[Dailydrool] Lucky Dog at the bridge

[Brenda Waldrop]

Big kisses to Mother Mary from momslave Brenda, Copper, and Elphaba.  Drool
to Lucky Dog running around with the other houndies at the bridge.



We lost our Aeryn two years ago to a brain tumor and it was heartbreaking.
She was 10 and we'd been treating her with Phenobarbital for about two years
because she was having seizures. The vet told us it was Epilepsy, but it
turned out to be a brain tumor. In the end the poor baby had seizures every
hour for three days, and by the end of day three they were up to half an
hour in length. The vets could not seem to get them to stop for long no
matter what they tried.  When her fever went to 105, the seizure lasted more
than an hour.  We couldn't let her go through that any more, and it was
clear they were not going to stop, so we let her go off to the bridge. The
vet told us that even if we'd known 2 years earlier that it was a tumor and
not Epilepsy, the treatment would have been the same, to control the
seizures, and not only was there nothing else we could have done for it,
we would have spent the last two years knowing she could die any minute.



She was our beautiful 98lb princess and watching her like that was so
painful.  I hope that your Lucky Dog did not suffer and I'm sure she's happy
and pain free now.



We decided that the best healing for us after we lost Aeryn was to get
ourselves a new hound.  Off to the San Diego Basset Rescue we went!
I reminded my 13-year old daughter and my 17-year old foster daughter that
we were not going to get a puppy, because we don't have time for a puppy,
and we were not going to get a really old basset because we didn't really
have the money for extensive vet bills.



So, we met the Basset Rescue folks and all the foster mom/dad slaves at the
dog park to pick out our new basset.  A 3-7 year old dog that would be
comfortable in our 1,000 sq ft apartment was exactly what we were looking
for.  We are there less than 5 minutes before a 12 month old basset runs up
to my girls and rolls over with all paws in the air.  They immediately start
belly rubbing, and I wander away and sit down, pretending I do not see them
with a puppy.  A minute or two later the saddest looking, droopiest eyed
basset I had ever seen, wanders over to me and plops down in my lap.
Despite being 9 years old, he only weighs 26 lbs, his fur is a mess and
liberally speckled with gray, and he has a lemon-sized growth hanging from
his belly.  Despite all of this he is the sweetest, most loving little guy,
but I can tell by looking at him that he's huge vet bills waiting to happen.



So, to make what is getting to be a long story a little bit shorter, we
gullible slaves ended up with not one but two bassets, a puppy, and an old
guy.  The moral of which is never take two teenagers and a pushover momslave
to pick out a basset!  Almost two years later though they are both happy and
fat, and it's me who's speckled with gray in my fur!



Drool from momslave Brenda, Copper (I now weigh 52 lbs, have no growths, and
I'm spoiled) and Elphaba (I refuse to be completely housebroken and feel
that the world is my chew toy).
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