christ-on-a-stick

For O'Shea

They will not go quietly, the dogs who have shared our lives.
In subtle ways they let us know their memory survives.
Old habits still make us think we hear a scratch at the door.
Or step back when we drop a tasty morsel on the floor.
Our feet still go around the place the food dish used to be,
And sometimes, coming home at night we miss them terribly.
And although time may bring new friends
and a new food dish to fill,
That one place in our hearts belongs to them...and always will.

~ Unknown

MzNeko

Oh, LadyShea, I'm so sorry.

jj

I'm sorry. There's really not much else one can say, is there?

Poor puppy.

Cipher Girl

Hi Lady Shea

What a sad occasion. My condolences for your loss. I too well know the loss of a dear family pet. I also had to have my cat put down about two weeks ago. He was in the last stages of advanced kidney disease and his kidneys had shut down totally. I'm still greiving his loss. I had him for almost 22 years. He was a great cat and I loved him very much.

Get a donated animal up for adoption. I'm getting a new kitten from a vetinarian friend in about 4 weeks. The kitten was born the day before I had to put my cat to sleep. I can hardly wait for the new kitten. I'm helping myself and the kitten.

Take care

Bree

May your beloved pet - your namesake - never be far from your memory.

vicesboy

Hello Everybody,

I am LadyShea's husband and O'sheas "poppa".

I haven't been really avoiding this, but neither have I made a concerted effort to post or even read this thread.

Thanks to everyone for their kind words and support, we are truly 'blessed' (damn why can't I think of a better word than that) to have met such wonderful and giving people.

This will probably be long and winded, and most will not read. That's cool, because it's probably more for me than for anyone reading. This will be a way for me to get everything out, a final acceptance of the whole loss process. So for anyone who doesn't want to hear/see a man break down and cry (i am sure i will while typing this) take this exit now....................>

For those that don�t want to hear the sob story of a boy and his dog, use the exit above.



Final warning, this will be boring for most people and may be disturbing to animal lovers, but I must type this.
.
.
.
.
First of all, I am a 34 year old, married (see above) man, extremely logical in my thought processes and internalize most every situation, and every event before acting. These traits have led people to say I am 'unfeeling' (sisters, I have two) and even I have repeated many times..."you hurt my FEELING" (note the singular use). We have no children, as many of you know, this is not by choice but by medical problems. Basically I am a little bit anal retentive, think before I act, and rarely let emotions direct my actions. I am a business executive, and most people like me. Oh yea, I also have a little bit of the �Tony Robbins� syndrome which means to me �the glass is always half full�. Most problems I have or challenges I face, I pull myself through, reaching inside not out for support.

Growing up I was exposed to animals, as far back as I can remember there was a small poodle (tea cup maybe) in our family. First a gray poodle named Peirre then a cream named Tiffany. These dogs were never 'mine' or the 'family' dogs, but were my mothers and fathers. During my grade-school (8-12) years I had a fascination/yearning for a BIG dog of my own. Many a day my mom would pull into the driveway, headlights flashing across the garage door and be surprised to see the two paws and head of a massive dog. Of course, my response was always "Mom, he/she came into our yard and just wouldn't leave. What was I to do? Can we keep it? I promise I will take care of it! I even named it! [insert silly kid dog name]" Mom would then walk to the garage, hit the garage door opener, and the dog would run away, probably scared to death from being locked in our garage!!

My uncle had dogs, Doberman�s and a German Shepard. We had a German Shepard for about 3 months, but mom and dad couldn't handle the 'big dog'. Bottom line, I grew up never having my 'own' dog.

The first dog Brandi and I got was Max, a pet store adoptee. Little guy, who had been abused. Maybe it was because of that abuse, but Max never played, or loved on anyone. He was simply happy to eat and sleep and have owners who were nice. We still have Max, and even with our love, he is just not a �lovee� dog. Max is now about 12, he is overweight and in the latter part of his life. We continue to show him love and even though he is probably too fat, it makes him happy to eat and sleep, who are we to take away his enjoyment.

We also inherited a dog from Brandi�s family, a mutt named Wolf. Wolf has lived with Brandi�s brother, Mother and now us. He is 13, has had eye surgery twice for cancer. The second surgery being the removal of his left eye. He has arthritis. It sufficient to say that he has led a great life, with loving owners and we are simply trying to make the last part of his life as good as we can.

Shea was a dog that the owner (female) was moving into an apartment with her �fianc� and the last addition to our family. They obviously couldn't have a big dog, and besides the 'boy' was afraid of the puppy! The owner knew a lady that Brandi worked with and when Brandi heard the story, we HAD to go see the puppy.

Of course, when we met him, we knew we had to be his new home. He was in very good health, a beautiful looking dog, playful and completely untrained!!

The first thing we did was take him to a 'trainer'. This lasted about 3 weeks before the trainer made an unfair 'correction' to our dog, resulting in Shea attacking him. We didn't go back, but learned, through watching, the effect treats had.

We continued our own training, with treats, corrections when deserved and of course love. More and more Shea would start to 'do something right' not to receive a treat, but to receive a pat on the head or a hug or some back scratching or some belly rubbing! His learning went beyond just our training. Poppa and Shea would play, Poppa getting on all fours putting his head down and, yes, even grabbing the toy Shea currently had with his mouth! (ewwww) Poppa would swing his arms at Shea, playfully slapping on the sides or tapping the sides of his head. Shea found this to be wonderful and even decided that this, while Momma or Poppa were walking down the hallway, would be a grand time to employ this game. Of course with a 100lb puppy, pushing on the back of your knees with his head and swinging his leg around your ankle does make walking a bit difficult.

During the first month we tried to make him sleep on the floor, but he would only whine at the end of the bed all night. We moved in his cage (they had used one), tried a blanket, and bought a dog bed...nothing worked. Except of course, letting him sleep on the bed with us! He slept like a baby!

We got Shea when he was over a year old, he was no longer a puppy and was just about full grown. During his puppy years he never learned about pack mentality or that there would be an "alpha" dog above him. Sleeping on the bed led to the first and only time that we would have to seriously discipline our dog. One night while sleeping next to me, and rolling over, and schooching closer, I finally pushed back to move him to his portion of the bed. He growled, and in my head I thought 'there is no way this dog will growl at me'. I pushed harder, he hunkered down and growled more. I grabbed him and physically tried to move him, he bit me. It wasn�t a complete attack, it was more a test to see how far he could go. He had passed his line already. I turned him over, sat on top of him and held his neck and head still. My voice was commanding and my grip was firm. When he stopped struggling, I jumped off the bed and told him 'bad dog', pointed to the ground, "sit". He immediately sat where I told him (we had been working on sit for months) and bowed his head.

It was hard because I had already started to like this dog, but couldn't put up with an animal that would rise up. Especially one that outweighed my wife by 20 lbs. My fears were unsubstantiated, from that moment on, my dog knew his place in the household, my puppy, my friend, my �dog�. He was the protector, he would make sure we were safe, but he would not challenge us.

Days turned into weeks, weeks to years, every day something he did bringing a smile to our faces. Sometimes it was the gathering of his 'bunnies', he loved plush play toys, any size and fashion. Sometimes it was the laying on his back, feet in the air. Sometimes it was that he would wait in the hallway for you to finish your business in the bathroom. Sometimes it was a large head in your lap WHILE you were doing your business. But for sure, always it was the wagging butt. Not tail, he had a stub, and there for his hips, butt and legs all wagged anytime you walked in the door, looked at him or made any kind of noise.

Bunnies came and went, and he was sometimes sad, but would move on, gather all the new bunnies that he had. Almost counting them then re-distributing through the house.

When we weren't feeling well, he was always there, not whining about going outside. Not wanting attention. But just the laying of his head on you, or laying next to you but somehow touching you letting you know he was sorry you felt bad.

And his kisses! Not the big slobbering full tongue, lick your whole face kisses big dogs normally give (ok�there were a few of those). But Shea would gently stick out his tongue and give you a small peck. But watch out. If he were upset with you, like you packed a suitcase for a business trip, no amount of coaxing would get you a kiss. More than likely you would get a snub, a turned head, but the eyes would still look at you and say, �I love you, but you�re leaving and I am pissed. No kisses for you�.

The last 6 months are of course the most vibrant memories, but simply show the years that we had with this amazing creature. When Brandi came home from the Kidney surgery, we made a bed on the couch so she could get around easier, have Internet access and TV control while she was recouping. Shea was always near her, either on the floor in front of the couch, walking down the hall behind her making sure she made it, and close to her when she finally moved into the bedroom.

In December he had a growth under one of his toe nails and we had to have it removed through surgery. When he came home he had a bandage on his foot and immediately went to and got on the couch where 'Momma' had lain when she was sick. It was so cute, he knew that was where the 'sick' people laid!

There was so much more. I looked forward to seeing him when I came home at night. I always took lunch and drove home to let the dogs out (if anyone asks...I let the dogs out!!). It wasn't a chore...it was an opportunity to see my 'puppy'. Whether it was during lunch or at night, he would always let the other dogs go out and wait for me to give him a hug and scratch his neck, then he would go out, not until!

Being a Rottie, they all do this, he would back his butt up and sit on your feet, facing out. People, including me, believe this is part of their 'protective' nature, but I also believe it is because they simply want to be touching you. At least that was part of what Shea wanted. He simply wanted a hand on his neck. A pat on the head. Any kind of interaction was good enough, just touch me.

His eyes always said he loved you. Not thank you for the food and shelter. Not thank you for letting me out. Not thank you for the bunny. Always a tilt of the head, a lift of the eyebrows and the eyes looking at you like you are the best thing ever!! Even when you didn�t do anything.

Tuesday night was like almost every other night for the last 8-9 years. We came home from work, let all the dogs out, turned on the TV and started dinner. About 6 PM Shea went to the door and softly tapped the glass with his paw to let us know he wanted out.

I let him out and went back to dinner, TV, Internet, whatever. Normally the Shea stayed out 15-20 minutes and either they would 'knock' to come back in OR he would be barking at something and we would call him in. This is when Tuesday night became the start of something horrible. That is when I first started to lose my friend. (This is where I start to cry) That is when I opened the door to let "my puppy" in and he walked across the threshold, wobbly, his back legs not working.

Being so fricking logical, I thought maybe he just pulled a muscle, maybe I didn't see what I thought. I made him walk a little more and definitely saw that he was hurt. He laid down, and not knowing exactly what happened, I went outside to investigate. I found nothing.

I laid with him...scratching him, touching him. He let me squeeze his stomach, his neck, his hips, his muscles. There was nothing I could see or feel wrong. But my 'sheabie' couldn't walk. His back legs simply wouldn't work right!

He did make it to the bedroom, he did, with great effort make it onto the bed. He did snuggle closer to me than normal. Laying his head on my pillow, his back against my chest.

He didn't whine, he didn't cry. He didn't bark. He didn't seem to be in pain, but something was wrong.

As usual, he slept late with 'Poppa'. Momma as usual had let the two other dogs out earlier. When Poppa started to get up, he tried to stand and fell, he honestly thought his legs worked. He forced them to, and jumped off the bed, where he fell, again.

Needless to say, watching MY dog go through this was hard and hurt me to see. But it got worse.

He struggled to go outside Momma helping him, but when he tried to raise his leg to pee, he fell. Again he struggled inside with help from Momma.

He laid down in the middle of the room, and would never walk again. We called the vet and waited until they could see him. I walked to the closet to get his leash and muzzle (we always made him wear it, more for other peoples comfort than any real risk) and knowing that "we were going for a ride", got excited and tried to stand up. I calmed him down and stayed with him till Brandi could get her shoes and coat on. We struggled to pick up our 110lb "puppy" and get him in the car.

The vet would take x-rays and give him a shot to reduce any swelling, but obviously they were at a loss. There is a neurology center for animals here in Las Vegas and we were told he would have to go there. When we picked him up, he had gotten worse and had lost the use of his forelegs.

He slept on Momma's lap, while Pappa drove across town. Every stop I reach back to let him know I was there with him. He tried to move but couldn't and finally lay his head down on Momma's lap in defeat.

We waited while the neurology center did preliminary testing. We were escorted to a room and presented with the information that it could be several things, but the consensus was that something had caused his spinal cord to cease functioning. Was it a fungus or viral strain that had eaten or seized it up? Had he blown a disk? The answer wasn't known, nor would it be without additional x-rays, an MRI/cat scan, and two or three other tests involving injecting fluids into the spinal column.

Along with this information we were presented with an estimate for approximately $7,000 for tests and surgery. No payment plan, 50% down, balance upon release. No exceptions.

Reading the words above, it sounds like the center was not compassionate, that's not true, they were. But this was business to them, and we basically were left with two choices.

1. Take him home, try drug therapy and hope that it would correct it. Meanwhile, leaving our baby paralyzed and unable to explain to him what was going on.

2. Have them take his life.

As much as both of us wanted to take him home, neither of us could put him through that. The doctors did not believe that the drugs would help, so why prolong his pain for two or three days?

So within 24 hours, a perfectly normal and healthy dog, who was playing with bunnies and wanting 'lovin' from poppa, was now going to be gone. A piece of my heart, a part of my life was going to die, and worse I was the one making the decision.

Was I right to do that? What had happened to put him in this state? Was there any hope? How could this be happening so quickly? Why did my dog have to go? Why didn't I have the money to pay for this? Am I a bad person for not having saved for this?

I cannot explain the pain I felt, and the helplessness of not being able to do anything but kill my dog. Humane, maybe. But I made that decision, and I had to tell someone to take away such an important part of my life. Take away the life of a dog that trusted me, relied on me, wanted nothing more than for me to touch him.

It's been a few days, and my logical brain has taken over. The acceptance that he is gone has taken place. It wasn't like that the day he died. I fully expected to walk in the house and see his wagging butt. Even when he wasn't there, and tears were streaming down my face, I used the restroom and fully expected to see him waiting in the hallway when I finished.

It�s been two days. My heart aches immensely. My stomach still turns when I think of him. I can finally say his name and not cry. I can look at a picture and not rip my being apart. I cannot write this letter with out tearing up, I am crying now.

We haven't moved his food bowl yet. His toys are all placed on top of it, in a small neat pile. We kept his collar, don't know what to do with it yet. I still wait to feel him lay up against me when we go to bed. I still wake expecting all the covers to be taken and him looking at me with the "why are we getting up?" eyes.

But mostly, I walk around in a fog. At home is the worst because it 'feels' wrong. But even at work or other places where he wouldn't have been, I feel like something is missing.

Because this is the first time I have ever 'bonded' with a dog, I question if it will ever happen again. Will I ever find another special animal that looks at me the way he did?

There can't nor will nor should there ever be a replacement, but I want that again, and I am afraid that I had it with my Shea and that's the only one. I am also feeling a little guilt, that I killed that precious little dog, whose only bad point was loving me. Someone who couldn�t help when he needed it most.

Being a logical �thinker�, I know the pain will ease. But I miss my friend. I miss my puppy. It�s just not fair that I lost him like that, that quick, with no answers.

It reminds me a little of the theological questions that occur on this board. I believe that I will someday find another �dog� that will love me. Not in the ways that Shea did, but in their own way, will show me that they love me as much as I love them. I believe that somewhere there is another �dog� that will affect me in a similar fashion, one that will allow me to love them and more importantly reciprocate that love.

But right now it�s a belief. I don�t know the answer, don�t know if it will happen. Other people can give me examples. Other people can know the feeling. But, I have lost a �being� that was so special, and touched me very deeply. I am afraid I will never know that feeling again. And I am afraid.

I miss my dog. I miss my puppy. I miss Shea.

Marduk

sorry to hear that.

doghouse

Vicesboy and LadyShea,

I�m sorry to read about the loss of your friend and family member. He was a lucky dog to have such a loving home. You certainly did everything possible to help him. Considering the devastating nature of Shea�s condition, in the end you surely made the right decision.

To think of other dogs at a time like this by recommending adoption of homeless dogs is especially commendable.

All the best.

Sabine Grant

Viceboy... your story was not boring and not disturbing. Very touching and so sincere.

I have not had any of my dogs whom I had to be put to sleep. I only faced to have to find them new homes at the time I could not accomodate my 3 big dogs. I had to let go of them so they would have a better life.

I have kept myself from going secretly to the location where my Buddy is now... I miss watching him run and shake his big head. They say that dogs never forget their first owner. It is my hope that Buddy has learned to love his new mom as he loved me from the first weeks of his life.

oriecat

Vicesboy, thank you for sharing your story and your tears. I don't think I've ever been so moved by something that I've read online.