq'd him and vowed to get him in ASAP to see a vet for a definitive diagnosis on his breathing problem.
The next day as I awoke, I immediately thought of Weezer and worried that I'd go down to find a dead dog in the crate, his problem seemed that bad. As I descended the stairs to our main floor, I could hear him wheezing away and felt badly for him. This likely went on all night. I got him an appointment to see a vet the next day and we also arranged for him to receive his first (as far as we knew and very likely accurate) vaccinations.
The results of his visit came back with a negative heartworm test (good), there was no evidence of laryngeal collapse (good), and again, his heart was fine. What we didn't get was a definitive diagnosis and treatment. The prescribed treatment was Robitussin. The very same cough syrup you give to yourself or your kids for cough. This is a problem as Robitussin tastes like shit as it is and they don't make a version for dogs. Weezer, as expected, didn't like that crap one bit but it seemed to have helped a bit...just a bit. Two days later my wife decided to put him on a steroid (prednisone) in the hopes of relieving inflammation and, hopefully in combination to the cough syrup, give the little guy a break. As fast as the steroid shot seemed to improve things for him at his first vet visit, we were hopeful.
Over this time, in spite of everything, in spite of the work and effort we were putting into Weezer, or perhaps because of it, Weezer was growing on me and my wife. He really was a sweetheart and he was always so very happy to see us (particularly me) and, even with his breathing problems, was just a cheery guy. My wife contacted the no-kill shelters and told them now that we'd be willing to foster Wheezer, make sure he was healthy and house trained, until a new home could be found. Periodically, my wife accuses me of stealing all the dogs away from her, quickly becoming their favorite and I suppose that's true. There isn't much mystery to it and I can't help it. I love dogs and I am willing to roughouse and play and interact with them in ways my wife isn't. I'm a dog in human skin. Weezer was no exception and he began to glue himself to me as my heart was attaching to him - he was old, unceremoniously dumped, and sickly. He needed extra attention. Oh, he was still interested in Nikki, particularly when they were outside, but once all inside and settled, he was with me. He'd join the other three dogs and lay at my feet or follow me around the house. When I sat, he would often jump up with his tail wagging furiously demanding attention for a bit before settling down. At some point the idea of giving him away to a shelter once we nursed him back to health became the last resort rather than our actual intent. Our "fostering" was becoming "keep him". He had already adopted us and had bonded to Nikki. Sending him away would be cruel and unnecessary. He had clearly not had an easy life before now and his condition didn't need to be allowed to get as bad as it had. Simple things made him goofy with joy: receiving a dog biscuit (he'd get this funny look on his face as he'd eat it), or something as simple as a belly-rub. At first he didn't know what to do with that. He had seen neglect. He didn't deserve neglect. No creature does but it seemed a particular affront that this guy should be so treated.
His treatment with steroid and cough syrup and incontinence drug went on for 3 days but Weezer was beginning to get worse again. He'd have a bit of time where he was relaxed and breathing well enough to trot around the pasture, tail up, sniffing out this or that scent without problem. If he scared up a rabbit he would take chase until it lost him in the dust. His breathing almost without labor were good time for him but those times became shorter and shorter. My wife wondered if the incontinence drug was the cause. Her drug dictionary indicated that there shouldn't be a drug interaction so maybe it was just the effects of the drug itself. We decided to stop the drug for a bit and see if he improved.
A few days later, Weezer seemed to enjoy a few short periods of relatively unlabored breathing, was nonetheless getting worse overall. My wife, in tears, told me she can't bear to hear him laboring to breath the way he was and that she now suspected he was suffering from COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease), akin to a really sever form of asthma. It can be brought on by chronic exposure to wild allergens or it can be caused by second hand smoke. It is avoidable and treatable if handled early. What happens is that there is chronic inflammation and scarring in the lung tissues which, over time, leads to breathing difficulty. It can be distressing and deadly. At this stage there isn't much that can be done that we hadn't already tried.
On a particularly bad night, the 10th of June, I listened to Weezer struggle to breath and came to the sinking conclusion that we'd have to "put him down". I didn't mention it to my wife then because I didn't want to make it real by saying it. When his fit subsided somewhat, Wheezer came over to me and jumped up, dancing his front legs on me happy to see me and asking to be pet. I looked into his grizzled face and into his eyes, so happy, and felt a deep hollow pain in my gut. How can I kill this little guy? I love this little guy. When he dropped back down, content with the attention, he returned to his towel on the floor and I joined him on the floor for a good long while and stroked his back, feeling the laboring of his breathing.
The next morning, I was up first as is usual, and went down to let the dogs out. At some point during the night I had concluded that Weezer needed to be put down and it made my heart leaden. I felt hollow. I felt tired. I let him out of his cage and he was just so happy to see me, wagging furiously, getting himself into a wheezing fit. I went to the front door, all the dogs dancing around me to go outside and opened the door. Unlike every time before Wheezer wouldn't go out. Instead, he was glued to my leg at my side looking up at me with his liquid eyes. I tried to coax him to go out but he wouldn't so I went out as his escort. He wasn't much interested in doing much, didn't follow the others, didn't even follow Nikki, but stuck by me. I stooped down next to him and watched the sliver of sunrise as he just enjoyed being pet and looking around. I stayed like that for a while and then took him back in. Though at this point he was always wheezing, it wasn't overbearing until we went back in and he lay down. It became physically painful to listen to him struggle. My wife entered the room and I told her we need to put him down. She came to me and put her arm around me as I started to cry and said that she was waiting for me to make the decision, that she knew it had to be me, and then she cried too. She told me that if she was to do it that she'd need my help...or we could take him to an emergency clinic.
I struggled with the thought of having us do it at her university office or handing him over to others at a clinic. After all he had been through, after being dumped like garbage to fend for himself in his age and illness at the side of our road somewhere...abandoned...I couldn't bear the thought of abandoning him to strangers that didn't really care about him or know him. I told her we should do it. When she asked when I wanted to do it, I couldn't answer. I wanted time. For Wheezer, for myself. He was there at my feet again asking to be pet. I couldn't speak for a few minutes.
I finally got hold of myself again and told her we should do it this morning. We gave Wheezer several tranquilizers to make him really calm, and hopefully make him sleep, then led him out to the car. On the drive to the university, my wife and I were silently shedding tears as Wheezer looked blurry-eyed about the cabin of the truck and then lay his head on my wife's lap. We carried him into a treatment room behind her office, placed Wheezer on towels on the table to make him comfortable and I gently held him as she inserted a needle with the euthanizing drug in it. He didn't like it one bit and let out a cry. The tranqs weren't strong enough. I wanted to take it back. He didn't want to die and I don't want to kill him...but then his breathing got difficult again - the tranqs did at least that, it partially eased his breathing while doping him up. My wife gave him a shot of another tranq, enough to drop a 250lb animal or person and we waited for it to take hold. This would have to calm him down and even knock him out. The drug eased his breathing a lot so there was little wheezing now. We waited and waited and it just wasn't happening, he was very bleary-eyed but still wanting to wander around the office, sniffing here and there, coming by for a pet. I kept thinking "Look! He's fighting to live, we can't kill him!" but then I'd recall how hard he was laboring to breath over the last few days, last night, and this morning. Finally, we sat down next to a towel we'd set on the floor for him and he came over and lay on it between us. We stroked him and spoke to him gently for a bit until he seemed to be dozing. My wife gently shaved his foreleg and wrapped a rubber band around his leg to bring up the vein and prepped it. He awoke and made a small cry when she inserted the needle. I gently held his head in my arms and wanted to cry, "STOP!", but I was silent. She pushed the plunger and in a few seconds when the drug started its work, he made a quick struggle and cry and then went limp. He died at 10:15am, 11 June 2006. I continued holding his little head cradled in my hands and kissed him goodbye, apologizing to him again and again as I gently lay his head down on the towel.
I have never been with an animal as it's been euthanized before and had no idea what to expect. I didn't like it at all and even have qualms about it now that I didn't have before. We tranquilized him heavily and yet as soon as the drug entered and started the process of stopping his heart, he reacted as if in pain. It was very brief but it was there and it bothers me tremendously. It's supposed to be painless. It's supposed to be gently "going to sleep". I can't help but think that I failed Wheezer. That I let him down. That I violated the trust he'd developed with us. That I'd failed him. I was there to ensure that the last contact he had was with those who loved and cared about him but with that we inflicted pain he didn't need nor deserve. It has been a day now and it still hurts. I keep second guessing myself: Did we act too soon with the euthanisia? Couldn't we have tried another run of antibiotics, perhaps in combo with the steroid or even an antihistamine? I suspect that his getting worse after getting better, to the point of being at least as bad-off as he was when he first arrived here as the result of an infection secondary to COPD. A treatable infection. The first time through, he DID do better. He DID improve markedly but he just didn't get rid of the wheezing entirely, particularly when he drank water, and the bad conditions returned rather quickly. Maybe we just didn't knock it down far enough. Perhaps he could have been maintained in an improved state indefinitely with the right combination of drugs.
My wife asked me where I wanted to bury him. I struggled with this thought simultaneously as I struggled with the idea of having him euthanized. The image that finally stuck out was that from a couple days prior of Wheezer laying in the shade of a maple tree next to his buddy Nikki, before Wheezer got really bad again. I was working out in the yard and I looked back to see where they were and saw them happy and comfortable in the shade. We buried Wheezer there, under the tree where his buddy Nikki often lays. He's close to the house and thus to us, his family, his pack that loved him, and he can remain close to Nikki. While he lays there he can overlook the pasture that he so enjoyed exploring during the short 3 weeks he was with us.
I'm so sorry Weezer. I hope your short time with us made up for the circumstances that led you to us in the first place. You didn't deserve to be dumped along the road like trash. We loved you. Breath easy now, please breath easy.