Dusty Puddles
New Member
- Joined
- Nov 1, 2010
- Messages
- 27
- Pets
- Fritz, Sadie, Max, Charlie, Sulley, Molly, Daisy, and Pepper (The Ugly Dachshund, Smokie the Cat
The following is a true story of the events of last week. I posted this in another forum I frequent and received favourable responces. I thought I would share it with y'all.
LITTLE PRAYERS
(GUNNER’S FIGHT)
I gaze down at his brown terrified and now watering eyes. “Please mister, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, whatever I did, I promise I won’t do it again!. Please, please stop the hurting”.
Another wave of anger overwhelms me. My fists tighten again, my knuckles are white, my face is bright red, yet I have nowhere to direct my rage. Come on Ted I tell myself “this is not helping anything”, so I take a long deep breath and force my tensed muscles to relax.
Carefully, I reach down and pick up his limp, listless little body and cradle him in my arms. With a syringe fashioned from old model building junk and some surgical tubing, I force a teaspoon of pedialite down his throat being very careful not to let any go in his lungs. Gunner does not like this but he is now to weak to resist. I did this an hour ago and I will do this yet again in an hour until he pulls out or “please dear God, no”, I pray, I reach down and pick up the lifeless body his sole is no longer in need of.
For three days after Gunners arrival all was well. Gunner quickly adopted Oscar, another rescue as his big brother. They played endlessly, Oscar ever so careful with his little charge. Then on Monday, day four, I started noticing a change in Gunner. By 6:00 pm that evening I knew something was terribly wrong. I called for Cheryl to come out and quickly we recognized this illness. Parvo and his partner the “Grim Reaper” had come to our little Dachshund rescue. Parvo marches right in while the Reaper loiters in the shadows, just outside the door, waiting for Parvo to perform his “black magic”, and then he can come in and claim his prize.
My wife, Cheryl, and I both have always had dogs but we didn’t fall in love with the Dachshund breed until some eight years ago. We rescued and adopted until we had a full house and then we rescued some more. In the summer of 2009, when we decided to move back to Lubbock, we agreed we would find a place in the country and open a rescue. Dusty Puddles Dachshund Rescue would be our name.
The evening we diagnosed Gunner, we had already fallen in love with the little fella. Standing in the kitchen, her heart breaking and crying, my wife Cheryl tells me that if we lose this little guy, we can’t keep doing this, we can’t continue rescuing Dachshunds. It hurts far too much. We hug for a long time. I say nothing, in part because I know her breaking heart that’s talking now, but mostly because I am also crying.
It’s 2:00 am on Wednesday morning of this fight, Cheryl will handle the fluids and the watch for a while, and I need some rest. As I did when I was 4, I kneel by my bed and I say another little prayer, but this time it ends “if he should die before I wake, I pray dear God his sole you’ll take. Sleep comes slowly and in the darkness I see the Rainbow Bridge. This verse has brought me and many others solace in their times of pain. I can’t help but wonder, Gunner has danced this earth barely 100 days. He’s never gotten his master. He hasn’t received his forever home, will he be ok? I pray again to God to let him be with me when I go. As if on cue, Max, my longhair best friend nuzzles my arm. As I am trying to ease Gunner’s suffering, Max is trying to ease mine.
For five days the fight continues, Gunner grows weaker each hour. On Saturday afternoon, Cheryl wakes me from my nap with “Ted, we’re losing him”. I race outside, open the kennel and kneel down to his almost gone body. “Its ok honey, he is just tired, we have to let him rest too. He’s gonna be ok”, I lied. I look over and see a shovel leaning against the shop wall. Will I have to dig his forever home? "Help me God" I pray, "should I end his suffering now?" I know I have the means in my hands to end his pain and suffering, but do I have the heart? "Tell me God, please, what do I do?" The kennel becomes quiet with a surreal silence, no barks, no fans, nothing. Then behind me I hear Cheryl, quietly, almost a whisper, praying “Our father, who art in heaven………”I join in.
Its early Monday morning, one week since Gunner fell ill. I walk out the door and a cool prairie breeze blows across the porch and refreshes me. Oh, what beautiful day God has made and then, my thoughts return to Gunner. How hard he had fought. How he never gave up. His love of life and it’s then I look over at a small patch of yellow grass, I know a little water will revive it, nature is so resilient. I think to myself, this must be where the Grim Reaper stood and waited, waited for his prize of little Gunner’s life. The reaper left in the wee hours of Saturday morning.
I turn the corner and gaze in Gunner’s kennel, there looking back at me are two small brown beautiful bright eyes and a tail wagging to beat the band, almost as if saying, "Hey mister, what are we gonna do today?, You want to bark at birds? You want to play chase: You want to rub my belly? You can, really, I’ll let you!"
Running this rescue is a constant challenge. We try to take from each experience a little knowledge forward to better prepare for the next challenge we face. Was it the steady fluids, was it the pedialite, was it Gunner’s strong will to survive that pulled him through or was it “Little Prayers”?
-Ted -aka Dusty Puddles
LITTLE PRAYERS
(GUNNER’S FIGHT)
I gaze down at his brown terrified and now watering eyes. “Please mister, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, whatever I did, I promise I won’t do it again!. Please, please stop the hurting”.
Another wave of anger overwhelms me. My fists tighten again, my knuckles are white, my face is bright red, yet I have nowhere to direct my rage. Come on Ted I tell myself “this is not helping anything”, so I take a long deep breath and force my tensed muscles to relax.
Carefully, I reach down and pick up his limp, listless little body and cradle him in my arms. With a syringe fashioned from old model building junk and some surgical tubing, I force a teaspoon of pedialite down his throat being very careful not to let any go in his lungs. Gunner does not like this but he is now to weak to resist. I did this an hour ago and I will do this yet again in an hour until he pulls out or “please dear God, no”, I pray, I reach down and pick up the lifeless body his sole is no longer in need of.
For three days after Gunners arrival all was well. Gunner quickly adopted Oscar, another rescue as his big brother. They played endlessly, Oscar ever so careful with his little charge. Then on Monday, day four, I started noticing a change in Gunner. By 6:00 pm that evening I knew something was terribly wrong. I called for Cheryl to come out and quickly we recognized this illness. Parvo and his partner the “Grim Reaper” had come to our little Dachshund rescue. Parvo marches right in while the Reaper loiters in the shadows, just outside the door, waiting for Parvo to perform his “black magic”, and then he can come in and claim his prize.
My wife, Cheryl, and I both have always had dogs but we didn’t fall in love with the Dachshund breed until some eight years ago. We rescued and adopted until we had a full house and then we rescued some more. In the summer of 2009, when we decided to move back to Lubbock, we agreed we would find a place in the country and open a rescue. Dusty Puddles Dachshund Rescue would be our name.
The evening we diagnosed Gunner, we had already fallen in love with the little fella. Standing in the kitchen, her heart breaking and crying, my wife Cheryl tells me that if we lose this little guy, we can’t keep doing this, we can’t continue rescuing Dachshunds. It hurts far too much. We hug for a long time. I say nothing, in part because I know her breaking heart that’s talking now, but mostly because I am also crying.
It’s 2:00 am on Wednesday morning of this fight, Cheryl will handle the fluids and the watch for a while, and I need some rest. As I did when I was 4, I kneel by my bed and I say another little prayer, but this time it ends “if he should die before I wake, I pray dear God his sole you’ll take. Sleep comes slowly and in the darkness I see the Rainbow Bridge. This verse has brought me and many others solace in their times of pain. I can’t help but wonder, Gunner has danced this earth barely 100 days. He’s never gotten his master. He hasn’t received his forever home, will he be ok? I pray again to God to let him be with me when I go. As if on cue, Max, my longhair best friend nuzzles my arm. As I am trying to ease Gunner’s suffering, Max is trying to ease mine.
For five days the fight continues, Gunner grows weaker each hour. On Saturday afternoon, Cheryl wakes me from my nap with “Ted, we’re losing him”. I race outside, open the kennel and kneel down to his almost gone body. “Its ok honey, he is just tired, we have to let him rest too. He’s gonna be ok”, I lied. I look over and see a shovel leaning against the shop wall. Will I have to dig his forever home? "Help me God" I pray, "should I end his suffering now?" I know I have the means in my hands to end his pain and suffering, but do I have the heart? "Tell me God, please, what do I do?" The kennel becomes quiet with a surreal silence, no barks, no fans, nothing. Then behind me I hear Cheryl, quietly, almost a whisper, praying “Our father, who art in heaven………”I join in.
Its early Monday morning, one week since Gunner fell ill. I walk out the door and a cool prairie breeze blows across the porch and refreshes me. Oh, what beautiful day God has made and then, my thoughts return to Gunner. How hard he had fought. How he never gave up. His love of life and it’s then I look over at a small patch of yellow grass, I know a little water will revive it, nature is so resilient. I think to myself, this must be where the Grim Reaper stood and waited, waited for his prize of little Gunner’s life. The reaper left in the wee hours of Saturday morning.
I turn the corner and gaze in Gunner’s kennel, there looking back at me are two small brown beautiful bright eyes and a tail wagging to beat the band, almost as if saying, "Hey mister, what are we gonna do today?, You want to bark at birds? You want to play chase: You want to rub my belly? You can, really, I’ll let you!"
Running this rescue is a constant challenge. We try to take from each experience a little knowledge forward to better prepare for the next challenge we face. Was it the steady fluids, was it the pedialite, was it Gunner’s strong will to survive that pulled him through or was it “Little Prayers”?
-Ted -aka Dusty Puddles
The owners didn't want him cause he barked n marked. 11 months old.
2-3 years old. BTW, both boys are sweet and good natured.
