Good night, sweet doggo
It's clearly been a while since I wrote anything, because Rufus hasn't been mentioned here yet. I guess it's not a complete surprise, because he came to me during what turned into a pretty bumpy few weeks.
A friend was going through a divorce, and had been tied up in court proceedings for months trying to get her ex-husband out of her house, and get her three dogs away from him and back into safe and caring hands. She's still crashing at an old friend's house, so she found people to foster each of the dogs until she could get the house sold and find her own place, where she could take the dogs back in.
Being a sucker for senior dogs, I ended up with Rufus, a 17-year-old Jack Russell terrier. He was completely deaf and partially blind, but so mellow and sweet, and also didn't harass my roommate's cat (who hates everything that's not said roommate). I brought him home on April 1st, during a busy weekend of coaching my juniors team at a tournament, and within a few hours also came to realize that what I thought was an unusually bad allergy day was actually me catching a cold.
Rufus did laps around the house for what seemed like ages, getting a feel for his new surroundings. After getting back from Day 2 of the tournament, I spend the rest of that Sunday laying on the couch feeling terrible. Rufus did his laps periodically, but also came around to the couch to see me. I like to think that he was checking on me. :)
We basically got to spoil the crap out of him over the next couple of months. I got him a cool rocket ship collar and would have gotten him a bow tie if I hadn't already been halfway through checkout. I took him to the studio (where he once peed on the floor in front of Bonnie Thunders, heh) on some work days, and he'd move his dog bed around to be closer to me in my office chair. Joe even took him to his new job once (they have a dog calendar), and he was a hit at the office.
Joe walked him in the mornings, and I wandered around the dog park with him in the afternoons. I sometimes surprised him with little bits of cheese, like I'd done with Gizmo years ago. He got stuck between and under the furniture in hilarious fashion, sometimes at ungodly hours of the night, but even then, I couldn't really be mad at him. I got to take him over to a team BBQ, and even a dinner with Joe's family, and he was loved on by all who met him.
Sunday night, I got home to find Rufus in the backyard laying on his side, unable to stand up or walk. At that point, I had no idea how long he'd been outside like that, so I brought him water and held his head up so he could drink. After he had a chance to drink his fill, I brought him inside, and Joe helped me get him up to the bathtub to cool him down with more water. Even after started being more alert, though, he still couldn't stand up on his back legs.
I wound up taking him to the emergency vet, thinking that it was maybe just a gnarly case of heatstroke, and his real mom (Alyson) met me there. The vet talked with me before she got there, and said that Rufus had a couple of heatstroke symptoms, but not others, and that it was very rare to have heatstroke happen when there's a dog door--if a dog starts to overheat, he can just go back inside anytime. Then she said that once Alyson got there, we could all talk together about next steps.
I think Alyson knew how things were going to go before she even arrived, but I kept thinking, "they didn't seem *that* worried, maybe he'll be okay with the right meds," and so forth. Once she got there, though, they told us that he'd most likely had a stroke, and that he wasn't going to recover--basically recommending that he be put to sleep.
Alyson and I both sat there and cried, and told derpy dog stories to each other--she obviously had many more than me, having had Rufus for over 10 years before the divorce insanity started. Then, they brought him in and let us sit with him for a bit before they gave him the last anesthetics. His breathing was already labored and shallow even before they started the procedure.
It was harder than I ever thought. I remember hearing about when Gizmo passed away, and I missed his doggo face and felt sad that he was gone, but I also knew how old he was, and it didn't come as a shock. Rufus' stroke was so sudden and unexpected, though--I knew he'd been running around like a champ that same morning. Even though he'd only been a part of my home for a few months, being there in his last moments completely wrecked me.
I got home after 2am and basically spent the 24 hours after that crying, not sleeping enough, and trying to distract myself from crying with bad television. Joe and I cried together a few times. But I could at least reassure him, and myself, that it could have happened at any time. Rufus was happy and loved by all of us in the house, and he got to enjoy getting scritches and running around and curiously sniffing everything in the world until the very last--he was doing exactly that in the backyard, when he had that stroke.
He was only with us at the Castle for a few months, but this sweet old man charmed his derpy way into my heart the moment I brought him home. I'm so sad he's gone, and heartbroken that I didn't get to see him through to his permanent home, but I'm grateful that he got so much love from this house, and from each of the people I know who got to meet him. Our sweet old Poofus spent his final days romping around doing his favorite things, and that is such a gift.
A friend was going through a divorce, and had been tied up in court proceedings for months trying to get her ex-husband out of her house, and get her three dogs away from him and back into safe and caring hands. She's still crashing at an old friend's house, so she found people to foster each of the dogs until she could get the house sold and find her own place, where she could take the dogs back in.
Being a sucker for senior dogs, I ended up with Rufus, a 17-year-old Jack Russell terrier. He was completely deaf and partially blind, but so mellow and sweet, and also didn't harass my roommate's cat (who hates everything that's not said roommate). I brought him home on April 1st, during a busy weekend of coaching my juniors team at a tournament, and within a few hours also came to realize that what I thought was an unusually bad allergy day was actually me catching a cold.
Rufus did laps around the house for what seemed like ages, getting a feel for his new surroundings. After getting back from Day 2 of the tournament, I spend the rest of that Sunday laying on the couch feeling terrible. Rufus did his laps periodically, but also came around to the couch to see me. I like to think that he was checking on me. :)
We basically got to spoil the crap out of him over the next couple of months. I got him a cool rocket ship collar and would have gotten him a bow tie if I hadn't already been halfway through checkout. I took him to the studio (where he once peed on the floor in front of Bonnie Thunders, heh) on some work days, and he'd move his dog bed around to be closer to me in my office chair. Joe even took him to his new job once (they have a dog calendar), and he was a hit at the office.
Joe walked him in the mornings, and I wandered around the dog park with him in the afternoons. I sometimes surprised him with little bits of cheese, like I'd done with Gizmo years ago. He got stuck between and under the furniture in hilarious fashion, sometimes at ungodly hours of the night, but even then, I couldn't really be mad at him. I got to take him over to a team BBQ, and even a dinner with Joe's family, and he was loved on by all who met him.
Sunday night, I got home to find Rufus in the backyard laying on his side, unable to stand up or walk. At that point, I had no idea how long he'd been outside like that, so I brought him water and held his head up so he could drink. After he had a chance to drink his fill, I brought him inside, and Joe helped me get him up to the bathtub to cool him down with more water. Even after started being more alert, though, he still couldn't stand up on his back legs.
I wound up taking him to the emergency vet, thinking that it was maybe just a gnarly case of heatstroke, and his real mom (Alyson) met me there. The vet talked with me before she got there, and said that Rufus had a couple of heatstroke symptoms, but not others, and that it was very rare to have heatstroke happen when there's a dog door--if a dog starts to overheat, he can just go back inside anytime. Then she said that once Alyson got there, we could all talk together about next steps.
I think Alyson knew how things were going to go before she even arrived, but I kept thinking, "they didn't seem *that* worried, maybe he'll be okay with the right meds," and so forth. Once she got there, though, they told us that he'd most likely had a stroke, and that he wasn't going to recover--basically recommending that he be put to sleep.
Alyson and I both sat there and cried, and told derpy dog stories to each other--she obviously had many more than me, having had Rufus for over 10 years before the divorce insanity started. Then, they brought him in and let us sit with him for a bit before they gave him the last anesthetics. His breathing was already labored and shallow even before they started the procedure.
It was harder than I ever thought. I remember hearing about when Gizmo passed away, and I missed his doggo face and felt sad that he was gone, but I also knew how old he was, and it didn't come as a shock. Rufus' stroke was so sudden and unexpected, though--I knew he'd been running around like a champ that same morning. Even though he'd only been a part of my home for a few months, being there in his last moments completely wrecked me.
I got home after 2am and basically spent the 24 hours after that crying, not sleeping enough, and trying to distract myself from crying with bad television. Joe and I cried together a few times. But I could at least reassure him, and myself, that it could have happened at any time. Rufus was happy and loved by all of us in the house, and he got to enjoy getting scritches and running around and curiously sniffing everything in the world until the very last--he was doing exactly that in the backyard, when he had that stroke.
He was only with us at the Castle for a few months, but this sweet old man charmed his derpy way into my heart the moment I brought him home. I'm so sad he's gone, and heartbroken that I didn't get to see him through to his permanent home, but I'm grateful that he got so much love from this house, and from each of the people I know who got to meet him. Our sweet old Poofus spent his final days romping around doing his favorite things, and that is such a gift.