mouse
December 19th, 2003, 04:28 AM
I want to tell you about Daisie the beagle, who died this morning. I’ve written a lot, it’s therapeutic for me. Please don’t respond; I just want to tell you about her. If I’ve written too much, just skip to the photos I’ve posted.
She came into our lives six years ago. My husband was driving down a two lane highway, on his way home, when he saw a dog walking in the middle of the road. As he watched, she was nearly hit by two separate cars. When he came abreast of her, he pulled onto the shoulder and reached over to open the passenger side door. After a minute, he saw the top of the dog’s head in the open door. He said, “Come on in” and she hopped in. I got a phone call from him, saying “We have a problem.” I asked, “Car trouble?” and he explained what had happened. He said he was going to let her out in Busch Wildlife Area, where there would be less chance of her being run over. (To this day, he swears that’s what he intended to do; I’ve never believed him. I think he called me knowing full well what I would say, but this way the dog would be my responsibility.) I told him he was doing no such thing; he was to bring her home, and I promised I would find a home for her. (We already had three dogs: Missie, our old dog, Sandie, who tries to kill any dog her size or bigger, and Sophie, who can never be in the same place as Sandie.) My husband said that the stank and probably had fleas, and couldn’t possibly be allowed in the house. I told him to bring her in through the lower level; I would have a bath ready for her.
The dog did stink, worse than any dog I had ever smelled. I gave her three baths in a day and a half, and rinsed her with a vinegar solution, then with chamomile tea. She still reeked, for months. I thought she was part beagle. She was smaller and much more fine boned than any beagle I had ever seen. She was also terribly thin. I saw that her nipples were terribly misshapen, some worse than others. I was afraid she had breast cancer. When we took her to the vet, which we did in the next several days, he said that she had been bred nonstop, probably from the time of her first heat. Her nipples were misshapen because of the constant suckling of pups; he said they would shrink, but never become normal. He estimated that she was around three years old, but that from the condition of her teeth, she had lived a hardscrabble existence, and from the tears fringing her ears, she had also been used as a hunting dog. She was pregnant, but it was early enough in her pregnancy that she could be safely spayed, and that is what was done.
Missie, our old dog, had been slowly sliding towards death. She was becoming more and more inactive, not taking an interest in anything. However, Missie had always had a strong maternal instinct, and when she first saw this little dog, I could literally see her eyes light up with the thought “Baby!” Missie immediately followed the little one around, not letting her out of her sight, staying always close. By the end of the second day, I knew that I could not take this dog away from Missie, even though several people had expressed an interest in taking her, once I was able to tell them that the vet said she was a purebred beagle.
I had never known a beagle, so I did some research. I learned that they are happy-go-lucky dogs; they can’t be trusted off leash outside of a fenced yard, since they will go where their noses lead them. I learned that they come in two distinct sizes, and Daisie was definitely of the small variety.
In the meantime, Daisie did not stir from the corner of the couch she had claimed as her own for two solid months, except to eat, pee and poop. She had obviously never been in a house before, and it took a long time to housetrain her. She had apparently been kenneled on a concrete slab, because she went out of her way to go to the bathroom on the sidewalk rather than the grass (an unfortunate habit she kept until the end.)
At the end of two months, she felt secure enough that her personality started to emerge. I found out that dog proofing litterboxes against the incursions of 50 to 120 pound dogs does not proof them against very small beagles, and the beagle nose apparently finds cat **** to be a truly heavenly appetizing aroma. :rolleyes: There were other challenges: beagles are great escape artists. We lined the backyard fence with stones, put extra slats in the deck railing, and even so, from time to time there would be a beagle escape. The beagle nose would lead her astray, and she wouldn’t find the way home by herself, so there were beagle hunts.
“Beagle.” Say that word to yourself, fast, three times. You can’t help but smile. It’s one of the happiest words in the English language.
Daisie gave Missie a new lease on life. Missie played with her. I am convinced that Daisie extended Missie’s life by a good two years.
Daisie was little enough that Sandie didn’t feel threatened by her. After months of careful watching we let Sandie and Daisie be together without constant supervision, although we never left Sandie with Daisie when we left the house. The times we messed up and Sandie and Sophie got into fights, Daisie joined in, always grabbing onto Sandie’s rear leg; she apparently perceived (rightly) Sandie as the aggressor. Sandie never noticed the beagle, she was always so intent on killing Sophie. The last few years, Sandie has been apprehensive about going out into the yard; she thinks Sophie might be there. One of us has to walk out with her, or Daisie has to accompany her. Daisie was Sandie’s posse, her pack. Little did she realize Daisie fought for the other team! :eek:
At night, Daisie slept on a pillow at the head of the bed. During the day, Daisie slept on the couch, atop one of the pillow that she would paw from its upright position so she wouldn’t have to lie on the hard couch. She looked like the princess in “The Princess and the Pea”. When the temperature dipped below 65, Daisie would run for the door to be let back in as soon as she had gone to the bathroom, great shudders of cold shivering through her. She had two speeds: a quick trot, or if forced to do something she didn’t like, the agonizingly slow walk, as though lead weights were tied to her paws. I will really miss the distinctive quick pitter patter of those little beagle feet. Until she began to feel the effects of her heart condition, she traveled as the crow flies, over couches, end tables, whatever was in her direct line. She whined when she wanted to be petted, and could get you to walk across the room just to appease her.
She screamed when she thought she might get hurt, rather than waiting for an actual hurt. Sophie hates having anyone touch her paws, and absolutely will not allow me to clip her nails. The first time we took Sophie to the vet for a nail clipping between visits to the groomer, I took Daisie along, thinking that she might have a calming influence on Sophie. The vet decided that she would do Daisie first. As soon as she picked up the clippers and turned to Daisie, Daisie started screaming, and didn’t stop until her claws were all clipped. Sophie, on the other hand, was as good as gold; I think she may have been completely cowed by Daisie’s torture. :D
Some women run with wolves. I howled with a beagle. I would throw my head back and howl; then Daisie would howl; then I again, and so on, until my throat hurt. I think she enjoyed it as much as I did.
Last year, the vet noticed a heart murmur. We took Daisie to a specialist. The valve leading into the heart didn’t close properly, causing a backwash of blood, which in turn caused the heart to work harder. Her heart was enlarged. There was nothing to be done except to treat the symptoms, make her more comfortable. She had been declining dramatically the last month and a half. She had a good day yesterday, and then a terrible night. She died at eight this morning. A week and a half ago, when she and I last saw the specialist, he said, “Her heart is enormous.” He was right. It was enormous.
She came into our lives six years ago. My husband was driving down a two lane highway, on his way home, when he saw a dog walking in the middle of the road. As he watched, she was nearly hit by two separate cars. When he came abreast of her, he pulled onto the shoulder and reached over to open the passenger side door. After a minute, he saw the top of the dog’s head in the open door. He said, “Come on in” and she hopped in. I got a phone call from him, saying “We have a problem.” I asked, “Car trouble?” and he explained what had happened. He said he was going to let her out in Busch Wildlife Area, where there would be less chance of her being run over. (To this day, he swears that’s what he intended to do; I’ve never believed him. I think he called me knowing full well what I would say, but this way the dog would be my responsibility.) I told him he was doing no such thing; he was to bring her home, and I promised I would find a home for her. (We already had three dogs: Missie, our old dog, Sandie, who tries to kill any dog her size or bigger, and Sophie, who can never be in the same place as Sandie.) My husband said that the stank and probably had fleas, and couldn’t possibly be allowed in the house. I told him to bring her in through the lower level; I would have a bath ready for her.
The dog did stink, worse than any dog I had ever smelled. I gave her three baths in a day and a half, and rinsed her with a vinegar solution, then with chamomile tea. She still reeked, for months. I thought she was part beagle. She was smaller and much more fine boned than any beagle I had ever seen. She was also terribly thin. I saw that her nipples were terribly misshapen, some worse than others. I was afraid she had breast cancer. When we took her to the vet, which we did in the next several days, he said that she had been bred nonstop, probably from the time of her first heat. Her nipples were misshapen because of the constant suckling of pups; he said they would shrink, but never become normal. He estimated that she was around three years old, but that from the condition of her teeth, she had lived a hardscrabble existence, and from the tears fringing her ears, she had also been used as a hunting dog. She was pregnant, but it was early enough in her pregnancy that she could be safely spayed, and that is what was done.
Missie, our old dog, had been slowly sliding towards death. She was becoming more and more inactive, not taking an interest in anything. However, Missie had always had a strong maternal instinct, and when she first saw this little dog, I could literally see her eyes light up with the thought “Baby!” Missie immediately followed the little one around, not letting her out of her sight, staying always close. By the end of the second day, I knew that I could not take this dog away from Missie, even though several people had expressed an interest in taking her, once I was able to tell them that the vet said she was a purebred beagle.
I had never known a beagle, so I did some research. I learned that they are happy-go-lucky dogs; they can’t be trusted off leash outside of a fenced yard, since they will go where their noses lead them. I learned that they come in two distinct sizes, and Daisie was definitely of the small variety.
In the meantime, Daisie did not stir from the corner of the couch she had claimed as her own for two solid months, except to eat, pee and poop. She had obviously never been in a house before, and it took a long time to housetrain her. She had apparently been kenneled on a concrete slab, because she went out of her way to go to the bathroom on the sidewalk rather than the grass (an unfortunate habit she kept until the end.)
At the end of two months, she felt secure enough that her personality started to emerge. I found out that dog proofing litterboxes against the incursions of 50 to 120 pound dogs does not proof them against very small beagles, and the beagle nose apparently finds cat **** to be a truly heavenly appetizing aroma. :rolleyes: There were other challenges: beagles are great escape artists. We lined the backyard fence with stones, put extra slats in the deck railing, and even so, from time to time there would be a beagle escape. The beagle nose would lead her astray, and she wouldn’t find the way home by herself, so there were beagle hunts.
“Beagle.” Say that word to yourself, fast, three times. You can’t help but smile. It’s one of the happiest words in the English language.
Daisie gave Missie a new lease on life. Missie played with her. I am convinced that Daisie extended Missie’s life by a good two years.
Daisie was little enough that Sandie didn’t feel threatened by her. After months of careful watching we let Sandie and Daisie be together without constant supervision, although we never left Sandie with Daisie when we left the house. The times we messed up and Sandie and Sophie got into fights, Daisie joined in, always grabbing onto Sandie’s rear leg; she apparently perceived (rightly) Sandie as the aggressor. Sandie never noticed the beagle, she was always so intent on killing Sophie. The last few years, Sandie has been apprehensive about going out into the yard; she thinks Sophie might be there. One of us has to walk out with her, or Daisie has to accompany her. Daisie was Sandie’s posse, her pack. Little did she realize Daisie fought for the other team! :eek:
At night, Daisie slept on a pillow at the head of the bed. During the day, Daisie slept on the couch, atop one of the pillow that she would paw from its upright position so she wouldn’t have to lie on the hard couch. She looked like the princess in “The Princess and the Pea”. When the temperature dipped below 65, Daisie would run for the door to be let back in as soon as she had gone to the bathroom, great shudders of cold shivering through her. She had two speeds: a quick trot, or if forced to do something she didn’t like, the agonizingly slow walk, as though lead weights were tied to her paws. I will really miss the distinctive quick pitter patter of those little beagle feet. Until she began to feel the effects of her heart condition, she traveled as the crow flies, over couches, end tables, whatever was in her direct line. She whined when she wanted to be petted, and could get you to walk across the room just to appease her.
She screamed when she thought she might get hurt, rather than waiting for an actual hurt. Sophie hates having anyone touch her paws, and absolutely will not allow me to clip her nails. The first time we took Sophie to the vet for a nail clipping between visits to the groomer, I took Daisie along, thinking that she might have a calming influence on Sophie. The vet decided that she would do Daisie first. As soon as she picked up the clippers and turned to Daisie, Daisie started screaming, and didn’t stop until her claws were all clipped. Sophie, on the other hand, was as good as gold; I think she may have been completely cowed by Daisie’s torture. :D
Some women run with wolves. I howled with a beagle. I would throw my head back and howl; then Daisie would howl; then I again, and so on, until my throat hurt. I think she enjoyed it as much as I did.
Last year, the vet noticed a heart murmur. We took Daisie to a specialist. The valve leading into the heart didn’t close properly, causing a backwash of blood, which in turn caused the heart to work harder. Her heart was enlarged. There was nothing to be done except to treat the symptoms, make her more comfortable. She had been declining dramatically the last month and a half. She had a good day yesterday, and then a terrible night. She died at eight this morning. A week and a half ago, when she and I last saw the specialist, he said, “Her heart is enormous.” He was right. It was enormous.