I have recently been consumed by emotions that I didn't even know I was capable of having. Grief and anger and regret and physical pain over the pain experienced by my puppy and anticipating losing him.
I have adored Duncan Stanford Tolman I for the last 12 years.
I love his feistiness. I love his mischief. I love how little tongue curls into
an almost 90 degree angle when he yawns. I love that he says “ahhh woof woof”
when he is excited to see me as he wiggles his entire backend – marching in
circles.
And, last Sunday, he – in spite of his rattlesnake training
and my wishes – decided that a light green Mojave rattlesnake coiled silently
on the edge of a trail looked just interesting enough to sniff... And, then, just like
that, I lost the last 72 hours of my life to a blur of radical decisions that I never thought I would make.
As it happened, I stood there – staring – not actually processing what I
saw. Then, I turned into a robot. Scooping my puppy up and running – RUNNING –
about 2.5 miles back to the car. Without cell phones, we sped to the nearest
veterinary hospital. Sweaty, crying (ok – completely falling apart) and
shaking, I ran into the clinic and stated, “We have a rattlesnake bite – about 30
minutes ago. Save my baby.”
He is my baby.
My only baby.
Within half of an hour all of his red blood cells (100%)
were echinocytes (affected by the venom), his platelets dropped from 200K to
6K, he was on a continuous pain medication drip, and he was drooling –
uncontrollably with a pathetic, pained whine. I thought he was going to die.
Within 6 hours his eyes were swollen shut, but thankfully he
knew who I was when I arrived for our second visit.
Through self-doubt (how can we afford this? Do we want to
afford this? Are we making the wrong decisions?) and physically-manifesting-empathetic
pain (Is it fair to make him live through this? He is in so much pain – should we
just let him go?) I knew we were going to have to make a choice. I prepared myself for this choice and insinuated to one of my friends that this was going to be it. The end.
When I saw him, though, I knew I couldn't do it. I listened to him struggling to breathe in between my sobs and I
told him that if he wanted to go - he should just go. Just die. I would love
him forever, but I couldn't make him stay if he wasn't up for it. But, more selfishly, I simply could not be responsible to choose to have him go. And, of course, he took
a big strong breath. He let me know he was ready and we committed to see where this little journey would take us.
I left the hospital this time feeling invigorated and I proudly proclaimed to a couple of in-the-know friends and family:
“This is my bad ass son of a bitch that wants to live. So –
damn it – he’s going to…”
Day 1
So, that’s what happened and where I have been for the last
little bit. Brandon and I have been laughing and crying and laughing again. We
found out that I am capable of being really mean (no surprise) and really nice
(we are shocked) at almost the same time. And, most confidently, we can say
that I.LOVE.THIS.DOG.
Here are some – oh my gosh that is gross – pictures and video for your information.
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4 - Going home
Day 4 - home and sleeping
So, here I sit, with my faithful companion by my side. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. He may lose his left eye (we have to wait for the swelling to complete recover to decide). And, anyone who meets him from this point forward is sure to think he is the ugliest thing...But, frankly, I do not care - he is alive and kicking. My baby boy.
Wunkin
Bug
Ruby
Bumblebee
Sugar
Roe roe
My love
