Cole's Second Chance. Your Pets CAN Live On Without You.

Cole came to us one evening in the middle of Summer, 2018. It was the end of another long day. I work primarily nights; week nights 3 pm to 8 pm. I often see the appointments we couldn't fit in earlier, or, the cases that are attached to special scenarios that require a degree of liability in both the financial and 'out of the box' maneuverability. I wouldn't put these cases on the other vets who work at the clinic. It wouldn't be fair to.

These cases are a long story, meets pivot point bordering on euthanasia and deaths door, AND, an owner who cannot find any other option. It is essentially ALWAYS the same. Person in dire straights (often homeless, addicted, evicted, always desperately spewing emotionally garble) and a million excuses, and a pet in the cross hairs of a balance between if I don't do it the shelter (or the pink euthanasia juice) will. I, due to my poorly trained patience, have gotten better at being the listening forgiving humanitarian with these.  I'm not shy about the reasons. I am in these for these pets. The people, well, I am not so forgiving with them. I can't help most of them. They don't want it, they just want help for their pets.

Cole last week,

I walked into examination Room number two. First room on the right. The one with a bench seat, lots of room, and the most updated within my humble 1950's rural little veterinary clinic. There stood an aged black shabby, overweight wagging dog. He was entertained by the chaotic clutter and bustling revolving door of patients and their chauffeurs.

His mom, a woman shrouded in clothes trying to be very small hid her face sat on the bench ignoring him within her own grieving.

Cole was a mess of energy pent up in a body that should have been tired a long time ago. He was bright, happy, active, and yet obviously rather elderly. He smelled bad. He was matted, lumpy, had a fleshy marble bag hanging from some part of his belly. Attraction and affection for him would be a little deeper than the average onlooker would find at first glance. He was a soul in dire need of looking past a lot of deficiencies. He was also here because all other options had been emptied. Almost as desperate as his mom who was seated, sobbing, and almost incoherent.

Cole at his mass removal surgery.

This was one of those moments that suspends time. Removes you from the chatter of cluttered pesky dilemmas of daily life. It was one of those defining moments. The moments I don’t think lots of other vets deal with. I understand why, although it doesn't change the needs nor the consequences of turning a blind eye.

Quietly and spontaneously his mom started reciting her plight. She was a woman who started out like we all do. She once had dreams, hopes, plans for a life full of possibilities and potential. She wasn't any older, or younger than me, but, she was broken beyond repair from an intervention. She looked doomed. She couldn't stop crying. It was difficult to understand her story on a timeline. She was at this moment simply a person who needed to stop living in and out of her car every day. She wanted to be in a shelter where she could rest safely. Her dog, who I barely articulated as having been purchased as a puppy at 8 weeks old, was her soul source of companionship through all of her losses. She repeatedly told me that he had never know another mom. She was so insistent that I know this that I feared she would chose to put him to sleep rather than rehome him. This, this one incomprehensible statement, is one I have heard so many times I have almost lost faith in people being anything other than so self absorbed they will kill their best friend to prove the point.

“I am homeless. I live in my car. He needs more than I can give him but I have had him since he was a puppy. He only knows me.”

It was a moment in time, I have had too many times before. It was one of the many situations of feeling like my stethoscopes duties were extending well beyond my medical practice’s primary purpose.

This dog, Cole, looked like a marketing ad for some animal sanctuary pamphlet. He was big, shaggy, matted, filthy, had some odd bald black skin sac-looking mass swinging to-and-fro from his midsection, and for as bad as he looked he smelled equally unwantable. He was a tough sell unless you already possessed the eyes of adoration years together build. All of his discouraging selling points weren’t going to change his current predicament. He had a car for his only home. He was a dog who had energy and needed more than he had.

I have learned that in moments like these a few things really matter. First, I cannot undo what has walked in my door. Being cold, indifferent, and ambivalent isn’t going to change this pups fate. It also isn’t going to stop haunting me. Yes, I have to identify and embrace that I “feel” for my patients, even when they are just off the street and ownership has been only 5 minutes.

Next, many of these situations seem impossible. Impossible is a place where nothing happens. Novices make predictions, the rest of us, those who have learned that amazing happens when you invest yourself, offer hope, extend a hand of compassion and support, those of us who have gotten here know that life will surprise you if you aren’t afraid to let it.

What happened next was what ended up making all the difference in Cole’s story. I took a breath. I decided to not concoct an excuse to walk away. Send him and his mom to a place they didn’t have left to go. I asked Coles' mom if I could interview him and her. To tell his story to the world (at least our Facebook world). This is what made a difference. See Coles video here.

The last, and probably most important part of this meeting was having a staff who understands who we are, why we are this way, and what the world has room for. I had one person, my very dear friend, vet tech extraordinaire, who looked at me and said; “We can do this. I want to help.” It just takes one more person who believes and a spark happens. That glimmer of maybe?, turns into the beginning of a movement. Hiring her wasn’t an accident. Like the rest of the staff who I am so lucky to work with, it has been a long, (many years long), process of finding like minded people who believe and want to do something. Me, all by myself, that’s (almost) impossible. But a community of people like me, well, that is where fairy tale endings meet real-life.

Cole went home with that technician who believed in miracles that night. He stayed with her, as the newest member to her 5 dog flock for a few weeks. She gave him a new perspective and excitement to a life unfinished. He was caught on film in their back yard playing with her other dogs. It brought me to tears, (it still does). His joy was undeniable in that little snippet of yard play. I so wish his mom could have seen it. How happy she would have been. How relieved to know he was ok without her, and in spite of how alone they had been once.

After about 3 weeks, another video or two, Cole found his home. I can call it his 'next' but it has become his 'perfect' home. He is what they call him "the best dog we have ever had." Who knew 'best' could reside in this old package? (I guess we all did?, didn't we?).

Cole 2018 Pets With Santa. His family photo.

Cole was adopted by a wonderful family who also goes above and beyond what a little challenge might require. They take the hardest, most needy cases, and from their hands of love an kindness second chances become more than these little souls could have ever hoped for.

What I have come to believe as true, even though I dread each repeat episode, it is the time I love my job the most. Being a veterinarian can't, shouldn't be about finding the easy cases, the easy people, it is about helping the worst cases in the  most dire circumstances. It is the fulfilling place to build a lifetime of stories from.

For more information on who Jarrettsville Veterinary Center is please visit our Facebook page, or our website.

If you have a pet question or a story about your pet to share so we can start to help others who might be in the same situation you are (or were), please visit us at Pawbly.com. It is free to use and open to everyone.

If you want to learn more about pet care visit my YouTube channel here. 

Speechless; Screaming into the Vacuum.

I have been quiet.. for a while. Its not like me.. so, people have been asking..

"Where's the blog gone?"

I have  been blogging for long enough to know where the audience is, what they are interested in, and how I can coexist amongst these. The dilemma is that once you amass an audience they require frequent attention. They won't stick around if you don't keep them fed, assuaged and entertained.

It's the end of a year. A time for reflection, introspection, and self critical analysis. Except, lately, I have been feeling a little lost. Which will be evident to those who know me once I start speaking here. I cannot try to bluff my way through a blog. The past vulnerability I have displayed would make the shallow attempt at plausibility obvious.

The problem isn't the lack of self-purpose, nor is it the voice loud enough to proclaim it. It is that I get overwhelmed... don't we all? Overwhelmed with problems, challenges, pressures, and doubt that our little lives can influence a change big enough to matter. And, if it doesn't matter why invest so much effort in the trying?

I feel/fear that my voice too often lives in a vacuum. A place where those who need it cannot access it, and those threatened by it do whatever they can to suppress it. It is a mountain of challenge..

OR, have I become the girl crying "Wolf!" so often that even I am sick of my own pleas for help? Do I still relate to her? Identify with her cause and, if so, can I still muster/resurrect/maintain the energy to be her?

When I feel really small and inconsequential I get overwhelmed, and, then I get quiet, pensive, and introverted as I search for the return to my path within.

So, I sat here quiet, for months. Searching for the next reason to write. Hoping something entertaining, relevant, meaningful would miraculously fall in front of me. It hasn't. I am still here in the same spot wondering and wandering through the routines of my days.

Now that I am not swimming in the vortex of cancer watching my beloved puppy die I have had more free time to think. (Not always a good thing).

I have gone back to work full force. Immersion into other peoples worries, the pets I adore helping, and the clinic that is such a mash of intricate working parts the greasy wheels echo needs I can't fill fast enough.

The tapestry of issues, needs, and unfilled voids is equally overwhelmingly daunting. The chaos surrounds and I continue to sit small and lost.

Every day there is a reminder of work unfinished. Tasks no one else is going to face publicly, and a mountain of requests for help I cannot complete.

A small sampling includes;

"This sounds exactly like my cat. I was told by my specialist (after a $900 bill) that he most likely wouldn't have polyps because hes too young (2 years 8 months). They told me they could look for polyps, but that it would be an additional $2600 and that they may not find anything. I am considering traveling 4 hours to you and just sent an email to Krista. Thank you so much for this video, I feel like I  may have found the answer to helping my cat!"  This was in response to a YouTube video I posted on removing a nasopharyngeal polyp in a cat. The video, which documents the entire procedure, lasts 2 minutes and 38 seconds.

I get tons, and tons, of requests to look for a polyp in a cat who has been given a $1500 (plus) estimate to have this performed.

"Why is there such a price discrepancy?" they all ask.

"Ask them, I have no idea.. really, I don't. But I know I am not the only one who does this procedure. Nor am I (probably) the cheapest." It is a curt, terse, quip  reply. (I am equally appalled, angry and afraid the throngs will find me in a drove of cat-carrier caravans).

I also get referrals from other clinics to help the clients they won't. I would love to say 'can't' but they can, they just won't and don't. Almost always due to cost. They won't offer a payment plan, or even third party billing plan, and they won't budge on whatever that "why?" is. It is infuriating. I suppose I should feel at least grateful (not the right word, maybe, consoled?) that they cared enough (also probably not the right word), to tell them other places do care enough to.

Here's my New Years (2019) proclamation.

Jarrettsville Vet will take care of our clients when they need us. Not just when it's profitable, convenient, and easy enough to do so. Through the adorable puppy and kitten days, to the vomiting, diarrhea, urinary blockages, pyometras, and nasopharyngeal polyp days. We will be honest, offer options to every ailment, and every budget, and help you help your beloved furry family members every single day. It is what people who have pets they consider family want. It is who we are in the clinic and out of the clinic. It is why I will keep making videos, with prices included in them, and screaming into the vacuum.

We might be small, but we are mighty and unwavering in our mission and purpose.

Can one person change the world? Only if they inspire a change others need and build a team that is as determined as she is. It's time to stop being quiet again. It's time to get back to work outside of the clinic.

I guess we'll both see how I sound on  December 29 in 2019?

Here is where I fall prey to the profession I feel is so important and vital. I can scream into a working vacuum at the clinic, but, at home in the  quiet moments I am screaming this,, all the damned time.

There are pets with treatable conditions out there who are lucky enough to have a family that loves them as an integral part of their lives. We, the veterinary profession, knows this. We feel the same way. It was what motivated us to go to vet school. This intangible need to take care of those who lack a voice but impact our lives so profoundly. Somewhere in the quest for greedy profiteering, status, titles, and shiny towers we lost who we were and why we came. We started blaming, shaming, and distancing ourselves from our clients all at the expense of our patients (and I would add ourselves). There are always options outside of economic euthanasia. There is dying in this profession. Some, (a fraction of what is actually going on), are untreatable, the rest, the patients being denied care, cheated from the actual treatment because we knowingly exhausted resources in the discovery phase, and the emergencies at 2 am who aren't told that cheaper exists after 8 am, are the skeletons that lead our suicide statistics. We, this profession turned lobbyists, did it to ourselves. We forgot. We forgot to care, to over extend for the sake of that wet nose. We forgot that vet school was always a poor investment. We forgot what it is like to live paycheck by paycheck because we also made poor life choices. And, we forgot that the legacies of our lives are the actions of the moment.

When we deny options that work for people we deny them the ability to care for their pets. We undermine the bonds our profession relies on for current and future viability. This reflects on our professions integrity and credibility. 

Here I am screaming.. is anyone there?

For more information on who Jarrettsville Veterinary Center is please visit our Facebook page, or our website.

If you have a pet question or a story about your pet to share so we can start to help others who might be in the same situation you are (or were), please visit us at Pawbly.com. It is free to use and open to everyone.

If you want to learn more about pet care visit my YouTube channel here. 

The Distracted Hearts Recovery. Getting and Going On After Losing Your Pet.

It has been about a month of wallowing. Wallowing interrupted by abrupt volcanoes of tsunamic tears. Blubbering, hiding, angry, guilt-ridden crocodile tears.

I lost my pup over a month ago. It was excruciating....to put it all lightly.

Jekyl and his dearest admirer, Jitterbug

I don't know how to process this grieving any other way. I can drown in it, if I could find the time and lifestyle to get away with it. I could run, escape, evaporate either geographically or spiritually. Or, I can trudge on with a try.

I can try, try like the hell it is to just get through it.

I am one of those people. I talk to myself, provide affirmations projected from long ago, to be resurrected when they are needed, as I try to go on when life denies me the reprieve to stop, sit and process. I don't have a life that permits me to not to go forward, (even when I don't want to, and,even when I'm not so sure I can).

How do I try? I try to live the laudable jargon I spew professionally daily. Be the model grieving parent who doesn't go belly up begging for medication or evisceration. TRY, like hell, to be that person. That person who can, when I know I am simply the empty, broken, hollow other who can't and isn't.

But, after the weeks pass, the cards collect, the flowers retire, I grab my own bootstraps and jump back in. I am happier thrashing forward chaotically than wallowing and submerging. I start to put out subtle feelers for a soul in need to distract my shattered self.

Me and Jek leaving radiation.
That smile, those adoring eyes, his trust in me, and our bond..
I couldn't imagine how I would go on without these?

Distractions aren't contraindicated. Are they? What if they do good while providing much needed static-chatter-fixation? I could save a life. Maybe two, (and, maybe my own?), concurrently. Who needs a shrink to tell me I should take time to process my emotions? Truth is my emotions are eating me up from the inside. Making me want to dig my own hole to lay my own dead condolence flowers upon. Rest in peace my ass. I am tussling in bed in tears. There is no peace. There is emptiness. Quiet (I hate quiet), absence, loss. PAIN.

There were loads of options available to lessen the self-imposed grief ridden burden:

Vacation. (Check). Helped immensely, but left me dreading the deadness of the house I had to go back to.

Dwell. The worst option for me. It is like walking into a black hole. I get sucked in and there is no way out. I can dwell for 48 hours and then even I hate who I am looking at in the mirror.

Redirect. I took some time to sprinkle extra adoration on the remaining kids of the clan. My biggest secret to managing the death depression is to never have an empty nest. It is the work out plan without  the "congratulations, job well done!" display. Get up every morning and invest yourself in others. You may feel that life has left you, but, you are never left and alone.

Resurrect. Find something you put off while the hospice care, death dueling, and grief was governing your time. For me I got 5 books to keep me from getting too far into my own head. I scattered them like toys. One in all the places I was likely to get stuck. Bedroom, kitchen, tv room, and living room. Get lost in someone else's story, especially when your own is so bleak.

Repurpose. I fueled my empathy into the patients whose parents were in the same dilemma I was. Don't rush them, never judge their difficulty in saying goodbye, and for Pete's sake don't expect anyone to be as hard-boiled-headed as I was. Maybe 9 months of oncology wasn't everyone else's answer to compassionate care? Maybe a quick goodbye saves everyone from considering swallowing a lung full of wine? (There are always too many "maybes" to haunt me).

Suck Up Your Own Self-Pity, Jump Back Into Pet Parenting, and move on. I preach that, I better be able to follow it... I was soooooo hesitant to do it. I talked myself out of multiple adoptions because I was just to pitiful to do anything but cry about the millions of reasons this dog wasn't my dog. It took me apologizing to a lot of puppies for failing to be ready for them, and for them not being him.. (I know it wasn't their fault, but they were paying for it).

Even last night I was in the presence of the perfect beagle puppy. She was everything on my wish list,, and still I wanted to walk away. I could make up a million excuses. (I deserved every damned one of them. I hurt this bad). BUT, I stayed. I walked, I confessed (always be honest, especially with animal people, they get it). And, as I was about to walk away the foster mom pulled out the most brilliant trick in the book. She put her in my arms and rested her head on my shoulder. That little puppy surrendered. Went limp. Sold her soul to my broken heart and reminded me it can breathe again.

Fripp. Our first embrace

It was the slap to my egg-shelled wall of self protection I needed. It shattered into dust.

I realized that I might be able to move on.. might.. I realized I had to try. If I started to shut myself off from loving another pup again, making time for them again, I would just be this lonely,, still.

Those ears. She has those ears. The ears that Jekyll had. Long, soft, velvet, spilling around her gentle brown eyes, and able to be lowered to the sides of her smile when she needed them to elicit something from someone. She had them,, and,, I needed them back... I needed to be reminded that there is always another chapter to be written. I can write it in the dark, some Shakespearean eulogy to a devoted mom who died years ago as a tribute to perfection. Or, I can distract my heart and rewire my head. Post pictures of her in all of the cracks and gaps that sorrow brings.. and walk on the end of a leash to a horizon full of beagle-adventures awaiting.

Then; this photo;

became this photo,,

repeated, just a few weeks later.

And,, I realized I might be able to go on. Get through one loss, with the gain of (two) others. I could do it. It might not always be pretty, but what in real life really is? We all want it to be neat, tidy, manageable. Check a box on a list of the things a normal life brings. Accept them, get through them, and try to not let your mascara run in public. It's an expectation set up for failure.

Life isn't that easy. If you are really living it as you muddle through.

Jekyl begs for steak from Joe,
who oddly,,, repeated the photo a short few weeks later.

same begging puppies, and Joe in the same shirt...
and life goes on.

My advice; simple, take what you need to. Be kind to those who just don't live like we do. Those of us who love beyond what the norm thinks is reasonable. Be passionate. Grieve, full on ugly if you have to. Don't apologize for it. And, then try to see the beauty in the next generation. There is always another one to sink your heart and soul into. 

Meet Fripp and Storm. My new distractions, and, my heart full happiness. Jekyll would approve. He would adore her.

Jek

Fripp, on Jeks bed.

For more on grieving see these related blogs;

The Phantom Effect. Grieving the Loss Of Your Pet.

The Aftermath. The Days After Losing Your Pet.

How Do You Say Goodbye When You Can't Let Go?

For more on Jekyll's journey see these;

My Beloved Jekyll-Pup. May You Run Through The Fields Forever.

The Little Things. My Tribute To My Pup.

Slowing Down Without Giving up. The Last Days.

A Tribute To A Beagle.

Fripp, Storm, and Charleston, 11/3/18

To learn more about my journey please follow this blog. To learn more about pets and pet care please follow my YouTube channel. If you have a pet question, are a pet lover, or think that you would like to contribute to helping other pets across all socio-economic borders please join us at Pawbly.com. It is a free question and answer site dedicated to educating, empowering and inspiring pet people the world over.

I am also punching a clock for the shear love of wet noses everyday at Jarrettsville Vet,, the greatest little vet clinic in the solar system.  And for the best Facebook page take a lookie over here at Jarrettsville Vet Facebook.

The Phantom Effect. Grieving The Loss Of Your Pet.

Phantom limbs. That reminder of the piece you are missing. It is the lost limb your brain tells you is still there, ready to reach, itching in the sunshine, tickling, prickling, humming for function at the stump. Your brain remembers space, depth and tactile function of the appendage long after it is gone.  These days with all of our technology and science advancement the robotic arms are "learning" to replace the arm/leg by utilizing the brains remembrance and memories by tapping into that phantom calling.

For those of us who recently lost our beloved pets the "phantom theory" applies. My brain tells me Jekyll is still here. I can "feel" his presence in the sickening silence of the weight of this house.

I know he is there, on his bed, at the end of mine. He's just sleeping. He will get up when I do. He's waiting for me. He just pulled the aura of himself into his blankets. That's why it is so quiet. I can't hear his breathing. His "good morning!" wiggles, snorts, and bed dances. Maybe I am still asleep? But he's there. He's got to be there.

The bedroom is still the same. Some fear of losing all of him if I change the way he left it. There is a clean up of the stuff that his sickness required. The mounds of extra linens, the soiled bed pads, the piles of medications. I don't want to remember them. The went to others who need them. Like an organ transplant. They live on to help others.

Yesterday one of my patients, whom I fear is dying eminently, went home with a gift basket of hospice goods care of "Jekyll". My patients mom sobbing scared of losing her boy. I sobbed right along with her. We understand each other. There aren't words that need to be exchanged. Here is my basket of help and my outpouring of hope that he outlives the grimness surrounding his tired body.  We are both pet parents whose life centers around our beloved dogs. It is heart wrenching some days... to be reminded and still forced to reface the cancer again today in another brown eyed pup.

I sat in the car in the driveway last night. I didn't want to walk in the door. It is more raw here, in this house. At work I can stay busy enough to keep the whispers at bay. Kinetic energy helps keep the dam closed.

I sent the obligatory death announcements yesterday. I notified who I had to. His little army of angels.

"Hello All,

We are deeply saddened to announce that Jekyll was euthanized on Sunday morning. His edema and intractable HGE were no longer manageable and he was almost consistently frantically unhappy and unable to keep comfortable without constant sedation.  

The loss is almost more than we can express.

 We are so very grateful for the extra time that we got to spend with him because of everyone at VOSRC’s efforts.  

We would like to extend our sincere appreciation to all of the doctors and staff as many of you went out of your way to fit us in last minute, assist in desperate phone calls, and changes in his treatment plan on a moments notice when needed. 

There are lots of excellent vets in the world but there aren’t many who remain accessible 24/7, nor willing to think or act outside of the box. Even with all of this amazing care you never let me lose or abandon hope. In the end the greatest gift we give our clients is compassion and hope. You all exemplified that at every visit. 

Many thanks.

We miss our boy immensely. He was a magical spirit with a life that never would have been long enough. 

Sincerely 
Krista Magnifico and family."

I hear him wrestling out in the hostas. Sneaking the cat food. Running down the drive. Every bed in this house has him on it, upside down, piled in a circular nest to nuzzle his nose into. Charlie won't go onto them. He know "his" from "jeks". The weight of his 30 pounds next to my legs at night. He needs me near and I need to know he is sleeping contentedly.

When you get to the end of a life you remember. Your soul is inextricably tied. I know he is here. I know it because I can't forget he was.

The Aftermath.. The days after losing my beloved Jekyll.

It has been a day of crying. Just a puddle of despair....
.....and lots of self-doubting questions.

My dearest Jekyll-pup.. How I miss this face....

How will I go on?

How will I go to work today? How do I face anyone? What if they ask about him? How can I maintain any kind of decorum or composure? How can I talk, utter a word, without crying? And then how do I stop?

How do I go on?

How do I get through the rest of the days ahead when they can't possibly contain any light or joy in them?

Did I let him go too soon? Did I really (really) do all I could have? (Internally I never, ever, answer this question with conviction that "I did!" There was still chemically induced coma to let his gut heal for a while. Stem cells. Cloning. More radiation. More chemo? Bringing him to the teaching college to say "DO anything, everything. Money is no object."

Charlie, his roommate, companion, partner in crime for the better part of the last decade, is as lost and alone as I am. For the last year of Jekyll's intense treatments, unyielding all night emergency bathroom requests and alarms Charlie sat in the bed next to him. He never once got up with us. knowing these were just a part of his disease process. Not time to wake for the day. Not anytime to be going outside at O-dark-middle-of -the-night-morning for anything of interest. He would open one eye, check to make sure one of the parents was getting up to take Jekyll out and then go back to sleep. Charlie has been the guardian for Jekyll's whole life. The big brother overseeing the rambunctious energetic trouble seeking beagle-hound. He has kept a watchful eye, been very sedentary as Jekyll slowed down. Charlie's life had to sit in the wings waiting while Jekyll took so much time and attention. The daily 4 mile runs had to be truncated to long walks in the woods twice a day. The adventure remained but the stamina waned. Charlie, who has sat vigil or left his side in the last 6 months waited. He waited for his friend to get better. He waited for his mom to get more time to give him. His life got smaller, subdued, and simple. I owe him an apology for that. He never took time or attention away from Jekyll.. I didn't have any left over to spare. He was respectful of that.

Jekyll and Charlie,, always ready for another adventure.

On the first night without Jekyll, amidst the sobbing and the silence, and the loss, the loss of Jekyll's presence which brought a coldness and a stillness to the house which loomed, foreboding and haunting, Charlie got into his bed, curled up and closed his eyes like he has for years before. He is our steady sleeper. He never gets up at night. He never got up the thousands of times Jekyll needed to. He never made a peep until I got up and told him it was "time to start our day." That night, this past Sunday night, our first night without Jekyll in 9 years, Charlie got up every hour to summon me. Every hour he scratched me to wake up, he ran down the stairs, shot out the door, looking. Left. Right. Ears up erect. Listening. Looking.

 

Charlie looked for Jekyll all night long. Eight trips outside. Eight trips darting outside intent to find him. Eight trips being coaxed back inside reluctantly. Apologetically. Unwilling to leave him alone outside. Knowing he was not in the bed room, not next to him in his bed. Not with us.

It is so hard for all of us. The mark that this loss bears.

Two days after losing his best friend I still cannot get Charlie to eat. I have left over steak, roast beef, chicken nuggets. Charlie will only eat the snacks Jekyll was being blandished by. Charlie has retreated into a subdued routine. Nothing gets him happy. Nothing pulls him out. Not walks, not food, not me. 

I lost one kid on Sunday, and I cannot seem to cajole my other into rejoining the world. I get it. I do. I don't want to be here without Jekyll either. It just not the same.

People, souls, all of us, retreat into ourselves when life denies us the comfort we need. It is safer, quieter, peaceful here with my memories and loss.. no one will ask me anything here. I don't have to answer the why's, the how's, the dreaded "how are you doing?" I can just hug my dog who already knows the answers.

More on Jekyll here;
The Little Things.

Losing My Beloved Jekyll-Pup

there are dozens more stories on him.. he was my muse,,

Jekyll Arrives

My Beloved Jekyll-Pup. May You Run Through The Fields Forever

I will spend the rest of my days trying to be as kind, loving, and affectionate as my dear pup Jekyll was in every moment of his life. He was a gift to all of us. He was the kind of soul that makes a mark, leaves an impression, reminds you that there is only good in the world. He was the source of my measure for genuine unconditional joy. He loved life. Every second, every person, every molecule of biology in every single thing.

And his mom,, well, she loved him for all that he was,, and her life will never be the same without him.

 It was the end of a battle. This morning the house of cards fell, collapsed, forced the goodbyes.

I cannot utter that word. I cannot say g-o-o-d-b-y-e. It is impossible, permanent, inescapable. So I just repeated that "I love you." The song to lullaby a sleep while we are apart.

It is eerily quiet. A catacomb has invaded and possessed my home.

It is too quiet. Unsettling so.

As if the air was sucked out of all of us. One great cataclysmic finale to end an era. Mark the passing.

I struggle to find footing here. Tip-toe through the rubble and the ashes. Find, clear, remove last remnants, sobbing all the while.

There is always an end. The end of all great things, tragedy when the end marks the last moments of a life you can't imagine yours without.

I had to say farewell. Had to. Not wanted to, Never wanting to.

I always fail to see that "loss of the light in their eyes", that begging for release. Maybe I am too analytical, too attached, too selfish? I just saw my beloved little one with no options left. There was no buying time, no fixing, no hidden tricks up my sleeves.

It was fear meets desperation and a finality I had tricked out of landing on our shoulders too many times before.

And I am here. Left behind. Feeling a loss so lonely I want to draw it around me and drown in it. Just to be quiet here with the memory, my last grips of his soul, the indelible mark he leaves me with. An open wound that doesn't have enough viable tissue around it to close. The hole so big I cannot cry out of it. Crawl under from, walk out of without feeling as if I left me there too.

He came to me in the palm of his breeders hand.  A cold man. Hardened. Rough. He had brought him into this world and brought him into mine as a scrap of a defective piece he no longer wanted to be burdened with. He was so small and insignificant his life amounted to a few sentences over the reception table. His breeder wanted quick cheap answers and wouldn't even leave him the dignity or respect to make the 30 foot walk to an exam room.

He was a puppy with a problem that prohibited sale and the man was looking for an option to rid him of the burden any longer.

I scooped him up, took him home and built a life around his needs, his love for living, and we ended just like we began. Interdependent on each other for life, and wondering how someone so little could be so vital to our living?

Jekyll leaves behind a legacy. Some we shared here, most we shared in the times I was off duty from being a vet, but all with fingerprints on the lives he met along the way.

He was always searching for his next friend. A boy who loved everyone. Loved every adventure. Never missed a day to smell the grass, walk the road, and go to the clinic. He was loved more than his little life leaves room to articulate.

He was loved because that was all he knew how to do.

He is missed because he was the joy that made life beautiful. Even when he was being bad. (Which he also loved to do).

Your mom loves you Jek pup.. and she misses you.

Thank you to everyone who asked, came to visit, and sent well wishes. His family is grateful for him, the time we had with him, and for all of you for letting us share it with you.

I understand why people close off their hearts after losing their love. I can't ever get him back. I am forever scarred by this loss. I want HIM back, not any dog, just him. He was irreplaceable. Irresistible. He loved to go anywhere we went. He loved. I miss him more than these words can signify. He was my beloved little velvet eared, wagging tailed beagle-boy.

May you be free from pain, wandering the skies, and eternally loved... Your mom misses you, and she loves you.. but most of all I am so grateful to have known you. 

The Challenges of Rescue Puppy Adoptions

The Challenges of Adopting a Puppy or Kitten

We have all heard the saying “adopt, don’t shop”, but adoption can be a complicated and sometimes confusing task for pet owners.  When it comes to adding a four-legged member to the family, it is important to look at many factors before making the final decision of adopting your new family member.

Once a pet owner decides that they are ready to add a new pet to their family, they must start to consider many factors to ensure that the best match is made for the people and the pet. Of course adoption is a great answer, and there are so many pets looking for their forever homes, but there are some challenges that need to be addressed before a decision is made. 

Lucy. Rescued from the worst circumstances imaginable.

 The first thing that should be considered is the rescue or organization that you are adopting the pet from.  It is important to make sure that the organization is credible and that they are doing everything that they can to ensure the animal’s safety and health.  Unfortunately, many rescues, while trying to do the right thing, end up creating more risks for young puppies and kittens.  Often times rescues will combine many small groups of puppies or kittens into one larger group to transport them from one area to another to be fostered, before being placed in their forever homes.  This can expose the puppies or kittens to many different diseases or illnesses, therefore causing illness in these young animals.  It is important to ask the rescue questions about where your pet came from, and how it was brought to the rescue? It is always important to ask about how long they have been in the last "quarantine" place. My personal recommendation is that the puppies/kittens are in the last foster home for at least 14 days without new pets being brought in. I also always ask where the parents are. I also ask for proof. Too often rescue groups take the puppies and kittens (some even "sell" them and leave the parents behind.  As potential pet owners, you are always asked many questions, but many people forget that they should also ask questions to the rescue as well.  It is important that both groups know all of the information so that the best decision can be made!

Additionally, after learning about the pet’s history, the new pet owner should make sure to receive the health records for the pet from the rescue.  Vaccine records and a record of any health issues are paramount to the short and long term health of your new furry friend.  If the pet doesn’t have any records or the rescue can’t provide documentation of the vaccinations, then you should ask the rescue to get the records.  Rescues commonly will provide veterinary care, or they can assist you in getting the proper care. If there is not a signed physical exam report from a veterinarian you should ask why? There is no reason this should not be a part of the pet adoption process. I also call the vet office to confirm, including that they, the vet themselves, gave the vaccines. In many cases the vet only signs an exam form, they do not provide veterinary care. This is also a cause of great concerns for me. In the end, everyone wants what is best for the animal, so making sure that it has all of the veterinary care that it needs is very important.

Lastly, every pet owner needs to make sure that they make an overall well informed decision.  If something just doesn’t seem right or you aren’t completely sure about adopting a certain pet, then don’t go through with the decision.  Make sure to take some time to make sure that this decision is the right one for you and your family.  While it might not seem obvious to ask the rescue questions, it is important to become informed so that you can make the best decisions for your new furry family member!

Scout. rescue pup, all adorable!

As a last note of personal experience I have witnessed many "new rescues" that are in essence "puppy brokers." Just because they call themselves a rescue does not mean that they are. All rescues should be designated as a 501c3. You should ask before giving them any money. You should also ask for references. I recommend three people from the last adoption verified by a previous social media post. You can also ask for references from their fosters. Most for profit people don't and won't use fosters. They should also have been around for 2 plus years. Many states also have publicly available lists from overseeing government organizations who investigate puppy mills and animal cruelty. Ask about whether any complaints or charges exist?

Jerry. Off the streets rescue.. total love-bug

The take home message is that there is no way anyone can deny the heart gripping adorableness of a puppy or kitten. It is impossible to resist. The challenge is that there are people who prey on this for profit and at the expense of the animals they procure and distribute. Be very cautious. Stay offline. Seek advice from people you know and trust. And as always, it is buyer beware even though those little ones melt your heart and skew your ability to be cautious. 

My beloved jekyll,, all rescue all the best of everything (and in beagle form).

Many Thanks to Lydia Schlitz for writing this. Lydia is a pre-vet student working at Jarrettsville Veterinary Center this Summer.

If you have a pet story that you would like to share, or an experience with this condition please add it to our Storyline page at  Pawbly.com.

Please also follow us on Pawbly.com, our Jarrettsville Vet, or our Jarrettsville Vet Facebook page, Twitter @FreePetAdvice, and YouTube. 

Slipping Back Into Dying. When Remission Slips Away.

We got what we wished for. We got him back, for a while. An amazing, surprising, blessed few moments. It was more than I had hoped. It was everything I needed. Yes, as selfish and maniacal as it sounds, it was a miracle we wished for, bought, and had for a little while. Just a little while.

My dog Jekyll is the little beagle who stole my heart all of those years ago. He has always been a bit of a lemon. Always a little broken, a little fragile, and for 8 years a beagle hell bent on finding, exploiting and reveling in trouble. Running for hours on the lamb, bunny-drugged and possessed to be their shadow. He was his own pup. Loving a dog on their own terms is a challenge. Always. Always who he wanted to be, rarely who I wanted him to be.

Jekyll stumbled in November 2017 with an odd pain I couldn't quite identify among his lifelong of physical inadequacies. It took me 8 weeks of looking, hunting and knowing he wasn't quite right. It was January 2018 when his cancer was hunted to the ground: TCC, transitional cell carcinoma of the urethra. This cancer grows until it cuts off the passage of urine out of the bladder. You gotta pee, and when you can't long enough you die. Jekyll was dying. I was reeling with the quickness and mercilessness of the diagnosis. He had days, maybe weeks to live.

I wanted more time. I wasn't (yes, more selfish "me's" here) ready. I just couldn't believe it, and I wasn't going to accept it if I had any choice in the matter. I made desperate phone calls. The kind a frantic mom does when her kid is dying. Chemotherapy started in late January 2018. Jekyll had nine rounds of weekly chemo. Some worked, most didn't: but the ones that did he faced without pause or hesitation. He faced every day of those i.v. catheters, drugs, anesthesia and strangers poking him bravely and fiercely. He walked away from 4 months of drugs a dog with a new life. All of the pieces of him that had started to surrender to dying retreated. They stayed out of our life for two months of blissful, puppy-playtime joy. He was back to himself and I was left knowing that the beast we slayed was merely sleeping. We hadn't banished him, we had maimed him, but, he would be back. BUT, OH THOSE AMAZING MONTHS! I cannot tell you how wonderful they were. I cannot express how perfect life was again, and, how grateful I was to be watching him so full of life. His old troublesome, untrustworthy to stay at home self. He was his own destiny, life was all his to be whatever he wanted it to be. It was miraculous. Simply that.

The grip of cancer is creeping back into his life. I see it in small glances and ever increasing straining to urinate, sleep through the night, and leaking urine in his bed.

He is surrendering slower this time. The beast within is not as big and mighty this time around. But it is still there. Insidious, unrelenting, ever present if you look closely. I cannot, we cannot, escape him, that beast of cancer that dwells within.

Jekyll had a magnificent reprieve. A time of running, sniffing, playing, being happy. Really, truly, blissfully happy. Happy to be a beagle in a world of beings to discover and uncover. The truth is that I am/was most fulfilled to be the mom, the vet, and the person to help get him to that place of youth again. It is the essence of a veterinarian. To alleviate. To understand, dissect and unravel to make the patient whole again.

This is the curse you are given at some point on the journey of life. The plot always has an end. For me, what I have learned, is that what you put into this life is what you get out of it. Trying to thwart the ending, the tragedy that the end brings is cutting the corners. Negating the path of a long journey for the road that might be paved in good intentions but cheats you on the little joys that hardship, challenges, and grit built doesn't ever get you to utopia. And really, who wants to be anywhere else? You have to be really careful in protecting your heart if your heart is all in. I have failed being reasonable, finding peaceful passage when the road looks rocky, dark, uncharted and even treacherous. You walk on. Me, and Jek, we walk on. For today, hopefully tomorrow, but always grateful we had the time we did together. It is the life, unfettered, unforgiving, and never promised for tomorrow.

There are two important life lessons for me here, at this place where an end is still looming;

My job, my life, my purpose, is to help the suffering (the four legged kind). There is, and always should be much more to this quest to end suffering than a pink injection syringe. Right or wrong veterinary medicine does a lot of final mercy judgement in killing. We "end suffering" a lot more than we extend our necks to provide a brief respite for our patients and their family. Far too much to remind us to be compassionate and generous. Giving up too soon, or without a fight, a plan, a list of options, sells our profession short. It makes us able to euthanize without stopping our day to recognize the loss it brings. We have become hardened to euthanasia to the point we validate it for almost every possible condition and reason. It is the easy way out, and too often at our patients expense. What if it wasn't on the table as an option? What if?

There is life within dying. Little pieces left to cherish. I cherish every single one on a different level today than I did last year. What if every human cherished life to this extent? What if?

Lastly, I have to remind myself at the end of this there is a beginning awaiting. I have to. There is another beagle out there who needs me. Whom I need to be reminded why I am so dedicated to animals and the beauty they bring to our lives. I cannot shut down. I cannot bury myself in this grief, as comforting and consoling as it feels to be there. Wrapped in the memories of my beloved pup.

More on Jekyll here;

The Turmoil Of Contemplating and Deciding How Long To Fight For Your Pets Life.

If you are a pet parent in need there are lots of ways to get help, and even help others. You can find me, answering pet questions, providing support to pet parents, and building a place for others like us, here at Pawbly.com.

I am also at the clinic, JarrettsvilleVet.com and Facebook. Or see my helpful videos on YouTube.

Be well. Live Life. And GO ON.