Once D2 was off in college, my preference was for no more dogs. I always thought I would follow the black humor bumper sticker: "Life Begins When The Kids Move Away and The Dog Dies." But Wifey has stated that having a dog or dogs here is non negotiable -- she loves them so much.
So it was 2010, D2 was at UF, and D1 was at grad school at FIU. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and D1 came over -- and she NEVER came over Tuesdays, as I recall. It was a set up.
Shortly afterwards, our friend Susan arrived, with a small funny looking dog in tow. She was brown and looked as if she was made up of parts from different dogs -- long body, stubby legs, and a Shepherd looking head. They called her "Brown Dog." Could we "foster her" until a forever home was found. Yeah -- like I was going to Foster Wifey back in 1984 when we moved in together -- that fostering turned out pretty permanent.
The dog had been running loose near the Falls, and some of D2's friends stopped the car, and opened the door. The dog hopped right in. Wifey took her to the vet -- no chip. She put up "Found Dog" signs on both sides of US 1 and 136 Street. No calls. I think D1 realized Brown Dog was sort of sausage shaped -- and so we named her Vienna, with the constantly used nickname of Sausage.
She was perfectly trained, and quickly fit in. She had the bark of a much larger dog. She was heavier than she looked -- sort of compact despite her lack of height. We grew, fast, to love her.
She was also an escape artist -- finding tiny holes under the fence, to embark on adventures through the 'hood. Probably 10 times she was returned by neighbors -- as recently as a few weeks ago when Monica across the street brought her back, which turned into a wild drinking party.
She was incredibly smart. When Wifey left her food on a tray next to her recliner, Vienna would feign needing to go out, to get Wifey up to open the door. She knew Wifey has ADHD, and would typically go do something else instead of returning to her food. Vienna pounced on the recliner -- Wifey would return to an empty plate.
She also kept some of the street in her. Woe to the dog who tried to take her food -- even if it was 95 lb Betsy. Vienna would growl and go for her rival.
But to humans -- never -- though it was funny that she ALWAYS barked angrily at Miriam, our weekly housekeeper. Miriam would say "Ay, Vienna -- la policia!"
Vienna loved her walks with me -- sniffing all the other dogs' activities. Just last year, she and Bo, the Special needs Spaniel, somehow killed a huge iguana that had gotten next to our pool. Dogs are dogs.
In March, Wifey and I took her for her annual vet visit, and she was in perfect health, but overweight. The vet admonished no more people food! She was nearing 15, and the extra weight was bad.So we complied, and she seemed very healthy, until just a few months later.
She HAD lost weight, but stopped her morning ritual of wolfing down her dry food. She would only eat chicken now, and we decided to honor her requests. A few weeks ago, Wifey took her to the vet, who put her on steroids. I knew the end was coming -- I have too much experience with dying dogs and humans.
Indeed, the steroids perked her up for a fortnight. She was eating again, and would actually bark a bit when the home renovation workers would visit.
But then 3 days ago, she stopped eating. Anything -- even fresh, hot chicken from Publix. And then she stopped drinking, and the labored breathing came back. Yesterday, Wifey and I knew it was time.
Wifey even left me a text to wake her at 8 to take Vienna early. Wifey being asked to be awakened at 8 means something VERY serious is afoot -- like others asking to be awakened at 4 am.
I called the office at 8. There's an older American woman who has worked there for decades who is comically not warm and fuzzy, as you might expect from a vet's staff. At first she said the doc had an opening at 430, but then said they "would accommodate us." Nice.
So I placed Wifey in the car, Vienna on her lap, and Wifey cried and cuddled her the whole way. They took us right in, and a nice tech started an IV, and then a young vet administered the fatal doses. Vienna quietly stopped breathing. That was it.
The American woman said she was sorry and handed me a bill for $200. The final charge for Vienna.
As I write, it's a rainy day, and Wifey is sobbing. I never cried over dogs, not even "Old Yeller" when I was a boy. I wish I did.
So now we're down to Bo, the crippled Spaniel, who Wifey takes for water PT and is doing great. I plan to enjoy the simplicity of having people over and not worrying where the dog ran to, or whether she is jumping on the chair to get to the table to steal our food. That was Vienna's signature move.
She was indeed a great dog, and brought us joy. But they just don't live long enough...
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