Husky News

Columnist says goodbye to longtime family companion

NOT LONG AGO I lifted our aged family dog onto the cold steel exam table at her vet’s office. I hugged her close to my chest and then whispered goodbye as the vet administered a lethal dose of a sleeping drug.

We adopted Tupelo, a Samoyed mix, 12 years ago when she was 5 years old. I had put our name on a list with a local rescue group that finds new owners for pets about to be homeless. In June 1994 we received a call about Tupelo, who was living in rural Caroline County with a couple who were leaving the area and couldn’t take the dog.

Our family drove down and met Tupelo–a beautiful longhaired white animal with eyes that seemed rimmed with mascara and a splash of brown by one ear that looked like a chocolate spill. We readily agreed to be her new owners.

Tupelo adapted quickly to the big change. Our three young children were fascinated with her. She graciously allowed them to pet her, sometimes a bit too roughly at first as they learned to respect their new four-legged "sister."

And, after growing up able to freely roam the countryside each day, Tupelo adjusted to life in a subdivision with a fenced yard and leashed walks. We probably looked like mini parade on those daily walks up to the neighborhood park. I had a stroller designed for one but expandable by lowering the backrest. Into that stroller I’d pack our children–6-year-old Audrey, 4-year-old Eric and 18-month-old Warren. Tupelo trotted alongside on a leash as I pushed our way the half-mile to the park.

Dogs are pack animals and Tupelo was certainly eager to join in activities in her new pack. When Eric started playing soccer at age 5, Tupelo became a faithful cheerleader, her white presence a constant along the sidelines at Eric’s soccer practices and games season after season.

Tupelo enjoyed the snow. She would stick her nose down into the white powder and then shake her head, enormously pleased. One winter when a blizzard closed roads for many days Tupelo became a sled dog. She was thrilled to pull the kids for short rides in a laundry basket.

She also enjoyed getting the children off to school. When Audrey, then Eric, and finally Warren went to school, Tupelo reveled in her job of walking to the bus stop and waiting for them to get picked up. And each afternoon, she was eager to be there to meet them, a big white welcome committee.

Tupelo had a massive amount of that white fur. No matter how much brushing and pulling off of loose tuffs of hair, Tupelo still managed to leave her telltale mark throughout the house. For all these years, every piece of clothing we wore would have at least a strand or two of white Tupelo fur on it. Only when I gave her an infrequent bath under the hose could you see what a small frame she really had under that huge bunch of white fluff.

Because of all that fur it’s really amazing that my husband, John, noticed a bump on Tupelo’s right front leg late in 1997. It was near the elbow joint and looked pretty harmless. But to be sure, I took Tupelo to her vet, Dr. Jack Hammett of Caroline County Animal Clinic. Dr. Hammett had been Tupelo’s vet since she was a pup. His office on U.S. 1 is right across from where Tupelo originally lived. When we adopted her, I continued bringing her to him for annual check-ups, even though it is a 45-minute drive from our Spotsylvania neighborhood.

At our first appointment, Dr. Hammett told me how Tupelo once had come over to check things out as his office was under construction and discovered his lunch unattended. It always amused both of us to picture Tupelo with the sack of sandwiches hanging from her mouth, making off for her back yard.

The bump on her leg turned out to be more serious than we imagined. Dr. Hammett did a biopsy, sending a sample off for study. A few days later he called to tell us it was cancer. Tupelo’s bump was a tumor, which if left unattended would spread its tendrils up her leg and into her body and kill her within a year. His suggestion was amputation of the entire leg. Dr. Hammett said dogs recover quickly from this surgery and adapt well. I remember him telling me how dogs don’t suffer any of the complex emotional hang-ups of humans. For a dog, it’s more like–lose a leg, oh well, hopping works fine.

It was serious surgery, and expensive, costing about $1,000 for the initial evaluation and amputation. We debated briefly, but Tupelo was family. She had been with us for three years and was only 8 years old–there was plenty of time left to continue our relationship. The surgery was scheduled for February 1998.

I took Tupelo for a long walk before loading her in the car for the trip to the vet. It was a very teary journey to Dr. Hammett and difficult to hand off the leash, despite the very capable care I knew she’d receive.

Two days later I picked up our tripod dog. I winced at the long stretch of shaved skin and massive number of stitches. Tupelo, while obviously in pain, was delighted to see me and leave for home.

We had been warned to keep her contained, and I had prepared a bed for her in the kitchen. I used some chairs to form a barricade to keep her in the linoleum area. But that afternoon, while I was up the street meeting the school bus, Tupelo decided she had her own idea of where to recover. She nudged aside the chairs and hopped up the front stairway (about a dozen steps) to our second floor. Her favorite spot was in that hallway, right outside the doorways to all the bedrooms. I returned from the bus to find a weary, but proud, Tupelo lying in her accustomed spot watching over her family.

Going up was one thing, but I couldn’t imagine how Tupelo could get back down. I was reluctant to pick her up for fear of causing harm to her sizable surgical area. So I waited until John came home and we coaxed the dog onto a plastic sled. We then carried her down and set her in the yard for a bathroom visit. We returned her to a better barricaded kitchen.

Tupelo recovered and it wasn’t long until she could hop her way up to the bus stop. She received many greetings from neighbors who all commented about how well she adjusted.

But with three legs, there were no more long walks. She learned a new gait, but the pressure on her one front leg began to tell. A couple of years ago she began needed arthritis medicine to help ease the strain.

During the past year Tupelo slowed noticeably. She gave up trying to come upstairs to her favorite spot. She found a new resting place in the living room, where she began to spend more time sleeping or sitting quietly. When she hopped to the yard, she’d sit for long periods enjoying the breeze. She was still a treasured member of the family, but her participation in activities was limited.

Then just before this past Christmas, Tupelo returned to Dr. Hammett for a look at a sore by her ear. Skin cancer was the verdict. Although he offered surgery, we decided at nearly 17 Tupelo didn’t need the strain of such a procedure.

The next three weeks marked a huge transition. Tupelo steadily lost weight even though she continued to eat. She had difficulty getting a grip on the hardwood floor and managing the three steps from front door to the yard. She slept long periods.

I talked with Dr. Hammett and expressed hope nature would take her. Not likely, he said, unless I considered him nature.

Then her eyes began to sink in and she clearly felt distress. That night I asked our family to sit together with Tupelo and talk. It was a difficult discussion as we decided to help our longtime faithful companion to die.

The next morning I called the vet’s office and was barely able to explain my need. It was another teary drive to Caroline County.

I carried our dog into the office. On previous visits Tupelo had tugged on the leash, obviously remembering Dr. Hammett and the leg removal. This time there was no reaction, except perhaps I imagined relief.

I hugged Tupelo while Dr. Hammett looked her over and agreed it was time to help her. She had had a long and wonderful life and prolonging its end could only mean pain and suffering. We spoke again about her lunch theft and the many years of enjoyment Tupelo had brought us.

The end came mercifully and quickly. With the office assistant Trish and me each stroking and caressing Tupelo, Dr. Hammett injected a toxic drug mixture into a vein in her leg.

I brought home her collar.

It’s a small memento of all the love and joy. That and the white fur I expect, and hope, to find around the house and on clothes for a long time to come.

Source:  The Free Lance-Star