Silly Lilly

Lilly has been part of my life for 3 1/2 years. I pulled her from a kill shelter in southern Illinois and took her in as a foster for Mississippi Valley GSD Rescue. She appeared to be between 6 and 8 years old and this poor, nameless girl had been so horribly abused that it was many months before I could pet her or put her on a lead without having her cringe and try to disappear into the floor. I named her Lilly because I thought that this crushed flower of a GSD could do nothing BUT bloom. And bloom she did.

Lilly had her quirks. One of them was spinning. I don't mean that slow-chase-the-tail sort of spinning but a whirling-dervish spin that could make you dizzy to watch her, Lilly spun when she was nervous, she spun when she was happy and she spun when she was excited. Lilly loved to spin! We had many trying months while still in Illinois and I soon realized that, if Lilly could deal with some of her fears, I would never place her anywhere but make her part of my own little doggy family; Lilly did not deserve any more rejection in her life. She respected Skater and tolerated Divot and the rest of the canine crew.

When I came home to California, Lilly got to fly for the first time. I was VERY apprehensive but she took it like a champ! This girl was an angel on paws who was finally responding to love. Lilly and Divot became fast friends. She put up with Divot's antics and bullying and found her own niche in which she thrived. The only thing Lilly ever hated were Terriers and I can't say that I blamed her - they annoyed her every chance they got. When I came to Santa Rosa, Lilly had to stay with my friend, Lois, for a few months but I went to see her and feed her every day - I couldn't bear to have her feel any abandonment and did the best I could for her. She did make one attempt to eat her own tail - something done to relieve stress - but we healed that up and she was fine. After a couple of months, Lilly was back with me and we were, once again, a happy family. She learned to be silly, loved stuffed toys and thought nothing of hogging half the bed at night. I loved it; my flower had, indeed, bloomed.

I had to make that hideous trip to the vet today and bid Lilly farewell as she travelled to the Bridge. Over the last few weeks she had become very ill and there was no alternative but to do the right thing and let her go. I asked Skater to please make her transition a happy one and promised her that I would be there one today and we would be a family - a HUGE family - once more. As was her life, Lilly's death was gentle. As I sat with that poor wasting body, I realized that all the titles and all the pedigrees in the world were meaningless when it comes to the value of a dog. Lilly had been beaten, abused, abandoned and came close to being gassed in a shelter. Despite her horrific beginning, she never showed one bit of aggression toward anyone; she was willing to try, once more, to trust and to love. Lilly succeeded; I only hope that I did. Till we meet again, sweet girl - I love you, Silly Lilly.

A Patchwork of Health Issues

Before he bloated, Skater had begun to develop hard lumps in the pads of his front paws. I was really tiring of all the "interesting" and "fascinating" problems and prayed for some common, less spectacular ones. After much research and, with the help of Dr. Greg Keller at OFA and the late Dr. Chuck Krueger in Washington, the diagnosis was calcinosis circumscripta and keeping the pads debulked the only remedy. Apparently, this condition is especially particular to German Shepherds and Rottweilers and, though it causes no harm or poses no threat to the dog's health, it is very uncomfortable; sort of like walking with rocks in your shoes. Skater ended up having more than a dozen "surgeries" on his front feet, all successfully sutured closed. Every surgery was done with Acepromazine and Lidocaine; Skater was fully awake and I was his only restraint. His pads were never malformed as a result and, most times, he was up and running only hours after a surgery.

At ten and a half, Skater was a happy, spoiled walking miracle. His eyes were clear and bright and it is only his age that prevents him from doing some of the things he formerly enjoyed. There was no scar and were no white hairs where the tumor was excised from his croup and the cancer never returned. If anyone were to look at his footpads, they would have noticed nothing unusual or abnormal. He was a beautiful, bright senior with only a few gray hairs on his muzzle.

My beautiful boy was the inspiration for my memory quilts. The picture of the small wall-hanging above was made with him in mind and later donated to a North Carolina GSD Rescue for auction. I've made a number of memory quilts now and loved doing them all. Skater's quilt, however, remains unfinished. I haven't yet found the courage to complete it.

My Worst Nightmare

Skater and I were still living in southern Illinois and the summers were miserably and relentlessly hot and humid. One August evening, Skater began to exhibit symptoms that were all too familiar to me. He was bloating. I had told the vet on many occasions that, with all the stress Skater had been under, I feared bloat. And, on this hot and horrible evening, my fears were realized. Keep in mind I was living just east of nowhere and it was after hours at the clinic. I began calling the vet at his home at about 7:00 PM and, by midnight, was leaving him messages every 5 minutes. Skater was miserable so, with the help of a friend, we took him to the "high-tech" clinic, almost an hour away. My friend drove like a madwoman, I sat in the back seat with Skater, listening to him scream, doing what little I could to comfort him and terrified that I was going to lose him.

A wonderful vet met us at the clinic and confirmed that Skater was in terrible trouble. She got him stabilized and told me that his temperature no longer even registered on the thermometer - it was above 106 degrees. By now, it was after 4:00 AM and, once I knew Skater was stabilized, I went home; I was promised that he would be in surgery by 8:00 AM. When I called at 11:00, to find out how he was, I was told that they hadn't even BEGUN the surgery - they wanted a deposit. I couldn't believe what I was hearing ... no one had called me and my poor boy had been suffering all those hours. I think the receptionist heard about every word in the book from me and then some. Needless to say, I took off and got them their money so they could operate on my dog. I no longer hold vets in a very respected position. Thank God, the surgeon was excellent and my miracle on paws made it through the surgery with only the loss of a small part of his greater omentum. I drove them crazy for the week he had to remain in the hospital and, when released, I took him home and never brought him back to where they had cared so little for his well-being.

Skater made a full and beautiful recovery. The photo above was taken with his friend, Albert, 3 weeks after the surgery. Other than the shaved leg and belly, you wouldn't have known anything had ever happened. But, that was typical of Skater - he never dwelled upon anything negative nor did he take advantage of any situation. Once again, I had my miracle back with me.

Oh, What Next?

I guess it's become all too obvious that this was a painful and difficult time in my life and has become one about which I have trouble writing.

Skater's blood and enzyme levels were monitored and he continued to improve. I did, however, notice a lump on Skater's croup and, since it was increasing in size, the vet agreed that it needed to be removed. When I asked the vet what type of anesthesia would be used, I was absolutely floored with his answer, "none". He felt that, with all the problems the dog had been having, it would be too risky to put him under. Almost afraid to hear the answer, I asked how he planned on doing surgery on a very large dog who was wide awake. "Tranquilizers and local anesthetic" was the answer I got.



Extremely skeptical, with my boy only slightly affected by less than one cc of acepromazine, I paced the clinic's waiting room, fully expecting to hear that Skater would have to be put under after all. Less than one hour later, the vet, now wearing a substantial amount of Skater's coat, informed me that he had removed the tumor and Skater was fine. Days later, when the lab report came in, it stated that the mass had been an apocrine carcinoma, low grade and with clean margins. My boy would be fine.



Skater's next blood studies revealed thyroid dysfunction and he was put on .8 mg per day of Soloxine. A few days after this regimen began, Skater began to hemorrhage from the nose. Again, in a panic, I called the vet. Keeping in mind that he and I had only been dealing with each other for about a month, he assumed that Skater simply had a bloody nose and told me to ice it. As I looked at my kitchen floor, which appeared as if something large had recently been butchered on it, I doubted that any amount of ice was going to remedy the situation. It didn't. Skater continued to have these hemorrhages, on and off, over the next couple of weeks but NEVER during the clinic's office hours. Finally, one started at 4:55, five minutes before closing. I will never forget the look of absolute horror, pity, amazement and empathy for the dog on the vet's face. Skater's nose was packed and he began a regimen of vitamin K injections.

In an effort to determine the cause of the bleeding, Skater and I were sent to a larger, more "high-tech" animal hospital in the area for an ultrasound. Of course, no ultrasound could be done as the skull is not penetrable but, after taking a very thorough history on Skater, they decided to take his blood pressure, which was extremely high. Skater was put on a daily dose of Benazepril and never had another bleed.

Chug-A-Lug

Once Skater was stabilized and his blood and enzyme levels being monitored twice a week, the next order of business was to rule out any obstruction in the gut. We scheduled a series of barium x-rays and, as I would not simply leave Skater at the veterinary clinic all day, it meant that we had to drive back and forth every hour to do more films

Skater and I were at the clinic at 8:00 AM. I was told to pick him up at 9:00; they would get the barium in him and do the first films. So, I picked up my boy at 9:00 and we basically spent the day driving back and forth. At 3:00 I was told that it wasn't working, that there wasn't enough barium in him and we would have to redo the whole series. Excuse me??? WHY, I asked, was there not enough barium in my dog and WHY did it take until 3:00 for them to figure that out? I was told that Skater fought them tooth and nail, (literally), and that both they and the dog ended up wearing more than he swallowed. Okay, I thought, so what do we do now? I was sent to another local vet to pick up more barium and I told them that I would give it to Skater the next morning and we could start all over again. They were more than fine with my solution.

I have had barium x-rays and I will admit that the stuff simply tastes terrible. But I also knew my dog; if I asked, he would comply. The next morning, I mixed the solution, put it in a bowl and said, "Skatie, please drink it - yum yum." He drank up every last drop (except for the residue of white stuck to his chin like a gruff old man's beard stubble). When we got to the vet clinic at 8:00 and I told them he was ready, they asked in astonishment how I got all the barium into the dog. My answer was simple ... "I put it in a bowl and asked him to drink it. He didn't appreciate your fighting him and, if you'd asked, he would have done the same for you."

We spent the day, again, driving back and forth. The films were done. There was no obstruction.

On A Wing And A Prayer

The morning after Skater and I arrived back in Illinois, I woke up to find that Skater had not only resumed having watery stools, but had also been vomiting all night. The only vet I knew was the one whose name was on Skater's rabies certificate and, at 7:00 AM, on a very cold, snowy morning, I made a very panicky call. The vet agreed to meet and, a half an hour later, my dog's life was in the hands of a virtual stranger. After a thorough examination, the vet expressed deep concern for Skater's condition and prognosis and, for the first time, I had to acknowledge that I might very well lose my dog. Aside from the terrible fear that Skater might not survive, a million thoughts were running through my head. This was NOT a high-tech veterinary clinic but, rather, a typical country practice. How on earth was this man going to figure out what was wrong with my dog in order to save him?

Simple blood and enzyme tests revealed that Skater's liver had suffered damage and was not functioning as it should; he was immediately put on different antibiotics as well as a prescription diet. I'll get back into the medical history next time but, for now, have to comment on the diet.

Skater, who had NEVER voluntarily missed a meal in his eight plus years, was NOT going to eat what was in those prescription bags and cans. Day after day, he turned his nose up at the food and we would end up having a food fight. My trying to force-feed him only resulted in my wearing most of the food. After a few days of this nonsense, I couldn't stand "torturing" Skater any further; it was awful to watch an animal who had always had such joy in heating become one who felt he was being punished by being fed. So, I called the company who manufactures the prescription food and told them I needed some sort of recipe that I could cook for my dog; that he would not eat their prepared diet. I spent a rather bizarre hour on the phone with a rocket-scientist (NOT!), who, when I asked her what type of "animal fat" she wanted me to use (after she said it was essential ingredient), proclaimed, "from a dead animal". I am not the most tolerant person and, when stressed, what little tolerance I do have goes straight in the toilet. I told her I hadn't intended to walk out into a field of grazing cattle with a machete and slice off a day's worth of fat ... and asked if she could POSSIBLY give me a genus or species ... something. We finally agreed on poultry. With the help of an old friend, a diet was devised for Skater that he not only was willing to eat but actually went back to enjoying his food.

As always, he was patient, waiting for me to figure out what he already knew. There are always alternatives; you simply have to be aware enough to look for them.

A Long Day's Journey Into Night

It's been awhile since I've written anything ... this is the hardest part of the journey for me. From the time we arrived back in Illinois until Skater's death, four and a half years later, it was a roller coaster of health issues, all stemming from that original problem in Maryland. Apparently, Skater had licked up some de-icer and it wreaked havoc with his health. As always, Skater handled it all with grace and dignity and always seemed to know when my own emotions were on the edge; this dog ALWAYS took care of me first and his own needs were secondary.

It's still difficult for me to recount what went on during those years so I think I will go back to an article I had published and try to get it written down in the most succinct way possible. I have to try - for Skater. My amazing boy went through so much; I got to the point where the words "interesting" and "fascinating" were the LAST words I wanted to hear from a veterinarian. In fact, to this day, the words themselves bother me but they also serve to remind me what a miracle Skater was and always will be. I have never before and not since met or heard of any animal with such an immense capacity for love, compassion and the ability to give of himself. The bizarre health issues, all stemming from that horrible de-icer, that plagued my boy ... many, alone, would have been too much for any other dog to handle. But, Skater handled them all and taught me AND his vets what tolerance, understanding and love really mean.