Bel’s Story: an Addendum

After first posting about Bel in my previous entry, I was reminded of something I should add so the context of my struggles with Bel are clear.  It’s impossible to understate how near to killing Toby she came.  My vet thought Toby would die.  She even told me that putting him down might be the thing to do, because his recovery was going to be long  and expensive and he might not pull through, the damage was so great. He had multiple wounds on his neck, head and front legs, many of which had to have drains put in them.   In one place on his rear leg, the skin was entirely gone, exposing muscle, and this place was almost the size of a dollar bill.  (I have pictures of the wounds, but they are rather gruesome, so I’ll keep them to myself).  The skin tissue turned necrotic, and couldn’t be pulled back over the damaged area–we didn’t know if it would grow back.  He had liver damage from the sheer amount of damage to his body.   He was at the vet for six weeks.  SIX WEEKS!  His wounds had to be flushed three times a day, and he had to be force fed.

Toby at home, after 6 weeks at the vet

But Toby’s tough.  He pulled through, and now you can’t even see the place where the wound was on his leg–he does have a scar, but his fur covers it.

Bel had done so much damage that my vet asked me if I wanted to put her down.  She pointed out that Bel was a risk to the other dogs.  Honestly, I thought about it.  I thought hard.  But I couldn’t bear the thought of losing both Shibas at the same time, and we weren’t sure Toby was going to make it.  And then, as now, she’d never shown any serious aggression to a dog other than Toby.  I kept her, though there were days when I couldn’t stand the sight of her as I flushed Toby’s wounds and force fed him.  For weeks–even after he came home from the vet, I still had to do this.  I spent thousands of dollars I didn’t have on his care.

But there were other days too, when seeing another, healthy Shiba was a comfort.   She slept with me, and though it wasn’t Toby, it was still a familiar, curly-tailed dog.  I kept him alive.  I kept her.

But people who multiple dogs know this:  sometimes you have a dog that people call the “heart dog,” the one that feels closest to your own heart.  Toby was that dog for me.   The thought of losing him was–is–terrible.

Behind my frustration with Bel is fear, fear of loss.

Today, Bel had her birthday.  She went to Long Leash on Life to get some dog treats.  She did not enjoy her visit; there were people there she didn’t know, and that scared her.  She did not enjoy seeing M’s dogs, though some days she does.   She went for several rides, which she did enjoy, and she had a Sonic burger which she liked, and a tiny bit of ice cream from my root beer float.  She ate a bully stick in the car on the way home.    Even though she’s still hyped up from her encounter with Toby–still stalking him, pawing at the door to his room–and even though she still has her fearfulness (there was thunder, wind, and then it got dark, all frightening things to her), I think she enjoyed at least a portion of her day.

Perhaps that all that any of us can hope for.