Monday, April 16, 2012

A to Z: Negligence (Warning: Morose & Morbid)

Frida died Saturday afternoon. It was my fault.






You may or may not know I love animals. You may or may not know I've rescued several dogs from the street. Some I bring home, bathe and feed, take to the vet, get them their shots and basic medical care (including spaying or neutering). When they're in good shape, I look for a home for them.

I'm worse than any adoption agency in terms of selection, and I rarely find acceptable parents. That's why I've given away only two dogs, and why I've kept four.

Frida was our second dog, and the first one my boyfriend named. She came to us in November 2008, skinny and terrified of everything. She looked like a miniature strawberry-blond Chow Chow. We had no way of knowing how old she was. The vet guessed around four or five--she'd had puppies maybe twice, but her teeth were worn, and her chin showed a few white hairs.

Frida was a sensitive dog, very quiet, painfully meek. She must have known hunger, but she always waited politely for her food. Sometimes she wouldn't eat, but just as we started to worry, she'd start again. She gained some weight, built up some muscle. With time, she stopped flinching at sudden movements, and learned to play--apparently she'd never seen a ball, had never had one thrown for her.

She liked to sleep on top of flower pots, we could never figure out why.

My favorite image is of her at St. Jorisbaai, a semi-beach area where I take the dogs free-ranging. She'd pump her short little legs to keep up with her bigger sisters. The wind would flap her short ears, make the tufts of her tail flutter. Tongue lolling, racing back and forth, she was the picture of happiness.

A week ago she didn't seem to have much of an appetite. On Tuesday she didn't eat at all, and on Wednesday again--nothing. I took her to the vet on Thursday, and he said she had tick fever. Those hideous parasites are everywhere in this island, impossible to eradicate even with Frontline and weekly anti-tick baths. She got a triple shot of antibiotics as the start of a two-week course.

Bloodwork showed her white cell count was up; she was fighting some kind of infection, but there wasn't a fever. The vet said let's watch her over the weekend. If she didn't improve, we'd get more extensive bloodwork done on Monday.

But we were out of time. On Friday I had to force-feed the antibiotic down her throat because she wouldn't eat it, not even wrapped in a chunk of liverwurst. She did want water. Except she threw it up every time.

In the afternoon I called the vet, and he suggested we put her on an IV for the weekend. She'd get enough fluids (and the antibiotic she needed). On Monday, when the lab opened, we'd get more blood tests done.

I took her to the vet's office Saturday morning. She had no fight left in her, so the IV in her front paw went without a hitch. We put her in a plastic transportation kennel with a clean towel of mine. The vet shooed me out and told me he'd call later to give me an update.

When I saw her last, she was looking out at me from behind the metal of the kennel door, panting. Her eyes were wide and scared, and a little voice told me, don't leave--she's too sensitive, too weak. 


I left anyway.

At four o'clock I got the call. At six we picked up her body, wrapped in the same towel (now soiled). At seven-thirty we shoveled soil on top of her, now wrapped in a clean sheet. I couldn't bear the thought of the dirty towel being her shroud.

I can't forgive myself for this. I'm trying, but... I can't.

19 comments :

  1. Your video is a very touching tribute to Frida. You certainly did all you could for her before it was time for her to go. My daughter has a number of dogs and over the years a number have had to be put down when it was their time.
    There are so many dogs out there who don't get the second chance you gave to Frida. Hang on to the joyful memeories you have of her.

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    1. Thanks, Bob. Your words really do mean something, and I appreciate you taking the time to leave them here for me. Thank you.

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  2. You gave Frida what she needed, a home and love. Then when it was time for her to go on her next journey, you did all you could to save her.

    *hugs*

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  3. I'm sorry.

    austere

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  4. I understand. It's tough to feel that she needed you and you weren't there. You did your very, very best for her, though, including getting her medical help when she needed it.

    Hang in there.

    Lucy

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    1. Thanks, Lucy. Your understanding makes me feel we've connected, somehow. I needed that :)

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  5. Honey, I don't understand why you think this is your fault?

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    1. Hey Suze :) I know it's probably just self-flagellation, but I can't help thinking I should have taken her to the vet sooner, and I definitely shouldn't have left her alone at the vet's on Saturday. She was already too far gone, she was going to die, and I basically left her there to die alone. Oooh, that's going to take a while to forgive myself for. I do understand I did what I thought was best, but I keep thinking, "why didn't I insist on staying with her, maybe bringing her and the IV home?" The vet would have laughed, but--who cares? I didn't, I left her, and... Well. Like I said, it's going to take a while.

      Thanks for the kind words, Suze. The fact that you care comes through so clearly it brought tears to my eyes (yeah, I'm a big crybaby these days).

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  6. I'm very sorry. Losing a pet is devastating, especially if you feel like you could have done more, but... based on this post, I think you did everything you could, and more than many people would for their pets. You got her medical help, which I'm sure was very expensive, and you honored her when she did pass. I hope in time your pain will heal and you'll be able to forgive yourself.

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    1. Thanks, Kristin, for saying this to me. You're right--no matter what the circumstances, I guess we all feel we could have done more when something like this happens. I should've, I could've... Useless now.

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  7. How very sad, but please don't blame yourself. You took her in and cared for her when she needed someone, and you took her to the vet when she got sick. In between, I'm sure you spoiled her rotten. Sorry for your loss, though. It's so awful when we loose a pet.

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  8. I'm so sorry. But you did the best you could and you gave her a wonderful laugh that she wouldn't have had otherwise.

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  9. So many tears. This wasn't your fault. You loved her. You accepted her. You gave her a home. You were her pack. It wasn't your fault. I'm so, so sorry.

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  10. I am sorry to of your loss of Frida. That last look, although she was frightened was I am sure her saying thank you for rescuing her, loving her & protecting her. You have written a moving tribute to her. I did something similiar for last years challenge - you can read them at Anglers Rest with the A -Z challenge 2011 under letters A, L & M.

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  11. Awwww, so sorry to hear about the end of Frida's journey here. Such a touching tribute.
    I can relate all too well. We lost our oldest of the crew the past two years and we're now down to 9 cats and 4 dogs, most of the rescues. And one of those was at the ER clinic last week, getting a blood transfusion and now home in a cage recouping.
    Hugs to you across the miles on the loss of Frida.

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  12. Guilie, I know you're not ready to hear this yet, but you're being waaaaay too hard on yourself. You are the first one NOT to show her negligence. Frida repaid your kindness with over three years of love.

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  13. Oh goodness darling this is so absolutely not even remotely your fault. She must have been so happy to have had her time spent with such a caring, loving and wonderful person. You gave her back a life that she wouldn't have had otherwise. Remember her always for being that happy dog in the park you brought back from a life of hunger and neglect, and let that be your consolation here. With my warmest hugs...xo

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