Wednesday 1 July 2015

Pardon me while I step away from my usual musings...I wanted to share something a little different with you...

This is the story of my girl Lita. 


I have grown up with dogs my whole life. Don't get me wrong; I love cats, and other animals, I can identify better with a cat and their aloofness, their coolness, and their "pet me now but not too much or for too long and when I want you to stop I'm going to bite you or stick a claw in your hand to let you  know". I get that, y'know? But there is a certain feeling of - I don't know how to word it...completeness maybe?... in owning a dog. Even though Lita didn't live at our house anymore I still felt that wholeness because I had a dog.

 Jamie was 5 years old - we had just moved out of my parents house and I was missing having a dog, as well as the security and comfort they offer. In retrospect, were I using my grownup brain, we were not in the position to get a dog, especially a border collie (the humane society had her listed as a springer spaniel....whaaaaaaat?)  I hadn't done any research on the breed, I had a tiny back yard that wasn't enclosed, I was a single mom working and in school with a young son - in other words, and to answer my mother, Yes - I was crazy, and no I don't know what I was thinking. I just wanted....needed...that familiar canine companionship that I had grown up with. Getting a cat was out of the question because Jamie is allergic and his asthma was still quite bad at that age, and fish don't offer quite the same amount of loyalty as a dog does.

I fell in love with Lita at first sight. I had gone up to the Humane Society in Welland and in a cage was this beautiful black and white dog with the most ashamed look on her face. She didn't bark like the other dogs, she didn't jump up or cower....she just sat there with that look. She had pooped in the corner of her cage and had gotten some on her tail. (That was also the day she got her nickname "Princess Poopytail") Her face with this look of total emotion on it sold me in milliseconds.  She had been found a couple weeks prior with tags on her from Brantford or Brampton - I don't recall which - and they had picked her up on the run. They had tried getting in touch with her owners with no luck. So they put her up for adoption, this beautiful "spaniel springer x - spayed" (turns out she wasn't either...imagine my surprise when she went into season...)


When I picked "Lola" up with a friend of mine I was immediately told that she was not a Lola. She was a Lita. Silly me - how had I not seen that? (and no - she was not named after Lita Ford OR the WWE wrestler)

Lita-dog was very sweet. She also had a desire to run, and took off every opportunity she got in the early years. Most times I could coax her home by getting in my car and telling her we were going to go for a car ride. One particular night, I believe it was the night before Jamie's 6th or 7th birthday she got out after I had put Jamie to bed. I panicked! I couldn't go out and look for her or use my usual car trick because I couldn't leave him alone in the house. I was already dreading telling my son on the morning of his birthday that our beloved dog had run away. I kept the doors open in order to hear her tags jingling should she run by and sure enough she comes barreling towards home. So of course I throw open the door and in she runs right up on the couch....Then it hit me....the unmistakable and horrible stench of SKUNK! Immediately I call my folks and ask what to do when your dog gets sprayed and the first bit of advice I received??? "Whatever you do don't let the dog in the house..."  needless to say that was a late night of de-skunking the dog out on the front lawn with a homemade detergent (which works beautifully) and deodorizing the couch she had climbed up on when she so joyously returned to us.

One of the things I always loved about Lita was her ability to gauge peoples feelings. She knew if someone wasn't a dog person, or maybe carried a fear of dogs - she was never pushy with these people. Always gentle and kind. She also knew who she could rough and tumble with and always backed off at the first sense of the game having gone too far. She would wait for young Jamie to go down the stairs first, and when it was bedtime she would always sleep with him first, then when he was asleep she would hang out with me until I went to bed, and sleep with me, and if I woke through the night I would often find her in the hallway between our two rooms.

After Meaghan was born, we all went to live back with my folks. Hunter and Meaghan were born the same year, and he was just a pup when we moved in. Hunter and Lita got along well, she tried to herd him, and the bigger he got the harder it was for her to do so...I'm told that it was a rambunctious game of "border collie herds doberman pinscher" that resulted in a torn ACL for Hunter but I maintain it was just his goofy long legs that he never could quite fully get control of. Lita flourished in a home with a big back yard and a best friend to play and run with every day. She had bathroom issues when we were on our own due to her being alone so much and these all but disappeared at my parents house. She still barked too much, and licked a LOT but she was a good dog, very polite and well behaved. She was great with the baby and I never had to worry about the two of them together.



In another "Are you crazy moment" (yes mom - I was) some years later I decided it was time to get back out on our own and we moved into another townhouse...this patio was bigger, and fenced in, but no grass. Lita wasn't happy about moving but she was with her people and that's all that ever mattered to her.  Jamie was older now and it was his duty to run her in the morning and after school. The following spring after the move Meaghan ended up in the hospital for a few days - Jamie and Lita stayed at my parents while I spent my time at the hospital. Meaghan got better, they all came home and then Jamie ended up in the hospital. So once again Lita went off to my parents this time with Meaghan, and I spent my time between work and waiting with Jamie to have surgery to repair his knee. With Jamie out of the loop for her care, I was at a loss about what to do with my poor dog who was going back and forth and just not happy anymore. She loved us, and I loved her enough to know she deserved so much more than what I was able to give her.

I had come to the conclusion that she needed a better, more stable home. I relayed this to my mom and she had told me she had a dream the night before that they had a little black and white dog. I could not have been happier that my parents were willing to take in Lita-dog.   We were able to see her every day, she was still with "her peoples people" and she got to spend every day with her best bud.  Leaving her was always hard, and she made sure to give me "the look" every single time I left the house, like "why are you leaving me here??" but even when she would visit us she was always happy to get back home. I often call my parents house her retirement home, where she had someone there around the clock to care for her and she could spend her days lazing in the shade of the garden, asleep by the side of my parents bed, or enjoying sniffering the fall air.



As Lita got older her hearing started to go, well maybe some of it was selective ignorance in the beginning (she could hear a cheese wrapper come off but not you calling her). She had fatty lumps on her back and neck, and after suffering a seizure one night she had an occasional tremor in her head. Her legs were getting bad and after a day at the groomers or after a long walk she would be out of commission for at least a day recovering. She would sleep more often and there was more than once that my parents would have to poke at her to make sure she was still breathing.There was more than once that they thought it would be her time, but as if she sensed it she would always rally and bounce back.

Hunters health was starting to fail as well. Plagued by the same fatty lumps, and arthritic legs we knew it would be just a matter of time for the both of them. Hunter was 11 years old and Lita, estimated 1-2 years old at the time of adoption, was now at least 15-16.

Hunter went first. It was a fairly quick decline over the course of just a few days. I was lucky enough to be able to say goodbye to a wonderful dog that I had a special bond with. He was a doofus through and through - sweet, funny, neurotic and a pain in the ass - very OCD - but I could always count on him for a hug, a dobie smile, he would "whisper" in my ear (he had a huge thing for ears and loved sniffing them) and we would dance (ever see a doberman do the wiggle?) He was by far one of the most  unique dobes I've ever seen and I don't think any dog will ever quite fill his pawprints.


The day of Hunters appointment Lita got sick. My mom was up with her all night and when I was done work I picked her up for her last trip home. I slept on the couch with her and much like the 24 hours prior she was up every hour to 2 hours to go outside. She refused most food, and drank very little water. If she wasn't outside she was sleeping very heavily - and dreaming very vividly - on the couch. I honestly think she was dreaming of running with Hunter. At one point she came over to my side of the couch and we had a snuggle - our last. I called the vet first thing in the morning and I made sure my kids got the chance to say goodbye. I shared my peanut butter on toast with her, and we made our way to the vet. She was very mopey going in. I could have attributed her mopiness or lack of appetite to being depressed about Hunter, but would that explain her being sick? I didn't think so. She was checked over and found a mass on her spleen. There would be no tests. The vet was very kind and offered a treatment to get her eating again and asked if that was the answer I was looking for. I started to cry and said no. Of course I wanted her to get better, of course I could have said yes treat her and I will bring her home and subject her to more suffering as the mass got bigger, and her legs started to fail her more...but to what end? For my own selfish desire to avoid making a heartbreaking decision? If she were younger, maybe I would have tried to get the illness under control and dealt with the mass, done testing, followed up with treatments...but she was 16 years old. We were blessed with an amazing dog for 14 years. My children grew up with this beautiful soul and it was time to let her go. Do I question the decision I made? Every single second that my mind is quiet. Would it have been fair to ask her to possibly suffer something worse than she had been? I owed her my absolute best and loyal love so no - it would not have been fair.

The vet administered the first shot to make her drowsy.  I lifted her off the table and we laid on the floor together. The vet gave us some time alone as the medication took effect. She fell asleep and I told her she was a good dog. I thanked her for the many years she gave us. The vet came back in and gave her the shot that would stop her heart. I did not stop petting her until she was gone. My heart hurt like nothing I had ever felt before, and I knew that was true love. Love for someone who enriched my life and the people around her; an unconditional love that no matter how many pairs of underwear she ate, burgers she stole, or shoes she pee'd on (to date only one on record btw) never waned. She was MY dog. Without her I feel like there is something missing. I don't have that wholeness anymore. I know in time that will fade and our hearts are big enough to hold many but I will always have a special place in mine for my Princess Poopytail...Litadog...my Little Stink.





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