Blue was a one-year-old Australian cattle dog, also belonging to Becky (more specifically, to Becky's husband, Brandon, who had wanted a blue heeler for a long time).
In the fall of 2003, Becky and Brandon had penned up Blue and Susie (along with another dog, Jasmine), as they lived on a ranch, and wanted to keep the dogs safe during hunting season.
They thought all of the dogs just got fat during that time.
It wasn't until that January of 2004 that a friend of Becky's, visiting the ranch, stepped outside and remarked "I hear puppies..."
"Puppies? We don't have any puppies..." Becky started.
Sure enough, a litter of eight puppies had been born to Blue and Susie (who had never had a litter before, or even a heat cycle, that Becky was aware of).
One of the pups was either stillborn, or died shortly thereafter. Of the other seven, there was one (he would become "Moses" and live mostly wild on Becky and Brandon's ranch, for a time, where Becky sat on the front porch and tossed him pieces of cut-up hot dog) that was all black, except for his spotted paws, and the tip of his tail.
There was one, a pretty little black tri-colored thing, who would become Cassidy, and make her home with me for about three weeks, from February 21st, 2004, until March 14th, 2004 (four days after my birthday), at which time she choked on her puppy kibble and passed away suddenly.
A lovable, fluffy, red-and-white fella, the pick of the litter, the one every visitor favored, picked up and carried around, would be the most social of the bunch, growing up to be Jax, the pup my parents' went back to the ranch and got after they decided they wanted one of their own.
There was a little black-and-white thing, with a pink nose (and an umbilical hernia). She looked more like a guinea pig than a dog...
Three other pups favored their dad, sporting the mottled blue ticking with various large black patches. One of these stepped on some bare wire in the ranch's pump house and died of electrocution early on.
Of the other two, one was later adopted into a family, but panicked and ran into traffic upon exiting the car en route to his/her new home.
The remaining blue pup was Kansas. She caught my eye when I went out to Becky's to see the pups (knowing I would end up acquiring one even though I was "just looking"). I can't explain it. Something about her...
My husband wasn't really keen on the idea of getting a dog, and wasn't in a good mood, knowing we'd end up with one if we saw them and that there was nothing he could do about it.
"She's ugly." he said, and proceeded to tell me a tale of a kid he grew up with, who had had a similar-looking dog.
It wasn't a positive story.
I did end up choosing a dog that day. I opted for the pretty black-tri, figuring my husband would like her better, that she would grow on him, rationalizing that she reminded me of a friend's Australian shepherd, whom I adored.
I knew nothing about cattle dogs/blue heelers, but I'd done my research and I figured, two herding dog breeds, I had experience with raising our family's German shepherd... I could manage the mix ok.
I went back a couple of weeks later, when the pups were 6 weeks old (too early to leave the litter, but I didn't know such things back then). Mostly, I was afraid my pup would be gone if I wanted too long. Having lingered, again, over the patchy, blue female, that day I brought Cassidy home.
Cass was a lively pup who never met a stranger, was go-go-go all of the time, very happy-go-lucky. She slept in her crate calmly from day 1. She learned sit -so proud of herself for picking the skill up quickly that she sat- when told- right in the water bowl that happened to be right behind her! We shared three weeks together, prior to her untimely passing. I only have five photos, from the first day I brought her home.
Devastated, I called up Becky, asked if she still had puppies, explained (terrified she'd decline) what had happened to Cass, tearfully asked, could I have another one? Becky replied that yes, they still had puppies, yes, I could come get another one. I'd have to wait a few days, but I could come out that weekend. I really didn't want to get another puppy while I was still grieving, but I knew if I didn't do it right away, I'd never get a dog ever again.
Three days later, my mom and I drove back to the ranch for the second time. The remaining puppies were feral by then, having been allowed to roam the property with litter human interaction. If you were interested in a specific pup, you had to catch it (at which point they all screamed horribly), and if you wanted the one you caught, best not let it go, because you wouldn't catch it again.
She was still there, the little mottled blue girl. I don't remember much about catching her, except that I had to make sure she was the pup with the black patch on her right eye, rather than her mirror-image sister.
She cried horribly, looking over my shoulder out the window, as we drove away. We drove to my parents' house, as we had with Cass, and spent some time getting to know each other. She mainly hid behind the recliner in the living room, and then under my chair at the kitchen table as we dined on burgers, eventually bonding with me over a few shared French fries. That night, at the trailer house I was sharing with my sister at the time, she howled, heartbroken, and I cried right along with her. Her little baby heart was just as broken as mine, and I honestly didn't know how we were going to make it together.
She refused the crate. Vehemently so. No matter what I did. She took to spending her nights in the bathroom, putting herself to bed behind the toilet, where it was cool and she could curl her body up around the base. I had to compromise and just leave her there, thinking she may just know best what she needed and that I should trust that. Every night, in the wee hours, I would awaken to tiny paws reaching as high up on the mattress as she could stand, panting in my face- letting me know she needed to go out. She would be up and ready to play after that, and I took to tucking her into bed beside me, my body curled around hers, scratching her belly until we both fell back asleep.
Day by day, we got to know each other. We enjoyed the typical herding dog antics like tugging at my pants legs when I was trying to get dressed, and nipping at my heels while I was attempting to make the bed. She was more laid back and calm than her predecessor. She really was a very steady pup.
Our routine consisted of driving to my parents' house every day, where Kansas stayed while I was at work, playing with Jax. My parents decided they liked Kansas so well, they wanted a calm pup of their own. Mom initially wanted the mirror-image sister, but when we went back to the ranch and caught that puppy, she was terrified and refused to look either of us in the eye. Meanwhile, Jax, who had previously been spoken for, was still there and available, and if you picked him up, then put him down, he'd stay right there at your feet, waiting to be cuddled again. Then I'd pick Kansas up again at the end of my workday, and we'd return to the trailer for the night.
She pretty much went everywhere with me for that first year. She wasn't too keen on men, in the beginning, but as I learned her language and figured out that she liked to take her time getting to know new people from a distance without having her space invaded, she grew more confident and friendly, and became a great judge of character.
In 2005, we relocated across the country, and she and I were all each other had. We were also living in a bad part of town, and I relied on Kansas a lot to show me which people were ok to socialize with, and which to avoid. If she happily approached an interested party, I did, too. If she hesitated or indicated wariness, I stayed away. In these early days, she refused to approach anyone who was smoking, or who had clearly been drinking.
She and I both became so cautious (and me, terrified) that, upon returning to Texas six months later, I had to really go out of my way to be friendly to the people at our new apartment complex, because she was reacting so badly to all of them. I learned that if I smiled, made conversation and ignored her, she would relax and happily allow herself to meet new people and be petted. Eventually, we both relaxed and had many new acquaintances in our new surroundings.
In 2006, my husband and I bought our first house- and acquired another puppy. Kansas was happy to have a friend and took to the role of big sister naturally, enjoying his company and showing him the ropes.
In 2007, my husband lost his job, and we returned back to my hometown, where I remained for about a 18 months, while he worked out-of-state.
In 2009, the dogs and I returned to Houston, to an apartment on the third floor, where we lived for a year plus, instead of the home we still owned nearby.
In March of 2010, we were finally able to move back into our home, where we remained for 4 more years. We even added a third pup to the family in the fall of that year.
In July of 2014, we relocated again, to the D/FW area. September of 2015 saw us moving to Oklahoma City, where we resided for two years (losing Leo in 2016, and gaining Kal), before returning home again in June of 2017.
As you can see, Kansas has led an adventurous life, including being diagnosed with hip dysplasia and arthritis at the age of 6, undergoing surgery to remove a growth on the inside of her eyelid (twice), and the removal of a broken tooth. She helped me raise 11 foster puppies, and got to love my nephew and four nieces and watch them grow from babies to middle school-aged children.
This past Monday morning, at 12:15am, Kansas suffered a third episode like the two mentioned in a previous post, waking up panting heavily and unable to move her back legs. I knew that time that, if she didn't rally in an hour as with the previous two events, I would be taking her in to the vet for the last time. She seemed to calm quickly, but then proceeded to cycle through bouts of stress and struggle. She vomited at about 1:30, then finally seemed to rest, after being unable to settle. I finally laid back down at 2:30, after ensuring she was resting and would remain still.
I awoke frequently during the next two hours, listening to her breathing, and was just dozing off to decent sleep at 4:45am when I was awakened by a sharp bark from Kal. Kansas was having another spell (having never regained the use of her legs from the earlier one). I knew at that point. It was only a matter of waiting until the vet clinic opened. I told my dad as much, a couple of hours later, when Kansas and I waited in the living room after I had carried her out because she needed to potty and was insisting on trying to get up on her own. Both my parents were off that day, at least, and were able to sit with us, accompany us, and be with us in those final hours.
My husband and I sat with her until it was time for him to get ready for work. He wasn't going to be able to just call in, he had to drive the entire hour in to the school, prepare a lesson plan for his classes, and make other arrangements, and then drive back.
My intention was to just get to the clinic first thing, so she wouldn't suffer and struggle the way Leo had. I hadn't expected my husband to want to be a part of what was to come. He's always been very much against euthanasia and I'd had to endure the process alone once before, when we had to say goodby to Macie. As it happened, he did want to be present, which was nice, but also very frustrating as it meant all of us, Kansas included, had to wait an additional two-and-one-half hours, while my husband made the drive to work and back.
It was 11am before we finally arrived at the vet clinic. Mondays at such places are very busy, so we had to wait for them to see us in between appointments. My mom had already called earlier, so they knew we were coming.
We opted to stay in the car. I had ridden with Kansas in the back, to keep her still. She had originally struggled, then, on our way down the street, she calmed and looked up, looking out the window, as if stressed about where we might be going, but also maybe taking one last look at the home she's known for so long.
I thought my husband would be annoyed with the process- the waiting in the car with the back hatch open while traffic charged noisily down the highway behind us. Kansas settled, though, seeming to enjoy the breeze and the smells, watching other dogs as they made their way to/from the clinic.
It was 30 more minutes before the vet we'd seen on Friday was able to come out. Kansas went quickly once the injection was administered. I didn't even notice a change in her at all. She was so very tired by that point, and ready to go. She went immediately, without any sign of struggle. My husband later said it was much more peaceful than he expected. He had never attended an actual procedure, just seen horrible pictures of animals fighting the drug.
I admit that, as soon as they pushed the plunger, I wanted to stop. I wanted her back. I know I did the right thing, but... she has been such a constant in my life for so long. I got her when I was 26. Next year, I will be 40, and she would have turned 14. She has never not been there.
Her procedure was attended by two sweet border collies my mom noticed waiting patiently in the outdoor kennels for whatever procedures they were due to have that day.
When we went into the clinic to pay the bill, two joyful Shih-Tzus, each sporting topknots, greeted us.
Shih-Tzus were her favorite. She never met one she didn't like. Something about their exuberant personality always drew her to them.
An older woman was also there, with her blue merle Australian shepherd, Anna, who had suddenly lost her sight that morning.
The clinic has a place where they bury animals that aren't cremated. Jax and Mollie are both out there. Kansas will join them.
I just want her back.
2 comments:
My heart breaks for you. I can't imagine what you are going through. I'm so sorry she's gone.
Thank you. It is an incredibly surreal experience. Not at all like losing Leo. I didn't realize a heart could break so many times, in so many different ways. I wasn't counting on her making it to her birthday, or even hoping she'd make it through the holidays. Though I knew, when she had the first episode, that I would do my job and make sure she didn't suffer, and was prepared to have to let her go that first time, I also didn't expect it to happen so soon.
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