Granny Annie, the old Boston with three legs I rescued a week ago today, woke up hot to the touch, with her nose covered with foam. She was having difficulty breathing. Outside she would take a few steps and lie down to rest. Since her adoption, she's had diarrhea but strangely, not today. Tomorrow she was scheduled to see Dr. Lowe, the family vet. Semi-retired, he still practices with the new owner, Jeromy Gillespie at the same location. I started calling before the office opened, leaving messages.
I could not let her suffer.
Then I ran out to town for jury selection, only to find out that the trials had been canceled.
Picked up a few things at the grocery, and when I came home, she laid under my desk and I could hear her wheezing. I'm thinking congestive heart failure. She's drowning in her own fluid and that's why she's bubbling.
Took her out - she was coughing little dry coughs and gagging.
Oh God - not parvo!
No fever. A little snotty, but mostly froth was running from her nose.
I finally was able to dig a grave. Digging a grave in this yard is very difficult with the tree roots.
We had managed to get an appointment with Dr. Gillespie at 2:40 and we went back into town.
I put her on a towel, thinking I could wrap her in it - it would be her shroud. She was coming home, after all.
This was the only way to honor her; the poor, homely waif who at her age did not deserve to be left to die because of her needs in an animal control facility. I would have her euthanized while I
held her in my arms.
The vet tech looked at her and asked me if I was sure. To tell you the truth, I wasn't this time.
I can't count the number of dogs and cats that have embellished their brilliance on my life.
I didn't want her to struggle. To suffocate during the night.
The young vet came in - the first time we'd met - and looked her over. "Why are you doing this?
She has an upper respiratory infection, she's not as old as you think (he says eightish), and those aren't cancers". (I was prepared for mast cell tumors.)
So I came home with wormers (she has a huge load of tapeworms), and directions to give her amoxycillin and Robitussin DM. That's it! A huge relief.
Tomorrow I fill in the grave. Or maybe I should just plant a butterfly bush if I can find one.
A friend gave me some venison - I hid her antibiotic in a piece, and she didn't balk about taking the cough medicine.
She wagged her tail at everyone, including the vet. And you would think that a vet holds some
bad memories, but Granny doesn't seem to hold grudges, and besides, she loves riding in the front seat, looking out.
I'm bushed.
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