It all happened so sudden. Tuesday night I opened the front door, coming home from class and I saw Lee opening the sliding glass door and saying his name. I thought he was in trouble so I just stood there. Seconds later I walked in, he saw me and got excited. Lee told me he was making a strange face and drooling. We now know that was a seizure starting, but somehow seeing me snapped him out of it. We went to bed that night like we normally did; my head on one half of the pillow with his on the other half, my arm reached over and my body cuddled up to him. He woke me up at 1am mildly convulsing in my arms. I jumped up, turned on the light and cried out to Lee "what's happening?" I had never even seen a seizure and it didn't even come to mind, but Lee knew from having a dog when he was younger that had seizures what was going on. At 6am, it happened again, but this time it was a grand mal seizure, and horrific to watch. This was the start of 72+ hours of hell. We called into work that morning, and made sure he wasn't in danger as the seizures continued. Lee told me he thought he was dying and just hearing those words felt like someone stabbed my heart. We took him to the vet, and walked away feeling relieved... that he probably had epilepsy. They gave us Phenobarbital, which takes at least 72 hours to start to work, so we just had to wait it out. We helped him as much as we could that day, but the seizures became more frequent. Thursday we both went to work and dropped him off at Ken & Lynn's and they were going to take him to the vet when they opened. I ended up leaving work because Lynch couldn't walk and he was too heavy for Ken to lift. Ken and I both carried him in his bed to the car, and he stayed at the vet that day. We took him home that night, and the vet generously gave me IV Valium which stops seizures. Friday was the same, dropped him off at the vet for monitoring, but he cried loudly the whole ride there. I felt better mid afternoon when I called to check up on him and learned he had only had 2 seizures that day. It wasn't until we picked him up that night that we learned the severity of the situation. We knew of the possibility that the seizures could be caused by something else, but it took a different doctor telling us the likelihood of a dog developing epilepsy at 14 years old was extremely slim. Instantly we knew what we had to do.
We had already arranged for Lacey to stay with her grandparents so we were able to take him home that night. Lee brought his dog bed in the living room and we sat by him keeping vigil all night. We sat and talked about all the memories with him. He was comfortable and that's all I cared about. Lee laid the futon mattress beside his bed and I laid there holding his paw for the majority of the night. About 2am another seizure hit so I gave him Valium. He wasn't fully comfortable so we tried taking him outside to go to the bathroom, which entailed Lee carrying him out, putting a towel around his chest area while I moved his back legs. I gave him more Valium and he was finally comfortable. Our vet opened at 8am, it was 4am and we were out of Valium. Lee finally had the courage to speak the words we both were thinking, but couldn't say. We called the ER vet and told them the situation. They were wonderful; they had a blanket laid out on a floor and we were able to hold him the whole time. The doctor who administered the drugs and his assistant cried with us too, and I was touched.
Lee constructed a sturdy coffin for him and we buried him in Ken & Lynn's orchard. We planted a black hellebore flower, because that color is rare and unique, as was he. Before Lee closed the coffin I laid a calla lily, and sprinkled a generous amount of green beans (which he loved!) while Lynn tossed in some dog treats.
I don't know why, but I feel silly and weak every time I cry for him, which is often. He was a rare gem and irreplaceable. He was my first Christmas present from Lee. We got him at only 4 weeks old; we were young and naive and didn't know a dog needed to be at least 6 weeks old (more like 11) before they should be weened. A couple years ago a vet asked us if he whines a lot. After hearing that and Lee and I looked at each other like "how did you know?" Apparently that's very common, and he whined his whole life. I remember when he was a tiny little baby putting him in the bathroom while I took a shower. I stepped into the shower, closed the curtain and he whined. I opened it, talked to him and he was fine, but kept whining when I closed the curtain. I learned how to take showers for awhile with the curtain half opened. Lee strictly instructed me when we first got him that he was NOT going to sleep in the bed with us, nor be fed table food. You can imagine how long that lasted! We were good about the table food for a couple years, but the not sleeping in the bed rule lasted... a couple nights?
There are so many memories of him that flood my mind, and some I had forgotten until recently. I remember how he used to play with bugs (literally) like they were his friends. He'd paw at them and bark, but would never kill them. The only bug he would try to kill were the annoying carpenter bees that used to buzz me constantly when I sat on the deck. I'd tell him to protect me and he'd go after them. I remember him being a little puppy and teaching him to fetch. We'd throw a big stick, he'd run off and always look around confused, and end up coming back with a little twig. He always ran with his butt in the air almost going sideways. His teeth were crooked and he often got his top lip stuck in his teeth, and looked like Elvis. We sang "Hound dog" every time that happened. I remember the time we were driving down 66 in rush hour; he tried to get up front to sit with Lee and after Lee told him no he jumped out the window. I still have no idea how he survived that, never getting hit and walking away with only a few scratches. Or the time he somehow found an old dried up piece of corn cob, which got stuck in his intestines. Oh the money we spent on him, but I'd do it again in a heart beat!
He became a Momma's boy early on and always knew he had me wrapped around his paw! I remember after I had surgery, laying in the bed with the door opened, but a crate in front of the door so the dogs couldn't get in. Lee and I were afraid they'd walk on me and open my sutures. Lynch sat at the door and starred and cried for a day until I finally told Lee to just let him in. He jumped on the bed, laid down beside me and stayed with me while I was on bed rest. Instantly we both felt better. I needed him as much as he needed me. In his later years, as cataracts developed, he became more clingy, but I didn't mind it. He started to demand I go to bed when he was ready. He'd whine until I'd give in; we'd walk into the bedroom and I'd tuck him in while I went into the bathroom and did my nightly ritual, all in eyesight of him. Even though he knew where I was, he'd get out of bed, go to the bathroom door and whine at me as if to say "I said it's bedtime!" Once I would finally climb into bed with him, he was content and would sleep, usually in the same spot, all night long.
I loved how he would let me flip him, roll him over and even hold him like a baby. He would even climb up in a small chair with me and uncomfortable sit on my lap, all 65lb of him! My heart melted when he would lay his neck on my neck as a puppy and sleep like that; he continued that all his life. He was my snuggle-buddy, best friend and child. He helped fill the void of not being able to have children. I had so many nick names for him, and loved to sing to him, which always prompted weird looks from Lee. My favorite song to sing to him was "You Are My Sunshine" and I sang it to him, tears streaming down, the night before he passed away. I frequently made him promise to never leave me, and he didn't. I made the decision for him, and I love him for being so stoic.
Time has definitely helped, but my heart is still fragile without him. Life goes by in a blink of an eye, and even after 14 1/2 years, it all happened too soon. I can't help feeling constantly like I just want to hug him one last time.
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