Thursday, May 3, 2012

We’ll meet you at the river Styx
It’s been a while and a lot of things have changed, I’m onto about my 5th job and reluctantly spending the majority of my time working and living in the capital. But one thing that hasn’t changed is that I’m still a territorial bitch who loves my dog’s more then I could any human. It’s been 5 years since Judy died, I’ve gotten older and so have my dogs. Our little pack of 10 has grown into what feels more like a family. Especially in the last 6 months. I guess the transformation started taking place last year when I had just finished my shift at work when I received a phone call from my home saying that one of my dog’s, Meg had been bitten by a snake. It’s one of those moments where your mind just goes blank, and your body reacts completely on it’s own. She had made it the vet but not only was Meg a 13 year old dog with a medical history that defied reality this was her second snake bite in 3 years. It was normally a two and half hour drive home but I managed to drive it in a little over an hour. She was dead when she had arrived at the vet but, after 2 anti-venins and a vet who I have come to consider a God over the years she was brought back to life. Within 5 hours she was back at home with me. Although that night it was touch and go she had at least another 8 hours before she was in the clear, sitting up with her that night I realised it was times like these people who believed in God had it so much easier because they could at least pray for help. During that 24-hour period I had 3 dogs bitten by snakes on 3 separate occasions and there were a total of 4 snakes killed.
My vet bills were tremendous, and it was a wonder I didn’t develop brain damage from the amount of times I went into shock and stopped breathing. But we all made it through, with no side affects, except for the emotion ones.

But I guess it was that 24 hours that brought the next heart wrenching 6 months into play. It was discovered that Meg had developed Canine Dementia. There had been signs here and there but now it was official, it was hard news to heard but what was devastating was that it was also discovered that she had Canine Breast Cancer. The shock I had just gone was nothing in comparison to hearing that she only had 6 months to live. The shock was rapidly consumed by complete denial.

I got Meg when I was 11 years old. She was my first Kelpie and to say I adored her was an understatement, she was my absolute pride and joy. I remember she was only 6 weeks old and we’d just brought her home, my sister had left these little dumbbell weights laying around on the floor and I was in the kitchen getting Meg some food and was greeted by her carrying one of these weights that were as big as her in her mouth. It was obvious she was one strong dog.
2 days later we had to rush her to the vet and she was diagnosed with Canine parvovirus. It had only been 2 days but I was completely attached to her and being a child thought my work was about to end. She spent a week in the vet before she was released. And within a few weeks was back to her fighting fit self.
A few years later there were 2 separate incidents where her eye was pierced while she was working sheep in saffron thistles. The first being the worst, with her eye hemorrhaging and turning into what looked like glazed cherry. By the age of 3 she had a reputation with the vet in my hometown.

When she was 3, she had her first litter of puppies. And quickly gained a new reputation as being the mother of the mutant puppies. No one had ever seen kelpie pups born so big and they grew into some of the largest and toughest working dogs out west. Being known as the ultimate truck dogs.

The first time I ever met my current vet was 10 years ago, Meg had being poisoned. She had found a fox carcass and thought it’s be fun to run off with it. She was extremely lucky to have survived because the fox had residues from the lethal 1080.

It was about 3 years ago that things I started to realise that maybe Meg was getting old. That was the first time she was bitten by a brown snake. On the way to the vet her heart had stopped but they had managed to revive her. It took its toll on her body and she struggled for a year after that. That wasn’t to say that she’d even considered giving up. We had kept one of her puppies from her first litter (Murtle) and mother and daughter lived together in a large yard. In the middle of their yard there was a huge pine tree. Sometimes there would be a huge ruckus coming from their yard and Murtle would be sitting at the base of this tree looking up and barking. At first I panicked because I couldn’t find Meg anywhere and couldn’t figure out what was going on. Until I heard the barking coming from up in the tree. There was Meg stuck up the goddamn tree. The first time I had to get her down we damn near both broke our necks. But after the 5th time it was just routine.


I have always thought of Meg as the little lady of our pack, but truth be told she was probably more like an Amazon warrior, nothing could beat her, she was kicked out of every single vet surgery she was ever treated at. Most dogs would have to stay over night or a few days after being treated for something so serious. Every one of her admittance resulted in a phone call telling me to come and pick her up because she was trying to tear the cage apart, or if I’d called to see how she was going I could always hear her barking in the background lol.

So when the vet told me the devastating news I found it impossible to believe. This was my little warrior, nothing could beat her.
The tumours started advancing quickly but there was a light of hope, with surgery she could have an extra 12 months. It was a risky procedure with her age and medical history. But I had complete faith in her fighting spirit. She was released that night and seeing how weak she looked it was the first slap in the face from reality. But by 2 am she was up and walking. It was funnily reassuring how much she hated me after the surgery. She wouldn’t look at me, and the only time she’d come near me it was to growl at me as if to say ‘f**k you’ lol. It reminded me so much of when she was little. When ever I had to go away it would take at least a week before she would look at me lol.

A month later a new set of tumours emerged and these ones were far more aggressive then the last. I just wanted to bawl, but once again denial kicked in. My little warrior could fight this, she beat it once she’ll do it again. Realities second slap in the face came when the vets said that it was looking like she had a rare extremely aggressive type of breast cancer. They could only perform the one last surgery and pray that it’ll work this time. It was looking great, everyone was optimistic until a few weeks later a new tumour emerged. It was realities final sucker punch. After only 3 days I got the news that she only had 24 hours at most. But as if the sucker punch wasn’t enough, I was forced to make the decision, to have her put down. The amount of suffering she would have to go through if I didn’t was beyond cruel.

We’d known for about a week it was coming. She fought her bravest and hardest but she had reached her limit. I know that dogs can’t talk but there was a point where it was as if she just said ‘this is it’. I hadn’t cried that hard since Judy had died but I was determined that our last week together I would spoil her absolutely rotten and give her a warriors farewell.

It was only 5 days before the 5th year anniversary of Judy’s death. It’s left me wondering how many times the human soul can be completely shattered before it can no longer be put back together.

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