(I'm really going to try to get through writing this without making myself cry.)
Once upon a time, in the winter of 1995, my family was heading to Old Coutry Buffet (a place we did not exactly frequent) in our Volvo. My Dad knew a "shortcut" and proceeded to take us on a backroad en route to our destination.
Suddenly, the car swerved and my dad threw open the drivers door, picking up something out of the road.
What he had apparently originally thought was a piece of trash blowing down the middle of this main street turned out to be a small dog, happily trotting down the busy road towards our car.
We must have had "Suckers" written in dog on the front of it.
Not knowing what else to do, we immediatly started looking for the owner. A woman had been calling to the dog from the other side of the road, but when my dad stopped the car to give the puppy back, she said "that's not my dog! I was just trying to get her out of the road!"
My mom, in the passangers seat, held the 11-pound puppy over her lap. "She better not pee on me!"
If a dog could roll their eyes, this one did.
After driving around and around, we didn't know what to do, so decided to take her to dinner with us. We could puppysit her until we found the owners. My mom, having just lost her dog a few months before, wasn't crazy about the idea. "This dog is going to the pound tomorrow!"
The dog turned suddenly, with a look that could only be described as saying "That's what you think."
"Oh my god..." my mom said, "She knows what I'm saying!"
Now, I was young. And I loved dogs. So I don't really need to tell you my level of excitement here. While we were at dinner, we left the new puppy in the car. I still remember running out to check on her every few minutes, and finding her in a different spot of the car every time. She would be in a seat, then perched on TOP of the seat, then in the back - there was no question she was excited.
We ate quickly and headed home, swinging by the Stop & Shop off 95 to pick up a few doggy items. She was only staying with us until we found the owners, so we didn't get much.
Back home, my parents discussed the new dog, and what to do. We had to come up with a temporary name for her, and after only a little bit of debate, we decided on Shiloh (after the book I had just read. She was clearly a beagle mix, so it seemed perfect)
My brother and I were put to bed, and Shiloh was to sleep in the basement. She, however, made it clear she wanted to stay with me in MY bed. No doubt she recognized my love as her ticket in. But no, she was to stay in the basement.
My parents put her downstairs and closed the door. We all went upstairs to bed. Minutes later, we heard paws coming up the stairs. Somehow she had gotten out of the cellar!
The door was old, ok, so maybe that's the problem. They put her back down there - not to be mean but she was an unpredicaible new dog! - and put a jug of water in front of the door. Back to bed.
Two minute later, paws were heard on the stairs again. Shiloh jumped into my bed.
One more time! They put her down in the cellar, putting TWO jugs of water in front of the door to keep it closed.
Two minutes later....you get the idea :)
Fast forward a week. My dad had put up signs all over the area we found her with no response. It was only a few days before my birthday, and I was absolutely in love with little Shiloh. But everything came to a screeching hault when the owers called, correctly identifying our dog, and said they would be by in the morning - the morning before my birthday - to pick her up.
I was heartbroken.
Upset as I was, it was THEIR dog and there was nothing we could do. So the next morning, we were preparing Shiloh to go to her new/old home when the phone rang again. It was them. Turns out they had only had the dog for two weeks, having just saved her from an abusive household. They themselves already had a family that was too big, with twins on the way, and if we could give Shiloh (or Charlie Brown, as they were calling her) a good home, she was ours.
My dad accepted.
Hell of a birthday present!!
But the story is not always that easy. Turns out Shiloh wasn't housebroken. And my mom - the head of the household, since my dad was always at work - wasn't keen on the idea of another dog. As I mentioned, she had just lost her beloved Brandy a few months prior. Brandy was a German Shepard they had from a puppy, the first baby of my parents, who was prone to illness and spent most of her life sick. She had finally lost a battle to cancer at the age of 13 and was a tremendous amount of work and money for my parents. Who can blame them for being exhausted from that?
So, a heartbreaking decision later, Shiloh was dropped off at the pound for adoption.
My aunt's infamous words "she thought she had a home!" kept my mom up all night.
The next day, an additional $20 was paid to adopt her again. And Shiloh, indeed, had a home.
The next 15 years were a roller coaster, but Shiloh was there every step of the way. As in life, everything changes. I got a steady boyfriend for 5 years. My dad moved out. My parents divorced. I moved out for college. I moved back. My mom got sick. My mom got better. I moved out again, this time to Orlando. I moved back. I broke up with my boyfriend. I moved out. My brother moved in with my dad (for school). My mom went through periods of recovery, where she and Shiloh would sit on the couch together every night. My mom went through dating periods, where she wouldn't be home as much. My mom and I started to travel more, where Shiloh started staying with my aunt & uncle while we were away.
Through all these changes in her life, Shiloh stayed happy and full of love.
In the summer of 2009, Shiloh got sick. She hadn't showed any signs of her age - except maybe a little loss of hearing and a little weight gain - until now.
She suddenly could not hold anything down (we're talking projectile-vomit here), was panting and shaking and turned yellow of jaundice. The first night, my mom and I slept on the couch and chair in the living room to stay close to her in case anything happened.
The next day we took her to the vet, scared a decision would need to be made. I had never seen anyone as close to death as Shiloh was the night before.
The vet diagnosed her with pancreatitis, something she may recover from. It's common in dogs, and many do make it through.
The weeks that followed were expensive (for my mom) and exhausting. Shiloh had to get fluids intravenously since she couldn't hold anything down - and even if she could, generally wasn't interested in food. My mom had to give her shots at home. Something was wrong with her liver, and she turned yellow from jaundice.
Walking Shiloh was hard, as she looked more like the groundskeeper's dog from the Haunted Mansion than our well-fed puppy. If she hadn't been so overweight before this happened, there's no doubt she would have died of starvation already.
The vet prescribed an appetite stimulant. If we couldn't get her to eat, there was nothing more they could do. Even if there was something, we couldn't afford it - my mom had already sapped her savings trying to keep her alive.
On a last ditch effort, I wrapped the pill the vet gave us in the cream from an Oreo Cookie. After weeks of turning away steak and chicken and even whipped cream, she ate it.
A tiny corner had been turned. But we were leaving for a Disney in a week.
Our worry hadn't subsided at all, but my Aunt & Uncle were determined to care for her while we were gone. When we dropped her off, everyone was afraid it would be our last goodbye.
But, as if by Disney magic, she turned a major corner. By the time we came home, she was off the appetite stimulant and attempting to eat my Aunt & Uncle out of house and home! There was still a long road ahead, but it was clear Shiloh had gained some much needed weight. The two of them truly had been her guardian angels.
The last two years have been interesting experiences. My mom had her bathroom redone, which displaced them both from the house. It was supposed to take two weeks and, unsurprisingly, it took over two months. Shiloh had no worries. Staying with my Aunt & Uncle was like a vacation for her. My Uncle - retired - was home all day with, giving her the company she desired so badly. My Aunt - always full of energy - loved to run with her, and spoiled has as much as she had spoiled us when were were kids. Shiloh was living in the lap of luxury.
Then the party ended.
When she came home, it was a little more obvious she was getting older. She had slowed down a lot from before the "vacation." Partly of depression, partly of age, she started have accidents on the floor - something she had not done since the first month we had her.
Things became even more complicated.
My mom had fallen in love with a wonderful man, and was happily dating him. It was great news for everyone except Shiloh, who would be alone all day while my mom was at work, then again at night while my mom went on her dates. My mom did everything she could to keep Shiloh included - taking her for rides as often as possible, taking her to work/coming home from work to take her out at lunch, having her boyfriend spend that date at her house, etc. My brother and I came home about once a week to see her, but my brother was bogged down with work, and I - in addition to having my own puppy - lived over an hour away. When we were there, all Shiloh wanted to do was sleep.
The only problem Shiloh ever gave us was that she did not, under any circumstances, get along with other dogs. Period. Remember the summer she almost died? At no more than 8 lbs (a far cry from her healthy 12 - 14 lb weight) Shiloh would sit on the porch, wrapped in an afghan, and bark at the dogs walking by. She would become so infuriated that a dog had the audacity to walk by HER house, she would continue barking a good ten minutes after they were out of sight.
She's a little possessive.When we eventually tried to introduce Tessie & Shiloh, 16-yr-old Shiloh didn't take it so well. Even on the "neutral" ground of my aunt's house, she attempted to attack and bite Tessie's backside. Leaving my overly-sensitive puppy moping the rest of the afternoon.
Anyways, back to the story.
Things got only MORE complicated when my living situation changed. My apartment's rent skyrocketed, and since I was already getting by by the skin of my teeth, had no choice but to move home. My Aunt & Uncle agreed to take Shiloh in while I got back on my feet.
But Shiloh was making it obvious she wasn't getting any younger.
She developed a growth on her gum which grew to the size of a marble. She lost control of her bowels. Her vision got worse, in addition to her hearing already being gone. She couldn't eat like she did before. It became obvious over the holidays that Shiloh was not just getting old...she was sick.
Which brings us to present day.
On Saturday we had a family meeting - me, my Mom, my Aunt & my Uncle - four of the people who love her the most in the world. (My brother was missing, but he is in agreement) Shiloh is sick. She is 17. And we don't have many options left.
We have been given the gift of two additional years with Shiloh - we thought we were going to lose her in summer of 2009. We refuse to put her through any more tests or lower her quality of life any further. We have kept her happy and comfortable - especially my aunt & uncle, who have given her the vacation of a lifetime these past few months with them - and surrounded her with love.
I don't know if what we are planning to do is the right thing or not. To me, it seems to make the most sense. When I think it it logically, it makes perfect sense, in fact. But then I think of Shiloh. OUR Shiloh. And I cry. So much.
I don't know what we're supposed to do now. How long do we wait? She's getting bad quickly. I haven't even seen her since Christmas - where she did not look good - and my Aunt said she's so much worse than she even was then. Is doing this the humane thing to do? How much more time does she have left? Do we wait until she's in pain? Until she starts vomiting blood? Is she in pain already and hiding it from us? She licks herself constantly, and the growth is dripping blood. She's eating but losing weight. I don't know what to do.
Thinking about this is horrible. I don't want to have to make this choice. But I don't want to keep her alive for us. She barely wags her tail anymore. She has good moments, but they're fewer and fewer. She is not the dog she once was - she's more like a shell of herself, and she hates it. So for her, we're trying to make the right choice. And I don't think we have any other option.
We contemplated testing the growth to see if it's cancerous, or bringing her to the vet to see if there's anything we can do, but she's 17. We have to think of her and what she wants. After being sick like she was, we can't put her through any more tests. She won't want to go through the medications or potential operations. She has a heart murmur that's so bad they doctors told us over a year ago that she wouldn't survive an operation, even if we wanted to try.
So this week she's with my Aunt & Uncle. They are giving her everything she wants, and so much love. My mom is going to call the vet for another opinion, but I can't imagine there is anything else we can do.
For as long as I can rememeber, Shiloh has been there for us. Through sickness and health. Through heartbreak and new romance. Through house parties and (my) homelessness. She saw David & I both graduate high school. She saw my mom go through the divorce. She has been there for every single one of us, and now we owe it to her to make the best decision for her. To keep her happy and out of pain.
"At a certain point you know the last chapter,
and you don't want to have to write it."
~Mary-Louise Parker
and you don't want to have to write it."
~Mary-Louise Parker
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