My Difference

For some time now, I've been beating myself up for not posting on this blog. I've once again allowed the daily dribble of Facebook to lure me away like the 010101010101010101 siren of some future world. I've been trapped in it's web of insincerity's and niceties and fleeting moments of absurd friendships. As much as it will defeat any attempt to break free, I will post this, so anyone with more than a minute between funny comments or serious causes, can get just a glimpse of what shattered my heart..... this time. Driven by a sadness that's too large for FB and it's endless " :-( " and "sorry's", I came here to tell my sorrow. I needed something more than a caring shoulder or another "understanding" response. I needed closure. Many of you know, I fill most of my time doing dog rescue. This involves taking mostly dogs that nobody else wants..... even other rescues. In the last several weeks, I've taken in over 20 dogs/puppies. Many were adopted, some went to another rescue, some were just being fostered and went back to the shelter once they were actually old enough to Be adopted. Some did Not make it. This is about those three. Dooley The first time I heard about this guy was in an email I received from the people who found him. They had been out for a walk through their neighborhood and spotted this 9/10 month old pup hiding in the woods. It appeared that his foot was injured. They took him in and tried to find his owners. After having no luck with that, they reluctantly called Animal Control who responded and took the dog. The family immediately took it upon themselves to contact many of the local rescues, asking if someone would please help this fella, because he was So sweet and would most likely, being a pitbull and injured, be put to sleep at the pound. I went to AC and there he was, all goofy and lovable and just wanting to sit as close to and as much on top of ANYONE as possible. The next day I had him xray'd and sure enough, his foot which seemed to cause him no pain at all, was completely broken, right behind the knuckles. He was placed in a cast and while he was out.... neutered. A week into his recovery, his cast started rubbing, so I took him back to have his cast altered and he was fine, except he had developed a cough. This was the same cough that many of the other dogs in my home had developed and were being treated for. Housing dogs that usually come to me with no vaccinations, I'm always prone to one or two being sick, but this week, I had 9. So Dooley started the same medication the others had been taking. He was also on some meds for any pain he may have had for his foot, so when he started not being so rambunctious, it didn't concern me too much. Four days into his meds, he quit eating, but so had several of the other dogs during their recovery. Never more than one day though, so again it appeared normal. Day 5 and he was getting dehydrated, so I gave him sub Q fluids. His temp had spiked to 106, but an hour after the fluids it was down to 103. Two + hours later, Dooley laid over in the floor, gave two sharp gasps for air and was dead.

I've never had a dog die in the middle of my living room. Much less a dog that didn't appear to be that sick. This bouncy out of control bundle of happy licks and goofy exuberance was lying limp in my arms and there was nothing I could do to bring him back. My first thought and lingering feelings were what had I done wrong?What did I not see? How could I have prevented this? I called the Vet Hospital emergency number and arranged to meet them there with Dooley's body. They would need to get samples to find out what it was that took this little man from us. I'll miss you Dooley. You were a fun Pup. You sneaked those kisses to Annie that made her growl, but never in a serious way. You never understood when I was yelling at you for jumping the gate, that I was upset. You were always happy and wanted me to pet your head. I tried fella, and I hope you didn't suffer. I hope too, that if this was my fault in any way, that you forgive me. You go and run free of broken legs and broken feet. Breath clean air and bark all you want. Big hugs to you, Dooley. Tula, Tula was a stray that ended up in the care of Animal control. Her story isn't as dramatic as Dooley's. She had stayed her time at AC and was due to be PTS. I don't care how old or aggressive or injured an animal is, no dog deserves to die on a cold shelter floor, So I hooked a leash to the old girl and brought her home. At first I thought she might just need some gettin used to the other beasts here and that her grumbling and growling would pass. Sadly, it didn't. Tula checked out at the vet.

All negatives on her blood work and a fresh rabies vaccine and she was ready for adoption. Problem was finding someone who wanted and Senior Beagle who really wanted to be an only child. Tula would go out in the morning, dig a hole under the swing on our patio and lay there all day. She would come in at night, head for her bed under the table and lay there all night. This would have been the perfect arrangement, except that sometimes in between, she would wander around picking fights with the other dogs. Last Friday, she picked a fight with Annie, and she lost. You don't go into a bar and kick the biggest guy in there and not get your butt whooped. Tula did just that. Annie let go of Tula as soon as I told her to, but the damage was done and my decision was made. This was one old gal that wouldn't be getting adopted. Seriously old and grumpy and not social at all. There was also the occasional snap at human hands too, but that wasn't nearly as bad as her attitude to other k9's.

So today, Tula left for Rainbows Bridge. She can run and play and dig all the holes she wants to now. It was a difficult decision to carry out, because I wanted her remaining time to be a little longer than a couple weeks. Unfortunately fate gave her a different hand than I had in mind.

Zorro, This little spark plug was my first exchange student. Three dogs I had managed to get my hands on went to Briggs Adoption Center. CeCe, the Shih Tzu, Suzie Q, the Lhasa Apso, and Jersey, the Chihuahua all were accepted by Briggs and in exchange, I took Zorro. This guy was 9 yrs old and abandoned by his idiot owner. The guy got a Doberman to "protect" his property and instead it started picking on Zorro. Well Zorro didn't respond well to shelter life. He was a nervous wreck and would spin all day and stopped eating and was losing weight. So, he came here to see if living in a home would benefit his health. At first we thought he was just nervous, but after getting bitten several times I thought maybe he simply didn't like me, then he started sitting in my lap, but I still wasn't allowed to handle him... I was just a perch. Then he started running after and nipping our friends. Then it became impossible to even pick him up. I worked with him every day and discovered if I gently approached him and placed my hands between his two front legs, I could pick him up and hold him temporarily, but as soon as I would go to move him he would scratch me while leaping from my arms, snapping at me as well. His agressive biting was so sporadic and unpredictable. Nobody wanted to handle him after awhile. Three days ago, Zorro quit eating. He wouldn't even eat treats. I tried to hold him last night and he bit the crap out of my hand. Today, Zorro left with Tula and joined Dooley. As much as I thought he had potential, the potential for him to bite an adopter or their child was too great a possibility and liability. If Zorro had been a 70 pound pitbull this decision would have never been debated. As sad as I am for having to make it, I am equally sure it was the right thing to do. Now he doesn't ever have to worry about being picked up the wrong way or ever having to bite in fear again. Live your afterlife in Peace my little temporary friend.

We did manage to spend some quality time together. He would lay next to my computer in the morning and watch me type. He liked being up higher than the other dogs. I guess he felt safe up there over top of their heads. Well now he can spread his little wings and fly above them all. And so there you have it. Doesn't sound like too much to deal with, but this on top of all the other dogs and all the sickness and life's crap in general..... I'm hollow. My heart is not broken because it's gone. I feel nothing in there and I'm sure nothing is beating within my chest but echos of compasion. I chose to do this work and yes, some of you have said how "you're so strong", "I don't know how you do it", "you're a saint", but the bottom line is this. I'm not making the difference I thought I could make. The dogs still die and sometimes in my care. The vet bills are high and sadly only get paid when i can pop out a litter of cute pups for adoption. I'm feeding the same system that dumped these old unwanted dogs on me. I'm part OF the problem. I'm starting to believe we shouldn't HAVE shelters. Maybe shelters and rescues and pounds are only enabling a system that's flawed.

Then I turn around and I see the big warm loving eyes of the ones that are still here. I feel their soft fur and wet kisses and I know, I'm just in pain and they lick it all away. There'll be more adoptions, there'll be more rescues..... there'll be more deaths. I loved these three dogs like I still love the ones remaining, and that's the difference I needed to make. That's my closure. They didn't leave this world unloved.