I have taken two dogs from a doctor with a family of five kids -- their Great Dane, Muldoon, and their Beagle, Brownie. After taking the second dog in, I lost touch with them -- thankfully because I thought it horrible for them to continue getting "popular" pets that they tired of within short periods of time. Both these animals have since passed but they were well loved and cared for the last years of their lives.
I had a Boxer named Missy that I got from friends who bought a new Boxer puppy. Missy kept kicking the puppy's ass (the puppy kept asking for it) so she had to go. She was over ten years old and had been with that family since she was found as a baby. WTF!?!?! I no longer have a relationship with these "friends" either (my "x" got them in the divorce!). Missy lived to be 17 years old and took no shit from any dog, bigger or smaller than she. (Fun was watching Missy who is on the miniature size of boxerhood terrorize a 100 plus pound Rottweiler.) She raised my current dachshunds (my boys) for over a year before a seizure required me to put her to sleep.
I absconded with little Sammy. Sammy was a Yorkie who belonged to a dear friend of mine who places strays and unwanteds with families. Unfortunately for Sammy, he was bounced between a few homes and landed in one where the "husband" was too much a "man" to have a "little" dog and used Sammy for football practice. Manly, eh? My friend, BW, saw that action one day when the guy dropped kicked the dog down a set of stairs. She kicked that man's ass (BW is female and was in her late 50's the day this happened) and took the dog away. She told me the story and I took Sammy in up until his death at age 15.
I also had a Borzoi named Sherri that I inherited for the last few months of her life from my mother. I don't even remember how that ended up happening. I think it was because my mother knew I had the strength to put her down when it was time and I did just that. Sherry's claim to fame was saving Meagan's hamster from certain dachshund death when it escaped it's cage one fine day.
At the Houston Dog Show, a Bull Terrier Rescue Society lady came in with the saddest reject who had just been found on the side of the road that very day. I named her Sophie and immediately adopted her -- infected eyes, heartworms, bleeding wounds and all -- right there on the spot because she wedged herself right between my legs and refused to let me go. She picked me and I could not deny her. She was with me for four years until her massive heart finally gave out.
The only dog I've ever bought was my beloved English Bulldog Brutus. He was one who picked me and I found him irresistible. I loved him beyond words and still find it difficult to talk about him without shedding a tear. His life ended way too soon . . .
I stayed with each and everyone of these animals from the time I got them to the time of their death. I never allowed them to suffer or endure a moment of non-quality life. When it was time, I did not leave their side during euthanasia. I did not leave them until they left me. I never wanted them to feel abandoned again. I took them on and I promised to love them and keep them until the end. I owe them that for the love they so unendingly give to me. I kept my part of the bargain to each of them as they kept their part to me.
Please meet my boys . . .
Chad (or The Chad)
Yes, he is always this intense -- I tease him and call him Arnold Schwartsenweeny . . .
and Joey (or Joe-Bear).
Joey is a glued-to-your-side kinda boy -- super sweet and sensitive . . .
My boys came to me by way of BW. She knows of someone who breeds whatever is popular that day for profit. When a litter arrives, this lady counts the money until they're gone. However, at about the 4 week mark, she gets very tired of and bored with puppies and all that that implies (poop, feedings, mess!). The puppies had best go fast at that point or the remaining puppies have an "accident." They "accidentally" get out of the house, down the steps, and all the way across the yard (ALL BY THEMSELVES allegedly) to the fence where the woman's pit bulls are on "guard." The pits (who are to be pitied since their entire life is lived tied to the fence for home "protection" and with little human contact) attack and destroy the puppies. My boys were the last remaining puppies of such a litter and BW brought them to me at FOUR and A HALF WEEKS OLD. They will be eight years old this year and going strong. Both have survived back injuries which left them paralyzed for two months (about a year apart from each other).
**Allow me a moment to express my never-dying gratitude to my daughter Nichole for patiently providing therapy to the boys every day, six times a day without fail. She is solely responsible for the fact that the boys are extremely active and can walk and run and play without surgery. We would never have been able to afford the surgery and would have had to put them down. I did a lot of research on the Internet and found a therapy that lifted their spirits and, after the time and intensity described above, the issue healed and they are as if the paralysis had never occurred.**
And then came Lacy . . .
Lacy, Lacy, Lacy . . . or Lacy Lu Lu as Leon likes to call her. I found this little jewel wondering the streets of a nearby neighborhood. I sought her owners for a month after I found her. No one put up a sign, no one responded to my signs, no one came forward to claim this little creature of fabulosity!!! She is one of a kind for sure. I kinda think that someone didn't know their dachshunds and was maybe glad she got away??? Yea. And. Um. She thinks she's a cat too. A real cat. Not just the walking on the back of the furniture and the jumping (and mostly slipping off of) the windowsills and stuff but . . . she meows people. Yep. Really. Besides being CatDog, there are other little quirks that go along with having a Lacy -- she is a manipulator. Um. Hmm. For realsies. Examples? She will not touch her food until Chad, Joey and Oliver have eaten theirs and are eyeing her bowl. Then she will eat. One. Kibble. At. A. Time. Same with treats. She waits. Then taunts. For hours. She tries to manipulate me by getting "lost" on the back patio when it's time for dinner -- meaning, she knows where the damn doggy door is (around the side of the house from patio) but she looks through the glass and whimpers for me to come "save" her. All the while I can see her and she can see me and I just haven't quite figured out where this all going but it started about a week ago??? Weirdness. That's my baby girl though . . . pure weirdness.
And our latest addition, Oliver. I reserve Oliver for another post. His is such a story and such a character, and being the oddball in the bunch, he simply requires his very own blog. We'll just keep him as the Mystery Poo for now. =)
All of the reminiscing has been not just for me to blather about my most adored pets but because of a blog I found that I love . . .
No Ordinary Rollercoaster is a contributor to Who'sYourDachshund and has three dachsies of his own. I found him through Google Reader's "browse for stuff" section. Google Reader has been very good to me. I heart both these blogs LOTS.
To help with his cause on the dogblog and maybe because of the stories on it like the ones I told you above, please consider a donation to this:
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Thanks for reading and for giving . . . I hope your days are filled with love and grace.
*hug your pets today -- they love you like no other*