Molly was technically a rescue. The breeder did not know she was deaf, otherwise he would have shot her. He still managed to extract $200 from my daughter.
When Molly came to our house for the first time, we were ready to kill my daughter. Never in our wildest dreams did we think she would turn out to be the dog she was. Lanky, into everything, pretty much uncontrollable. Wife started taking her to obedience classes, and although tough, she learned her hand commands well. She and I learned hand signals, she knew sit, stay, down, come, and the special one, come because I want to play.
She learned her way around on the boat, and enjoyed licking every fish that came on board, or eating the bait fish we used. Occasionally found a hook, and once got a trip to the vet to care for one.
She was always a good sport about everything.
After she got sick, we did our best for her. Pretty much anything she wanted to eat, anywhere she wanted to go, or anything she felt like doing. As the prednisone kicked in to control symptoms, she couldn't handle the heat. A couple of weeks ago, she landed wrong getting out our bed and hurt a leg. That started the cascade of problems. Lack of appetite, pain meds, etc. The lymphoma hit her digestive system hard, and she was passing nearly pure blood. She couldn't get up to go out when she wanted, and we would help her up. Once up, she could manage, until the last couple of days. Throughout all of this, she maintained her continence in the house. She was shy to do her business in front of anyone, and even this morning, struggled to get around the house out of sight.
Last night she slept with me, and put her head on me all night long. I didn't sleep much.
The last couple of days here in East Tennessee have been cool. Yesterday afternoon, I stayed home with her and she laid in the yard watching over everything. She never lost her mental acuity, which I guess hurts the most. I came home early today, and my wife, three daughters and myself put a blanket in the yard and stayed outside with her in the cool fall morning.
Our vet came to the house about noon, and we all sat around her telling stories and rubbing her head. She was tired and weak, and her breathing labored. But she still managed a boxer's wiggle butt when she saw the vet. They became big buddies over the course of her treatment. Dr. Alexander started a catheter in her, Molly stood up and we all hugged and kissed her. Dr. A gave her some narcotics which hit her hard, and a few minutes later it was over. I held her to the end.
We are having her cremated and will probably spread her ashes in our favorite river where we trout fish.
Its been a rough day. I don't feel good, my heart and stomach hurt, and I don't think losing my dad hurt this much.
Yeah, she's just a dog.
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