Little Dude

While out hunting Boxing Day bargains years ago, my then-boyfriend, Karl, and I fell in love with a border collie pup at the local pet store. We named him Screech, but I called him Little Dude.

Our new puppy fit in to our family unit immediately. He followed and observed our two older dogs and basically trained himself. When he got into mischief, all he had to do was tilt his head with that “ah, look how cute I am” expression and he could get away with anything. He gave our home new life - the dog had personality plus.

Screech was six months old the day he came running outside, went completely stiff and fell to the ground. We thought he was choking but couldn’t find an obstruction. The vet couldn’t figure out what was wrong but put him in an oxygen tank where he spent the night. The next day he was perfectly fine. Not the slightest hint that there had been any problem. It came on in an instant and ended in an instant. Totally inexplicable.

Three weeks later, Karl was downstairs with the dogs while I was upstairs in bed. I heard a sudden thump and then banging, then Karl yelling out to me. As soon as I saw him, I knew. Screech was having a seizure. We brought him back to the clinic where they tried oxygen therapy again. This time, however, the prognosis wasn’t quite as good. Screech had epilepsy.

Our vet agreed to work with us to find a way to control the epilepsy. Dr. Strick told us that most people would euthanise in this situation and I think he respected us for not giving up right away. Karl proclaimed that as long as Screech had spirit, we had to try to save him.

And so it began. Treatment. We started with canine medications. Then moved on to human epilepsy drugs. We tried experimental drugs, combinations of drugs, anything. We even brought him to an acupuncturist. Everything worked for just a little while; just long enough to give us hope.

Eventually the seizures were out of control. I used Valium to relax his muscles; at the onset of a seizure, I lifted his tail and poked the drugs into the poor little fella’s butt. I slept on an air mattress downstairs so that, if he had a seizure during the night, I’d be there to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. His muscles would get quite weak so I held up his back end as he sniffed around outside for a spot to do his business. I fed him by hand. Gave him water that way, too. I was with him every possible moment.

Karl and I were fighting, then barely speaking at all. I was getting in deeper and deeper but he was becoming more and more detached. In the early days, his unwillingness to give up the fight for our little guy made my love for him grow. At this point, however, I realized that Karl’s love was for Karl. It didn’t matter what was best for the dog, for me, for our family. Karl was willing to let everyone else hurt so he wouldn’t have to.

The lack of sleep, the worry and stress brought me to the end of my rope. My frustration overwhelmed me until I couldn’t take it anymore. The day I lost my temper and started yelling at Screech for an accident that he couldn’t control, I melted into a puddle of tears. Tears of fear for my puppy’s life. Tears of pity for myself. Tears of sadness for what our lives had become. I’d had enough.

The next day I told Karl we were at the end, I wouldn’t watch Screech die anymore. It was hard to see him suffer when I had hope that he would get through it; when that hope was gone, watching him deteriorate became unbearable. The seizures were coming non-stop, he was drugged to the edge of consciousness. It was time. No, it was far past time. Karl still fought against it but he was now alone in his fight; the vet and I wouldn’t support him anymore.

On the floor of the clinic, I held my little dude in my arms as the last breath left his body. That moment left a hole in my chest that I thought would be there forever. But eventually it healed, and made room for my heart to grow even bigger.

I learned a lot from that dog, from that period of my life. I learned that I was strong and able to handle a lot more than I realized. I learned that I would rather be alone than spend my life with someone I couldn’t depend on to put aside his own needs when the situation required it. And I learned that my love knew no limits and I would fight to do what is right for the ones I love, even if it meant letting them go.