Finally Home-Lessons on Life from a Free-Spirited Dog (19 page)

A girl scream
ed
at us
,
“Don’t let him near your dog
!
D
o
not
let him near your dog
.
H
e will attack
!
G
et your dog away!”

Well
,
Einstein, not much we could do
at that point.
T
h
e
dog was chasing us, not the other way around.

Ironically the girl was
taking her sweet time. I
f I w
ere
not so scared for Buddy, I would have screamed at the girl for not getting to us in a more expedient manner
.
I grabbed Buddy so he was on two legs (probably the worst thing I could have done) in an effort to protect him from the wild beast upon us.

Wouldn’t you know it
,
though, this Akita did the same thing as the pit bull and just smelled Buddy and walked away.

It has been said that dogs learn a ton of information from what we humans consider a disgusting habit of smelling each other’s butt. They can determine if the dog is sick, scared, happy, etc. This is one reason why dogs tuck their tail between their legs when they are frightened. They do not want other dogs to know they are fearful, and this is sort of a defense mechanism for them. Though not the way that I would want to say hello, it is considered “rude” in dog world if they do not partake in this greeting, sort of similar to a handshake amongst humans. All I can gather is that when they smelled Buddy, they sensed that he was a friendly dog and not a threat to them. I can only hope that we are always that lucky when approached by other dogs
.

There are too many dogs roaming free out there, partly due to negligence on the part of the owners.
Unfortunately, there are only so many dogs that can be saved.
Dogs cannot speak
,
so, when possible, it is up to us to speak up for them.

Y
ear two
of
living in Las Vegas, I
discovered
that there
wa
s a no-kill shelter in town and
planned
to go check it out.
I felt that if I could help with dogs in any way, it would be
a
perfect
opportunity
for me
. In addition,
I would get to socialize and meet some people that share
d
the same love of animals.
My coworker volunteered as well.
Many of the dogs there
we
re
surrendered
by their owners or
abandoned
on the streets to take care of themselves.

A few weeks into it, my coworker brought one of the dogs she was fostering into work with her.
It was l
isted as a golden-
mix.
Her name was Toffee and she was adorable.
She was slightly smaller than a purebred golden, close to forty pounds, with a pink nose and what is known as monochromic eyes.
Her eyes
we
re the same exact
light brown
color
of
her coat.
She was found on the streets of Las Vegas, apparently deserted by her previous owner.

Every week at the
local pet store, they he
ld adoptions
,
and that weekend my
coworker
said she would drop off Toffee and come back to collect her later.
I offered to take her for the week and give fostering a try.

It was our luck that
the first week was great
,
and we were having a lot of fun with our new little foster dog, until
o
ne night, out of the blue,
Toffee became ill and came close to dying on us.

S
he could barely walk
,
and her body was actually vibrating,
strange
ly enough.
Though not always indicative of a fever, her nose was burning hot.
It was
three in the morning,
and I could not console her or make her any better.
I did not know what to do.
It was not like she
had been
out of our sight at all, so she could not have gotten into anything that we did not know about or eaten anything that would have made her this sick.

I
was
somewhat
notorious for being a worry
wart if the dogs
we
re sick, so I decided to wake Michael for his thoughts on the matter.
I thought
that
maybe I was not thinking straight and her body really was not vibrating.
When I saw a little panic in his eyes, I knew something was wrong. He said he would stay up with her for the next few hours
,
and we would rush her to the hospital at
six
when they opened.
Unfortunately, nothing
remotely nearby
by was open at
three in the morning
.
 

That morning, Michael drove to the emergency animal hospital with a very lethargic Toffee lying on
top of
my lap.
She barely moved, which wa
s not like her, and her breathing was labored.
She would occasionally acknowledge me holding her, but looked like she was fading fast.

Sure enough we
arrived at the vet's office
and Toffee’s temperature was 105
—t
hree degrees higher than it should
have been.
W
e knew she was physically in trouble.
After some more close examination, they had to
perform
emergency surgery, as she was suffering from a major infection stemming from when she was spayed.

The doctors said the surgery would be over within five hours and we would be able to take her home that day.
We decided to go home and catch up on some sleep for a few hours.
When we finally went back, she wound up being okay, but this resulted in her having three open holes in her stomach with a shoelace-type string
weaved
through them
to keep
them open.
They
were there
to drain the infection site and
had to remain
open so that it kept draining.

If it sounds disgusting, that is because it certainly was.
My new job was to flush these holes with medicine every three hours.
I typically ha
d
a low tolerance for anything that involve
d
flushing out holes in someone’s stomach, but I found it in me to make concessions for this dog.
It was not an easy thing to do as no dog really wants to lie still while you pour
ed
liquid in
her
belly
.
I was smart enough to trick her by giving her a rawhide while flushing the medicated liquid.

That week
came and went
, and Toffee
came to live
with us on a
permanent basis. She also had
different surgeries
almost
every year.

I just could not give her up.
No one looked sane enough to adopt her
,
and I felt no one was better
suited
to keep her.
I felt that if someone else had owned her, they would not have taken her to the hospital that night and she would have certainly died.

At adoptions, p
eople
walked
over to the adoption fence and
, to me,
they just looked weird.
By admission, I could probably be talking myself right into an insane asylum, but I did not like the way they were dressed,
n
or
did I like their hair
style, sunglasses, hat,
or
the way their toenails weren’t clipped or
had
not
been
groomed.

Silly, I know, but true nonetheless.

No one looked as if they should own Toffee.
A woman asked me if I could wake Toffee up so she could see her walk.
I remember getting so angry and annoyed that this woman had the audacity to ask me to wake Toffee from her slumber.
Needless to say, we adopted her in July of 2007
—
Toffee, not the woman!

Two years
passed
and she
did have
some issues,
such as
moles on her face and on her eyes
that had to be
removed.
Tumors in her belly have
also
been removed, she
has
had a double mastectomy
,
and her teeth
have been
cleaned
,
as well.

While we were getting all of this
work
done at the vet, someone approached us and exclaimed
,
“Oh my God, you have a duck
toller!”

Michael and I just looked at each other,
and
then
turned toward
this woman
.

At the same time we
both said
, “A
what?”

She promptly repeated herself
.
“A Nova Scotia duck
tolling retriever.”

Still clueless, we looked around and said
,
“
N
o, sorry, this is a g
olden-
mix
.
”
W
e thought
the mix
was
with
a pit bull because of the pink nose.

The woman turned out to be a groomer at the vet and went online right away to show us the breed.
We had never heard of it before so had no idea what she was talking about.
Sure enough, Toffee was no doubt a purebred
d
uck
t
oller.
She had the exact markings as the dog on the Internet.

Lots of deep breaths and patience
—
that’s how!

Some
called us crazy for taking care
of three dogs.
Although Buddy
wa
s now in his senior years,
still
excitable, but manageable
.
Toffee
wa
s a bit of a handful
,
as well
,
as she
displayed some
possessive
behavior
from being out on the streets on her own for some time, coupled with incessant whining and a weird habit of continually licking the floor.