For The Love of A Rescued Great Pyrenees (A Life Lesson)

Last week was a replay of something I've been through before. While husband was out of town, I noticed a change in our baby girl. (She's not the baby per se, she is one of our oldest rescues). There was a lethargy. There was a slight reluctance to eat. There was a cough. There was a stumble. I knew in my heart something had happened or was happening. I waited and watched. I monitored. I called our vet Friday morning. I said I needed to bring our girl in, but her sissy and brother needed to come too because I didn't want her to feel like she had something wrong with her (dogs have a keen sense of moods and changes and can sense anxiety) --so I loaded the car and off we went--just like we were all going in for our routine check-up. Remarkably, her brother and sister behaved really well during the car ride, me trying to reassure that all would be alright. Our baby girl hates cars. Gets car sick, always has.  

When the vet tech came in she said, It says here she has congestive heart failure. . . who made this diagnosis? I did, I said, sitting on the vet floor, holding my girl in my arms--her brother and sister standing around us, protecting. I really didn't have much else to say, plus I was on "the verge" and waited for our vet who "fit" us into her day's schedule and who I cannot thank enough for taking the time to do so and whom I'd trust my life with--to come into the room. She knows us pretty well. When she finally arrived, she said my prognosis was right. (As I said, I've been here before.) Just to be sure, she took x-rays, and then returned, turned off the lights in the exam room, flipped the film charts up on that glow screen and that's pretty much when I lost it. Trying not to get all hysterical on her. Trying to keep composed so I could remember everything being said to me. So I could repeat this to my husband later. I heard, good news and not so good news. Good news was there didn't seem to be a tumor. Bad news, she has a heart arrhythmia and that my guess that it was congestive heart failure was correct. We talked meds, next steps and what to expect in the coming days? Months? It helps Dr. Thyme has a science background. (And a good one.) He's answered many of my questions this past weekend by giving it to me in layman's terms--what and how congestive heart failure affects dogs. What exactly is happening to her and how and when we might expect the inevitable. I don't want her to suffer. And she is well over twelve years old. Past the life expectancy for a Pyr--which is about ten. (I contribute this longevity--though still not long enough if you ask me--to our absolute adoration we give her and all of our dogs.)

I can't imagine a life without dogs. (Plural.) Have had dogs my whole life. The first Great Pyrenees Dr. Thyme and I brought home came to us by way of happenstance. We happened to be at a friend's house when the neighbors let their two dogs out. Immediately my eye landed on this gorgeous, loud, barking white polar bear of a dog. I headed right to the fence and reached my hand over to give pets. She came right up to me. I said, She is beautiful! What is she? You could tell she had some piss and vinegar in her. She was sassy alright. I loved it! Next thing I knew, I was getting the breakdown on their need to find a new home for her because of a job change requiring more travel, etc.--that she was a little bit too high maintenance for them. I pulled hubby immediately over and pleaded her case to him. The rest, as they say, is history. Our first Great Pyr love story.  

The Great Pyr is a dog for someone who loves an independent, guarded, incredibly loyal companion--one of the largest dog breeds in the Working Group. They are known as the "gentle giant". They can be very stubborn. They shed. A lot. But that can be controlled by brushing--so this breed is not for the lazy or freaks who say, Ew. . . dog hair. (I have a STRONG disdain for people in this dog hair issue camp.) They are protectors of the flock. They come from the Pyrenees Mountains. They have double dew claws--these appear on the rear feet, two extra pair of claws per foot. I've read this helped the dogs manuever the steep Pyrenees mountains as they guarded the sheep. They were made an official AKC registered breed in 1933. They bark at night. That is their active time. The rest of the day, they are pretty much couch potatoes. They don't need constant attention, in fact, they will let you know when you are getting on THEIR nerves by kindly moving from one room to another to relieve themselves of unsolicited attention! And god knows, I have had my share of, "Okay, mom, enough of the petting and hugs and kisses already, 'kay?!--I need to nap!" They need six foot privacy fences because without that, they will take it upon themselves to protect any and ALL within a wide area, i.e., they wander.

I've learned a lot about myself having a Pyr in my life. I've learned that I actually am a person who really loves the company of a dog with an independent streak. One who will give you space and requires the same of you. I feel very safe with my dogs around me, they provide an incredible amount of emotional support. One of the best times of the day is when I get the cutting board and begin to prep for dinner, and in less than a minute, suddenly I am surrounded by dogs. It's carrot and pepper time! The minute they hear my knife hit the cutting board, here they all come, one big circle, ready for veggie treats. It's so funny. 

All of life has a cycle. It just so happens that most of our canine kids are in the "late" stages of their cycle. How we ended up here is one big book to be written later. For now, what I know is that watching your dog age is an object lesson. I cannot begin to count the life lessons I've gleaned from my dogs. Having a small pack of them is even more telling. (And fyi--dogs require companionship, dedication and WORK--this, too, is something I've learned along the way.) For now, I am sticking close to home. Watching. Loving. Helping. Like this morning. She would not eat breakfast. She had an accident in the house not two feet from the door. I knew immediately, we were probably not going to have a good day. She needed some prompting to eat. I put treats in the bowl. She ate half of her breakfast. (The sign: not eating. Once that goes. Well, let's just say, it's not a good sign.)

I can hear her breathing now--she naps by the door, always the protector. These past few weeks, I've noticed her sort of quietly moving away. Dogs will do that when they begin to not feel well. Take themselves somewhere else. To another corner in the house. We'll have good days and bad. But she knows we are here for her. They all know this. One day at a time for now. I give more hugs and kisses--whether she likes it or not!