If she happened to have gone downstairs for a sunrise snack, when she heard the wake-up alarm go off, she'd dash upstairs just to greet you and snuggle. There wasn't a corner of our house or of our hearts that wasn't touched by this loving and beloved, unforgettable four-footed pal. We'll miss her affection and her many endearing traits.
As the card says, we hope that everything works out especially well for you in 2007. One way to insure that our pet visits to your home work out well this winter is to plan to have your driveway and path shoveled in your absence if a storm hits. Neither, rain nor snow nor the big dig can stop us from taking care of your pets, but a two foot snowdrift can slow us down.
Finally, as fellow pet owners, we thought that our struggle to do the humane thing for Penny may be of interest to you. Here is our story, written by Bill Levine …
We at Pet-Estrian Services appreciate the love our clients have for their pets, so we have always sympathized with your difficult decision to euthanize your pet, and with the sadness that follows, even if it is tempered with a bittersweet sense of relief. But our sympathy, and more importantly our empathy, for your painful experiences has sky rocketed recently with our own struggle to decide the fate of our ailing eight-year old Boston Terrier, Penny.
While there are plenty of canine advice books available, even Cesar Milan, the Dog Whisperer, cannot soften the euthanization debate by suggesting that owners assume the cure -all Alpha Dog stance. The breed description for the Boston Terrier describes it as loyal, loving, and light shedding, but it doesn’t say “will tip owner off when his time has come.” Thus in August, despite some emotional rehearsing, we were still not prepared to grapple with Dr. Sisson’s, our vet at Angell’s, estimation that Penny only had a 30 to 40 percent chance of recovering from the incessant seizures that she had suffered three days before, and which had led her to intensive care at the Angell. Dr Sisson, when asked by Lesley if he would put Penny to sleep if she were his dog, replied very sensitively thinking about it for more than a moment, in the affirmative.
But she wasn’t his dog. He hadn’t schlepped Penny to the holistic vet and holistic chiropractor in the far reaches of MetroWest. He hadn’t taken Penny off regular kibble and on to allergen-free dog food. He wasn’t giving her the pill regimen of a Medicare poster child that was supposed to help her anemia, kidney problems, and seizures. He never had to run raw fish through a blender, a gory and unappetizing task, while Penny was on her prescribed “Bass-o-Matic” diet. Finally, our vet never had to lose sleep once a week to attend to Penny’s nocturnal seizures. Certainly, then it would be reasonable for us to conclude that, having invested so much of ourselves in Penny that we had to continue our determined effort to keep her alive, a glass 60- top 70-percent empty could still be full. Yet it was also reasonable to pat ourselves on the back and declare that we had done all we could for Penny, and it was time to say good-bye.
After Dr. Sisson’s call, the Levine Family and Maura, Penny’s God-Mother, convened to the family room, which for a few long minutes became a den of indecision. The two reasonable lines of thought wilted under the heat of emotions. Clearly Penny’s fate was something that we prayed we could out source to a higher power, but of course we couldn’t. Dog owners, unless they are Donald Trump, do not like playing God; we just don’t quite have a deity’s omniscience nor do we all have the resources that Mr. Trump has to pay for all the intervensions. Finally, though like almost all dog owners, we exercised our ultimate responsibility and voted 4 to 1 to attempt to give Penny a viable life. Lesley’s minority decision was based on her instinct, as Penny’s chief care giver, that Penny had just had enough, and was not likely to recover, and also her prescience that she would continue to bear the brunt of an even more difficult care regimen for Penny. After the vote, I felt relieved but not entirely comfortable. I had tried to boil my conflicting emotions, into a blue-plate-special of a decision, but all I got back was something edible but not very palatable. I had been fair to Penny, but I wondered if I had been fair to Lesley. Such are owners decisions.
In the wee hours of Yom Kippur morning, October 2, Penny’s distressful rustling woke us. This was not an uncommon occurrence as Penny had become an agent of our sleep deprivation, a real REM breaker, since her return from Angell in early September. Her slightest motion when nestled between us could signal a potential seizure which would produce a poop or pee, so we were sensitized to her slightest nocturnal locomotion. And on that note, Penny just seemed oblivious to our gleeful exhortations when doing her business that had worked so well on her as a puppy. Even worse Penny had become an in-door dog making house breaking even more difficult. Once out in our back yard she would give a perfunctory sniff or two and dash back in the house, forsaking the olfactory heaven that is our play-group site. When Penny was truly 100%, she loved to lie in the backyard sunning herself. Penny still looked like Penny, but her lack of personal affectations made her seem like a breed out of Steven King’s Pet Cemetery.
Penny’s rustling around that night was not a precursor to a mild bout of incontinence, worse it was the onset of a round of seizures. Lesley and I sprung into our unfortunately, too familiar routine. She grabbed the syringe and injected valium into Penny rectally. I ran downstairs and grabbed the phenobarrb and carefully put it in Penny’s mouth, as she was spewing spittle and could chomp down on my finger without malice but still very hard. Penny’s whole body convulsed in a run of three or so of these brain melt- downs. Finally, she stopped seizing , but her face reflected a losing battle with this unrelenting brain disease. Her tongue was just hanging out of her mouth, devoid of any neurological direction. She appeared less alert than usual. Lesley sized up the situation. She said it was time to say good-bye. I tried to recollect the number of seizures Penny had in a row, as if there was a magic number that would make it OK to euthanize. Whatever the number, I rationalized, that next time it could be worse so I tagged along with Lesley’s assessment.
Lesley got dressed and in the middleof the night, woke our boys to say goodbye to Penny and took her to Angell. She was right that if we waited till the morning, we might just reconsider and hold out the slim hope that Penny would one day miraculously jump into our laps again. Conventional wisdom says that often unconscionable deeds are done under cover of night. But surely Lesley was on a mission of mercy mostly for Penny but also, as I ignobly reflected on my month of sleep deprivation, for us too.
Later that morning at Yom Kippur services what soul searching I did, did not dredge up any sinful feelings surrounding Penny’s demise. But I am not a great penitent, and that morning I may have glossed over a sin or two in the litany of transgressions that defines the Day of Atonement Service.
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Just an after thought, from Lesley . . . .
Penny was my dog. She loved all of the family but she was almost always at my side. When Penny thought I had done enough work for the day, she would go to the staircase and start up, looking back, telling me to follow her. She would not continue up till I accompanied her. Once a pet communicator had described Penny as saying her job was to be my assistant. That she certainly was. So one day shortly after Cookie came to us, I asked my son Matt if he thought Penny was watching over us. Matt said to me, “Oh yes, she is watching over us and giving Cookie directions on how to care for all of us.” It is with that feeling I can continue, knowing Penny is still doing her job.
H O P E A L L W O R K S O U T F O R Y O U E X A C T L Y A S Y O U W I S H F O R
I N T H I S N E W Y E A R !
You were slight, petite, but oh so tiger,
Pattern on your back might have come from Niger.
How shall I tell of thee--there are many ways.
Toy mice you played with, all of your days.
Choosing a fuzzy one to toss into the air
And pretending then that it was not there.
Looking away, up at the wall,
You'd pounce into action and bat it to fall.
Or, on some mornings, to vary the fare,
You'd drag a larger one, down the stair.
Then proud as a lion, you'd let out a wail,
So I would come running to praise your travail.
We all thought you nutty, loca tigger, we'd say.
A.D.D., some ventured, but 'twas your own way.
And you were cute, butting heads at the computer
Destroying concentration, but you there was sweeter.
At the shelter, they told us, you were almost a year
And came from a house with too many, they fear.
I want you to know you made our house fun,
And I'll look for your face in the setting sun.
11/02/2005 written in loving memory by Julie, who was "owned" by Tigger
Friend, please don't mourn for me
I'm still here, though you don't see.
I'm right by your side each night and day
and within your heart I long to stay.
My body is gone but I'm always near.
I'm everything you feel, see or hear.
My spirit is free, but I'll never depart
as long as you keep me alive in your heart.
-Unknown-
Dear Lesley, Cayley, Linda, Mike, and all:
Thank you so much for the beautiful flowers - it was very kind and thoughtful of you. We are grief-stricken, heartbroken, and other awful things there probably are no words for. "Thank you" doesn't begin to express how we feel about Petestrian Services - you took care of our boy for two-thirds of his life.
As working parents, it was so important to us that he get more than just exercise and the chance to go to the bathroom! We wanted him to have companionship and love while we weren't there, and you provided all of that in full measure. Over the years, we have exchanged countless notes with Cayley, discussing not just Boom, but life events - everything from job changes, to her comedic career, to losing her dad, to her attempt to make her mother's wedding cake. (We loved getting one of the rejects). It was extremely comforting to know that Cayley would always be there. (Even when the mail didn't get through, Cayley did). He loved her dearly and we know that was reciprocated in full measure. As I said in our phone message to Lesley, every business day as I left for work, I would say "Be a good boy. Cayley will be here", and his ears would prick up and then he would heave a big sigh and go back to sleep to wait for her.
He has been cremated with his favorite blanket that his "Nana" gave him when he was just a baby, and his silly gorilla squeak toy that Cayley gave him for Christmas years ago. (Even though she gave him the same thing a couple of years later, because the first one had lost its squeak and had stuffing coming out everywhere, the old one was still his favorite). Lesley, in our opinion, you have always been an animal lover first and a business woman second, and we think that your business has prospered because of this fact, not in spite of it. We are so grateful for your friendship over the years, and for keeping Boom on as a special client, even after we moved out of your service area.
There will be a new pup or pups in our life one of these days, and we wish we could keep on with Petestrian Services - maybe you'll open a second office! In the meantime, we send you our love, respect and profound gratitude. We are so glad you were in his life, and we trust you are glad he was in yours.
Love,
Ann and Eileen
About Gus
We first met Gus at the Agricultural Fair on Martha's Vineyard in 1989 and it was love at first sight. He was snoozing along with his siblings in a milk carton placed on the grass near the dog competition ring. I believe his mother, a lovely white Lhasa Apso, was competing. The litter of puppies was an "accident", the result of Featherbell's encounter with a next door neighbor, who was part Glenn of Imaal Terrier and part something else. They looked like little black and brown and white sausages and were just the sort of thing that a family with three young children would have to stop, handle and admire. Needless to say, we were well on our way to becoming dog owners as of that moment.
As a young dog he was a bit of a wanderer and an amazing climber, given his physique, which was similar to a tipped over fire hydrant with short legs and a wrap around tail. We would often be surprised to find him at the front door when no one had been aware that he was out. The small fenced in yard in our back should have been more than adequate to corral him, but on one memorable occasion, he surprised us on that score, too. He had been out in the yard, snuffling and wandering around for some time when one of us realized he'd been awfully quiet for quite a while. When we went to look, the gate was firmly closed, but there was no Gus in sight. we explored the whole area looking for holes in the fence when finally one of us noticed an unmistakable piece of evidence-- a clump of white belly fur on top of the rail where he had jumped over the top of the fence.
He had certain very specific passions, food-wise, bagels and homemade apple cakes chief among them. One morning a strange rustling sound brought me into the kitchen to find him up on the countertop finishing off a dozen bagels. I would have loved to see how he made it onto the high stools surrounding the counter to get up there, but no one ever caught him in the act. Another time, he polished off an apple cake left to cool on the counter. A few days later, I made another one to replace it, and darned if he didn't go for that, too, in spite of it having contained a pound of butter and hearty dose of brandy. We finally figured out that we needed to leave the stools tucked firmly under the counter at all times.
The affair of the chipmunk was one of his most famous achievements. By that time we had Betty, a very bossy female, who established herself early on as the dominant animal in the household. One day the girls were taking the 2 dogs out to walk, when Gus saw a dead chipmunk, the work of our cat, lying in the driveway. He picked it up in his mouth and proudly looked around to show it to everyone. when Betty began to growl, clearly wanting the treasure for herself, he appeared to think for a minute and then, to the screams of the girls, swallowed it whole. Even the vet was impressed. He was just fine, although there were a few messes to clean up later.
Most of all, Gus is memorable for all the love he gave and engendered in our family. He was so many different things-- good company, comic relief, friend to every repairman who ever came by. We have all been incredibly sad about losing him, but we have also used the occasion of his passing to talk about and fully appreciate how much love and meaning one small animal can produce. Thank you, Gussie, rest in peace.
. . .Heartfelt thanks to you, Maura, your husband, and Lesley for your incredibly sensitive compassion. All of your support has meant so very much to all of us.
Mary, Brian, and the girls
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