Susie the Rescued Senior Greyhound
I realized today that it was almost exactly eight months ago when I got her; looking at a calendar, it’s just two days shy of a full eight months. It seems longer. She became such a part of my life, it’s hard to believe that it wasn’t longer. I had thought I’d be okay living alone down here in Kissimmee, while the family finished school and maintained the house in New York, and I did get over the jitters of being alone — although I routinely locked myself in an upstairs bedroom, with a nightlight and the alarm system on — but it was the emptiness of the house that disturbed me. Coming home to complete silence, except for the ticking of the many clocks, was what finally pushed me to place my name on a waiting list for a dog that I might foster, on weekends at least. Pet Rescue by Judy had been suggested to me by several sources, and it wasn’t long after putting my name on an application that I got a call asking if I would be able to take a look at an older greyhound dog who needed a home. Judy had gotten the dog from the local pound, who called her at the eleventh hour saying the dog’s time was coming to an end and she’d have to be put to sleep if someone didn’t take her. The pound admitted it was a shame to put such a sweet dog down but they had no other choice. Judy had taken the dog, but the noise and general commotion at Judy’s home seemed to make the dog nervous. I asked what the dog’s name was — “Suzie,” I was told. “That’s my wife’s name! It must be a sign…” and by the time I was driving over to the appointed spot, I knew I’d be going home with a dog. Judy arrived late, and we went out to her van; when she opened the back doors, there was Suzie, painfully thin, a little nervous and reserved, but friendly. She paid no particular attention to me, but just took in her surroundings. Judy mentioned that Suzie had a heart condition, but at ten years old, was beyond having anything radical done, just heartworm pills, which Judy generously provided for me, along with a metal crate, leash, collar, bowls and a full bag of PetScience food. I packed up my car, and Suzie got right in, still not showing much emotion of any kind, just placidly going along with the program. She panted a lot on that first ride home, almost an hour in the car. I talked to her, and reached back often to pet her and make her feel safe. At home, she checked out the lower floor of the house, but when I tried to get her to come upstairs, it was obvious she had never had experience with a staircase before. It took a number of times before she was able to coordinate going up and down, clumsily at first until she got the hang of it and learned what my routine was. The first few days we had some “spills” on the white carpet, but after purchasing wee-wee pads, a gate, deterrent sprays, and a SpotBot machine, we got a rhythm going and I knew when and how frequently she needed to be walked. It took a while to get her to eat consistently — whether it was nerves or just being fussy, we went through quite a few brands of dry food, canned food, sliced, mashed, or blended, and lots of people food too. Even though I was out of the house almost 11 hours every weekday, she was a good girl who held it in most days. Except if it thundered — she was petrified of lightning and thunder, trembling like I’ve never seen before. Those days, I could be sure that I’d have to change the wee-wee pads, but her aim was quite good and she understood the intent of the six or seven padded, plastic-backed sheets on the family room floor. She wasn’t much interested in toys, and you couldn’t really rough-house with her; she’d go so far with you teasing her, or grabbing her, before she’d get nervous and want to quit the game. I missed having a dog who I could wrestle with, but she was a lady and it just wasn’t her style. She ate delicately, especially the piece of cheese I would give her in the morning as a treat — the signal that I was about to leave for the day. She would take the first of the six bite size pieces I’d break off, carry it to her spot in the living room, and look up at me while I put the other pieces beside her. She had gotten to wagging her tail when she heard the Kraft plastic wrap being opened, knowing that something was coming her way. She was my constant companion; no matter how many times I’d go up and downstairs in my routine to get ready for work, she’d follow me. I’d almost want to say “Don’t bother, I’m coming right back up” but it wouldn’t have mattered even if she understood me. I would lay my robe on the bathroom floor and she’d lay down on it, but invariably when I would pull back the shower curtain to dry off, she’d be up against the tub on the bathmat, to be even closer to me. If I sat at the computer, she’d be under the desk, right at my feet. She slept on her own little mat on the floor beside me at night, and would follow me to the bathroom at 3 am if she didn’t sleep right through. On Saturday afternoons, we’d take a ride to the local McDonald’s, where she’d have a Number One meal (except for the pickle which she ate around). She thought she should go on as many car rides as possible and would hop in the car even if I was just unpacking groceries. On Halloween she was happy to greet every round of Trick-or-Treater's at the door, who she thought were all coming to visit her; same for the carolers at Christmastime - she greeted everyone with affection - a complete failure as a guard dog if that was what I had been hoping for. The past few days I noticed that she seemed tired even after our short walks. She was getting fussy again about her diet. I made an appointment for her at the vet for the first time since I had her, and they said she was fine and should just continue her heartworm medication. But that afternoon her breathing began to be very labored, and even though she ate her dinner, she was exhausted after her walk, and had a hard time making it to the top landing of the stairs when I went up to take a shower. She kept me awake on and off with her heavy panting, until at 1:30 a.m. I noticed she was standing by the bed. I coaxed her to go outside to urinate, which she did reluctantly and then struggled to get back in the house, where she dropped on the tile floor. She had been coughing, as if trying to bring up phlegm, for hours and it was putting a strain on her. I called an emergency animal hospital and printed up the directions to get there. It seemed like the longest trip, not knowing exactly where I was going and running into construction delays on the highway. The staff was very sympathetic and courteous, but the bad news was inevitable and obvious: the best thing to do was to put her to sleep. I didn’t hesitate and the doctor seemed grateful that I understood. She took Suzie away to put a catheter in her leg and to sedate her slightly. By this time, her tongue was black and cold and my last moments holding her were very short before the injection took effect. I was home a little after 3:30 am, and it was hard to believe that in the space of two hours, her life had come and gone. It took a while before I could sleep, grabbing about three hours after my own exhaustion overwhelmed me. This morning, the routine was already different: didn’t have to worry about stepping on her as I got out of bed; didn’t have to look for slippers to put on to take her out before my own bathroom routine. I saw the gate that no longer had to be put up to block off the formal living room; I washed the bowl for the last time, rinsing away her “last supper.” No need for these pads on the floor any longer. Should I give her food away to Daisy, the little dog down the block, or hold onto it for the next dog, which will inevitably come and steal my affections? The loneliness of the house was back again, just as it had been just eight months ago. Suzie had come and gone and touched my life in between. I consoled myself, as my family had tried to console me, with the fact that I was part of a rescue operation, and had provided her an opportunity to live out her last months in a loving home, giving her as much affection and attention and company as she had given me. And I sit here, just hoping that she understood how much I loved her. Feeling the emptiness… ~ Hugh