Critters Galore

January 2008

1/11/2008

Life is unpredictable... and when I started writing Micks story, I thought we'd have all the time in the world to get to the "here and now" with it.

Turns out, we don't.

My beautiful boy was diagnosed with Lymphoma on January 2nd of 2008, and - needless to say - I am beyond devestated.   He just turned six years old in December and we are supposed to have many years left together, but now we'll be lucky to have months... and I have cried and cried... and cried some more.  I've cried because he is my heart dog.  I've cried because this isn't fair.

Most of all, though, I've cried for him - because this diagnosis will mean endless vet visits and "strangers" poking and prodding him, stressing him out, and never seeing him for the loyal, devoted, and funny guy he is deep down in his heart... and how we know him at home.

At the vet this dog turns into a frenzied, snapping, growling menace who has to be muzzled and sedated.  He has a "warning sticker" on his chart and people are afraid of him.  That, more than anything else, breaks my heart. 

Weekly chemo for lymphoma lasts an average of 19 weeks and that means at least 19 visits to the vet with an absolutely all-out-terrified dog who is, literally, out of his mind with fear.  Weekly sedation is dangerous since Mick doesn't tolerate it well... his blood pressure drops dangerously low, and it can prove fatal for him.  Hence, I am facing the biggest dilemma of my life, and there are no easy answers.  I cry about that as well.

Chemo treatments will prolong his life and give him a greater chance at a longer period of remission... oral medication can be given at home and will be much less stressful, but once he is out of remission we have no other options for continued, sucessful treatments available.  

So, I agonize over what to do on a daily basis, and the past ten days have been pure torture.  We have one chemo treatment behind us and it was horrible - Mick fighting all of us every step of the way, muzzled and pinned down by me and my daughter, while two vet techs tried to administer Vincristine via a "butterfly" without losing his vein and causing tissue damage in his leg.  I don't know if I'm strong enough to subject him to that for the next five months... or if I even should.  And what would Mick choose, if he could speak?  What would he do if the shoe was on the other foot (or paw)? 

Mick is kind. He is thoughtful, and considerate, and a Pacifist at heart.  He hates any kind of discord in life and gets very agitated when there is any yelling in our house.  He brings me a palm leaf, no matter what kind of a day he is having (and he's having some BAD days from the side effects of chemo).  Mick would gladly give his life for us, his family... his pack... his friends... his beloved humans.  Mick wouldn't want any of us to suffer in any way.

Exactly. 

Where does that leave me and what do I do??? 

My heart hurts for all of us.

1/15/2008

Mick had his second chemo treatment today... and I dreaded it.

My newfound friends however promised good vibes and good thoughts - and my boy was absolutely amazing!  Terrified, and breathing hard... muzzled and held down by me and my daughter while he looked at me and I talked to him... his eyes never left mine, not for one second... but he didn't struggle or move while the vet techs administered his chemo and took some blood.  It went off without any problems and I could feel all the love and support from those strangers I met on-line a few months ago... and so could Mickey.

There is no way this would have, could have, happened without those strangers I now call some of my best friends... and I am grateful beyond words.

Mick and I have decided to give people a chance... and maybe even to start liking some of them.  PBT has designed a ribbon just for Mick... it's green, in honor of my daily palm leaf, and when I logged on a week ago I couldn't help but smile - "Micks Chicks" had changed their avatars to green ribbons with Micks name on them, and there were pages and pages with green avatars.  It was a sight I will never forget and it touched my heart in so many ways.

It also made me realize that we - I - NEED those strangers in our fight against lymphoma.  We WANT to share our lives with those strangers we now call our friends, and we want their support and well-wishes.

So, to all of you who are in our corner... Mick and I thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

2/1/2008

Mick has many... and we are lucky.

The fourth chemo treatment was very expensive and - due to finances - we almost weren't able to have the most potent/important injection admistered.  Adriamycin is the most agressive cancer drug there is, and the most expensive one.  It's also Micks best chance for remission and I agonized over what to do on the night before his appointment.

And somehow, somewhere, several someones stepped in and donated for his treatment... enough to cover not just one but two injections... and with their kindness and generosity they bought my boy more time.

Time is all I want with - and for - him.  Time to play, time to hang out, time to realize that most humans are good... time is a precious commodity for us now.  Guardian angels come in many shapes and forms, and Micks guardian angels are people we've never met in person.  We know them through the Internet and they have become our best friends.  They have given us a gift I will never be able to match or repay, but also one I will never forget. 

The fourth visit went well.  Mick was co-operative and tolerated the procedure without any major struggle... 15 minutes of laying on his side without moving or trying to get up.  No restraints other than my arm across his neck and me holding his front leg... and this time he let the Oncologist feel all his lymph nodes and listen to his heart, though he was muzzled, just in case.

His chances for remission are excellent and he experienced none of the dreaded side effects, so I am happier than I have been in a long, long time. 

Thank you, Joyce... Liz... Beth... Dr. Correa.

Thank you for having compassion for a little Pit Bull with a sour disposition who doesn't like strangers.  Thank you for looking past his behavior and seeing what I see at home - a loyal, funny and loving guy who would give his life for me in a heartbeat. 

I don't know what else to say right now, but you all have a special place in my heart.  I am honored to know you and I am humbled by your kindness... you guys truly are angels...

2/17/2008

Mick continues to do well with chemo therapy!  He has occasional ups and downs with some of the side effects, but all in all he is tolerating the injections like a trooper.  He is also "officially" in remission already, which is bitter-sweet news for me.  His prognosis reads "possible remission between 6-11 months"... even though, if we stopped chemo right now, his prognosis would be far worse, and he would have at most about four weeks left to live.

Being in remission does NOT mean that he is cured, or will be... it just means that the drugs are holding the cancer at bay for the time being.  Once Mick comes out of remission we have the option of oral medication which can induce a second, but much shorter, remission... or we can let the illness run its course.  I am already thinking about letting Mick "decide" on the next treatment - his quality of life is the most important factor for me, and I will take my cue from him. 

Right now he is enjoying life as much as he ever has, and - thanks to numerous donations from all HIS angels - we are spending lots of time playing, hanging out, and having fun together.

Mick hasn't lost his wonderful sense of humor OR his goofy smile OR his playfulness - and I still graciously accept my "leaf present" every day... for my boy, it's business as usual.

For me, it's the biggest heartache of all... but I have a smile plastered on my face. 

Just for him.

                                                                                 by Sarah McLachlan

I didn't know much about them... had heard the hype in the media, and experienced first-hand how "scary" they can seem... we lived in a neighborhood where crime and drugs weren't frowned upon, and where manhood was defined by "the size of your pit bull"... dog fighting was as common as white bread, and you could often see the loser slink or limp down the sidewalk, looking less than approachable and acting aloof.  You certainly didn't want one for a pet.

Enter the Disney movie "Homeward Bound"... I saw it and immediately fell in love with that big, white, goofy-bouncy dog Chance.  I had no idea what breed he was, but he looked like he enjoyed to wrestle... and I like that.  I told my kids that I would love to own a dog like that some day.

HOW I MET MICKEY

Fast forward a couple of years... we have a Border Collie mix named Daisy by now.         

Very smart, very funny... loves to play fetch until she drops... she knows quite a few tricks and gets along fabulously with our many "stray" cats... life is good.

One afternoon my daughter and I encounter a big, white, goofy-bouncy dog at our front door... and Chance immediately comes to my mind.  She is very skinny and the right side of her face is badly scabbed and infected with mites.  I can tell that she's recently had a litter of puppies and I am very leary of her at first.  But, in true bull dog fashion, she won't take no for an answer and demands to be petted... right there, right NOW!

It turns out that she belongs to someone directly across the street from us... she routinely escapes from their yard and roams around... and thus our daily routine begins.  She will wait for us every day and greets us with enthusiasm - giving kisses, hugs, and the occasional head butts if you don't pet her fast enough.  I, in return, start treating her infected face and we feed her on our back porch almost every day.

After a couple of weeks our neighbors finally barricade their yard and often tie her up so she can't get out anymore... but she is just as happy when we go across the street to bring her a cookie or some food, and the head butting becomes one of her most endearing habits...

All this takes place in March... it is still snowing and gets very cold at night.  We  worry about her being so skinny and sick... and one day gather up an armfull of warm blankets for her and the puppies, since they all live outside.  My daughter climbs over the fence while our neighbors are at work and makes a "nest" for the dogs under the old dilapitated porch they are kept on.  And we have our first encounter with some of the puppies...

She only has two left by then (or so we thought), since the others had been sold already... the two remaining pups are dirty, but very feisty and pushy... and we all become good friends as well.  The puppies seem very distrustful of us at first, but soon follow Moms example and start running up to the fence when they spot us... we make sure to always have treats and food for them, and after a few days we can pet them without being nipped or growled at.

One morning one of the two puppies is gone... he has been sold as well.  His sister becomes very aggressive after that, but I don't really give it much thought - I find it kind of adorable that she "defends her turf" and "play-attacks" people who walk by her fence... I figure she'll make a terrific guard dog some day.

Little do I know - literally.

One a particularly cold Monday morning we have our daily visit w/the dogs... and suddenly my daughter and I hear this pitiful tiny mewling noise... so, over the fence she goes, to check it out.

And comes running back with the tiniest dirtiest srawniest looking puppy I have ever laid eyes on to this day... he weights about five pounds and fits in the palm of my hand.  He is wearing a little red doll sweatshirt and is barely moving, but I can feel his heart pounding away.  And when he realizes that I'm holding him, he starts to shake so violently that I almost drop him...

I give him a quick once-over, and he doesn't seem to be in such great shape... he is extremely small and malnourished, but his belly is huge... and I suspect worms.  He tolerates my prodding him, but won't look at me... and when I finally - reluctantly - put him back down on his side of the fence, he scurries up the small hill and behind the house as fast as his stubby little legs will carry him.  Not even a glance at Mom or his other sibling... my daughter and I find that very odd, but - what do we know, right?

For the next two days we continue to bring food and my daughter hops the fence to check on "the little guy"... he is well hidden under the porch, but she can make him out in the dark under there... he does not come out and she leaves some food and another blanket for him.

Finally, the remaining female puppy is sold, and the following day we don't see Mom in the yard either.  That night we get a frost warning on the news, and I'm wondering if the "little guy" will be allowed to spend the night inside... but whenever my daughter or I look at our neighbors windows directly across the street, we don't see any lights on.

At around eight o' clock I finally decide:" You go get that puppy, and I'll write a note to them that he's over here... it's way too cold out, and he'll freeze to death..." - and that's what we do.

My daughter tapes the note to their front door, climbs over the fence, digs out that dirty little whisp of a dog from under their porch, and brings him to our house.  They never come for him.  He's still with us.

This, however, is not the end of the story...

So - back to the night when I unsuspectingly "invited" a real life pit bull into my house... my life... my heart...

First of - I don't WANT another dog.  This one isn't even cute and cuddly... he smells really bad, he cowers when we try to pet him, he shakes uncontrollably, he won't even look at us... and that little tail is firmly wrapped around his scrawny butt and will not wag. 

I decide to give the little stinker a bath and have to cut the doll shirt off him... I hold him under the bath tub faucet with one hand and scrub him with the other... I can see that there is actual white-brown fur and a pink nose under all that filth.

My daughter opens a can of food and finds a bowl for our guest, and I wrap him in a big towel when he's as clean and shiny as a new penny.  He is still shaking, but he carefully gives me a quick look out of the corner of his eye...

So far, I think, I pass...

On to the food.  I don't think this puppy has EVER had a whole bowl of food in front of him before... he's on it, in it, both front legs firmly planted in the dish, gulping like it's his first - or last - meal... and when I bend down to move his paws out of the way - the little beast turns and lets out a snarl like a 500-pound mountain lion!  And shows his teeth!

I'm so dumbfounded for a second that I actually take a big step back... and then I say:" OH - I DON'T THINK SO!"  I grab the scruff of his very little neck w/my thumb and forefinger, give him a light shake and say:" You're going to GROWL at ME??? You're going to BITE ME???" 

I deposit his butt into Daisys crate and move the bowl with my foot... we look at each other for a minute or so... and when he finally looks appropriately contrite, I let him back out.  He stands and looks at me... and I see the tiniest bit of a tail wag... I tell him to "go on and eat, but don't EVER bite the hand that feeds you"... and he hasn't growled or snapped at me since. 

I guess we came to an understanding that day, and he decided we would be his new family... I just didn't know it yet.

When the puppy is done eating, my daughter and I both have to laugh... his belly is as big and round as a baseball, and he very cautiously swaggers through our kitchen to explore... he reminds me of John Wayne... and still does now, on some days.

Anyway - we let him sniff and swagger and explore on his own, since I don't think he's ever been "inside" before...

We're watching TV, I'm on the couch... and I hear the smallest little whimper next to me.  There is "the little guy", standing on his hind legs, trying to climb up - I scoop him off the floor and put him on the couch by my feet so he can get warm... but as fast as lightning he runs all the way up to my right shoulder, snuggles up against my neck, lets out a huge burp, an equally content sigh - and promptly falls asleep.

And that's how I met Mickey.

 To be continued...