Four days before Christmas our beloved older cocker spaniel, Carly was definitively diagnosed with a form of terminal cancer. I stood in my vet's office in shock and denial. What was supposed to be a minor procedure had uncovered the deadly disease. It had started several weeks before when I accidentally stepped on her foot. My clumsiness had caused the collision in front of the oven where she liked to sit. It seemed innocent enough at the time and after examining it I didn't see much to worry about. She did not appear to be seriously hurt as she continued to walk and put pressure on it. And now this. It seemed like only yesterday Carly had become a part of our lives.
She came to us in July 2000 for fostering and well, she just ended up staying. It wasn't our intention to keep her; on the contrary every attempt to find her a loving home was pursued. At 10 years (or older) it wasn't going to be easy to find her a home. In addition to her age and deafness she also had several medical afflictions that were troubling. We started out by going to the veterinarian to find out just what ailed her and if we were in fact doing right by her. As we waited in the lobby her stumpy tail wiggled and jiggled at each incoming patient human, canine or otherwise. Surely, I thought if she were in serious discomfort she wouldn't be so happy and animated. During the vet exam she was gentle and well mannered. The attending veterinarian called the next day to review the findings with me. Carly had arthritis in both back legs, one was a little worse than the other was, she needed her filthy ears flushed, her teeth cleaned and the lumps on her side were fatty deposits. Her blood and urine tests all read within normal range and she was already spayed. I asked about the seriousness of the arthritis and was told it was manageable at the present stage and she could get around at her own pace. Plus I was told of a medication that could help with the arthritis. All the news was good considering what it could have been. We went ahead with Carly's 'fix up' and I brought her home to recuperate. She immediately fit in like a well-worn shoe with the other dogs and after only a few days she was 'one of the girls'. My other dogs seemed to sense that Carly was somewhat limited in her capabilities and adjusted accordingly. She liked our two sons especially when they were eating. After a week of recuperating and with the help of our local SPCA we began the search for Carly's new home. We started by posting her picture and profile on the petfinder site and then the day came when I took her to the shelter for adoption. I had tried several alternate avenues to try and find her a home privately but I was unsuccessful. She again wiggled and jiggled her stump as the staff fawned over and petted her. I left the shelter feeling the familiar void and emptiness that accompanies the surrender of a foster dog. Was I doing the right thing? Would she find someone worthy and appropriate? Would she be over-looked due to her age? My questions were quickly answered when Cathy, the shelter manager called me several days later to tell me a lovely retired woman had adopted Carly. In fact, they had given the lady my phone number in case she wanted to call. I was elated and the timing couldn't have been better because our family was scheduled to leave for a summer vacation that week and I could now go knowing Carly was cozy in her new home. Just before we left on our trip I called the shelter on a whim to leave them a cell number on the off chance Carly's new owner needed to call. Sure enough, the woman called with questions and I answered them the best I could. She sounded positive when we hung up so I carried on with vacationing until the next call came. This time it was from the shelter saying the woman had returned Carly. I couldn't believe my ears! Evidently, she came to the conclusion that Carly had something wrong with her rear end and she had too many problems. The staff had given the woman all the health records, everything that could be done, had been done. I just didn't understand. I told the girl on the phone from the shelter that I would come and pick Carly up after we returned to the city. My husband Ian couldn't help but overhear the conversation and as we looked at each other we both knew that Carly was about to become part of our family. I picked her up as soon as we returned. She was excited to see a familiar face as she again wiggled over to say hello. Back home I saw immediately what the woman was talking about with the rear end as Carly slid along the kitchen floor in a scooting motion. She simply needed her anal glands emptied so off we went to my veterinarian.
And here I was a year and a half later looking at the same man in disbelief. Cancer, he said it. I just didn't want to hear it. What about Christmas and her special turkey dinner? If there was one thing Carly enjoyed it was eating. My boys used to call her the bread monster. I have never met a dog that loves bread products like Carly. Once on our way up to visit the in-laws she was sitting on her quilt in the back of the car and we suddenly heard rattling sounds. There was Carly unwrapping a six pack of bagels looking quite smug. Her deafness often led to misunderstandings with the other 'girls'. Being such a chow hound she would frequently eat her own dinner and then head over to see how everyone else was doing (I guess she didn't realize that not all dogs inhale food). Omitting a low warning growl did nothing since Carly could not hear. The other dogs soon learned that Carly had to see their objections to respond and it worked out just fine. Carly would politely back away and wait patiently before scavenging any leftovers. Not once did a fight erupt, not once. Carly was a deep sleeper and was often found stretched out in the corner of my little office. If one of the boys had a friend over chaos would break loose as the doorbell sounded until the invader had been thoroughly checked over. Carly would sleep right through the pandemonium and then waking an hour later would discover the intruder and sound the alarm barking with great gusto. The other dogs would look at her as if to say "been there done that, where have you been"? No matter, Carly was her own woman even if her timing was a little off. Some nights she would snore so loudly we swore the room would vibrate. On several occasions I took to the couch for peace and quiet.
We stood in silence looking at Carly. "It is an aggressive cancer, but she can have Christmas" my vet finally spoke and then looked the other way. I knew what that meant; she did not have much time. I left with my bundle of black cocker tucked closely under my arm as tears flowed freely down my face. She had Christmas with all the trimmings and then some. I set her up in the living room on a mattress where she could rest and I could keep an eye on her. If she needed me she would bark from her mattress and I would 'come hither'. I watched closely for any signs of physical and/or emotional deterioration. It was only a matter of a week when those signs started showing. They started off subtly when she would sleep way past her usual waking time, then she had trouble putting the affected foot down and began hobbling putting a strain on her already arthritic back legs. Her foot, where the cancer was detected, was literally growing daily and looked like little sprouting cauliflower heads. Ian and I started taking turns carrying her outside so she could eliminate. Then the day came when she collapsed by the water bowl as she was trying to get a drink. I quickly scooped her up and placed her on her mattress and brought her in a drink. She looked at me almost embarrassed and I knew she was starting to lose her dignity, something I couldn't let happen. I lay beside her and stroked her now dry, flaky coat and kissed her head over and over. Carly would not suffer and she would not lose her self-respect, I called my vet to tell him it was time. On the way to his clinic we made a detour to Macdonald's for two plain cheeseburgers, her all time favourite. God bless you Miss Carly. We will meet again over the Rainbow Bridge where you can once more walk and hear.