Our two dogs, Molly and Rosa, have many similarities. They are both female, and both tan, and about the same size, both came from the Humane Society, and they came to us within a few months of each other, Molly in November 2019 and Rosa in March 2020. For almost a year, we were a one-dog family, but our great dog Maggie was getting old, about 13, and we thought it was time to get a new housemate for her to train in how to be a great dog.
Molly, who looks a lot like Maggie, joined us on a Thursday. Sunday we were at a concert (pre-COVID!) and a relative who was staying with them texted us to come home because Maggie couldn’t close her mouth. We did, fearing a rawhide chew or something was jammed in there, but we couldn’t see it, so off to the emergency vet (Sunday, of course). They said they’d sedate and examine her and call us back. They did, and told us she had a huge tumor under her tongue, and proceeded to discuss treatment options (e.g., cut out her tongue and feed her intravenously while administering radiation…) We said “no”, and came to visit her, one last time; she was sleepy still from the sedative but with her mouth hanging open we could see the tumor. We said goodbye, tears flooding our eyes. It was not the first dog we have had “put down” and won’t be the last, but it was humane and we were certainly not going to torture her with hopeless treatment.
Two things stand out to me from Maggie’s last day, two realizations. One was that dogs don’t complain. I had taken her on our usual 1.5 mile walk in the desert that morning, and later Pat had taken her on another comparable walk. She seemed fine. Dogs seem fine unless they can no longer act it. The only thing that had been different for a while was that she was drinking a lot of water. People, I, could try to learn from this.
The other thing is that we treat, are allowed to treat, dogs humanely. Maggie had a huge unresectable tumor, a cancer that was not going to go away no matter what was done, and was going to kill her. Our options were doing what we did or putting her through extended suffering made worse not only by surgery and radiation but by requiring intravenous feeding. That would have been no life for her, and would have been cruel and painful, for her and us. People, of course, are not dogs, but while presumably motivated by that in a positive way, and loving them if they are our family members in a way we can only love people, we all too often put them, and indeed put ourselves, in the same situation we wouldn’t put Maggie in. We don’t want to die, don’t want our loved ones to die, but extending life when it is no life, and is simply pain, is not humane. I don’t want it for me.
So.
For a few months, Molly was our only dog. Primarily lab, she was a warm and friendly and well behaved. This is in no small part because of how we choose our dogs. We have preferences, not for breed, but we don’t want puppies that have to be trained, don’t want little dogs, don’t want loud yippy or barking dogs. When we acquired our first dog, also from a shelter, going in and looking at all these caged dog broke our hearts. We chose him after asking the staff which was the “best dog”, and the choice was pretty unanimous. It has proven to be a pretty good yardstick. Molly was another we chose this way, although we had a little problem. After she was with us for a couple of months, we began to notice blood spots on the floor. And twerking. Really. She was only about 5 years old, and had been spayed, so it was worrisome – she was a survivor of nipple cancer. Could this be another in the uterus? So, to our vet.
Who examined her and said: “She’s in heat.” We said, wait, we have a paper from the Humane Society that says she was spayed. He said I know, they sent me a copy of the paper. But no scar, and she’s in heat. OK. Brought her back to the Humane Society who did a blood test, verified she was in heat, apologized that they took the word of the other shelter from which she had come, and (later, after her estrus was over) spayed her.
Then, now into the COVID pandemic, we looked at dogs on line, and met a couple in the outside yard at the Humane Society. We liked Rosa (well, then she had a different name), and she and Molly seemed to get along, so we brought her home. A 2-year old small German Shepherd mix (or maybe Jindo? Not that important to us), she is the one with the black muzzle while Molly’s is white. It took about a day to name her, and Rosa has stuck. She and Molly get along well, walking together, playing together, running together when they can get off-leash in a dog park or on a hike. Molly barks at Rosa to get her to play, and to run. Maybe it is because they are both female (we meet a lot of folks with dogs in the park where we walk and get lots of “expert’ opinions), or maybe just because they are both good dogs.
But they are different. Molly heels while walking, Rosa needs to be in front and sometimes pulls. Our local park is a desert park, and there are lots of things to distract and entice them. In addition to the smells of other dogs, there are lots of ground squirrels, and rabbits, and Gambel’s quail scurrying around. And, while there is an occasional bobcat, and sometimes javelin packs, there are also the resident coyotes. At least one pack, maybe two. One big one, who I call Eddie (presuming, perhaps wrongly, that I can identify him), and lately up to five. One coyote is not going to attack two good-sized dogs, but a pack of four or five will, especially if they can get one by herself. Molly and Rosa are good dogs, but off leash they can run off chasing things, and have not yet reliably mastered “come”. And they tend to head toward, rather than away from, coyotes. This morning, right by our house two blocks from the park entrance, we heard a long series of howls. Both pulled assertively in the direction of the park. By the time we got there, it was done and we didn’t run into the coyotes, although we did run into a couple who had (and picked up and carried their little dachshund!)
Molly started coughing and was off her food. She was x-rayed and blood tested and diagnosed with Valley Fever, medically coccidiodomycosis, a fungal infection acquired from spores living in the desert soil here in southern Arizona (and in the San Joaquin Valley of California, hence its eponym.) People in Tucson get infected often, and most are asymptomatic or have a flu-like illness, but it can be very bad. Same for dogs, although outside dogs like ours are almost certain to get it. So, a month or so later, did Rosa. Both are on antifungal medication, and will have to be for a year or more, but are doing great, not coughing, not short of breath, eating and running well.
18 years ago today my older son, Matt, died by his own hand, and we miss him every day. Our other children and grandchildren are far away, and we miss seeing them. Dogs are good. Good dogs are better. Dogs you love are the best. They are no substitute for children and grandchildren, no substitute for children lost, but they are there for you, and that is great.
