My heart breaks as I recount the passing of my foster fail, King, the loving and utterly devoted standard poodle I have devoted myself to caring for this past year and a half.
I was alerted to his presence at the East Valley Shelter in January of 2015, and promptly drove over to rescue him, no matter what his condition. He was emaciated, filthy, matted, and suffering from multiple conditions indicative of neglect, and yet he was uncomplaining and relinquished himself completely to my efforts to rehabilitate him. His tail wagged nearly all the time in my presence, and he bonded with me and surrendered his whole loving heart to me within 24 hours.
From that point forward, he never left my side, even if I was just walking to the next room. No matter how much effort it took him to get up and lie down again, with his crippled hips, he would suffer through it to be with me all the time. We kept him on two pain medications for the duration of the time he was in our lives, which made a great deal of difference in his being able to enjoy our daily activities and short easy walks in the neighborhood.
He was loved by everyone who met him, and returned any and all affection shown to him 100-fold. In the many years I have been involved in fostering and rescuing dogs I have never met a truer, kinder, more grateful and loving dog than King. I fell head over heels in love with him and he yielded to my every ministration, including ear cleaning and even teeth scraping, without protest.
He was such a selfless dog that he would bark when one of my dogs needed to be let in the house, but not for himself, as I had discouraged him from doing so. But when he felt another dog needed help, he would bark despite my disapproval. I could not fault him for this, and it made me love him more.
I have never felt such unconditional devotion from another being, and truly felt as if he really understood everything around him, and was happy while he was with us. His favorite things were walks and getting towel-dried and brushed after a bath. His hips were so bad that he could not reach his foot forward to scratch his shoulder so I would use my brush and scratch him all over with it, putting him in total bliss.
I knew that he would be expensive when I adopted him, and that he would break my heart in the end, but I took him in anyway, because my heart told me to, and he gave me this huge gift of his whole heart in return. I felt like a child with the perfect, most loving being in his presence, completely comforted by his soft white curls, accepted fully without conditions. Yes, this is what dogs do, give you unconditional love, but his was by far the most unconditional and complete I have ever experienced. If he didn’t have so many genetic problems, I might have considered emptying my bank account to clone him, but I didn’t want to put another dog through the same difficulties he suffered.
I always said that as long as his tail was wagging, that he could walk and enjoy himself and wasn’t suffering, he would have a place with us and keep soldiering on, but in recent months, he slipped more and more, and had trouble getting up. His back legs would splay out and he wouldn’t be able to bend them again to be able to stand up, so we would come over and help him to a standing position. We knew the time was coming, but not yet.
In the week after the fires, when I was at my mother’s house, the last morning before I was to return, he started moaning in distress. He had been coughing more the previous couple of days, and his normally healthy appetite had disappeared. I knew I had to take him in to the emergency vet as bloat is always a concern in deep-chested breeds.
The vet examined him and did a series of x-rays, and confirmed that his digestive tract was fine, but discovered indications that he may have cancer and pneumonia and recommended antibiotics. He received a shot and some more pain killer, but within in a couple of hours he was so doped up that he could barely lift his head, and I spend a worried night with him, wondering if I should take him back.
He was “better” the next morning, but still not eating, so I gave him the appetite stimulants they recommended. The first one did not work so a couple of hours later I gave him another, and it did work. After a walk he seemed ravenous and really responded to some canned chicken breast I offered. He still wouldn’t eat his regular food. This gave me hope but it was the last full meal he would ever eat, despite additional appetite stimulants. I tried everything from baby food to canned fish and butter and nothing interested him.
I resorted to putting honey in his mouth when we pilled him his regular pain meds to keep his blood sugar up and potentially stimulate his appetite. The antibiotics required food. I discovered he would accept coconut oil and this gave him some energy over the next few days. I spoke with several vets and the advice boiled down to two paths, extensive and expensive testing, overnight stays in the vet hospital, poking and prodding, or staying with me where he wanted most to be.
If King had had just one condition to be cured, I might have taken the first path, but with the idea of cancer, his hips getting worse, lack of the desire to eat and his body starting to break down at the end of the life expectancy for giant breeds, I felt overwhelmed and as if it would be a losing battle anyway, at his expense with the added discomfort of bewildering tests and unwelcome treatments.
He came with us on our trip up north, and did not seem to be in discomfort, other than being a bit weak. We gave him a large foam pad and soft blanket, and he slept a lot and stayed close to us. I laid down next to him and rested with him, petting him and watching him dream, knowing in my heart that the twitching of his paws could soon be him running over the “rainbow bridge” and a deep sadness started to well up inside of me.
Months ago, when I knew how deeply he had touched me, and how special he was, I had his DNA tested to see what other magical ingredient he had besides standard poodle, as I knew he wasn’t purebred by the size of his muzzle. They said “dachshund”, and after we all had stopped laughing over this, I contacted them with photos and an explanation. They said this bit could really be any kind of hound, and they just chose that one. So his extra special purity of heart and his intense focus on sniffing while on walks was from his hound DNA. It was the only thing that could take him away from me — the lure of the scent.
We took him on one last walk around the beautiful place we had chosen to stay, and he got to sniff every bush and twig to his heart’s content. We took him to a restaurant with us and offered him his own hamburger and pieces of steak, but he had gone beyond being interested in it. He had started to detach from the world around him, and just wanted to be close to me.
The morning of his last day with me, he was moaning softly over and over, and didn’t want to follow me outside to a blanket I had put in the sun, but stayed on the cold damp cement next to the house on a cold day. This unknown pain he was feeling, and his weakness, led me to the decision I had to make: I had to let him go that day. He was letting me know by not coming when I waved him over. I felt like there was a chasm between us and he longed to be on my side but couldn’t do it anymore.
Saying good-bye to King was the hardest thing I have ever done. Every fibre of my being was so used to protecting him, helping him, placing his comfort first and foremost, but now I had to give him up to the unknown, and do the unthinkable: to witness him passing away. I did not want to have to carry this terrible memory with me, and yet my desire to comfort him in his final moments took precedence, and I petted and stayed close to him until the end. The last movement he made before stillness was a twitch of his nose, and I leaned in and told him I loved him, letting my breath linger over him, so he could sense me with him, even in those final few seconds before he was gone forever. It was almost unbearable for me to experience, but even more devastating was having to stand up and leave his side and walk away. I had to shout silently to myself, “There is no more suffering now. There is nothing more to do. He is gone and you must continue living your life as before.”
Many of you reading this will know this crushing sadness is the price of love, and the harsh price of loving a dog, and yet I would rescue him again in a heart beat. Seeing his joy so many times during our many outings, watching ducks on a lake, sniffing other dogs in the park, getting deep brushings and hugs, made it worthwhile. His muffin mouth when he barked, his love of plushies, his swaying when he was happy, his constantly wagging tail, his look of utter adoration when getting petted were his gifts to me.
He was my treasure and has a permanent place in my heart and memories that I will cherish forever. I love you, King, and made a promise to keep you from suffering any more, and so that is the end of this story. King enriched my life and broadened my understanding of what love is, and was a gift in every way. I will always love him. Good-bye, King. Rest in Peace. You will always be my beautiful boy.
