Everyone that reads this blog on a fairly regular basis knows that we are dog lovers. And you all know our Butch, the Beagle who is 8 years old. But before Butch, there was another canine love of our life.
Max.
We 'inherited' Max from our oldest daughter's children. Well, no. That's not quite true. We actually inherited Max from the S-I-L.
Max was found in a dumpster as a young puppy by our oldest grand daughter. She carried him home with her and big-dealed her dad to let him stay. It worked....the big-dealing, I mean.
They were living in York, Pennsylvania at the time. Things were great for a while. Cute little puppy. Playful little puppy. Hungry little puppy. But little puppy started growing. He grew and he grew and he grew! The vet told them that he was a mix breed of Lab and Hound. And he grew!
They didn't have a fenced in yard so........Max (Maxamillan) became more of a house dog than an outside dog.
The first time we went to Pennsylvania to visit them, I have to admit, I was just a little leery of Max. No, I was a LOT leery! He kept me backed up to a wall most of time. One day, everyone was away from the house except Hubs, myself and Max. Max proceeded to go upstairs to the bathroom and climb into the bathtub. Brave me. I was going to get him out but the first time he bared his teeth, I left the bathroom. He sat in the bathtub until the kids got back home.
But as time passed, I lost my leeriness and we became pretty good friends.
Time passes. Our daughter was transferred to Houston with her job and the family makes another move. After a time, the S-I-L calls me, asking a favor. Would we take Max for a few weeks to see if an allergic skin condition could clear up. The vet thought a drier climate would help. Well, you know parents. We'll do most anything for our kids.
To tell you all the details would make this post much too long. Suffice it to say, a few weeks turned into permanently. The skin problem didn't clear up, it got worse. We carried him to a new vet and had blood work done. It turned out that Max had developed diabetes. It had progressed enough that insulin shots were recommended. It started out with 1 shot a day. All went well and he seemed to be doing o.k. We went ahead and made our plans to move back home. After a couple of months of being in our new home, another trip to the vet, turned into 2 insulin shots a day. And then we began to notice that Max would be walking and would run into door facings and walls. He had lost his sight.
Hubs loved Max as much as I did. We medicated, we loved, we led him outside and back inside. We petted and pampered.
At Thanksgiving, all the family was here. During the time the kids were here, Max got down and wouldn't/couldn't get back up. Hubs lovingly picked that humongous dog up, put him in the vehicle and carried him to the vet. Still trying to make this story a shorter one, Max was put to sleep. Hubs requested that he be cremated. A couple of weeks later, we were contacted and Max was brought home in a ceramic urn. This urn sits on a shelf right by our bed, on Hubs side!
This post is not my usual kind of entry. Why then, did I post it?
I was blog browsing and reading comments to my favorite bloggers. I noticed that one of the comments came from Texas. Curious as to where in Texas, I followed the link. This guy had written a beautiful post about his dog that had died from lymphoma, had been cremated, and was now in his possession. His experience was so much like ours, it inspired me to write about our Max.
When you have time, if not now, come back and read his story. It is heart-warming.
The story of our acquisition of Mr. Butch will come later. Remember, Max died at Thanksgiving. Then came Christmas.
I'll bet you can guess what happened!!
Max.
We 'inherited' Max from our oldest daughter's children. Well, no. That's not quite true. We actually inherited Max from the S-I-L.
Max was found in a dumpster as a young puppy by our oldest grand daughter. She carried him home with her and big-dealed her dad to let him stay. It worked....the big-dealing, I mean.
They were living in York, Pennsylvania at the time. Things were great for a while. Cute little puppy. Playful little puppy. Hungry little puppy. But little puppy started growing. He grew and he grew and he grew! The vet told them that he was a mix breed of Lab and Hound. And he grew!
They didn't have a fenced in yard so........Max (Maxamillan) became more of a house dog than an outside dog.
The first time we went to Pennsylvania to visit them, I have to admit, I was just a little leery of Max. No, I was a LOT leery! He kept me backed up to a wall most of time. One day, everyone was away from the house except Hubs, myself and Max. Max proceeded to go upstairs to the bathroom and climb into the bathtub. Brave me. I was going to get him out but the first time he bared his teeth, I left the bathroom. He sat in the bathtub until the kids got back home.
But as time passed, I lost my leeriness and we became pretty good friends.
Time passes. Our daughter was transferred to Houston with her job and the family makes another move. After a time, the S-I-L calls me, asking a favor. Would we take Max for a few weeks to see if an allergic skin condition could clear up. The vet thought a drier climate would help. Well, you know parents. We'll do most anything for our kids.
To tell you all the details would make this post much too long. Suffice it to say, a few weeks turned into permanently. The skin problem didn't clear up, it got worse. We carried him to a new vet and had blood work done. It turned out that Max had developed diabetes. It had progressed enough that insulin shots were recommended. It started out with 1 shot a day. All went well and he seemed to be doing o.k. We went ahead and made our plans to move back home. After a couple of months of being in our new home, another trip to the vet, turned into 2 insulin shots a day. And then we began to notice that Max would be walking and would run into door facings and walls. He had lost his sight.
Hubs loved Max as much as I did. We medicated, we loved, we led him outside and back inside. We petted and pampered.
At Thanksgiving, all the family was here. During the time the kids were here, Max got down and wouldn't/couldn't get back up. Hubs lovingly picked that humongous dog up, put him in the vehicle and carried him to the vet. Still trying to make this story a shorter one, Max was put to sleep. Hubs requested that he be cremated. A couple of weeks later, we were contacted and Max was brought home in a ceramic urn. This urn sits on a shelf right by our bed, on Hubs side!
This post is not my usual kind of entry. Why then, did I post it?
I was blog browsing and reading comments to my favorite bloggers. I noticed that one of the comments came from Texas. Curious as to where in Texas, I followed the link. This guy had written a beautiful post about his dog that had died from lymphoma, had been cremated, and was now in his possession. His experience was so much like ours, it inspired me to write about our Max.
When you have time, if not now, come back and read his story. It is heart-warming.
The story of our acquisition of Mr. Butch will come later. Remember, Max died at Thanksgiving. Then came Christmas.
I'll bet you can guess what happened!!
14 comments:
That is a very sweet story. Max had a good life. We lost out family dog last year, a scottie, Percy. He is sorely missed. Thank you for coming to my site as well. I hope you can send a postcard or even a picture of your dogs it will be greatly appreciated.
Have a great day and I will come back for sure.
Pecos
Great blog and story In_spired
unfourtunatly I know the feeling myself....very well.
pecos: Thanks for returning! I've given away all the teaching materials I had but "I DO" have some neat pictures taken with a digital camera. I'll print some and send to Michael. Hopefully, he'll be able to use some of them. I'll let you know when I mail them.
DD2: Most people have had similar experiences. The next post will be about our Butch (the Beagle) that the kids gave us for Christmas after Max died at Thanksgiving.
testing
sorry hun Blogger was down..I still miss our doggie so much . She is gone 2 years..sigh
Angel: I suppose all dog lovers have the same feelings when they lose their pet. I'll have to bury Hubs if something happens to our current pet...Butch. Thanks for the visit, sweet girl!
Angel: I started not to publish the "testing" comment but thought "What the heck!" We all need to be reminded that other people have the same problems with blogger! I'm glad you persisted!!
A lifetime ago, I lived in Alaska and spent my days rescuing dogs from the Anchorage pound. I loved dogs, and dogs were being killed at the pound (as they still are, in every city in the nation, because people are still breeding dogs), so I got involved―my first foray into activism.
I rescued, fostered, sterilized, and found homes for a heck of a lot of dogs. They destroyed the husband's nice house, upset the neighbors, and took over every minute of my life. But I loved it!
I ended up with most of the "bad" dogs. The ones nobody else wanted—sometimes because of health or age but usually because of extreme hyperactivity. These dogs were wired like they had found the mother lode of crystal meth (which I do not partake of, by the way). Ninety percent of them had a similar story: Purchased on impulse when they were cute, tiny puppies. Then they grew up (what a shock!) into 8-month-old, big, strong, totally untrained bundles of hyperness. They jumped, ran away, chewed, pissed, pooped, dug, and barked and then ran some more, and they very rarely slowed down or slept. Bad dog? No. Lazy, ignorant humans!
A lot of my foster dog training was learned the hard way. Many of the tips and tricks that are common knowledge these days were unknown back then, and I didn't even have Internet access. Positive reinforcement, training with treats, lots of exercise and affection … if only I had had KP's Dog Blog 10 years ago!
The most valuable thing I learned was patience. And this is the advice I hear myself giving most often to people with new dogs in their family. Be kind, be consistent, train them, give them lots of exercise, and BE PATIENT.
I sucked as a teenager, but my parents were patient and now they have a brilliant adult daughter who is a joy to be around. Or at least is an adult.
My boyfriend could not figure out how to cook for me. But I was patient and trained him gently with lots of positive reinforcement, and he's making tofu scramble as I write this.
Dogs deserve the same chance. If they're young and crazy, just wait. Don't be mean. Don't stop loving them. Do not even think about "getting rid" of them—only scumbags "get rid of" dogs. Puppyproof your house, laugh at their antics, and anticipate the many years that you will have with a calm and totally devoted friend once you both work through the "terrible 2's" (8 months, in dog years).
Phantom was one of those crazy dogs, perhaps the craziest of the bunch. He's a husky mix, like so many of the dogs dumped in Alaska. Sled-dog people are just as bad to dogs as greyhound racers are. They breed and breed dogs like crazy, keeping only a few who are "good enough." The rest are either dumped at the pound or by the side of the road, kept on chains to be abused or neglected, or put into sacks to drown (yes, they still do that).
Phantom was in the pound and had a tight rope around his neck, obviously put there when he was younger and smaller. He was totally unsocialized. Nuts. Crazy. Out of control. Eighty pounds of craziness. The group that I volunteered for had let me pick the dog to rescue from the pound that week, and I thought, "Well, I'll pick the one least likely to be adopted!" Everyone told me not to do it. They said that I would spend all my time and money on this one dog and that he would never, ever be adopted out. "Phooey," I said! "That's the one we're rescuing today!"
Thus began about eight months of hell. Nobody wanted Phantom. Nobody even wanted to meet
Phantom. He was the only dog to have his picture in the Anchorage Daily News and not get adopted (you could see his craziness in the photo, eyes bugging out of his head).
Some days, he came inside the house, and I couldn't get him back out for a few days. He would pee, poop, chew, eat, and bark all over the place. Other days, he would dash out back, and I couldn't get him to come back inside. He was aggressive, food-obsessed, and constantly barking. He would dash out the door into traffic, so I had to barricade the door. And he LOVED to jump. He would jump way up on people―and hard. Eighty pounds, remember.
He did gradually improve, but in my frustration and my fear of keeping him, I barely noticed. Then came a rare moment when Phantom was not moving. He was lying on the floor, sleeping in the sun. I was sitting next to him. I looked down and realized how shiny and soft his fur had become and how cute and velvety his face was. He was a gorgeous dog, one of the most striking dogs I've ever seen before or since. And even though he didn't possess social graces, he did try—he wanted to play, to be petted, to love and be loved. He just usually attempted all those activities with too much verve.
Looking down at him, I realized that I had to make a decision. Either I had to adopt him permanently, or I would have to euthanize him. Nobody was going to take him, at least nobody decent (I did have one guy approach me who was looking for a "mean" guard dog for his vacuum cleaner store). Taking him back to the pound would mean a week of fear, confusion, loneliness, cold cement floors, and then euthanasia. So I would have to do it myself, be with him, hold him, and stroke him—he deserved that much. And of course, I couldn't do it. So that was that—in that very instant, I adopted him.
And that's when things began to improve! I think Phantom had been picking up on my stress and unhappiness with him. I couldn't handle him, and I didn't want him. Dogs are much more sensitive than humans (it took the husband seven years to figure out that I didn't want him!), and I had inadvertently been confusing Phantom all this time. Once I made the mental commitment to him, we both changed. I didn't get as stressed out—and neither did he.
He didn't become a perfect dog overnight. He and I still had many months of training to get through. But it became fun and silly instead of negative and hopeless. By the time he was 5, he was a great dog. And I mean a GREAT dog. Always super-energetic and ready to get crazy, but hey―I'm the same way. He is still alive, Mr. Phantom, and he's now a soft, loving, smooshy, totally well-behaved cuddle monster. He loves dogs, cats, humans, rocks, rivers, food, hikes, runs, sleeping on the bed, car rides, and life. That dog loves life like no one I've seen, and all he needed was a little patience for him to learn how to fit in and actually have a life.
If you've got a naughty dog in your life, I simply can't believe that he or she is worse than Phantom was. Take a deep breath, make sure that Fluffy knows that you love her, and just be patient. Hidden beneath all that bad behavior, there's a jewel of a dog who will come out eventually with a little coaxing.
Bella Mia, a sweet Yorkshire terrier, was a gift from an especially caring boss who wanted to help relieve Manzella's grief over the loss of her two older dogs the previous year. When the two women visited a suburban Chicago pet shop to find the perfect pooch, they discovered several adorable candidates. But it was Bella Mia who marched right up to Manzella and nestled into her arms. This unmistakable gesture of connection, not to mention comfort, cemented their instant bond. And home went Bella Mia, just a few months after her birth in February 2001.
The Yorkie was indeed a lucky dog. Bella Mia was about to start living the quintessential dog's life: She had a loving and devoted caregiver, a nice home and yard, and all the toys and tidbits a dog could ever want. All of this would have been hers for many years if not for one thing: Bella Mia was yet another victim of bad breeding at a puppy mill that had been repeatedly cited for various Animal Welfare Act violations.
Bella Mia was born with an unseen and serious condition called a portosystemic shunt, a condition in which the blood flows abnormally around the liver instead of through it. The condition would impair Bella Mia's health, and ultimately, contribute to her death at the age of six months. A portosystemic shunt is common in Yorkshire terriers, and experts say it is usually an inherited condition in such small dogs.
Blood Unsimple
During her first veterinarian visit, Bella Mia was diagnosed with kennel cough and put on an antibiotic. When additional veterinarian visits and stronger antibiotics were still unable to cure the cough, x-rays and blood samples were taken to determine if there were some other cause for her loss of appetite and overall worsening condition. When Bella Mia became even more lethargic, Manzella took her to the veterinary hospital, where the owner first learned that her new companion might have a portosystemic shunt. Surgery was scheduled.
Although the surgery might have otherwise been successful, Bella Mia died immediately afterward because of the stress on her severely weakened system. Since Bella Mia's blood bypassed her liver, it remained full of the toxins usually filtered out by that organ.
t. r.
If it was not for the part about being a EUNUCH & I was a dog I would want to belong to you.
I also remember your dog Bridget, and cannot spell the breed ST. (Bernard)
Oh my how lovely is that dog and what a dear story..... my Jacob is desparate for a dog, Im slowly being worn down to the idea LOL
I have so much to catch up on here, I promise over the coming days to grab a cuppa tea and scroll back.......
x
We are dog lovers here too, Inspired. We don't have our friends cremated though, but we don't move around anymore and as we have a farm, our canine friends who have moved on are buried on our property. We lost a beloved pet about a month ago. She was very old though and had lived a long life. We still have her son, Tiger, and her grandson, Prince.
God bless!
Mr./Ms. Anon (s-i-l??): These are great stories! Thanks for sharing them...
crabby: Poor Bridget! She died a strange death...with her intestines doing a flip-flop! Funny that you should remember her...About being my dog? Sometimes I get veeery mean!!
marmie: Hey there! So good to hear from you...you must be recuperating nicely. Haven't checked your blog in 2 or 3 days. You've probably updated. Get that cuppa tea and come back!
gayle: I've always liked to read that little writing that has gone around about "Things You Can Learn From Dogs". It's so true. Thanks for coming by...
Oh, dog stories. I'm still having dog withdrawal after we needed to have our dog put down as she was so sick and had no more joy in life. Max is beautiful - they just find their way into our hearts don't they?
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