Genevieve + a Bug: Dazz, the best dog.

Dogs for me didn't start with Bug. It started when I was ten, disliked dogs generally, and my sister was getting to keep a doberman puppy that my family had bred. She was red, not afraid of anything and absolutely adorable. Because parents have to be fair, she was supposed to be my sister's dog but I'd get to train her. However, one day I got mad at my sister and hatched an evil plan to make her puppy love me. It succeeded as much as it failed because I soon loved the puppy as much as she loved me!

Training her was easy, everything with Dazz was easy. Crazy for tennis balls, dry biscuits, or just a "good dog," Dazz didn't make me love dogs, but I sure loved her. I didn't do anything special with her like agility or 4H or even just training classes. I just had the most loyal dog one ever. She'd come riding on the trails with me on horseback, galloping around hunting but never far. She'd lay on my bed and fall asleep watching me when I was studying, but ready to be on her feet in seconds if a tennis ball was mentioned. (On that note - she learned to spell from a dead sleep. All you had to do was spell B-A-R-N or H-O-R-S-E-S and she'd be 100% awake and sprinting for the back door.)

When I reached college, she'd slowed a bit but was just as loyal. Home visits while living pet-less in the dorms my freshman year were equally rejuvenating and heartbreaking. Those airplane ears would be in the picture window as I pulled in and when I left. My sophomore and junior years I got kicked out of two apartments to have her with me - at that point she was 8 and 9 years old, and I refused to miss a moment of the last few years I'd get with her. She was starting to have a really rough time - Wobbler's had reared its ugly head and her gaits got choppy, awkward and later just plain stumbly. So I bought her a harness with handles and got good at hefting 65 lbs around. We've been chugging along like that for a few years - lucky enough to have an amazing person who happens to be a vet for a best friend to make late night "DAZZ IS REALLY BAD" visits and put the both of us back together (me emotionally and Dazz pharmaceutically.)

At nearly 13.5, I realize I'm a very very lucky doberman owner. I'm also just lucky in general to have had the privilege of looking after this awesome dog. But I knew it had to come to an end. All along in the back of my head I remembered Rainbow, Dazz's grandmother, had lived to 14, and that became a ticking clock. She'll live to 14, or longer! I'm an awesome owner, I've got gabapentin and prednisone and rehab exercises!

The last week or two she's been really extra limpy on her back legs, the neuro-deficits really obvious. She's also been very stressy. Dazz has generally been a stressy, neurotic dog (doberman!) - reacting very strongly to my stress levels, unfortunately for sure I'm also stressy, lol. But lately she's licking her feet, trembling, etc, often. multiple times per day. The last few months I've noticed that and in the back of my head starting making my "quality of life" calculations.

Tonight I called my vet friend, the "there's definitely something not right and I just know it's serious." Unfortunately I was right and her lungs are full of mets, from most likely a splenic tumour. I'd kinda known for a week - I'd been giving her extra food/my dinner/whatever she wanted - without making a conscious or rational realization.

My options are high dose pred + wait/see, or just euthanize when I'm ready. It's currently 1.30am, and officially I'm making the decision in the morning, but I'm likely going to let her go while I'm visiting my parents for a few days this week. I already had known I'd prefer to do it at home, and bury her on the farm we both grew up on.

For now, I'm snuggling her and telling her she's the best dog ever and that's the only thing she needs to worry about (while I'm breaking to pieces inside.)