We said goodbye yesterday to our Nikki, our companion for seven of her thirteen years. She was a brave girl who faced all the challenges in her life with a head-on determination and gallantry and grace. Even in these last weeks, she still found joy in a few things each day – a very slow walk half a block to the park, a special treat of salmon skin, even a bowl of kibble. But the times in between found her whimpering in her sleep, unable to be comforted by petting. We finally made the tough decision that her best moments did not compensate for the increasing distress the rest of the time, and we called the vet who comes to your home for that last visit. We were all by her side at the end, Dan and I and Simka, her companion since he came to us two years ago as a little puppy.
We don’t know much about Nikki’s life before she came to us – just a brief sketch. A family break-up sent her and their other Samoyed to San Francisco Samoyed Rescue, and into a foster home. They placed Nikki at first with a woman who apparently wanted a beautiful dog to sit quietly by her at coffee shops – as you can see, Nikki had the beauty part down cold, but sitting quietly was not her nature. So she was returned to foster care, where we learned about her. The rescue folks decided our history with two previous Samoyeds meant we probably knew what to expect, and Nikki herself decided the matter by taking an instant liking to us.
Her life took a sharp turn six months later, when she went blind overnight. We recognized it as acute onset glaucoma and took her straight to the UC Davis Veterinary Medicine ophthalmology department. They diagnosed it as uveodermatologic syndrome (UDS), a condition in which the immune system attacks pigmented cells – in her case as a white dog, the eyes. With prompt, aggressive treatment, she regained much of her vision, and she had to be on immunosuppressive medication and multiple eyedrops after that. Even so, the disease eventually took the rest of her sight, and by three years later, she was totally blind.
Blindness never slowed her down – the vet students marveled at how she knew her way around the vet med complex and would charge down the halls and climb up and down stairs, untroubled by the occasional bump into a wall. She tolerated the harsh meds and cooperated about all the eye drops. But two years ago, painful corneal ulcerations led us to decide on complete removal of her eyes. Once the incisions healed and fur grew back, she just looked like her eyes were closed – and no more medications were needed.
Meanwhile, we adopted a Samoyed puppy two years ago. Simka figured out quickly that Nikki sometimes needed help, and he appointed himself her guide and guardian. She quickly let him know that she did NOT need him to pull her by her collar. But if she wandered off in our small wilderness of a back yard, I could ask him to go find her and bring her back, and he would run out and accompany her back to the door.
Nikki had learned how to open all the doors in the house, and Simka would ask her to help when he wanted to get into or out of a room. She eventually succeeded in teaching him how to do this himself, and then as she became frail in the last year, he would open doors for her.
Her health took a dramatic turn for the worse in January, with a series of generalized seizures, each followed by hours of post-ictal agitation and frantic running around and into things. Three days in the ICU and multiple tests and scans produced no explanation, but she was diagnosed then with diabetes as well. Medications mostly controlled the seizures, and a new regime of insulin and blood glucose testing began. Simka watched over her: he checked her urine for signs of poor control, and called us if she had a seizure, and fetched me once when she fell into our little pond during the agitated stage (no real danger as it was only up to her belly, but she was scared.)
The whimpering and distress began a month or two ago, and the last weeks, we would get up and sit with her at night for hours to try to comfort her. No medicine seemed to help.
The vet who came yesterday morning was kind and gentle, and over the next two hours, he eased her into a deep sleep, and then into that final journey. Simka lay next to her, and Dan and I cradled her head and petted her. Dan and the vet carried her out in a little stretcher, as Simka and I followed. The vet said a last benediction and prayer for her – this is a true calling and form of ministry for him, I think. Simka reached into the car to give her a last goodbye kiss, for his companion and friend.
And we watched the car drive away, and hoped our brave girl’s spirit is now free and playing in fresh and joyful meadows, where she can see the birds and flowers and see Simka and us when, someday, we come to join her.