Moonlight and Mayhem

When we left the house on the first Sunday in February, I had no intention of adopting a puppy. I mean, we’d talked about getting another dog, but always said, “Zorro would kill us if we brought a dog into the house.”

But I erred, you see. I allowed Fuzzy to go to Petsmart unsupervised while I went to buy sewing notions for my mother’s birthday.

“You have to come here,” he said.
“Why?” I asked – this was via text. “Are there dogs?”

As most Petsmarts do, our branch of choice was hosting a rescue group, Shelter 2 Rescue, and they had dogs like crazy, mostly medium and large dogs, and one sleepy, mouthy baby boy.

“I’m busy,” I said. “We’re not getting another dog right now, remember? Zorro’s sick, and…”

“I know,” he said, “But he’s cute. You have to see him. Here, I’ll send a picture.”

So he did. It looked like this:

Fuzzy said, “He looks like Cleo. Come see.”

So I went, and saw. And a few minutes later I had my arms full of squirmy puppy, all scented of baby shampoo and corn chips (puppy feet smell like corn chips). And after Max tried to eat my earring, I knew I liked him.

We weren’t sure though. A puppy is a lot of work, and we had Zorro and Cleo already. We signed up to be a foster home, and set up an appointment for a home visit, and I kept thinking about the puppy.

A few days later, friends came over for coffee, and I kept saying, “I think I want him.” I’m not sure if I wanted to be talked out of or into it, but I emailed the shelter folks, and said, “If the black and white puppy hasn’t been adopted yet, we’re interested.”

And so, the next week, we took home BLUE, who was a foster blue heeler, and Max, the puppy. (He came with the name, and I’d always wanted a dog named Max, so we kept it.)

That was a month and a half ago. Max the Monster Pup^TM, is now almost 20 pounds of dog, is bigger than Cleo, and is eating everything in site. We’re not quite sure what he is – some people have said pit bull / heeler, and some said Boston terrier / heeler. Our vet agreed with the latter – he’s too lean to be a pit mix, and at nearly four months and not yet twenty pounds, while he seems big to us, he’s small for that breed. (While some have said they don’t see heeler in him, that’s the one part of his lineage of which we’re certain. His mother was a blue heeler.)

Sadly, he’s not the brightest of boy puppies. Cleo was doing tricks at his age, and Max is still learning his name. He’s not cuddly, but will “check in” with me every few minutes, and greets me with kisses, when he’s not smugly carrying off my slippers.

He doesn’t take the place of Zorro, of course, but he has made the transition easier.

Tags: Adoption, Dogs, Intro, Maximus

My stepfather found Zorro wandering the streets of San Jose during a violent rainstorm. He was skinny, starving, dirty, and covered in fleas. He called me from the car, “I found a dog like Abigail. I’m bringing him to you.”

Zorro was, of course, nothing like my parents’ neurotic virgin ice princess chihuahua. He was plucky, gregarious, gallant, and warm. The first day we met, he curled up in my lap and fell asleep. Within 24 hours he was following me wherever I went.

He was never much into toys, but when we first got him, he liked to have things. He would steal chopsticks, shoes, balls, paperclips, and hoard them. He used to steal potstickers, too, and hide them in plain sight on the food of our bed, after digging a “hole,” of course. He was very proud of his accomplishment. This was before Miss Cleo joined the family.

About six months after we adopted him, Zorro began showing signs of epilepsy. It began with one seizure, increased gradually to the point where he would have clusters of seizures every other Monday, in which he would go from Grand Mal to Grand Mal, never really regaining himself. The vets said we should consider putting him down, we said there had to be another way. Using a combination of traditional drug therapy, acupuncture and Chinese herbs, we helped Zorro beat epilepsy. His last seizure was sometime before Labor Day, 2002.

When we moved to Texas, Zorro adjusted well. Ice and snow were new experiences for him, and he would often give us the patented Slitty-Eyed Look of Doom before going out, but he coped, and when he came back in there were always warm towels and cuddles.

A couple of years ago, we came home from a trip to South Dakota, and when we picked Zorro up from the kennel, we were told he had a heart murmur. He was put on enalapril, and that kept him stable for about four months.

In February, 2008, we were told his heard murmur had progressed to a stage six, of six stages, and lasix was added to his medicines. His heart was enlarged and was pressing on his trachea, but he didn’t act sick, and was coping.

Last Halloween, we woke up to find Zorro refusing food (shocking for him) and with his pulse visible as a tremor in his entire body. We rushed him to the vet, and were given an antibiotic, and vetmedin. Within 24 hours he was his bouncy perky self, though his cough was a little worse. We were cautioned at that time, “One morning you will wake up and he will not. Or you’ll have to make a decision that his fight is over. Hope for the first.”

Last Tuesday, we noticed Zorro having trouble chewing, and on Wednesday saw the signs of an abscessed tooth (swelling under the eye). We made an appointment for an exam, and a dental if needed, and got him an antibiotic. On Thursday, he saw the dentists, who said there was no tooth to pull, and felt that with Zorro’s heart condition, the best course of action would be to leave him on the antibiotic. When he came home, the abscess began to drain.

On Saturday morning, Zorro refused food, but took his meds. On Saturday evening he took the meds, and ate, but had to be coaxed. His breathing was labored, but we knew he was on an antibiotic, and he’d bounced back from conditions that seemed worse.

On Sunday afternoon, we came home from seeing a movie (Coraline) happy that our foster dog, Blue, had been adopted. Zorro came to greet us, but didn’t jump, just walked slowly. We petted him and soothed him, and tried to get him to take the meds he’d refused in the morning, but he kept turning his head away. We kept trying every couple of hours.

Around six, I emailed a friend and asked her for a reference for an emergency vet, because I noticed blood in Zorro’s spittle, and because he was panicking if either of us left the room (not normal for him). In the car, I tried bribing him, “Make it through this,” I said, “and you can have all the French fries you want.” We took him to the clinic and they put him on oxygen and injected lasix. They talked to us about what our options were, and said their preference was to keep him over night. They left us alone to discuss what WE wanted, and we’d just come to the decision that we would NOT leave him, when they rushed back in, “He’s crashing,” they said, “We need you to be with him.”

They were holding him so that his airway was clear, and blood was pouring from his throat. They asked if we wanted them to perform CPR as his heart was not beating regularly. We said, “No. Just make sure he doesn’t hurt.”

We were gently ushered around the operating table where they laid him in a warmed receiving blanket. We touched his paws and scratched behind his ears and told him we loved him, so the last thing he saw was us. He didn’t struggle, and didn’t seem to be in any pain.

They left us with him for a few minutes, and offered to let us take his body back in the exam room but it was too hard to be near him without any of his vibrance left. (I have this issues with human deaths too, and avoid open-casket funerals because I don’t like seeing people I love looking like wax fruit.) Later, they asked if we wanted to bury him, or wanted him cremated. We chose the latter, and his ashes will be returned to us later this week.

Zorro went to the Rainbow Bridge at 8:46 PM CST, on Sunday, February 22nd. He was loved, and he will be missed. Chris and I extend our sincere thanks to the folks at Parkway Animal Hospital and the Airport Freeway Animal Emergency Clinic, as well as to all of our friends to tweeted, texted, emailed, and called to express their support during the last day. Please be patient with us as we grieve…Zorro was like our child.

Zorro in 1998

Miss Cleo

Meet Cleo.

I don’t believe in buying pets from pet stores, with the possible exception of fish. Miss Cleo was adopted from a shelter operating through Andy’s Pet Store in San Jose, California, long after they’d stopped selling puppies. She’s a mutt, but her dominant breeds are Jack Russell Terrier, Chihuahua, and Cocker Spaniel. We often joke that every single small, neurotic dog has been compressed into her form.

Cleo was my first experience with a puppy, or at least, my first as an adult. She was eight weeks old when she came home with us, and had been alone in her x-pen all day, as her smaller, more docile sister had been the first to be adopted, and her two brothers were in a separate x-pen. I was wearing a black and white sweater the day we went to look at her, and she hooked her tiny claws into the wool, and never let go. To this day, she is extremely clingy with me.

Cleo has a bit of an aggressive streak, and she’s a fear barker. Also, she just LOVES any excuse to bark. We’ve worked with trainers, and just hired a new one to work with her even more. She doesn’t bite (except the vet), but she’s very loud despite being only 22 pounds, and can be intimidating.

We often call her Miss Cleo, to remind her to behave with better manners. It doesn’t work. Much.

Cleo will be nine in April.

Tags: Cleo, Dogs, Intro

Zorro Dog

Meet Zorro.

Zorro was found wandering the streets of San Jose, CA in the fall of 1998, during a major rainstorm. My stepfather brought him to me because he thought I’d fall in love with him. He was right.

When we got Zorro, he had no language, no collar, no tags. He weighed just five pounds, and every rib was clearly visible even though he has a double coat. He was skinny, wet, cold, and infested with fleas. He crawled into my lap and went to sleep five minutes after I met him.

After he was clean, warm, and dry, we called the various animal shelters and attempted to find his owner. No such luck. We decided to keep him, and had him vaccinated, microchipped, and neutered. During the week before the neuter appointment, he earned his name, because his facial markings were dark enough then that they looked like a mask, and he was leaving his own mark everywhere.

Six months after we adopted Zorro, I was on my way to work one morning, when he collapsed in what I later learned was a grand mal seizure. Thus began my education in canine epilepsy.

For three years his seizures escalated from every few months, to every other Monday, from one, to clusters where he’d have seizure after seizure for 24 hours. It got so bad, that at one point we were advised to put him down. Finally, in 2001, we found a vet who combined traditional drug therapy with acupuncture and Chinese herbal therapies. It took another six months, but by 2002, he was seizure free.

With the exception of a phasic seizure or two during the last year, he hasn’t exhibited any signs of seizures, however, he is a compulsive licker, of anything he can reach, especially my feet, and such behavior is usual for epileptic animals.

In October, 2006 Zorro was diagnosed with a stage three heart murmur, while he was kenneled during a trip out of town. He was put on a blood pressure medication, and seemed stable.

In December, 2007, Zorro developed an abscessed tooth. Dental problems are extremely common in small dogs, and usually go hand-in-hand with heart disease. (This is true in humans as well.)

In January, 2008, it was determined that Zorro’s heart murmur was more advanced – a stage four – but that he was stable enough for dental work. Because of his history of epilepsy, he has to be masked for all surgery, anyway, not knocked out with injectable drugs.

In February, 2008, Zorro had four teeth removed.

In May, 2008, Zorro’s heart murmur had progressed to stage six of six, and his heart had enlarged to the point that it was pressing on his trachea, causing a cough, especially at night. We added lasix to his enalapril. Lasix is a diuretic often used in racehorses.

In November, 2008, Zorro had a lung infection, and we were advised to prepare ourselves for the fact that one morning, he won’t wake up. His heart murmur wasn’t worse, but his lungs were filled with fluid. We increased the frequency of his lasix, and put him on VetMedin and a two-week course of antibiotics. For two days he refused meds and food. Then he decided he’d had enough of being sick and resumed normal patterns.

As of January, 2009, Zorro still has heart problems, and as a fourteen-year-old dog, his time is short, but his blood pressure is good and his lungs are clear. We’ve been reminded that he could leave us at any time, but that until he acts sick, we should treat him like a healthy dog.

Tags: congestive heart failure, Dogs, epilepsy, Intro, Zorro

I used to be able to pass for sane. Really. And then last week, Fuzzy texted me from the pet store while I was shopping for my mother’s birthday present at the fabric store next door:
“Come here,” he wrote.
“Why?” I asked, “Is it adoption day at Petsmart?”

It was.
Now, understand that we visit the pet store every couple of weeks to buy dog food for Zorro and Cleo, and stock up on bully sticks and see if there are any cool toys we just have to have. Often, we also look at the dogs that are up for adoption, since Petsmart lets local rescues bring in their animals.

Most of the time, several rounds of the chant “We have two already” do the trick.

But then there was Maximus. He’s being referred to as a Boston Terrier, though he really isn’t one, entirely, which means when he’s grown he’ll be roughly Cleo-sized. He’s male, which is good, because Cleo won’t mesh with another female, but Zorro’s indifferent, and he’s only a puppy, so pretty malleable.

We didn’t take him immediately, of course. He’s a puppy after all, and (see above) we have two already. We actually filled out a fostering form, but I was obsessing about the puppy. It felt right. I didn’t even know his name was Maximus until after we’d been approved to take him, three days later.

In the meantime, there’s Blue, who is currently on death row at another shelter, that Shelter 2 Rescue works with. We weren’t expecting to foster quite so soon, but he’s out of time, and so cute – he’s a blue heeler mix – that we had to get him out.

So on Sunday our menagerie grows by two.

Well, it’s never boring at our house.

Tags: Adoption, Dogs, Rescue

Dog Years
by Mark Doty
Get it from Amazon

Dog Years was, perhaps, not the best choice of read for a time when I was convinced we were going to lose our chihuahua, Zorro. (He’s got a heart condition, and while we know we don’t have much time with him, he’s no longer in that “death rattle” stage.), but I couldn’t resist the happy golden retriever on the cover.

This memoir of the author’s last months with his partner Wally, of the new relationship with partner Paul, and of his two dogs, Arden and Beau, is a rambling story, loosely chronological, but not entirely orderly, in much the same way that walking the dog around the block really involves zigging this way to sniff a fence post, or zooming the opposite direction to pee on that particular blade of grass, or going wildly off course because it was imperative to chase a bird/cat/squirrel/kid on a bicycle.

A gentle read, parts that stood out for me were moments on the beach at Sandy Hook, NJ, which is where I grew up, and the daily routine of dog stewardship (because really, they own us more than we ever own them), and the pain of loss when each finally went to his end – this isn’t a spoiler – it’s obvious from the back cover that the dogs would not survive the book. I laughed when I read about Arden spitting out his medication, and cried when I read that he suffered from anxiety attacks after 9/11 (the dogs lived a good part of their lives in New York).

Dog Years is, in many ways, a memoir of a man told through the eyes of his dogs, though it’s never in their voice. Author Mark Doty is also a poet, and you can hear the poetry underlying the rhythm of his prose.

Goes well with:: Cool water and bits of cheese to share with a cuddly canine friend.

Tags: Animal Tales, Dog Years, Mark Doty