Early this morning, my beloved Daddles took her last breaths in my arms. It was sudden, un- expected, and my heart is breaking.
It was about 2 a.m. Daddles had not shown any signs of illness lately that we felt needed a veterinarian's attention.
You may remember that Daddles was one of the eight puppy mill rescues from the first of September, 2007. In the five months she has blessed our lives, she had recovered from eye surgery, numerous rounds of demodex, and other ailments. She had become strong and playful and confident and "fluffy".
Daddles and I had a special bond that I have had only once before with a pet...with Delta (an English Shepherd that died Christmas 2006 at age 15).
If Daddles were only four to six years old, as we had been told by the puppy mill owner, then I was expecting to love and be loved by Daddles for at least the next decade.
Mid last week, she started breathing fast when something startled her, but her breathing would return to normal within a few minutes. I researched that symptom online and found that dogs can develop that nervous habit, something like hyperventilation, so I just tried to give her security and loving and time.
We have a tried- and- tested herbal anxiety medicine that we've used for
well over a decade. That seemed to help her when I felt activity around
the farm triggered a stressed breathing episode.
After all, I had been gone for a number of days when Mama was in the hospital, and the dogs felt the stress from Gordon and Unc. There were any number of reasons she might have developed a new manifestation of anxiety. Her years in the puppy mill were hard and tortuous.
You may remember that Daddles was the extra dog put in the van that had a feces- coated eye injury. Our wonderful vet immediately performed surgery to repair what was a deep injury ulcer on her eyeball, possibly caused by the high-pressure water hose baths they were given in the puppy mill. She was such a trooper about wearing her Elizabethan collar to protect that eye while it healed.
The stress of the eye injury, the rescue and the surgery triggered outbreaks of demodex, a mite that lives in the hair follicles of all dogs like a different kind of mite lives on humans. When a dog's immune system is compromised, the population of demodex mites can grow uncontrollably, causing an itchy, oozy, awful outbreak.
Well Daddles' first outbreak was from the base of her skull to her tail and down to every knee joint. It was horren- dous. We cut what little hair she had re-grown so that the skin could heal more quickly and so that our natural treatments could prevent secondary infections that often occur... like staph, etc.
Every three or so weeks, she had an outbreak of demodex, for which we used salt water baths and tea tree essential oil and lavender essential oil and very diluted oregano essential oil (in her salt water baths).
Our main emphasis was on building her immune system. We had made such progress in the five wonderful months she blessed our lives that her last little episode of demodex was confined to two dime-sized crusty spots on her back. REAL tangible progress!
I had delayed on having her teeth cleaned by the vet because that requires a full round of antibiotics, and I felt she needed her immune system to be stronger before we zapped her with more antibiotics. Her teeth were the worst of the eight puppy mill rescues.
They were kept in a small cage, fed the cheapest food available, given inexpensive cow medicine for heartworm and adult demodex, hosed down with a high-pressure hose instead of being bathed. From Daddles' feces- covered injured eye, I can deduce the cages were not regularly cleaned and the dogs were not given even minimum veterinary care.
PLEASE look up "puppy mill" on the Internet and educate yourself. I had no idea the torturous conditions that exist to feed the voracious American appetite for cute puppies. So many of the puppy mill dogs have health and behavioral problems that result in the dogs being surrendered to kill shelters.
Adult dogs with demodex outbreaks should never, never be bred. Our veterinarian told us that when he spayed Daddles, he could tell she had had so many litters of puppies, probably a litter every time she could be bred. That is twice a year for dogs. My precious Daddles had been used as a baby-making factory by that horrible puppy mill...her health literally used up to put money in someone's pocket.
Last night, I was sewing on a new original quilt design in my little sewing corner. Usually I am propped up on the bed, against a mountain of pillows, working on porcelain, with Daddles draped across a pillow behind my neck.
But I was following a creative burst, unaware that my precious Daddles was in danger.
Earlier yesterday, Gordon and I gave Mackie and Lillibeth a swim in the big (deep) cast iron bath tub in the farmhouse because they are experiencing an episode of extra hip pain from genetic hip dysplasia, another condition propagated by puppy mills.
As I sewed, Mackie came into the room several times, trying to get my attention. I thought he was asking me to come back to bed so that he could snuggle against my warm body as if it were a heating pad. He has been doing that a lot during this episode of hip pain, and I was proud to see that he wanted to move around more. Now I see that he was braving the pain in his hips to tell me that Daddles needed me.
Annie came in often to check on me, giving body language that I now understand meant that I needed to come to the bedroom and see Daddles. That is what Mackie was also trying to tell me. I was too dumb to understand.
When I did come to bed, about 11 pm, Gordon and I noticed how hard Daddles was breathing and how hard her heart was beating. She held her head up with a clenched mouth (not panting), and she could not lie down. She had to stand or sit in order to breathe.
We called our vet by 11:30 pm, and he was out of town. His answering machine gave the emergency number for the Mississippi State University Veterinary School of Medicine which we called. There were several phone calls back and forth with the Vet School on-call students who consulted with the on-duty veterinarian.
Meanwhile, Gordon and I researched the symptoms online while trying to remain calm and comforting for Daddles. Annie, despite her jealously of Daddles, curled up next to her...something she has only done once before when her "big brother" Rebel died Christmas Day, 2006.
We were getting dressed to take Daddles to Starkville, an hour's drive from the farm when she got noticeably weaker. Her respiration was over 200 breaths per minute, and her heart rate was over 100 beats per minute. She could not stand up. I had to prop her up against me so that she could keep her head higher and hopefully breath more easily.
Her gums had become pale, whitish and cold. She was not getting enough oxygen. By now, it was 1 am, and Unc came down to look at her. He is always a steady voice with his 82 years of valuable experience with animals on the farm. He took one look and said she was on her way out...that she would not make the trip to Starkville.
I did not want to put my baby through any stress that would make breathing any more difficult. For the next hour, I held her in my arms in a position that would give her the most comfort. At first, there was recognition in her eyes and she made eye contact with me and blink when she heard the familiar phrases of love that I often said to her.
Then her one good eye became vacant...then dilated, her heartbeat slowed rapidly and her breathing became so shallow that I was not sure she was even breathing. She slumped against me, and I had to hold her head up. She was as limp as a rag doll as her heart beat faded away.
My baby died in my arms, and that is as precious a gift as watching her heart open up to me to trust and love humans. Daddles and I were so emotionally connected that it was if God had sent her as a special gift to ease the ache of my baren womb.
She slept with her face buried in my hair or in my neck, softly breathing or snoring. I should have heard any early signs of respiratory distress or illness in the five months she brought sunshine into our lives.
I have not been able to write about Daisy's untimely death last month (one of our English Shepherds)...and now this. I don't say goodbye to our pets easily. They are best friends and for me, substitutes for the human children that Gordon and I will never have.
It was a bit after 2 a.m. when Daddles' heart beat for the last time. I'm 45 years old...a country girl...and I've been present at the death of humans and animals and pets. While not immune to death and loss, at least I know how to handle it emotionally.
I'm not handling Daddle's death well. This was SO sudden and SO unexpected. I've examined every symptom I can remember, and there just were no warning signs that Gordon or I would have recognized.
Dear, dear Dr. Duncan called this morning around 6 am when he called to check his messages. Gordon told him the symptoms, and he agreed that medical intervention would not have made a difference, assuming we could have gotten her to the vet school in time. We have such respect for a vet who shows that level of commitment and concern for his four-legged patients and his two-legged customers.
Gordon buried Daddles this morning, on the hillside east of Grandma's house. She is buried just east of Daisy's grave. We will be planting flowering trees on their graves soon. The trees marking the graves of Molly (rescued Westie), Rebel (rescued Westie) and Delta (English Shepherd) are growing nicely.
Then he took these pictures of Spring emerging on the farm for me to use with this post for Daddles.
We've planted enough trees on the side of that slope! I don't want to plant any more trees over any more pet graves for a good long while! Kelly , Belle and Sunny (all English Shepherds) are 14, 13 and 12 years old, respectively...so....
Next week is a busy, busy week, thankfully. I need to stay busy right now. I've had to learn over the years to go ahead and feel through the pain and not stuff it down.
Thank you for allowing me to let the pain flow out by writing and crying through this post. Please give your fur babies some extra love this week.
The four rescued Westies that stay here in the studio with Gordon and me have stayed glued to my side today. Annie greets me at the top of the stairs when I come back from the bathroom (on the lower level of the studio).
That is where Daddles was always positioned, and she wagged her tail as if she had not seen me all day, smiling with her tongue hanging out, then waddling her Charlie Chaplin walk beside me back to our little living quarters. She always wanted me to pick her up and put her on the bed, even though she was perfectly able to hop up the padded step stool onto the bed.
I will dearly miss that happy little face asking for an "air lift" onto the bed or onto the chair beside me. I can still smell her scent on my pillows. She had bad breath because of her teeth...but she also had a smell like a vanilla wafer. That is what her fur smelled like. That is what I can still smell.
It took almost a year to clean the nose print smudges that Molly left on the inside windows of the van. It is going to be hard to wash these pillowcases.
Vickie moved from Maryland to Louisiana a couple of years back. She was the Westie Rescue volunteer who fostered Annie and Rebel. Then she fostered Mackie.
Well, Vickie, Mackie jumps up on the bed each morning to snuggle next to me, leading up to licking my face to wake me up. We have other snuggle and kiss sessions throughout the day.
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