Dog Days are Here

Anyone who knows me knows that I am head over heels in love with furry friends, specifically of the canine family.  Animals in general are okay, but dogs are by far and away the best.  They are loyal, fun-loving, crazy little balls of energy (at least, this describes my puppy Carson).  I know I drive most people crazy by talking about my dog.  That being said, I've put off an all-dog-blog post.....until now.

This morning, Carson and I had some quiet time before I took him for his second grooming appointment.  I feel like I've seen a small glimpse of what parents must feel for their kids.  Call me crazy, I know I sound it.  But anyone who has raised a puppy and watched them turn into a smart (and incredibly energetic) dog must have experienced this.  Dann and I have been so proud when he does things like use his bell to let us know he needs to go outside to "do his business" or helped show my parents' golden retriever Rylee how to walk on a leash.  It seems like yesterday that I was crying because I thought Carson would never be able to go on walks or runs with me because he was far too stubborn to be led!

Dann and I are considering getting another dog.  We are doing our research and trying to decide what breed would be best.  After watching Rylee and Carson play together, I realized how much fun Carson has with other puppies.  Of course, we will have to be out of this apartment before we can get a bigger breed, but that will come soon.  Until then, I'll be busy trying to train our little boy before we welcome his little sister home!

    

Which one might our new friend resemble?

Doing all of this dog-searching doesn't always make me smile, however.  I had tears streaming down my face last night as I looked at spaniel breeds.  I found many that looked like my sweet cocker spaniel, Casey.  

My little sister Molli and Casey in 1994, shortly after she came home.

Casey was my first puppy (my parents did have a golden retriever before I was born and into the first few months of my life, but she had to go to an uncle when we moved to Chicago).  Casey, while bought as a family dog, was really a valiant attempt at getting a hold of my intense fear of dogs.  I was chased down by a huge Doberman-like dog at a park when I was five or six.   A crippling anxiety around four legged friends followed.  I nearly jumped out of a school bus window to avoid the "vicious" lab who ran after her bus-riding pal, tail thumping so hard that I could hear it even from the back.  I wanted my dad to hold me during trick or treating, for fear that a dog might be at the door and could escape to attack me.  My parents knew this was a huge problem, and thought getting a puppy might help.  So the summer after my 8th birthday, we went "just to look" at a litter of blonde cocker spaniels.  We spotted the runt of the litter.  It was over from there.  My mom, not particularly wanting to add another warm body to her litter of three girls at home, was defenseless.  The puppy came home with us that day.  A good friend of the family suggested "KC" as her name (I thought Sandy or Jewel was appropriate, those were thankfully vetoed) and Casey became the newest addition to our family.

Casey, the tiny little bundle of joy, slobber, and teeth.

I was terrified of the 5 pound monster.  As puppies inevitably do, Casey discovered that nibbling on ankles and tearing scrunchies out of our hair was oh-so fun.  I would don knee-high boots and jump from the couch to the chair, trying to avoid her ferocious teeth.  But as time went on, I learned to accept her presence.  I would not say we were best friends in those first few years.  Slowly, I learned that most dogs were not to be feared, although it was smart to avoid the ones lunging at you, growling through clenched teeth.  I watched Casey grow and develop her own personality.  She was rather aloof, preferring to keep to herself except for when she wanted something from us (a full water bowl, a nice rub down).  She loved to run away, and was brought back many times by kind neighbors who saw her dashing through their yard.  There was a dog about her age, Montana, who lived in the house behind ours.  They would run along the fence, barking at each other, providing endless entertainment.

Montana, Casey's miniature Schnauzer friend

Through the years, Casey and I became closer.  She was always our family's dog, but it was an unspoken truth that she was really my dog.  In high school, she would sleep with me every night.  She would jump up to the foot of my bed and fall asleep there.  In the middle of the night, I would wake up with her arm outstretched across my face.  I would replace her to the foot of the bed, but she would always inch up closer to me.  I would take her running on the trails near my elementary school.  She would tug on the leash, always outpacing me, even on runs that would total more than 5 miles.  I would smile proudly when people asked me how old my "puppy" was.  She was a very small cocker, never more than 20 pounds at her heaviest.  We never gave her the cocker cut, instead preferring the all-over clip of a puppy cut.  She always looked much younger than she was, and I loved how people would stop me and tell me how cute she was.  It killed me to leave her when I went to college.  I wanted to take her, but knew it would be horrible to take her from the home she had lived in and was so used to.  College was relatively close, so I came home quite often.  I remember one instance freshman year where Casey got sick, and I drove home early the next morning to be with her.  It turned out to be a simple stomach bug, but it made me ill to think of losing my sweet dog, especially while I was at college.

Casey on one of her shaggiest days.

She was stubborn and became even more so after she lost her ability to hear (I don't remember when exactly this happened, but I remember I would communicate with her by stomping on the floor so she would feel the vibrations.  She always had bad "cocker" ears and this proved quite damaging to her hearing).  I also don't remember when Casey made the transition from dog to elderly dog.  I do remember coming home from college and realizing that she could no longer go for a long run with me (after two or so miles, she sat down and refused to go any further unless it was at a slow walking pace).  I stopped taking her for more than a short walk; she still got so excited to see her leash, but could not go much further than around the block.  She no longer led me; I led her.  It was a slow transition.  We started realizing that the cataracts in her eyes and finally taken her eyesight.  But she was still able to get around.  She had grown up and lived our house for many years, so she knew that if she came in from the back door, took a quick left, and walked until her head bumped into the dishwasher, that her food would be a quick turn to the left.  

A horrible picture, but a funny one - Casey had found herself trapped after digging through a trash can!

As I graduated from college and moved home to start medical school, I realized Casey wasn't quite the same dog she used to be.  She spent a majority of her days sleeping.  She was still eating and drinking, but was slowly slipping away from us.  She had a large lesion on her head, which I recognized as an ugly-looking tumor that was most likely melanoma.  She was aging, but I wasn't ready to admit that she might be in pain and slipping away.  I moved out of my parents' house yet again during my second year of medical school.  I wanted to take Casey with me, but I was terrified of removing her from the one place the deaf and blind dog could navigate.

Casey and her three crazy sisters.

As I watched several patients suffer and die from chronic, incurable illness during my third year of medical school, I realized the same thing was happening to my dog.  She became incontinent and was obviously in pain.  She would lay in one place all day because each time she tried to stand, her fragile limbs would buckle under her body.  I read the book Marley and Me and cried, thinking of the inevitable fate my friend would meet.  My mother gently told me that she thought we needed to think of putting Casey to sleep.  I felt ill and thought about it for months.  (I now feel guilty about that, since I know Casey was just holding on for us).  I came to the realization that my mother was right before my father did.  He said he could not justify ending a dog's life when she couldn't "ask" for it.  I explained to him that, after talking to our vet, that I knew dogs do not always know how to show you how much pain they are in.  She still ate, but not much.  She had long forgotten where the back door was, and had not "done her business" in the appropriate place for months.  She would shake when she was sleeping, and she had no fat left on her emaciated frame.  She had palpable masses throughout her abdomen, and I knew she had to be in incredible pain.  After explaining to my father that this was in fact the humane, and right, thing to do, he hesitantly agreed.  I felt awful, like I was the one who had made the decision to end my dog's life.  I wrestled with the decision and occasionally still wonder if we did the right thing.

Casey, after she became to old to jump into my bed with me, got this comfy bed of her own.

On January 11, a few months before Casey's 17th birthday, I put Carson in his kennel and headed to my parents' home.  My eyes were swollen and red before I even walked in the front door.  I picked up Casey and gave her a bath.  I felt for the first time in over a year that she recognized me; she even wagged her tail for a second in the bathtub.  The guilt and anxiety I felt over our decision was overwhelming at that point.  I wondered if Casey was telling me she wanted to live longer?  (Now, I believe that was Casey's way of telling me that it was okay, that she was done, and she just needed our help to finally rest pain-free).  I had a lot of support from my mom, Dann, and a college roommate who understood my pain and had been in the same situation (Katy, thank you).  I held Casey and wondered what she might like to do in her final hours.  My mom and sisters and I decided on french fries.  Casey used to love McDonald's french fries, but had not enjoyed them in years due to the distress she would go through for days after.  We bought her a small package and I fed them to her.  As the time approached to take her to our vets' office, I held her, prayed and quietly cried.  I became anxious when we finally took her to the vet, but they did a wonderful job of walking me through what would happen.  Her final moments were very peaceful and I am so glad I was able to be the one holding her and comforting her through it.

For many days after, I would cry with any mention of Casey.  I would look at Carson playing like a puppy and cry.  I would see pictures of Casey and cry.  When we received Casey's ashes, I cried for hours.  I thought about getting a cocker spaniel that looked just like her, but realized that I was trying to replace Casey which I could never do.  As time has gone on, I am feeling better.  I won't tell you that I'm not sitting here crying my eyes out (I am, mascara is running down my cheeks).  I also won't tell you that I don't pull out her box of ashes and lose it every once in a while.  But I am finally able to talk about what a wonderful friend she was without breaking down each time.  Casey taught me the love of a dog, about painful loss, and how to turn away from selfishness and make an incredibly difficult decision.  I will treasure her memory forever.  I know a lot of people don't believe that dogs have any kind of afterlife.  But I can't imagine that there is a heaven that DOESN'T involve dogs.  They are pure-hearted, loyal, sweet souls who deserve to be in heaven before any of us do.  The thought of Casey playing, pain-free, and excited to see me again is of great comfort to me.

Casey, hearing and vision intact, playing happily in our backyard.

For those who aren't dog lovers, I'm sure you find this post entirely too long (I'm realizing that no one might read this except for me) and sappy!  But for anyone who did bear with me, thank you.  It's been hard but therapeutic to write about Casey.  It is because of her that I love dogs so much.  If you had told me before we got her that I would eagerly search for more puppies to love, that I would treasure trips to the dog park, and that I would welcome slobberly kisses on the cheek, I would have thought you were crazy.  It is because of her that I know the love of a dog.