My husband's office is in a business where there are pet adoptions every weekend. 6 months ago, as I was waiting for him to gather some work on a Saturday (we were heading out of town for two days), I took the opportunity to spend time loving on the dogs waiting for new families. I stopped to talk to a friend who was volunteering that day, when a lady walked through the door with a tiny dog in a baby blanket. She said that she'd found him wandering in her neighborhood and she'd been caring for him for a week or so.
I immediately asked to hold him and told the rescue organizer (Chelley) that I wanted to foster this little angel. I almost looked around to see who'd said that because I wasn't really one to foster - been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. It wasn't a good fit for me so I'd decided that fostering wasn't for me.
This sweetheart was a little Yorkie, just over 3 lbs. I could feel his little hip bones and when I looked into his eyes, I saw that he was an old guy - he had cataracts. But we immediately bonded. My friend agreed to keep him until Monday morning since I was going to be out of town.
The next morning I got the bad news: they'd taken him to the vet to be checked out and he was in renal failure. The vet had recommended euthanasia because his numbers were so high that they didn't even register. In other words, this was so sick that there was little chance of recovery. Thankfully, Chelley (the lady who runs the rescue) refused to have him put down and took him to a vet tech friend who agreed to give him subcutaneous fluids and care for him for a while to see if he would improve.
Well, guess what? He did start to improve. His bloodwork showed a small improvement within 2 days, and 5 days after that I picked him up to take him home.
God put some amazing people in my life to help me give little Angel 6 more months of life. First was my friend Ruthanne, who went to bat for me with Chelley. Chelley wasn't sure that I was the right person to help little Angel. Ruthanne convinced her that I'd be fine, and I think I surprised them both. Chelley did tell me, however, that I was "taking him home to die." "Oh snap," I thought. "Not on my watch."
Next was Dianna, the vet tech who had cared for him that first week, and who taught me how to give him his subQ fluids. A few months later, when he was so strong he was fighting me when my husband and I would try to give him his fluids, Dianna was there to help and allowed me to come to her bring him to her two to three times a week for fluids.
Then there was Susie at Canine Creek. She helped me navigate the plethora of foods and supplements available and put me in touch with Dr. Harvey - a holistic vet in NJ. Dr. Harvey was instrumental in helping me find the right combination of foods for little Angel - foods that his failing kidneys could more easily tolerate. He hated the "kidney food" that the vet had recommended, and the first time I gave him his Veg-to-Bowl and frozen (thawed, of course) tripe, he ate with relish!
Ivana turned me on to ionized water and literally gave me gallons of water so that Angel would have good water to drink and nourish his little body.
Within just a few days of good water and nutrition, Angel was off the Proin (the medication that helps incontinence) and within a couple of weeks, his bloodwork was showing even more improvement.
Things that we take for granted in most dogs, Angel didn't even do. Things like grooming themselves, wagging their tails, even barking. As he got better, we delighted in watching him do these things for the first time. We were delighted, too, the first time he was strong enough to lift his leg to pee, instead of squatting.
He loved to go for rides in the car and would sit up, eagerly waiting for me to put his harness on him when he saw me with it. He knew that we were going out. The day he climbed into my lap, instead of laying on the passenger seat, was a happy, happy day. Then there was the day he put his little paws up on the steering wheel to see out the front window. He only did that a couple of times, but it was such a lovely, happy site to see!
He also loved going to work with Dad. He quickly realized that Dad would give him little bits of chicken from his special soup that the man from the Vietnamese restaurant would bring. He started begging for it, by barking his little hoarse bark. It delighted us.
But as quickly as he got better, he suddenly took a turn for the worse. The day that one of our little Chihuahuas got bit by a baby rattlesnake was the day that I started to admit to myself that he was getting worse. He'd quit eating and would only take a little bit of goat milk at a time, and only when he was on the bed instead of from his eating place in the kitchen.
My husband said that when something tragic like this happens, we often start to second-guess ourselves, and that's what I've been doing. I've wondered what I should have done differently, but it's no good doing that. It only serves to make one feel like crap.
I've had so many people say what a wonderful thing we did for him by loving him so much and bringing him back to health for these last 6 months. I'm so glad that we had the opportunity to love him and care for him. So why does it hurt so much?
My husband brought up an idea today that I hadn't thought of: What if Angel was our baby that we lost back in 1998? Could that be why we felt so connected to him and why we miss him so much? It's a crazy concept, but maybe, just maybe, it's true.
Were we all together in another life? I have no doubt about it.
But right now, my brain is just foggy with grief.
