POST #47: THE LAST DOG BLOG (more to come)

So far, my 30 Plus years of dog ownership have taught me that I always have more to learn.  I should never be complacent in thinking I know the right way to do things.

 

I have learned that dogs can fly.

 

I have learned about trust and I have learned about the value of being dependable.

I have learned about silent companionship.

 

I have learned about forgiveness.

 

I have learned about jealousy.

 

I have learned how to be a better neighbor.

I have learned the importance of a good veterinarian.

 

I have learned about aging gracefully and acceptance of the physical changes that come with age.

 

I have learned about showing respect.

 

I have learned to never underestimate a dog’s loyalty.  Do not ever underestimate his or her ability to be protective of the pack.

 

I have learned that dogs can climb trees.  But that they need help coming back down.

 

I have learned that sleeping with dogs is not such a bad thing.  Unless it is in the summer and you have no air conditioning.

 

I have learned how to be brave even when facing an unknown threat.

I have learned the value of teamwork when facing down a threat.

 

I have learned how to step in and help or to take charge when others are scared.

I have learned a lot about unconditional love.  Loving someone and being loyal to them is possible even when you have been neglected and left outside to fend for yourself.

I have learned about the depth of grief for the loss of a loved one, and the sense of powerlessness when you watch the loved one die, or the guilt over feeling that you haven’t done everything in your power to stop the loss.

 

I have learned that sometimes you really can’t undo your past.  All you can do is learn from your mistakes and go forward.  I have learned that mistakes hurt.  But, if you pay attention you really do become a better person.

Living with dogs has helped me grow in my own capacities for human emotions.  Many folks say that a dog is an animal, and animals do not have the capacity for emotion.  A dog’s place was outside according to my grandparents.  They were part of the livestock, and they had a job to do: protect the other livestock. I’ve had friends tell me they would never allow a dog into their house because they are messy and dirty. 

I got mixed messages from my parents while growing up.  Sometimes our dogs would be allowed inside, but my parents’ attitude still seemed to be one of “they are only animals.”

I shared that opinion when we got our first dog, Spike, and continued with our second dog, Katie.  We wouldn’t let them in the house, except on rare occasions.  We treated them more like animals than family members. 

Opening our home to PD, and then Henry, and then Frank has really changed my mind about a dog’s capacity for emotion.  These dogs, pets, family members have changed my mind about my capacity to learn of my own humanity and emotional attachments.

They’ve also changed my mind about dirt.  I mean really, is dirt that evil?  People lived on dirt floors for centuries, and it brushes right off.  Surely it isn’t healthy for you to avoid contact with all dirt.

Whether they were outdoors dogs or inside dogs, they have all helped me learn about unconditional love, and all of the emotions that come along with that kind of love.

My dogs will continue to amaze me and to amuse me.  And I am sure there are new lessons out there for me to learn from PD and Frank.  But for now, it is time to say goodbye to those of you who have been reading along with me.  It is time to put these musing about living with dogs aside.  I have enjoyed writing these memories.  The writings have helped to examine my own thoughts, feelings and behavior, and have helped me gain some self-insight.  Hopefully, these have been of interest to you, the reader, as well.

Thank you Spike.  Thank you Katie, Thank you Henry.  Thank you PD and Frank for the lessons you have taught me.

And thank you, Reader, for following along as I’ve relived the adventures I have shared with these wonderful family members.  

Post #6: Old Vets and Mosquitoes

Our vet was elderly and was an old college friend of Kathy’s father, Bill.  We took Spike to see him once a year for her shots.  Since she never got sick, her only visits were these once a year trips.  He finally retired and sold his practice to a new, young vet who was just starting out.  The new vet inherited us along with the rest of the practice.

Spike was seven years old when we made our first visit to the new vet for the routine rabies shot.  This vet took a blood sample and a stool sample, and checked Spike out pretty thoroughly.  He took the samples and checked them under his microscope.  When he turned around, he asked us what we were giving Spike for heartworm prevention.

“What?  What’s that?” we wondered. 

The vet was surprised at our surprise.  This was a very preventable problems.  Spike had heartworms.  She had a lot of them.  The heartworms were transmitted to Spike by mosquitoes.  There are a lot of mosquitoes in the Coastal Bend of Texas.  The heartworms made their way into her blood vessels and began to multiply.  Heartworms can grow to be a foot long, and can block off the arteries leading to the heart. Over time, they can cause heart and lung problems, embolisms, and death. Spike did not seem to be showing many of the advanced symptoms.  She was not coughing or breathing heavily.  She did seem to have less stamina and had become less active.  However, since she was an "outside dog" we didn't really know much about her daily activities.  We did not pay that much attention to Spike, other than when we went out to play with her in the back yard.  And it was usually the boys who played with her, not Kathy or I.

There is a treatment for the heart worms, although treatment can be dangerous.  It was possible that Spike would not survive the treatment.  The vet warned us that even if the treatment were successful, Spike may not ever regain her full amount of energy.  The heartworms had already done a lot of damage to her heart and lungs.  Without treatment, Spike would get worse, have problems breathing, lose even more stamina, and die.

Spike’s chances of survival were not good.  We decided to give her every chance we could.  So we gave the vet permission to begin treatment.  She was administered Arsenic to kill the heartworms.  She received her first shot, and we were told to bring her home and keep her confined.

We set up a small space in the house and fenced Spike in.  We knew that she was not feeling well, as she never complained about being kept inside the house or being confined to the small space near our front door.  Spike became lethargic, but was also happy to be near us.  She did not seem to get better, though.  We took Spike in for her second shot of arsenic, just knowing that we were killing the heartworms, while hoping that we were not killing Spike.  Spike became more lethargic.

We decided to leave Spike with the vet after the third injection. She had a lot of arsenic in her, and she needed to be monitored closely.  This was the end of the treatment.  Spike should start getting better in a few days, but we were at a critical point.

Kathy stopped by the vet's office that night on her way home to check on Spike.  Kathy could get to the kennels in the back of the office, even though the staff had already gone home.

Kathy found Spike laying in her kennel, exhausted from her fight with the heartworms and the arsenic.  At first, Kathy thought she might be dead.  But Spike saw Kathy and became alert, wagging her tail, weakly.  Kathy spoke to her and petted her for a bit.  Spike returned the affection with a few kisses.  Then Kathy went home.

A couple of hours later the vet called.  Spike had died.  Kathy felt sure that Spike had roused herself from near death so she could tell Kathy good bye.

We were all sad.  I drove Kathy and the boys to the vet's office to pick up Spike.  The vet wrapped Spike in a towel that we had brought, and sent us home with her.  Kathy had called her father about Spike, and he met us at our house.  We picked out a spot in our back yard to bury Spike, and I started digging.  It was late, and dark, but the sand was soft. I had never buried a pet before, and wasn’t sure how deep to go.  My father-in-law was watching, so I wanted to be sure I did it right.  I just didn’t know what right was.  So I dug.  And I dug.  And I dug some more.  Kathy, Bill, Jason and John stood by watching me dig.

I was thinking “how deep should I go?  They bury people six feet.  I could probably do that, but that seems awful deep.”

I had gone down to the point that I was standing in a hole almost to my waist when I heard my father-in-law’s voice: “are you digging to China?” 

I knew it was time to stop.

We placed Spike gently in the bottom of the grave and covered her.  Kathy cried.  I cried. Jason cried.  John threw up.  We all said our goodbyes to Spike.

Spike was a wonderful, beautiful dog.  She was loyal, bright and she took better care of us than we took care of her.

Lessons learned:

• Heartworm prevention is a must.
• Dogs need fences.
• The best dogs really do bite.  They protect their family whenever there is a perceived threat.  They aren’t vicious, just protective.

Post #5: Spike's Fence

Spike matured, she became family.  Of course, she was the family member who had to live in the back yard.  And she was the family member that was tied to a lead during the day and let loose at night.  We felt she needed to be allowed some freedom to run.  Night seemed to be a good time to let her loose, as she could watch our whole house, and she would not bother any of the neighbors.  We thought all was well, and everyone was happy with this arrangement.

Our neighbors eventually clued us in that they were not happy about Spikes nighttime wanderings.  We unleashed her in the evening with the belief that she would stay out of trouble.  She was such a good dog, after all.

Our neighbor complained of missing flip-flops, and another let us know subtly that it was Spike who was probably stealing our newspaper.  They were almost too subtle, for me.  I think like a guy, after all, and guys usually don’t pick up on “subtle.”  Just ask any woman who has tried to give a guy a hint about how their behavior annoys them.  Like a lot of men, it generally takes a direct statement for me to “get it.”  However, I finally figured out that it really was Spike who was causing all this mischief in our neighborhood.
Once this sunk in, we did the right thing and built a fence around our backyard.  Everyone was happier.  Even Spike was happier.  She no longer had to be tied up during the day.

Post #4: Spike, the Protector

Spike grew a bit larger than we expected, but she ended up being a good size.  She was about three foot tall when on all fours. 

We decided that she probably had some kind of shepherd in her.  She was quite protective of the boys, and she never wandered too far from the house.

We decided that for the benefit of our neighbors, we needed to keep her tied up during the day.  We put Spike on a long lead with a swivel post.  She was adept at not letting herself get tangled up.

The boys would come home from school and take her off her lead to play with her.  Spike would follow them on their bicycle rides and other wanderings around the neighborhood.  Spike pretty much stayed by their sides all the time.  She even tried to protect the boys from themselves. 

One Saturday, the boys rode their bikes to a construction site.  There was a large pile of dirt at the site.  Being boys, their first thought was to play “King of the Mountain.”  A game in which each boy tried to be the only one on top of the dirt mound.  This was a game that involved pushing the other one down. 

Spike was not happy.  She got between the boys, she barked, and she started pulling the boys down the dirt mound by their pants legs.  The boys finally gave up and rode their bikes home. 

Our view of Spike was that she was a friendly dog who would never hurt anyone.  She saw herself as part of our family with the assignment of protecting the family from danger.

A new neighbor moved into the house next door.  They had a dog, too.  One evening we all happened to be in our respective backyards at the same time.  The neighbor’s dog had not yet learned the boundaries between the houses, since we had no fence.  The dog came into our back yard and growled at John.  The next thing I knew, Spike had bowled the intruder over and was standing over the neighbor’s dog with her mouth hovering over the other dog’s neck.

Our neighbor’s father seemed to be the only one not in shock.  He gently grasped Spike’s collar and pulled her back.  Thankfully she was compliant.

One afternoon the doorbell rang at our house.  Kathy was home alone.  She answered the door, and a UPS man was standing in the entryway with a package.  She signed for the package, but he did not move. 

“Is there anything else?” Kathy asked. 

“Yes mam,” he stammered, “would you please call off your dog?”

Spike was standing behind the UPS man, with a very attentive look and a low growl.  Kathy called Spike and she sat down, allowing the UPS man to leave.

These episodes taught me that any dog has the potential to bite.  It does not matter how friendly the dog is to its’ family, given the right circumstances the dog can go into protective mode and become violent. 

When someone asks if they can pet one of my dogs, I know longer just say “sure.”  I’m careful to check my dog’s current disposition before giving permission, and to give a warning to the person making the request to approach my dog carefully.

Post #3: Spike, Part II

At the time, I was convinced that I was allergic to dogs, and any puppy we brought home had to be an “outside dog.”  The dog would live in our big back yard.  In anticipation of the big event, we brought a second-hand doghouse home and put in the back yard.  The boys and I had carefully put a fresh coat of paint on the doghouse and put a dog bed inside.

Once we brought her home, and learned her name, we carefully stuck reflective letters over the door to spell out her name:  S  P  I  K  E

These were the same types of letters you might see on someone’s mailbox.  I’m not sure if we expected Spike to learn how to read her name, or if we were worried that one of us would forget Spike’s name.

We had agreed to bring Spike back to the shelter when she was a couple of months older to have her neutered.  So when the time came, we loaded her back into the car, took her back, and let the shelter perform the operation.  Spike came home bandaged, drowsy, and sore.  During this time of recovery, our three year old son crawled into the dog house with Spike to care for her.  He spent most of two days in her doghouse, coming out for meals and to go to bed.  Spike recovered quickly. 

And Spike and John developed a really strong, unbreakable bond.

Post #1: Spike: Our first Dog

We were a young family with boys ages three and six.  We thought it was time to bring a dog into our lives.

We thought we knew what we were doing, what we were getting into.  Of course, we didn't, really.

We lived in a three bedroom house with a large yard and no fence.  No one else in the neighborhood had yet bothered with fences, either.  The main thing was, we had a house, two young boys, and a large yard.  We were ready for a dog.  We decided we wanted a rescue dog.  This would be the least expensive way to get a dog.  Purebred dogs were supposed to be expensive, and we really did not know enough about different breeds to have a preference.

Kathy and I went to a shelter in a nearby city to find out what was involved in adopting a dog.  The explained the paperwork and the fees, and their requirements.  We filled out the paperwork, and went home, waiting for the call from the shelter to let us know whether we had been approved.  The call came.  We had been approved!  All that was left was to pick out a dog and pay the fees.

The boys let us know that the dog's name would be Spike.  We hadn't found the right dog, yet, but we had found the right name.  I had to work, so I left the selection to Kathy and The Boys.  They piled into the car and headed for the shelter.

Once at the shelter, they looked at the available dogs, and selected a three or four month old mixed breed puppy.  Spike had brown, white and black markings.  She had short hair.

Wait ... Spike?  a she?  Well, yes.  That is what you can end up with when you name your puppy before you pick her out.  And when you are three years old, gender doesn't really matter.