The Life of the Party

In mid March of 2020 it was becoming obvious that the world as we knew it was about to change drastically. This deadly thing called COVID 19 was spreading across the globe like wildfire. It seemed the only safe place to be was home.

At the same time we found our home without the dogs we had so loved. Our puppy duo of Kizzie and Koko had just passed within three weeks of each other. Grieving their loss and knowing that things were changing rapidly as shelters began to close down, erring on the side of caution due to the spreading virus, we had a decision to make.

Should we adopt another dog? Right now? Quickly? 

Yes.

I reached out to an all volunteer, all foster rescue PawsCo with an inquiry about a pup I saw on their website. A darling little pup, but his history with cats was unknown. We had six cats and we were really looking for a girl.

Long story short we were introduced to a pair of, if not sisters, at least half sisters who had been found wrapped in a blanket in a ditch. We were in the market for just one dog; but after hearing that story there wasn’t a question that we wouldn’t keep them together.

The smaller one seemed to have some neurological problems. She was wobbly on her feet and was possibly blind. She seemed to rely on the larger one. So all the more reason to keep them together.

Teddi was the smaller one. She was adorable. She seemed rather stoic and quiet. Once home she preferred to be close to the larger one, who we named Sugar. She slept a lot usually on a soft blanket on one corner of the couch.

She found comfort in being near one of us as well. Often she would be on my lap as I sat at my desk.

Or on the couch with me or the chair with Charlie. 

She didn’t seem interested in going for walks. I tried so hard to interest her in walking, enticing her with treats. The treats were great but the walking part – there was no interest. 

And try as I might she didn’t comprehend the difference between peeing outside and peeing inside. Eventually I conceded and just lined the house with washable pee pads. It was what it was. Later on realizing that yes, she really had suffered a traumatic brain injury, it was understandable that certain things just wouldn’t click for her.

Early on in her life with us I did the same things I had always done with dogs. I gave her little puzzles to do and games to play – naively thinking it would be fun for her. It ended up just being frustrating for her. I stuffed a Kong toy with treats and kibble. She liked that (she was always very treat driven). When she was finished and I picked up the toy, she bit me. That was a surprise. In retrospect, knowing she had been abused, it made sense. But at the time I was stunned.

I was beginning to get the message that Teddi was going to be a bit of a challenge. As time went on I realized that even more than a challenge she was different than any dog I had ever known. Car rides gave her great anxiety, often resulting in losing her lunch. 

As the years went on I put my perfectionism on the shelf and just let Teddi be Teddi. I joked that she was basically a cat disguised in dog’s fur. Charlie babied her and carried her to the door each morning and evening to go outside. (We still tried to maintain somewhat of a routine with her.)

Her job was to hold down the far end of the couch, often dozing off, sometimes observing the rest of the furries go about their day. For some reason she had it in for Kona the cat. Only Kona. She would stare him down before launching a fervent chase.

Over the years she softened. Even her little face softened. But what brought her to life in the funniest, cutest way was meal time. She danced around the kitchen, howling and yipping. I called it her baby elephant dance. She was so excited for her meals. Later when she was restricted to prescription food for her high blood pressure and hypothyroidism she would take one bite and walk away, eagerly awaiting her after dinner dental treat. She had me wrapped around her little paws.

Sometimes we would take her for a stroll in the dog stroller, thinking she would enjoy the fresh air. I honestly don’t think she cared one way or the other. She really was quite content to settle into her corner of the couch.

Despite her distaste for the outdoors, she would occasionally join us on the summer time deck. For a short time... It was always on her time...

I never thought she would be the first to go. So when her breathing became labored on that December day I expected there would be tests, new medication and we would be back home in a couple of hours.

I was wrong.

The house is more quiet now, especially at meal time. Charlie remarked one day that she really was the life of the party. Because as gentle as she could be, when the spicy, feisty chihuahua made it’s presence known, she was, indeed, a party girl.

Grief is the price we pay for love. And dammit it comes in waves and I know it will continue to come in waves for years. The point is not to drown, but learn to swim.

That’s the thing about loving animals. When you bring them into your life you know that some day you will say goodbye. We have no choice in the manner of their leaving, the timing of their leaving. That is out of our control.

My head knows that. I just wish it would tell my heart. 

4 Hours

Monday evening we noticed Teddi’s breathing had changed. She didn’t seem extremely distressed but it was different. By Tuesday morning her breathing was more labored and we became concerned. She couldn’t get comfortable. She couldn't lay down. She followed me and sat next to me, looking up at me as if to say, “Can you help me?”

It just happened so fast. From the time I took her to the Vet at 9:30, then being sent to the ER to four hours later saying our last goodbye at 1:30pm. It was too much. Our brains couldn’t take it all in and our hearts couldn’t even come close.

When I got to the ER with her I was calm. I had done this many times with Koko and Kizzie. Go to the ER, get some tests, get some new meds and go home. So when the man at the front desk realized who we were (our Vet had called ahead to explain our situation) I heard “Stat!” and he asked the other people at the desk to be patient, we have a critical patient here.

Critical? Did he just say critical? And he was talking about Teddi? Teddi was whisked away, I was put in a room and the nerves started setting in. She’s critical? She’s critical.

I waited for what seemed like hours, but I’m sure it was less than 10 minutes. I realized they were doing a quick evaluation on Teddi. The Doctor came in, introduced herself, asked what I had noticed with Teddi, what medications she was on (five and I’m impressed I remembered all of them). I explained that Teddi has always had a little bit of a wheeze when breathing but it started getting substantially worse last night. Surprisingly she slept fine through the night so we thought maybe it was just temporary.

But this morning it returned with a vengeance. I knew she needed to be seen. The Doctor left to gather more information from the medical staff examining Teddi. The finance person came in to go over the 2-3 day hospital stay that was being recommended, the tests that most likely would be done. It was a hefty price and she asked if I wanted to think about it. Nope, here’s my credit card, do whatever needs to be done.

She asked if I would like to see Teddi before leaving. Of course I did. I sat on the floor and pet her confused little face thru a window to the oxygen “chamber” she was in. Despite being 10.5 years old she looked like a puppy. 

I left thinking – ok, she’ll be in the hospital for a couple of days, they will do tests, we’ll get some new meds and go home. So I was feeling ok. She was in good hands.

So when the Doctor called at 1:00 I was expecting just an update. I got one but it wasn’t what I had hoped for. First, her heart was fine. Whew, I felt uplifted. But… there was the but… The diagnosis is a blood clot in her lung. Can anything be done for that? No. Despite being at 60% oxygen (40% is on the high end) her breathing is worsening, her distress is worsening.

So you’re telling me it’s time.

Yes, and if you can get here soon…

I was in the little room again, but this time with Charlie, waiting for the Doctor. She came in expressing her sympathy, asked if we had questions. Only a couple that we already knew the answers to. She explained Teddi will be in a private room with an oxygen mask held up to her face to facilitate her breathing.

We were escorted to the room and saw our sweet little girl lying tummy down on a soft blanket. I recognized the iv portals in her arm, ready for euthanasia. I quickly glanced away from that. A very kind Technician was holding the mask of oxygen up to her nose. Teddi's breathing was shallow and slow.

We whispered soft, loving words, pet her, hugged her thru tears. I don’t know if she knew we were there. I looked at her perfect little body, the soft fur, the big brown eyes now vacant.

We told the Tech we were ready and she left to get the Doctor. The Doctor came, explained what she was about to do and we nodded. As the drug were administered I saw Teddi’s head lower and then land softly on the blanket.

The Doctor listened for her heart, no longer beating and said, “She is at peace.”

My head fell to the table. I embraced Teddi one last time and sobbed.

Not now, not yet, Teddi. But she was gone.