Chewymom

It was January, 1995, and I wanted a puppy. We had two sons, one on the way, and somehow I felt like our family was not, and would not be, complete without a dog. I grew up with a dog–a Lhasa Apso named Boots. I had been scanning the classified ads in Savannah, and I finally found one that looked promising. An “oops” litter had been born–yorkie/shih-tzu mix puppies. We had very little money at the time, and the price of these puppies was right–$50. We drove out to the lady’s house to take a look, and the puppies were beyond cute. One in particular had lots of spunk. We were enamored and bought her on the spot.

We named our new mutt Idgie, from the movie “Fried Green Tomatoes.” She satisfied my maternal instincts by following me around the house and snuggling with me every time I sat down. Within two months of Idgie joining our family, I had baby #3, and yet still I somehow let her out regularly enough that the was house broken fairly quickly. When Idgie was less than a year old and DS12 was 2 months, we left Savannah. We rented a “no pets” house on the condition that we would keep our dog on a leash in the kitchen. We complied (although occasionally we would bring her to the sofa for a snuggle once the kids were down). She yapped and complained bitterly. Our yard was unfenced, and we generally walked her on a leash. Occasionally we would let her run free for a bit in the yard, and one time she got away.

My three little ones were in the rental house, and I could not go chasing the dog all over the neighborhood. She had done this before, so I knew she would come back. Unfortunately though, a teenager hit her as she darted across the road. He was horrified, and I was scared. She had blood oozing from her mouth and was laying very still, although I could see she was breathing. It was the weekend (of course) so I took her to the local emergency pet clinic. They observed her for several days, and on about the third day they informed us that she had yet to urinate. They would give her until the following morning, and if she could produce urine, we would need to put her down. A few hours, and several hundred dollars later, Idgie sprang back to life with her usual spunk, and urinated! We brought her home, feeling relieved yet slightly annoyed at the vet bill.

Things went along, we added another child to the family, along with a cat, and we moved again. Although our yard was unfenced, we lived on a cul-de-sac. Idgie never wandered far, so we let her out without worries about cars. The only problem we encountered was when Mr. Villanueva across the street would dare to check his mail. Idgie had decided that his mailbox was her territory, and she would ankle-bite him all the way back to his house. He smiled and was very polite about her little habit, but I don’t think he ever felt the love for our little 10-pound menace.

One morning Idgie woke up and was paralyzed in her hind legs. We hauled her to the vet, and he told us that it was probably inflammation from being hit by a car three years earlier. They watched her for several days, and finally we were told that if she did not get up and walk by the next morning, we’d likely need to put her down. We were truly sad, but the next morning she perked up and walked! Predictably, we were happy at her recovery, although slightly annoyed at the large vet bill. We began to make fun of Idgie for being a very expensive dog who loved to live on the verge of death, just to see how much we were willing to pay to prove our love for her.

Once again we moved and added a kid. Idgie is now a 12-1/2 year old mutt. We have seen her health decline. She has cateracts, is hard of hearing, and is now confined again to a leash in the kitchen because of her inability to hold her bladder when she is on a soft, cushy carpet. She has been with us longer than three of our children. And two days ago, she laid in her bed and refused to get up to go out. Thinking she was just under the weather, I left her for a bit. Finally, we picked her up and carried her outside. She stood, bewildered. Finally she made her way slowly over to a tarp left over from the winter fire wood and curled up. I knew something was wrong. I carried her back inside and fed her some Bil-Jac–her favorite food. She didn’t move. She lay curled up in her bed all day, except for one trip to the edge of the den to relieve herself on the carpet. She ate some of her food, with the help of the cats. I called the vet and made an appointment.

Today I took her in. She had once again refused to get up, and she was barely using her hind legs. The vet noticed significant atrophy of her hind legs. I was surprised–I had not noticed her refusing to use them until two days ago. He did an x-ray, and it showed a huge amount of calcification of one of her disks–probably at the site of her injury 10 years ago. He said she is in significant pain. He gave her a steroid shot and gave us some prednisone pills for her. Hopefully it will relieve some pain. We return to the vet at the end of next week, and Idgie might not come back home with us.

As much as we have expressed exasperation with Idgie over her use of the carpet as a potty, her stinkiness due to a skin condition, and her ability to cost us a fortune in vet bills, the fact is that she has been a member of our family for over twelve years. That is two-thirds of DH’s and my married life. Longer than three of my children. The oldest pet in the home. And even though an aging pet is a pain to take care of–especially when you have five other pets and five kids–the fact is, I am so sad at the thought of her being gone. Picturing myself petting her for one last time and whispering goodbye just makes me want to cry. Maybe it is partly because I have so recently said goodbye to my own mother, and although I would not dare compare my mom to my dog (my mother would come back and slap me if I did!), seeing Idgie decline in health does serve as a reminder of what I lived through only a few months ago.

I suspect that this week I will be petting Idgie and loving her a bit better, knowing that her days are likely numbered. Maybe I’m wrong, and she will bounce back only to laugh at us yet again over the large vet bills she manages to accumulate. But this time, I don’t think that is likely. I think I have a dog who is old and tired and at the end of her road. And it is sad.

This entry was posted on Thursday, March 29th, 2007 at 1:05 am and is filed under Mommy Musings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.