Goodbye, Oscar

 

Oscar: October 17, 1994 (est.) - April 4, 2007

Sometimes life just keeps slapping you in the face. There's no reason for it, it just happens.

Oscar was a found dog, one of a litter of four puppies we found at a local dump one day in December 1994. Someone had just left them there. We found homes for the other three and kept Oscar. I'd actually wanted to keep one of the females, but I ended up being glad we got Oscar. He was the last of the four to trust anyone, and it took him awhile to trust us. But when he did it was total. He loved us the way dogs do, unconditionally and without limits or reservations. That prayer, "God, please make me the person my dog thinks I am," applied. He thought we were wonderful. He and Bogey became inseparable. I've wondered in the weeks since Bogey died if Oscar missed him, thought about him, wondered where his buddy was. We don't know what dogs think. We guess, but we can't know.

Last night when Hubby got home (about an hour before I did), he found Oscar in distress, stomach distended and in pain. When I got home I asked if he'd called the vet. Naturally he hadn't. I love my husband but sometimes I just want to swat him. Why wait for me to come home to make a decision?

The vet said there wasn't anything he could do that the emergency clinic in Columbia couldn't do better. So we drove him there. When we got into the waiting room he collapsed on the floor. Hubby had to carry him to the back.

The quick onset was a bit baffling -- he was fine yesterday morning. The shampoo and sulfur dip was working, he was feeling much better, he came up to me in the yard when I went outside so he could get his neck scratched. He ate his breakfast with enthusiasm.

He was fine.

They took xrays. The vet thought there might be something going on in his abdomen, as the picture wasn't clear and the indications of a healthy bowel weren't there. She thought it might be cancer. We left him there for the night so they could monitor him and keep him hydrated and give him pain meds, at least. When we got home it was after 1 a.m. I think they might have tried to call about a quarter to four; I was in such a stupor that by the time I realized the phone was ringing the answering machine had gotten it. There was no message.

This morning at about 5:30 I called. The vet said he'd gotten worse. He was having bloody diarrhea, when they removed the IVs to take samples he'd start sinking. He was shocky and "out of it," as she put it. She started talking about exploratory surgery to find out what was going on (the ultrasound wasn't much help -- she couldn't find a mass but his spleen was enlarged, although nothing was pointing to anything in particular). She said we could either take him home to our vet for surgery (he only does surgery on Thursdays -- that's tomorrow), or we could leave him where he was for admission into the Internal Medicine Clinic and the whole thing would cost $600 - $1200.

There was a time when that wouldn't have been an issue. Now, it is. We don't have it. She asked if I wanted to discuss it with my husband and told me I could call her back.

So we discussed it, but no money is no money. If he was doing so badly, would it be fair to put him through surgery, too?

I called her back and just flat told her we couldn't afford it. And she said the exploratory surgery might only turn up something that we couldn't do anything about, and besides which he was so weak she wasn't sure he'd survive the surgery.

I don't know why she waited until I raised the "no fundage" flag before saying that. Do they try to give you hope that something could be done, or are they trying to get as much money out of you as possible while you're emotionally vulnerable? I like those people, they do excellent work, but it was just interesting that she didn't 'fess up about Oscar's actual chances until I told her we didn't have unlimited money.

So. She asked if I was coming in and I said yes. Hubby couldn't. He had to work. I do too, but my schedule is more flexible. I'm actually supposed to be in class right now, but I'll reschedule.

It takes an hour to get from here to the clinic. I cried pretty much the whole way. They let me sit with him for awhile, and he was so miserable, panting and shifting and whimpering, even after the meds they'd given him. I think he knew it was me, but I'm not sure. They brought him into a private room so I could be with him when the vet gave him the shot, and I just stroked his head and told him it was okay, that I was right there.

And then he was gone.

Yesterday he was fine. And while I realize this is an idiotic statement to make, this is so damnably unfair.

Goodbye, Oscar. Say hello to Bogey and Sissy and Natascha and Boris and Amanda and Tooey for us.

We will miss you.