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Toby, "Little Piddler" Thanks for being my dog
He died quite a few years ago now (October 1999) but he shall never be forgotten. His grave is covered with beautiful spring flowers and crystals, as it has been since that first spring.
He used to chase things in the sky....anything that flew, or showed up over the horizon. He used to take off chasing the moon. (Had a devil of a job getting him back again)
He used to bark and run around in the back field, pouncing on 'invisible mice' (my husband and I used to call them, because when we watched, he had never caught anything, just leapt back up grinning, spun around and went off running) His nickname was "The Piddler" because he cocked his leg on anything (outside, of course) that stood still long enough.
He was a happy dog, and lived to be 14.
The last few weeks were hard. He'd had lots of scrapes in his life, but overcame everything with that special tenacity and love of life that Jack Russells have. Never anything deadly serious. He was pronounced fit and well at his last booster and health check (September 1999)
One day a friend visited. He sat watching TV in the afternoon, eating toast and snacks. I had to go and fetch firewood and took Toby with me as usual. Toby was hanging back, didn't want to go on the walk. I knew it was because he wanted to go back and beg for food treats!
(or so I thought)
So I wasn't going to let him get away with it. I called him to come to me and when he didn't I got a bit disciplinarian.
Then when he still wouldn't follow me, I lost my patience with him, and shouted at him! (not very loudly, but with what I now know I am so sorry I did that) I turned him on his back in the grass and told him I was in charge and he better jolly well keep up with me! (I still thought it was basically greed making him hang back)
When we got home I suddenly found myself crying. I didn't know why. What I was feeling seemed more urgent than just because we'd had a difference of opinion. Toby came up to me and licked my face. That moment was indescribable. We sat in silence awhile and he leaned on me and I hugged him and apologised.
The next day he stood in the middle of a field when we were on a walk, and shivered. I knew something was wrong. Later, he wouldn't eat. That was unheard-of. I immediately took him to the vet. They gave him some stomach med, said he probably had a stomach upset. When we got back, Toby ate. Panic over.
But it happened again a couple of times (the shivering, the not eating)
I took him back to the vet early one morning for them to run some tests, and X rays for which he needed anesthetic. I had to leave him there and wait for the vet to call to say he was ready to go home.
Then the vet rang me: "I'm sorry, we have some very bad news for you" the lady said, "He has a huge tumor on his prostate, and the position of it makes it completely inoperable. It's very knobbly and hard, and I can tell from the Xray and the blood samples that it is malignant. Do you want me to wake him up?"
(Do I.....?? Of course I do. We're not ready....he's not ready, I'm not ready for this....he's all I've got.....what am I going to do without my dog??)
Wake him up. Yes.
He came home with a bottle of Rimadyl. I said I didn't want to keep him alive on painkillers. He ate, he ran and had fun. I dug his grave in the garden. He came up, looked at the hole I was digging, got in there and dug away like crazy. It was too much. I was choked.
We tried female hormone shots, my dearest wish was they would shrink the tumor! He seemed to respond. The vet did another Xray and said the tumor was definitely smaller. One part of it had appeared to wither slightly.
I filled the grave in again. We were going to make it. No matter that he was 14, he was still so full of energy and love of life. We had a fabulous time in a beautiful Indian Summer.
Suddenly that stopped. Suddenly one night he couldn't pee. Not a drop. Something had happened. He began to whinge and whine. I rushed him to the out of hours vet at midnight. She tried all manner of medicines, sent us home for them to kick in, and said to ring back in the morning if he was no better.
They didn't work. I hugged him and said that we were in a bit of trouble, but I would see him alright. I would help him.
The vet came so quickly when I called her. She was crying when she left. He "fell asleep" forever, in my arms by the log fire.
I watched over his body all night till the early morning when I went out and dug the grave again. A fine misty rain was coming down. The weather had turned. Toby always hated rain.
My grief was visceral. I couldn't eat for days and days. I couldn't even cry, there was too much pain in me to cry.
I painted a picture of him. When the painting was finished, I cried.
The Faerie People With Toby. This is the only picture I have of him.
Anyway, my heart is healed now. But I will never ever forget you, Little Piddler. Thank you for being my dog and my friend.
He used to chase things in the sky....anything that flew, or showed up over the horizon. He used to take off chasing the moon. (Had a devil of a job getting him back again)
He used to bark and run around in the back field, pouncing on 'invisible mice' (my husband and I used to call them, because when we watched, he had never caught anything, just leapt back up grinning, spun around and went off running) His nickname was "The Piddler" because he cocked his leg on anything (outside, of course) that stood still long enough.
He was a happy dog, and lived to be 14.
The last few weeks were hard. He'd had lots of scrapes in his life, but overcame everything with that special tenacity and love of life that Jack Russells have. Never anything deadly serious. He was pronounced fit and well at his last booster and health check (September 1999)
One day a friend visited. He sat watching TV in the afternoon, eating toast and snacks. I had to go and fetch firewood and took Toby with me as usual. Toby was hanging back, didn't want to go on the walk. I knew it was because he wanted to go back and beg for food treats!
(or so I thought)
So I wasn't going to let him get away with it. I called him to come to me and when he didn't I got a bit disciplinarian.
Then when he still wouldn't follow me, I lost my patience with him, and shouted at him! (not very loudly, but with what I now know I am so sorry I did that) I turned him on his back in the grass and told him I was in charge and he better jolly well keep up with me! (I still thought it was basically greed making him hang back)
When we got home I suddenly found myself crying. I didn't know why. What I was feeling seemed more urgent than just because we'd had a difference of opinion. Toby came up to me and licked my face. That moment was indescribable. We sat in silence awhile and he leaned on me and I hugged him and apologised.
The next day he stood in the middle of a field when we were on a walk, and shivered. I knew something was wrong. Later, he wouldn't eat. That was unheard-of. I immediately took him to the vet. They gave him some stomach med, said he probably had a stomach upset. When we got back, Toby ate. Panic over.
But it happened again a couple of times (the shivering, the not eating)
I took him back to the vet early one morning for them to run some tests, and X rays for which he needed anesthetic. I had to leave him there and wait for the vet to call to say he was ready to go home.
Then the vet rang me: "I'm sorry, we have some very bad news for you" the lady said, "He has a huge tumor on his prostate, and the position of it makes it completely inoperable. It's very knobbly and hard, and I can tell from the Xray and the blood samples that it is malignant. Do you want me to wake him up?"
(Do I.....?? Of course I do. We're not ready....he's not ready, I'm not ready for this....he's all I've got.....what am I going to do without my dog??)
Wake him up. Yes.
He came home with a bottle of Rimadyl. I said I didn't want to keep him alive on painkillers. He ate, he ran and had fun. I dug his grave in the garden. He came up, looked at the hole I was digging, got in there and dug away like crazy. It was too much. I was choked.
We tried female hormone shots, my dearest wish was they would shrink the tumor! He seemed to respond. The vet did another Xray and said the tumor was definitely smaller. One part of it had appeared to wither slightly.
I filled the grave in again. We were going to make it. No matter that he was 14, he was still so full of energy and love of life. We had a fabulous time in a beautiful Indian Summer.
Suddenly that stopped. Suddenly one night he couldn't pee. Not a drop. Something had happened. He began to whinge and whine. I rushed him to the out of hours vet at midnight. She tried all manner of medicines, sent us home for them to kick in, and said to ring back in the morning if he was no better.
They didn't work. I hugged him and said that we were in a bit of trouble, but I would see him alright. I would help him.
The vet came so quickly when I called her. She was crying when she left. He "fell asleep" forever, in my arms by the log fire.
I watched over his body all night till the early morning when I went out and dug the grave again. A fine misty rain was coming down. The weather had turned. Toby always hated rain.
My grief was visceral. I couldn't eat for days and days. I couldn't even cry, there was too much pain in me to cry.
I painted a picture of him. When the painting was finished, I cried.
The Faerie People With Toby. This is the only picture I have of him.
Anyway, my heart is healed now. But I will never ever forget you, Little Piddler. Thank you for being my dog and my friend.
I agree it would be very nice if dogs lived longer. They no way live long enough. And I don't know about anyone else, but the older I get, the faster the years seem to speed by!
But I would prefer Misty (my dog now) to go before me. One apprehension of mine (which probably won't happen, but anyway...) is that I would die before her! I would hate to leave her all alone in this world. I would rather bear that pain of losing a loved one than having her go through it.
But I would prefer Misty (my dog now) to go before me. One apprehension of mine (which probably won't happen, but anyway...) is that I would die before her! I would hate to leave her all alone in this world. I would rather bear that pain of losing a loved one than having her go through it.
Ginger, your story touched me and I just love the beautiful painting you created. You are quite talented. Your story is very similar to mine right down to the Rymadyl, which my Toby hated. You are blessed that you were chosen to be Toby's mom and he your doggie child and God utilized you and the vet to make the most humane act of love for Toby and not prolong painful suffering. May be free and run as fast as he can and as far as he wishes, because I trust that one day in God's time, you will see your precious Toby again. Thank you for sharing your story. Hugs.
Ginger, we too had a dog that died quite a few years ago from cancer, and when I read the part about digging your dogs grave, it brought back memories. My son was digging Lucys grave because we new what was coming, he turns around and the dog was sitting there watching him. He totally lost it, he loved that dog a lot. I had a bond with that dog that I've never had before, and Ive had a lot of dogs. She lived to be fifteen, but it wasn't nearly long enough. Sometimes I think people who raise turtles or parrots are really smart, their pets live as long as them, which would be really nice.
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