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how far do you go for your pet?


minx

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I figure I'll go pretty darn far. This one isn't so much about money, but let me tell you about Stranger...

 

strangerintucson02alteredsmall.jpg

 

Thats as in, "Well, hello stranger" for the panache he showed as he happily moved himself into our home in Tucson in the mid eighties. The University of Arizona is the place where not-so-wealthy Californians send their not-so-bright children, and we assumed he was a college student cast off, showing up in May as the undergrads left town for the summer. Stranger strode right through the open window, not the least put off by the two other cats we already had, Ref and Trango.

 

He quickly won us all over, by turns both affectionate and playful, and all three cats learned to share the double bed with Faith and I. Naturally, when it came time to move back home to Washington a year and a half later, Stranger came with us. I think the lush Northwest was intoxicating, the woods and meadows full of luscious and entertaining small mammals, and he really took to life in the country.

 

One day towards the end of summer, while lounging in the grass out front of the house, I noticed Stranger sitting a little oddly over by the blueberry bushes. He didn't react when I tossed a bit of bark his way, and I realized his eyes were rolled back into his head. Concerned, I dashed over and picked him up. It turned out he couldn't move his back legs and was in a pretty bad state, so without hesitation we dashed off to our regular vet.

 

He had a ghastly sore on one hip, but it appeared that this was due to abrasion from dragging himself home with his front legs, over who knows how much distance and time. X rays revealed no obvious damage, just a little shadow over his lower spine near where the tail starts. A best guess was some impact injury, falling from a tree, or some other mishap. The X ray also revealed a bladder swollen like a tennis ball, and when the vet inserted a catheter and the urine immediately arced across the room, she remarked, "You can imagine his discomfort."

 

A neurological mystery, the best suggestion was to wait and see. It might merely be a pinched nerve, it might get better, it might get a little better, or it might not. It was clear though that he had no bowel control. Pooping was merely untidy, it just came out whenever it got pushed along, though it did result in more visits to the bathtub than a cat would normally choose. Urination was another matter though, and it fell to me to learn to express his bladder. It became a part of my life to squeeze the pee out of my cat several times a day.

 

As you might expect, I became quite adept at this task. It was easy to locate and feel the organ, determining the volume of urine in the bladder. Over time, I learned the best method was to stand outside, grasp the scruff of the cat's neck in my teeth, much like a mother cat with her kitten, support the back end of the cat facing away from me with the left hand, and use the right to apply pressure and send a stream of pee off into the yard. I became quite accurate with my toxic super soaker, enough to dissuade mockery from any who chanced to observe this bizarre ritual.

 

Later that fall, Faith and I made a trip to Squamish to go climbing for a few days. As you can imagine, what to do with Stranger was a bit of an issue. How do you ask someone to care for your partially paralyzed pet for four days, oh, and by the way, you have to squeeze the pee out of him? The obvious solution was to take him along with us. A vet certificate got him across the border, and Stranger rode around the Smoke Bluffs in a large Jrat fanny pack, zipped so that just his head stuck out. While climbing, we would have to tie him off to a bush, since he was quite fast with just his two front legs and could easily dash off into the woods. By and large, this was a successful motif, and a real conversation starter at the crags. In the evenings we would retire to our tent near the Bulletheads, Stranger dining outside until the inevitable turd slid out, a couple swipes with a baby wipe, and into the tent for the night.

 

Back a home, fall wound on and Stranger only got a little better. He was living in a large barricaded section of the shop, with a heating pad to sleep on, and an easy to clean concrete floor. When you came up, he could stand up on all fours, but any attempt to move resulted in his hind end crashing to the floor and him scuttling along like a hermit crab. It was getting colder, and more and more apparent that recovery was not going to happen, and more importantly, this was really no life for a cat.

 

I secured a tranquilizer from the vet, and after one last urination tango, administered it and snuggled with Stranger in the bed until he got drowsy, both of us revisiting the time when he was a favorite cat at the heart of the household, not a paralyzed feline exiled to the cold lonely shop. We made the short trip to the vet with him lolling in my lap, and I stroked his back while he died. He came home in a cardboard box, and we buried him in the front yard, under the huge multi topped fir tree near where Trango was buried the winter before.

 

By the time we moved away from that land after 18 years, there were five cats under that tree, and four who never came home. There's a story for each one, and not a dime spent that I begrudge.

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I figure I'll go pretty darn far. This one isn't so much about money, but let me tell you about Stranger...

 

strangerintucson02alteredsmall.jpg

 

Thats as in, "Well, hello stranger" for the panache he showed as he happily moved himself into our home in Tucson in the mid eighties. The University of Arizona is the place where not-so-wealthy Californians send their not-so-bright children, and we assumed he was a college student cast off, showing up in May as the undergrads left town for the summer. Stranger strode right through the open window, not the least put off by the two other cats we already had, Ref and Trango.

 

He quickly won us all over, by turns both affectionate and playful, and all three cats learned to share the double bed with Faith and I. Naturally, when it came time to move back home to Washington a year and a half later, Stranger came with us. I think the lush Northwest was intoxicating, the woods and meadows full of luscious and entertaining small mammals, and he really took to life in the country.

 

One day towards the end of summer, while lounging in the grass out front of the house, I noticed Stranger sitting a little oddly over by the blueberry bushes. He didn't react when I tossed a bit of bark his way, and I realized his eyes were rolled back into his head. Concerned, I dashed over and picked him up. It turned out he couldn't move his back legs and was in a pretty bad state, so without hesitation we dashed off to our regular vet.

 

He had a ghastly sore on one hip, but it appeared that this was due to abrasion from dragging himself home with his front legs, over who knows how much distance and time. X rays revealed no obvious damage, just a little shadow over his lower spine near where the tail starts. A best guess was some impact injury, falling from a tree, or some other mishap. The X ray also revealed a bladder swollen like a tennis ball, and when the vet inserted a catheter and the urine immediately arced across the room, she remarked, "You can imagine his discomfort."

 

A neurological mystery, the best suggestion was to wait and see. It might merely be a pinched nerve, it might get better, it might get a little better, or it might not. It was clear though that he had no bowel control. Pooping was merely untidy, it just came out whenever it got pushed along, though it did result in more visits to the bathtub than a cat would normally choose. Urination was another matter though, and it fell to me to learn to express his bladder. It became a part of my life to squeeze the pee out of my cat several times a day.

 

As you might expect, I became quite adept at this task. It was easy to locate and feel the organ, determining the volume of urine in the bladder. Over time, I learned the best method was to stand outside, grasp the scruff of the cat's neck in my teeth, much like a mother cat with her kitten, support the back end of the cat facing away from me with the left hand, and use the right to apply pressure and send a stream of pee off into the yard. I became quite accurate with my toxic super soaker, enough to dissuade mockery from any who chanced to observe this bizarre ritual.

 

Later that fall, Faith and I made a trip to Squamish to go climbing for a few days. As you can imagine, what to do with Stranger was a bit of an issue. How do you ask someone to care for your partially paralyzed pet for four days, oh, and by the way, you have to squeeze the pee out of him? The obvious solution was to take him along with us. A vet certificate got him across the border, and Stranger rode around the Smoke Bluffs in a large Jrat fanny pack, zipped so that just his head stuck out. While climbing, we would have to tie him off to a bush, since he was quite fast with just his two front legs and could easily dash off into the woods. By and large, this was a successful motif, and a real conversation starter at the crags. In the evenings we would retire to our tent near the Bulletheads, Stranger dining outside until the inevitable turd slid out, a couple swipes with a baby wipe, and into the tent for the night.

 

Back a home, fall wound on and Stranger only got a little better. He was living in a large barricaded section of the shop, with a heating pad to sleep on, and an easy to clean concrete floor. When you came up, he could stand up on all fours, but any attempt to move resulted in his hind end crashing to the floor and him scuttling along like a hermit crab. It was getting colder, and more and more apparent that recovery was not going to happen, and more importantly, this was really no life for a cat.

 

I secured a tranquilizer from the vet, and after one last urination tango, administered it and snuggled with Stranger in the bed until he got drowsy, both of us revisiting the time when he was a favorite cat at the heart of the household, not a paralyzed feline exiled to the cold lonely shop. We made the short trip to the vet with him lolling in my lap, and I stroked his back while he died. He came home in a cardboard box, and we buried him in the front yard, under the huge multi topped fir tree near where Trango was buried the winter before.

 

By the time we moved away from that land after 18 years, there were five cats under that tree, and four who never came home. There's a story for each one, and not a dime spent that I begrudge.

 

damnit OW i am sitting here crying like a baby. it would be hard to move away from a home with so many friends under the tree.

 

I had a cat named Flurrow who had a litter of kittens. she wouldn't or couldn't take care of them so JK and i did. including learning how to express their little bladders. a baby kitty wont pee unless it's momma kitty licks... i learned how to make the kittys pee with a cotton ball. i loved each and every one of those kittens. we hand fed the litter of 4.

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OW--that's a hell of story. its so hard to know what to do. you certainly did everything anyone could do! stranger got more than most and hopefully you were at peace w/the decision.

 

its amazing to read all these stories. there's some good people around here :)

 

i don't know what will happen w/oscar kitty. but i know he deserves a chance and reading all these stories makes me feel slightly less crazy!

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OW--that's a hell of story. its so hard to know what to do. you certainly did everything anyone could do! stranger got more than most and hopefully you were at peace w/the decision.

 

its amazing to read all these stories. there's some good people around here :)

 

i don't know what will happen w/oscar kitty. but i know he deserves a chance and reading all these stories makes me feel slightly less crazy!

 

you are so not crazy... at least not for this ;)compassionate, loving, caring, a good kitty mom... but not crazy.

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...that is my exact point. Pets are LUXURY anyway you slice it...

 

If pets are called a "luxury," the categorization does not diminish or belittle our responsibility to them. "To whom much is given, much is required." Affluence comes with a price, any way you slice it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Are we talking about a curable injury or a serious disease? There is only one way to feel okay about terminal, incurable disease, and that is to accept it as the death that was always going to come, one way or another. No amount of green band-aids will change that, but if one needs to burn some cash to prolong the denial, then by all means. That goes for all beings, of course.

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Funny this thread should happen at the same time this thread is going.

Our Labs had had this lump for two years and the vet said no biggie, took samples and it was not an issue.

She developed a growth on her elbow and the vet said...might want to have this one removed.

So today we dropped $600 for a 13 min surgery. Pretty much didn't bat an eye over it.

 

I thought about this thread while we were waiting at the office and i can say its pretty much all about the animals for me.

 

jum.jpg

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hey chirp-- glad that she's doing well :)

 

was it a lipoma? one of my dogs has a couple of these. so far we've avoided having t have them removed. he did have a tooth extracted a couple years ago for $900. amazing how quickly it adds up. hope you and your lab have many more happy years

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  • 1 year later...

...sorry for the delay in reply minx, yes it was a lipoma, as of now we did 2 TPLO surgeries on Jumar last Winter for 6k and now that we have the rescue Husky, we are looking at probably a tooth extraction and another TPLO on her. I remain adamant that it is money well spent on a companion that beats most human companions paws down.

 

 

New dog issues:

The previous owner of our rescue Husky (coco) was content to let her teeth and knee suffer as well as her UTI go unchecked.

Just like kids, owners need to assess how far they are willing to go before committing to the responsibility of guardianship.

 

I will say we did lose our rott/mastiff Max this summer, he was diagnosed with bone cancer in May and in mid July we couldnt let him suffer anymore so we made the choice and our vet came over to the house from Gig Harbor to put him down, peacefully in our garden among friends.

The cancer was too far along to do ANYTHING humane at that point :(

 

Cancer in the upper (mottled) section of the humerus.

bone.jpg

 

Max several years ago

max0082.jpg

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my cat wouldn't take a collar. we kept putting them on her, but she would lose them after a day, so we stopped trying. she was an outside cat, and one day she came up missing. turns out the neighbors had found her and taken in as a stray.

 

first thing they did was have her fixed. the problem was i had already done that about 14 years ago. but the vet didn't seem to mind taking the money anyway, so she got fixed again. she came back limping after a week or so, and then we finally found out what happened about a month later. this was about a year ago.

 

she died a couple weeks ago, buried her in a corner of the yard. 16 years old i believe, so it wasn't premature.

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my cat wouldn't take a collar. we kept putting them on her, but she would lose them after a day, so we stopped trying. she was an outside cat, and one day she came up missing. turns out the neighbors had found her and taken in as a stray.

 

first thing they did was have her fixed. the problem was i had already done that about 14 years ago. but the vet didn't seem to mind taking the money anyway, so she got fixed again. she came back limping after a week or so, and then we finally found out what happened about a month later. this was about a year ago.

 

she died a couple weeks ago, buried her in a corner of the yard. 16 years old i believe, so it wasn't premature.

It was if you're Laotian.

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...sorry for the delay in reply minx, yes it was a lipoma, as of now we did 2 TPLO surgeries on Jumar last Winter for 6k and now that we have the rescue Husky, we are looking at probably a tooth extraction and another TPLO on her. I remain adamant that it is money well spent on a companion that beats most human companions paws down.

 

 

New dog issues:

The previous owner of our rescue Husky (coco) was content to let her teeth and knee suffer as well as her UTI go unchecked.

Just like kids, owners need to assess how far they are willing to go before committing to the responsibility of guardianship.

 

I will say we did lose our rott/mastiff Max this summer, he was diagnosed with bone cancer in May and in mid July we couldnt let him suffer anymore so we made the choice and our vet came over to the house from Gig Harbor to put him down, peacefully in our garden among friends.

The cancer was too far along to do ANYTHING humane at that point :(

 

Sympathies for you re Max's passing. He looks like he was a magnificent friend. :(

 

The TPLO surgeries are crazy expensive, but effective, at least in our experience. Almost ten years ago, our lab mix had two done--one on each back knee in consecutive years--and she was back to sprinting after cats and birds and jumping 5 ft fences again in seemingly no time. (I swear they put springs in there.) She's now 13 and though she still tries jumping off the bed or off the porch, she's slowing down little by little; having the surgeries has enabled her to live out her full life.

 

Good luck with the treatments for your Husky rescue. That's a lucky dog to have found itself in your care. :kisss:

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By the time we moved away from that land after 18 years, there were five cats under that tree, and four who never came home. There's a story for each one, and not a dime spent that I begrudge.

 

:cry:

 

I used to live next to this 85 year old woman who had an old dog that faithfully followed her around the yard. One afternoon i noticed the dog wasn't outside and asked her where her dog was. The dog had died of old age and the lady was heartbroken. She pointed to a tree and said that she had lived in the house 60 years and that she had buried 5 dogs under the tree. When I asked her if she was getting another one she said "I'm 85... I don't know if I could go through that again."

 

Of course a few months later she had another dog and both she, and the dog, were as happy as ever.

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