I suppose it’s a good thing I don’t have a house and land anymore. After the girls were grown and on their own I fully intended to fill the house and surrounding two acres with every rescue dog that I could afford to feed and care for.
Cats too, I don’t discriminate.
Since we lost our matriarch, Tempe, last December Sam is the only dog in the house and he loves being the king of the castle. If he had dog buddies I’m afraid he might start a cult so maybe it’s a good thing there is a two pet limit in apartment living. I don’t really think that but rules are rules. Money is tight but everyone eats well in our house. I will eat oatmeal and happen to love beans and cornbread so we get by. The animals eat good too.
My biggest fear is needing vet care and having to go to a subpar veterinarian like I did when Tempe fell too sick and was suffering. A horrible man was who I had to settle for even though the clinic had a good reputation. They catered to people who can’t afford the high dollar elite vet clinics that are all the rage now. I explained to him that I have worked in one way or another in the animal arena. At eighteen I worked for the HSNT and sneaking dogs out before they had to go to room number Nine, the kill room, became too much for me and my mother said stop. Not before she helped me liberate the last survivor, a dog we called Number Nine. She took him to Arkansas to her sister and he lived his life out running through the woods.
This vet that I trusted with my sweet best friend didn’t like me explaining that I needed to be with her through it all if he didn’t mind. I wasn’t pompous or over bearing and it wasn’t my intention to make him feel like I knew more than he did. He said he had to take Tempe in the back room first to insert the IV and I politely asked to stay with her through it all. Apparently he felt he needed to show me a thing or two so he agreed. I thought it was odd that he said the first shot might cause her to convulse. I’ve been in on more euthanasia than any one person should and I have never seen a dog convulse.Until that day. When this monster decided to show me a thing or two and gave her the shot that stopped her heart without benefit of the first shot that relaxes a dog so they can die in peace.
Tempe did not die in peace. I held as she did convulse when he administered the first shot to stop her heart and the second one to cover his ass in case I noticed. I noticed. If I had been a man he would have gotten his ass kicked that day and I would have gone to jail.If I thought I could have managed it I would have gone to jail anyway. It was the first time I realized that when you age you are very vulnerable. I started making plans to protect myself against people like this horrible joke of an animal healer.I almost wrote Elon Musk to ask him to do something to prevent this man from ever doing that to anyone again. Silly thought but Tempe was my best friend through the toughest times in my life. Had Betty White been younger I might have written her. I was defeated that day but my grief was so profound I might have sold my soul to the wrong person to take this guy out.I still can’t think about her without crying.
ABC Animal hospital on the south side of Fort Worth is not the place to trust with your animals. Let them sue me. I don’t have anything to take and I’d love to tell a judge what happened and see this guy lie about what he did to someone who has more power than I do.
She didn’t deserve that.
I was traumatized beyond repair and will never heal from that.
We had done everything right. I had spent many weeks and months caring for this wonderful Jack Russel terrier. She was eight weeks old when I got her and went everywhere with me. We conducted home inspections together all over the state. She climbed ladders behind me and lapped up the whip cream from my caramel macchiato if I left it unguarded.Smiling at me with a whip cream mustache as if she didn’t know what I was talking about.I would say “Let’s go” and had to be prepared to catch her when she leaped into my arms.I learned not to say “Wanna go to the river?” until I had my shoes on.
She had developed CCD- Canine Cognitive Disorder and she went down fast. We lived with it for two years until I could see that it was just too hard and she was going to follow me no matter where I went. Former neighbors made fun of us as I set a blanket down and sat with her outside hoping it would calm her 24/7 pacing. She circled constantly though and very rarely wasn’t anxious. I moved all the furniture eight or ten inches from the wall so she could use the wall to guide her. People would come over and see everything in the middle of the room and think I was crazy. Oh well.
George the cat followed her every day and took to sitting behind the toilet so she couldn’t get trapped back there. When she froze in confusion he walked up and bumped her to get her moving again. She paced for more than six hours one day and finally passed out in the middle of the kitchen. George wrapped himself around her and stayed until she woke up again.He played with her too. He’d watch from the top of a cabinet and then he’d take a flying leap over her ,his feet touching her back and you could see her smile when he did that.I didn’t get on to him because she thought it was funny. He still seems a little lost without her because George is a cuddler.
Sam isn’t going to cuddle so he waits until Sam is asleep then slinks up on the other side of me, wraps his arms around me or pets my face and then sleeps all night stretched out next to me. Sometimes if the air is chilly he burrows under the covers.I never get cold at night anymore and am surrounded by the most amazing friends anyone could ever ask for. If George could work I’d take him to nursing homes and let him love to his heart’s content.
Finally it got so bad I knew I needed to help her but still waited. I took the bed frame down and slept on the mattress on the floor so she could get near me and I could hold her. The other animals must have known it was time too and for two weeks we had throw down parties on the floor. I did nothing but spend time with her and she was ready to rest. Days of walking into the wall or getting stuck in the corner had worn her out.
Having recently moved I have found that while animals are certainly welcome by management at the new place and there is even a small dog park tucked away in the woods behind the complex there is one clique that turns their noses up when we walk by.That’s fine too.I call them the mean girl clique and if they think I will be bullied they are kidding themselves. I’ve been bullied all my life and the last thing I want to be is a part of their group. My dog doesn’t like them either. Seriously, he won’t even walk past certain neighbors. When I have to insist he go the direction I need to go once in a while he stops walking , digs his feet in and won’t move. He is clearly saying if we have to go past those people you’re going to have to carry me.Fortunately he only weighs ten pounds.
Things are changing now and I feel privileged to watch as people say no to useless euthanasia. Dog owners, like myself, admit they do love their dog more than a selfish spouse, boyfriend or girlfriend. One ex used to say that to me and while I had no need to hurt anyone I kept silent when he complained I loved the dog more than I did him. Of course I did, the dog didn’t get drunk every day and make everyone in the house miserable.Texas is the worst for not having animals fixed and it’s a heart breaking story. I wish I could do more, I’d like to see every senior neighbor that wants a pet to have one without the worry of a fixed income. Or not being able to pay a huge vet bill so they stay alone. Many people worry they will get sick and not be able to walk a dog and that’s truly heartbreaking. Then there is the mean girl clique and none of them have a pet. Thank God.
So Sam and I avoid the people he gets a bad vibe from. Friends are overrated anyway. If you come to my house and want to sit at the kitchen bar to talk to me, George will be checking you out and insist you lavish him with love. If you pass muster you might have a big cat’s butt in your face. First he will watch you from his various perches to make sure you are worthy of his attention. One maintenance man who was an animal lover too used to come sit in the apartment to cool off on a hot day. He was George’s namesake and loved nothing more than to have George crawl in his lap once saying ” God help the man who might try to hurt you, I think George is guarding you”. He is. So is little Sam. Sam has a routine he follows every night. Once he is satisfied that I am actually in bed for the evening he spends ten or fifteen minutes gathering some of his favorite things and places them in a circle around the bed. In his mind this is a line in the sand. It’s a circle of protection because he thinks cats are stupid and does not want them on the bed.George knows what he is doing and loves nothing more than to irritate him. He sits in the doorway and waits for Sam to go under the covers. Every now and then he walks near a piece of the circle and the fight is on. Sam charges, George leaps onto the dresser and I yell at everybody. You will notice I am covered in dog and cat hair and so is the furniture. There are events I don’t attend because my dog isn’t welcome and that’s fine too. I prefer their company over just about everyone and if you don’t you might want to look elsewhere for friendship because I insist you say hello to the little dog whose body is trembling in excitement to meet you. He also likes to say goodbye when you leave. Ignoring him will not get you much from me.
I wouldn’t trade them for anything.I certainly would not have a relationship that didn’t include them so I may never have that again. I never feel alone though.
Rest in peace, Tempe. You were the best girl.
