ramonaghan

Thanks, this is exactly the kind of insight I am looking for. Our local adoption groups do their best but don't have a lot of dogs or bandwidth right now. However, the track in West Memphis (3 hrs or so away) has several available hounds through their kennel. They don't cat-test there anymore, so that's nerve racking, but they're closing at the end of the year so time is short. I appreciate hearing a perspective from someone who's gone through both channels. Sweep was barely 3 when we adopted her, but she'd been fostered for a few months with a resident hound who probably showed her the ropes, and she was a quick study. She was so easy right off the bat. Trying to decide if we're up for a potentially bigger challenge.

Tell me your experiences. Asking for a friend.

14!! Way to go, Val! Happy, happy birthday!

Pure bliss on that boy's face!

My friend in Texas just lost her boy Wheeler. Could you add him? Thank you, Ducky.

In her younger years, Sweep's instinct during any bad storm was to head to the basement, so that made it pretty easy for us. In the last year as a tripod she would not do stairs willingly, so we harnessed her up and got her down there. No crate. The cats were more challenging, especially as they are mortal enemies. The first 1.5 years with Sweep, we were in a townhome with a tiny half bath and a tiny laundry room as our only interior room options. Again, no crate, just a leash and her ID collar.

This!

Clearly a toy shortage there. What choice did she have? Poor Wiki.

Thank you. I love the idea of keeping a journal of Sweep's signs. I can't tell you how much more at peace I am today after hearing from her yesterday. Powerful, indeed.

Way, way too young. I am so very sorry for your loss. Sending big hugs to you.

Sweep sent her sign today. This is too special not to share. On Friday after we said goodbye, I remarked to my husband that I thought I might like to hang a wind chime for Sweep. (I have a black thumb, so a plant or tree is out of the question.) I didn't mention this to anyone else. Yesterday, I sat on the porch swing alone, watching the wind "sweep thru" the trees and thinking about her. It's unusual for it to be this breezy in late May. I felt her presence so strongly I could practically touch her, and the rustling of the leaves seemed to pick up with my thoughts of her. Again, I didn't mention this to anyone. Today I got a box from a dear friend whom I won't name, but suffice it to say, she's been a rock and a huge comfort throughout our journey. What was in the box? A wind chime etched with a broom and the words "Listen to the wind and know that I am near." She'd had it made months ago. Goosebumps, and gratitude. Subtlety was never my girl's thing.

Not a weirdo but maybe a Friends fan? *image courtesy CG1.5

I think I will do the same for Sweep's. Thank you.

Sweep is home. The vet remarked on her unique Cindy Lou Who foot. Thank you all again; you've been a huge comfort to me.

Oh my, thank you for the laugh.

Thank you all, for loving my girl and lending support especially over this past 15 months. I can't tell you how grateful I am for this community and the friends we've made here. The care packages, the harness after her amp (which I'd love to pay forward), the advice, sympathy, and virtual happy hours—all of it has meant so much. I am feeling completely bereft and rudderless without her. She was our world; our days revolved around her and her comfort. I'm trying to focus on her life as a whole and not the very end, when she must have been scared and confused. She fought so hard to stay she required a muzzle and a second sedative shot. When she finally settled and got the last shot, the end itself was swift and peaceful. It was just not the experience I had hoped for, and I feel terribly guilty. I know that's normal, but it's just excruciating when we were trying to prevent suffering and get the timing just right. I can't help feeling she wasn't ready, but I don't know that she ever would have been. I know you all have been exactly where I am—some more times than I can fathom—and it helps to know you understand. It's just so damn painful right now and I can't stop crying.

My beautiful brave girl is gone. She fought to the very end. I'll write a proper tribute when I can. Sweep. Sweep-Sweep. Sweet Pea, Peanut, Puddin’, Button, Bug. Our girl. The best first dog we could have asked for. Not always perfect but always perfect for us. It was a rocky start. I had fallen in love with her photo online. I know, you’re not supposed to do that, but can you blame me? In her heyday she literally stopped traffic, with her eyeliner and her dark mask, ears, and tail against bunny-soft fawn fur. Her foster mom never brought her to meet and greets, so someone else in the group volunteered to bring her. They got in an accident the day before. Everyone was fine, thankfully, but their van was totaled, so that plan was off. Then her foster mom decided she was going to keep her. I was so disappointed. We met some boisterous boy hounds, but none felt right. We decided to postpone our search until we returned from a vacation. When we got back, her Pending status had changed to Available again. Her foster mom had changed her mind due to her work travel schedule. We scheduled the home visit. We met Sweep and two other girls. Those two were sweet, shy girls. Sweep walked right in like she owned the place. Next hurdle: she might have cheated on her cat test; she’d shown a little too much interest while at a temp foster’s home. We had two cats, so that was priority #1. However, she was so entranced by her own reflection in the full-length mirror that she hardly noticed the cats. She did well on our stairs, enticed by Babybel cheese. She put her head in my lap. SOLD. Except. My husband, John, had a mean case of analysis paralysis. Dogs complicate your life. Could we still travel? Could we trust her uncrated with the cats? Would she have separation anxiety? He just couldn’t commit yet. So, we reluctantly agreed to let her stay on the Available list. Then the foster needed a sitter for Thanksgiving, and our adoption coordinator asked if we might be interested in that as a trial run. We agreed, picked her up, and never took her back. She went to Atlanta with us over Christmas to visit John's family and charmed everyone. She even did well with the combined 8(!!) other dogs in the house at one point. (I will never forget the sight of one of the resident Shih tzus hopping up on an ottoman to reach Sweep's backside for a doggie hello.) Yet John was still waffling until a frigid February day when we finally loaded her up to drop her off for a home visit with another family. We were both crying. The group volunteer asked John if he loved Sweep. He said “Yes, I think I do.” She said, “Then you don’t have to do this; you can still keep her.” That was it. We signed the papers and took our girl home. She adored her pop. Sweep made us laugh from day one. She did crazy zoomies when John got home from work, she was a champion leaner and roacher (including in the back seat and during nail trims), and she had the silliest, best smile with those tiny bottom teeth. We had our challenges with her: she was a major breed snob and would snark at other dogs on walks, and she had sleep startle that she never really grew out of. We dealt with a mystery limp for a couple of years that turned out to be an old racing injury. But mostly she was easy, and easy to love. She just wanted to be with her people. She loved rides, walks, and cheese and hated bananas, thunderstorms, and stupid boy cats getting in her face. We never saw it coming. John let her out one morning in March 2021 and she zoomed around and then stopped short with a yelp. She wouldn't put any weight on her back right leg. We rushed her to the e-vet, not even thinking of a broken leg because she hadn't screamed or made any sound since that one yelp. And yet that's what it was: a gnarly spiral tibia fracture. None of the specialists saw evidence of cancer either before or during the surgery to repair the break, which took place on my birthday. We felt like we'd beaten the odds. In May at follow-up x-rays, her break hadn't healed as expected. We took her back in June, and that's when they spotted the cancer. Also, a small bump on her left front leg turned out to be a soft tissue sarcoma. Although much less aggressive, this was a huge double whammy. She started chemo and the plate held steady until August, when she broke the back leg again jumping into the car. It was grotesque--the plate was bent and her leg at an impossible angle. Not even a yelp from Sweep. It was time to amputate. Until the break she was a very youthful 11 year-old, and she was feisty and spirited and we knew she could handle it. The post-amputation biopsy confirmed osteo. Her life changed a lot after the amputation. Though she did recover within a couple of weeks and her stubbornness served her well, she confined herself to our living room and the path to the back door to go outside. Sadly, no more roaching; she couldn't figure it out as a tripod. No more walks of any length. No more hanging out in my office or watching us cook dinner, no matter how many rugs I put down or begging I did. So we put four beds in the living room and she played musical beds. We threw treats for her in the yard for exercise and played games with her to stave off boredom. She ate quite well until the very end. She sought affection and still loved her rides (when they weren't to the vet). She had quality of life but it was drastically different from what she had before. In January routine x-rays revealed three tiny nodules in her lungs. We were told if we wanted to debulk the soft tissue sarcoma it was now or never, although they warned us it could come right back. We had the surgery done and got about three weeks before it started growing again. We put her on Palladia, which kept her lung mets stable for a while. Earlier this month, the first time we have actually gotten to go inside the oncologist's office with her and meet him in person, we learned that the cancer in her lungs was rapidly progressing. She was tiring easily. Any exertion would cause her to pant. She wasn't in pain, but she was worn out. Even in the short weeks since then, we could see further decline. She was still eating, getting herself in and out unassisted, smiling, and giving us "the paw" for affection, but it was time. Nashville summer would have been hell on her. Lap of Love came to the house this morning—an unseasonably cool, overcast day that allowed us to say goodbye outside. I fed her roast beef and cat food as the sedative took effect. I wish I could say it was totally peaceful, but my girl was nothing if not a fighter. She would have fought well beyond what we would ever have asked of her. I whispered how much we love her over and over, thanked her, and held her paw as she left her broken body. She was 12.7 years old, 15 months past the first leg break, and 9 months post-amp. We had 9 1/2 wonderful years with her. It wasn't enough. Now she is healthy and whole again, and we are left trying to figure out how to navigate a world without her. Taken yesterday. My still smiling Sweep.

Oh, that is a familiar scene. You tell 'em, Mark! You'll get up when you're good and roasted ready.

Happy 13th birthday, young man!

Happy birthday, lovely LaVida! Looking forward to party pics next week. I say you get extra french fries for the offense you have suffered.

I'm so sorry.

What a wonderful update. So glad to hear things are going better for everyone!

Happy birthday to the handsome Odin! Welcome to double digits!

Sorry you got the dreaded diagnosis confirmed. I am glad today is a good day, and I hope you have many more ahead. She's probably so happy to have those itchy stitches out!