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Newt |
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amusemi Senior Member
since 2001-12-08
Posts 1262A State of Disarray |
It was a week before Christmas when I took my son to the local Humane Society. We venture in periodically in the hopes that we might find an animal that beckons to us. We decided to look at the dogs. I strolled amongst the cages, meeting pair after pair of sad brown eyes, knowing that, although I would like to, I couldn’t take them all home. We started in the room where the shelter kept the smaller dogs. As the owner of a beloved eighteen-year-old Heeler, I decided long ago, after an unsuccessful attempt at adopting a dog larger than she, that we could not afford to adopt any dog that was physically superior to the one we currently have. In spite of my Heeler being very spry for her age, I also wanted a companion that was on the mellower side of rambunctious. The smaller dogs were riled the moment we stepped inside the room and bellowed with deafening barks and howls. From cage to cage we went, smiling and cooing, reading bios and gauging how long each dog had been in the shelter. None caught our fancy in the small dog arena. So, together, my son and I ventured to the cages that housed the medium-sized dogs. Behind a plastic shield, in the midst of a blast of dog barks that nearly broke my eardrums I spied a blond cocker spaniel named Yukon. My heart skipped a beat. He was very sweet and the only dog not barking. I did not know that his fate and mine would soon be intertwined in such a way that he would become unforgettable. I made my way to the front desk to inquire about Yukon and soon we, my son, my ex-husband’s Labrador cross, my Heeler and I, were in a visitation room to meet the precious Yukon. When they brought him in he immediately exuded his excitement by nearly dancing around the room, the stub of his tail in continuous motion. I called his name and he responded immediately. Yukon had a cyst upon his back and the shelter worker assured me that it was not cancerous, but rather a benign tumor. Yukon was nine-years-old. We enjoyed about fifteen minutes with him and then headed home. The next week was Christmas break for all of us. I was a full-time college student and decided that adopting a new family member during break would be best, so we could spend adequate time bonding. When we returned to the shelter the week of Christmas and turned in an application for adoption we were informed that we could not take him home that week, even if we were approved, due to the holiday. It was a disappointment. During the rest of the week and into the next we checked back periodically and finally, right after the first of the year brought Yukon home. Jane, the shelter attendant, told us that Yukon had been placed in the shelter because his “mommy” had been placed in a nursing home. I had hoped to be able to take him to visit her, but upon receiving Yukon’s paper work discovered he had been brought in from Cheyenne, some three hours away. I also didn’t know which home she had been taken to, nor did I know what she had been told about the whereabouts of her beloved dog. During the exit adoption interview I was told we have 72 hours to have our new pet seen by a local veterinarian. I made an appointment immediately on the drive home, once again marveling at the convenience of cell phones. Once in our home, Yukon was an incredibly loving animal. Not once did he mess in the house, nor bark, nor cause any chaos what-so-ever. He would rub the side of his face against me, much like a cat and followed any moving family member to see where they were going. He got along with the cat. I did notice he had a dry cough and seemed to be breathing a bit heavy. I assumed it was a bout of kennel cough and hoped that the appointment on Tuesday with the vet would result in the medication to clear it up. Yukon was wonderful in the vet’s office. Sweet as sweet could be. The veterinarian let me listen to his heart. “Do you hear that? It’s a pretty significant heart murmur. He will probably need medication soon to help him with it...” The doctor then went on to prescribe medication for his cough and sent us on our way. I expected we would need to address health concerns with our new dog in the near future, due to his age, but it was a disappointment to know he would definitely need to be one that would have to rely upon medication in his golden years. Over the next few days we fed Yukon and my Heeler Little Smokies, twice a day. Yukon’s had his medication in it and he took them with no compunction at all. The Heeler had to have her little sausage, so she wouldn’t feel left out. Friday, my best friend, a man with whom I worked, lost his mother to an on-going illness. That same day, Yukon’s cough became more productive and he seemed to be laboring more in his breathing. I was glad to hear he was coughing up the junk in his lungs, just as my children had when they were working their way through a cold. Saturday awakened to a new dog, only this one only wanted to go outside for potty breaks and the rest of the time remained very lethargic. His breath became so labored that by early evening I called the clinic. The doctor said to try another antibiotic I happened to have on hand for my cat that ended up not needing it and to bring him in Monday. The doctor mentioned the heart murmur and that his cough and breathing may have more to do with that, than kennel cough. He might be suffering from congestive heart failure. After hanging up with the doctor, Yukon looked at me with almost panicked eyes and would not eat the sausage I presented him. Several attempts it took to get medication into his system. In the early hours of Sunday morning I went to work with my friend. We talked of his mother and of her Pomeranian dog that was the love of her life. I fretted about Yukon, but all the while I felt a bit guilty whining about my new dog when my friend had suffered the loss of his parent. When I came home I checked on Yukon and he had not improved. He was lying on the couch and I gave him more medication. Again, the sausage had no appeal for him. I told myself that if he wasn’t better in a few hours I would call the doctor once again. I went to bed, but first sat with Yukon stroking his beautifully soft, blond fur. I slept until noon, when my son came in and woke me to tell me Yukon had passed away on the couch. He was positioned such that he appeared to only be sleeping and I was so relieved that he wasn’t fighting to breathe any longer. My first thought was for his “mommy”. I wondered if she had or was about to pass on. I would never know. I called the Humane Society to tell them what had happened and to ask about what best to do with the remains. They guided me to a pet cemetery, which sent out a representative in the afternoon to pick him up. I also mentioned to Jane about my thoughts regarding Yukon’s previous owner. She said she would look into it for me. My best friend was very compassionate when I called him to cry on his shoulder, but I had another reason for the call. Although I usually don’t jump at bringing home a new animal right after the loss of one I had to know if my friend’s mom’s dog had a home. I told him I would be honored if he and his family would consider me for adoption. He suggested we go walk my Heeler in the local dog park, because she seemed pretty antsy. My friend called his sister and they agreed I could have Newt, their mother’s Pomeranian. After the walk in the dog park, my friend and I stopped at a local convenience store. I went in and made a purchase and upon coming out stopped dead in my tracks. The truck parked next to me was personalized and read “NEWT.” I said to my friend, “Will you look at that... I think it’s a message from your mom.” Tonight, my door opened to a beautiful blond Pomeranian, with the sweetest of temperaments. This story is true... |
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| © Copyright 2009 kat fer - All Rights Reserved | |||
Alison 
since 2008-01-27
Posts 9318Lumpy oatmeal makes me crazy! |
I am so touched by your story. I am glad that Yukon had you at the end and I am happy that you had him and now have Newt. Both of my dogs are from the Humane Society. I went in for one, but they had bonded at the Pound and I didn't have the hear to seperate them. Again, you moved me a lot and I thank you for sharing. Alison |
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