Big Paws Only Dog Forums

We rescued Newman in November 2006.

http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=666714880

Tomorrow morning I'm leaving at about 6 or 7 am to drive 4-5 hours to Goldendale, Washington, home of Happy Tails Rottweiler Rescue to meet the five or so candidates Toni (Happy Tails Rescue Angel) has picked for me and Little Betti to meet. I'm pretty excited. I have no idea who our new family member will be, but Toni says she has a magic formula and that there is one Rottie in particular that she feels is perfect, but she wants to wait and see we choose the same one.

I'll keep you posted.

On Friday, Greta's tail was still wagging. She was so happy to see me when I got home from work, but she hardly ate any of her dinner. Yesterday I cooked a salmon steak and coaxed her with hand-feeding until she finally ate it all, but she still didn't eat enough. Nor did she eat her dinner last night--just a few bites, so I put it in the fridge for this morning. I tried to feed her salmon this morning, but she wouldn't eat one bite...she just spit it out. This morning she can no longer stand up. I called the vet's office yesterday, but just in time for closing and the earliest he can come to the house is Monday evening. I could take her to pet emergency, but I don't want a stranger in a strange place putting her to sleep for the last time.

I have her on a sleeping bag and slid her into the living room. I'm going to pick up some doggie diapers and baby food to see if she'll eat it.

I have no doubt now that this is our last day, or these are our last couple of days. She has told me clearly that it's time. I just wish it hadn't happened on the weekend. And it happened suddenly. She began wimpering during the night, refusing food, and unable to stand--suddenly.

I'm trying to hang in there, because I know she needs me.

Thank you all for your support. I can't put into words the difference it makes to be able to come here and post these intimate details, to share them and know that someone else can relate to what we're going through and support us.

My baby girl, my Greta, used to take me for walks along Greenlake where all the people went to play. In-line skaters, daters, puppies, duckies, old men, and old women; jocks with pinstripe shorts and girls with pink cell phones, jogging. We did this several times per week, stopping at outdoor cafes where sparrows hopped from table to table and around our feet. Sometimes we cut across the street and headed toward the zoo, where she would raise her rubber nose and it would move askew—the nose of a grizzly in the air.
 
Other times she took me to the beach where she would wade amid the sea grass, the smell of barnacles and salt on my skin, as we watched clam diggers and she peed in the Sound. I told her it would take a hundred some odd years for that pee to filter out to sea, but she just blinked at me as if I were stupid. "I know," I said. "You're far superior."
 
She is. The trail we hiked near the Little Quil River was steep and green. The stumps were eerie creatures that loomed in silence everywhere. We saw the same stump, at the same time, and we must have had the same chill run down our spines, for she looked at me and I looked at her and we booked it back down the trail.
 
My baby girl is not a coward. She stood at the door with her companion Lou and warned the murderer at my door. Granddad was home alone, watching a baseball game. He said he heard a terrible commotion: Greta and Lou snarling at the door. Later, he heard a scream. The dangerous man had given up and crossed the street where he killed someone else instead.
 
She knows when I am sad and the kind of company I require. The week after I lost grandma, we climbed a hill overlooking the sea. Alone we sat and she leaned on me, her warm shoulder against my face. A raven sat in the tree above, squawking loudly in protest. Yet, my baby girl did not budge; she was the sun's rays as light dissolved behind the Olympics. She knew all I needed at the time I needed it—something no one else could replace. Her presence took command of grief. She was like a bear, one thousand pounds more, and a stoic, solid, gentle beast.
 
I can say a hundred sentences and see her eyes light up. She loves to watch a fishing show, or cats and dogs on tv. Even more, she likes to see the salmon swim upstream. Mention of a car ride tips her head, then she tips her head the other way when I mention someone's name—anyone she has known. Dinner is exciting, and of course so is camping, walking, and the beach. All she wants is to run, though never will again.
 
The cancer is eating her leg away. Each day I watch her closely, waiting for her to tell me she's too tired to continue. But each day she wags her stumpy tail and nudges my hand if I stop petting her. She wants the brush along her body, cooked salmon, and to sniff the evening air. She's carried in and out and given fresh water. All the treatments in the world will not bring her back to me. So I wait each day and take her in—burying my face in her sweet neck, telling her what a good girl she is, and how I love her so. I tell her I would not clone her—not for a billion dollars, because I would not want to see her live out another life of pain.
 
She's done her best, my baby girl. She's wonderful to me. She's the reason I could breathe, laugh, and sleep so many days and nights. Nine years we've spent together, watching sunsets and driving in the middle of no where. In tents, against my body, she was there to warm and protect me. She held me up to standards I could not hold to myself.
 
Now I must watch her go, my baby girl.

Recently, someone asked me about Lola, the pup who is posted on my profile with Greta, Lou, and Betti. Lola is the puppy my sister picked up in New Mexico. She was running along the highway in the middle of the desert. As a favor to my sister I will post here that she is looking for a home for Lola. Following are photographs. My sister lives in Spokane, Washington which is near the Idaho/Washington border. She may be willing to drive Lola to the right home if it is not too far, or if she can make a weekend trip.

I hope you can help. I want to know Lola will find a good home. She has a lot of energy and is best suited to someone who wants a small to medium-sized dog that would excel at agility. I sponsored Lola's spay operation and her shots. She is approximately nine months old now and would love a home where she can go for runs, car rides, walks, camping, etc. She gets along well with other dogs, but she needs obedience training. Although she sits and she comes when called, she has missed out on a lot of socializing so she would need to become used to children. I would recommend a home without small children.

Greta enjoys stretching out in the cool grass, but only if me (or Au) accompany her. She sniffs the air and looks up at the sky. If it's night, she appears to be scanning the universe, noticing stars and other galaxies. If it's day, she follows the paths of birds or planes that glide overhead.