Goodbye little friend
This is my memorial to my little chihuahua, Bug. She died Monday.
Bug was a long-haired chihuahua, born to a breeder of show dogs. The little chi did not make the cut as a show dog and so was sold to a different kind of breeder. This breeder specialized in chihuahuas who work as seizure alert dog. She was given the horrid, fancy name of "Gretchen Von Peek-a-boo" because she was so shy. The tiny dog didn't have the knack or personality to be an alert dog and so was moved to the breeding group. She wasn't socialized or treated as a pet. Since she was extremely passive the other breeding dogs often prevented her from getting enough food in the trough style feeding. After having one litter of puppies she was found to not really breed all that well. Poor shy little chi. Not pretty enough, too shy, too passive, unloved. Her breeder decided to move and shut down the business. Through various acquaintances this little chi, too shy to easily become a pet, found my home. She was handed over to me shaking in fear, under-nourished and covered in fleas. It wasn't even clear she was a long-hair since her coat was short and scraggly from being underfed. I brought her home, bathed, fed, carefully socialized her and fell in love with her. She became my little Bug-a-boo.
The five years she was with me were full of cuddles and love. She never completely got over her shyness but, with me, she always felt safe. She absolutely loved our cat, Fiend. She did something we dubbed the "licky dance." She would bounce around him, licking his face and prancing her feet. Our oldest cat, Isis, doesn't like dogs but Bug didn't let that stop her. The licky dance was performed for Isis, just with a foot of buffer space between dog and cat. When our young cat, Zeek came to live with us Bug did it to her too. Bug loved all cats. With Pepper, my mixed long-hair chihuahua/doxie rescue pup, Bug was her constant shadow. She did exactly what Pepper did when ever she could. She loved to snuggle up under a blanket by my hip. When feeling very relaxed, Bug would flip over on her back and paw the air to get you to rub her belly. If held, she would slowly fall asleep with her head on my shoulder or forearm. Everyone who saw her thought she was adorable. No one could resist falling in love with that little bug-eyed face.
Warning: The story under the cut below is very sad. It describes, at times in detail, the passing of my little dog, Bug.
My little long-haired chihuahua, Bug, died on Monday, December 13, 2010. She had a severe infection that was very difficult to detect. Her only sign that something was wrong was energy fluctuations over the last couple months. I kept taking her into the vet but we could never find anything definite. I knew, just knew, something was wrong. Over the weekend her energy really tanked and we finally discovered the infection. A surgery was the only possibility but it was a long shot and little dogs don't have great chances with surgery in the best of times. The vet wasn't even sure he could get her stable enough to do surgery. I went with my gut and decided she simply wasn't strong enough for surgery and that she needed to be put to sleep. I came to the vet to say goodbye and hold her while she went away. When they tried to move her to the exam room she completely crashed, confirmation that my gut feeling about her condition was correct. She would have never been strong enough for surgery. They rushed me into the back, usually off limits to clients, to say goodbye. She was suffering and I'm not sure if she could even see me anymore but she may have been able to smell me and hear so I kept petting her head and talking to her. The vet quietly rushed to prep the fatal dose as she was struggling to breath and obviously suffering. He gently gave her the dose, listened for her heart to stop and gently told me that she was gone. He petted her little body while petted her little head until I was ready to remove her collar and leave. Scribe was with me the whole time, his arm around my shoulder or on my back, crying his own tears for little Bug. I thanked the staff for being so wonderful to us and Bug and walked out with her collar and the blanket I had brought her in with.
This is the first pet I've had to choose to put down. I knew it would happen eventually. I knew it would be hard. I accept it as part of the responsibility of caring for my pets. I cried almost hourly yesterday. Today I've cried off and on, missing my little Bug-a-boo. She was only 7 years old. Of my older adult pets, she was the youngest. I was not prepared for her to be my first of the pack to go. I thought Pepper, being 12 years old and rather prone to breathing issues, would be my first. (She is snoring gently on a pillow by my feet right now.) I'm grateful that I snuggled Buggy so much over the last week, knowing something was off and she didn't feel well. I hope that brought her some comfort. I loved my little chi-dog, my shy little Bug-a-boo.
Bug was a long-haired chihuahua, born to a breeder of show dogs. The little chi did not make the cut as a show dog and so was sold to a different kind of breeder. This breeder specialized in chihuahuas who work as seizure alert dog. She was given the horrid, fancy name of "Gretchen Von Peek-a-boo" because she was so shy. The tiny dog didn't have the knack or personality to be an alert dog and so was moved to the breeding group. She wasn't socialized or treated as a pet. Since she was extremely passive the other breeding dogs often prevented her from getting enough food in the trough style feeding. After having one litter of puppies she was found to not really breed all that well. Poor shy little chi. Not pretty enough, too shy, too passive, unloved. Her breeder decided to move and shut down the business. Through various acquaintances this little chi, too shy to easily become a pet, found my home. She was handed over to me shaking in fear, under-nourished and covered in fleas. It wasn't even clear she was a long-hair since her coat was short and scraggly from being underfed. I brought her home, bathed, fed, carefully socialized her and fell in love with her. She became my little Bug-a-boo.
The five years she was with me were full of cuddles and love. She never completely got over her shyness but, with me, she always felt safe. She absolutely loved our cat, Fiend. She did something we dubbed the "licky dance." She would bounce around him, licking his face and prancing her feet. Our oldest cat, Isis, doesn't like dogs but Bug didn't let that stop her. The licky dance was performed for Isis, just with a foot of buffer space between dog and cat. When our young cat, Zeek came to live with us Bug did it to her too. Bug loved all cats. With Pepper, my mixed long-hair chihuahua/doxie rescue pup, Bug was her constant shadow. She did exactly what Pepper did when ever she could. She loved to snuggle up under a blanket by my hip. When feeling very relaxed, Bug would flip over on her back and paw the air to get you to rub her belly. If held, she would slowly fall asleep with her head on my shoulder or forearm. Everyone who saw her thought she was adorable. No one could resist falling in love with that little bug-eyed face.
Warning: The story under the cut below is very sad. It describes, at times in detail, the passing of my little dog, Bug.
My little long-haired chihuahua, Bug, died on Monday, December 13, 2010. She had a severe infection that was very difficult to detect. Her only sign that something was wrong was energy fluctuations over the last couple months. I kept taking her into the vet but we could never find anything definite. I knew, just knew, something was wrong. Over the weekend her energy really tanked and we finally discovered the infection. A surgery was the only possibility but it was a long shot and little dogs don't have great chances with surgery in the best of times. The vet wasn't even sure he could get her stable enough to do surgery. I went with my gut and decided she simply wasn't strong enough for surgery and that she needed to be put to sleep. I came to the vet to say goodbye and hold her while she went away. When they tried to move her to the exam room she completely crashed, confirmation that my gut feeling about her condition was correct. She would have never been strong enough for surgery. They rushed me into the back, usually off limits to clients, to say goodbye. She was suffering and I'm not sure if she could even see me anymore but she may have been able to smell me and hear so I kept petting her head and talking to her. The vet quietly rushed to prep the fatal dose as she was struggling to breath and obviously suffering. He gently gave her the dose, listened for her heart to stop and gently told me that she was gone. He petted her little body while petted her little head until I was ready to remove her collar and leave. Scribe was with me the whole time, his arm around my shoulder or on my back, crying his own tears for little Bug. I thanked the staff for being so wonderful to us and Bug and walked out with her collar and the blanket I had brought her in with.
This is the first pet I've had to choose to put down. I knew it would happen eventually. I knew it would be hard. I accept it as part of the responsibility of caring for my pets. I cried almost hourly yesterday. Today I've cried off and on, missing my little Bug-a-boo. She was only 7 years old. Of my older adult pets, she was the youngest. I was not prepared for her to be my first of the pack to go. I thought Pepper, being 12 years old and rather prone to breathing issues, would be my first. (She is snoring gently on a pillow by my feet right now.) I'm grateful that I snuggled Buggy so much over the last week, knowing something was off and she didn't feel well. I hope that brought her some comfort. I loved my little chi-dog, my shy little Bug-a-boo.