I Love My Dog (Part 1)

Meet my teenager.  He's a 13 year old, 85 pound rescued foxhound who likes to eat, fart, sleep, hold down floors, go for car rides, and roll in the grass...and yes, he poops a lot.  Our story is probably similar to many who have rescued a pet, except I worked full-time for a local veterinarian as a customer service representative.  One of our best clients called in, stating she had found the most adorable hound wandering in the street.  I won't get into a long discussion about his previous garbage can habit, years later I now suspect that he was out binging.  But I digress. 

This particular morning, I had on what we referred to at work as my "sucker stamp."  This 'stamp' is typically blazing across one's forehead, chest, or arm, and says "sure, I'll take over responsibility for this animal and end up eating cup-a-noodles for the next year because I'm broke."  Our families and friends cringe as they see us virtually emptying our bank accounts in one split second.  That said, I told her to bring him in so I could have him tested for heartworms and intestinal parasites.  (To learn more about heartworms, click here).  If he tested negative, I would take him after work to the shelter myself to see about getting him adopted.

Enter the biggest, brown-eyed, floppy eared hound mix I ever saw.  He had the most soulful eyes that instantly branded my heart.  She was calling him "Frodo" (this was January of 2004 - Lord of the Rings was the rage) and I agreed to disagree.  He didn't LOOK like a Frodo: it just reminds me of a dodo.  I wrote down Stray for sake of simple paperwork, and took him back to our technicians and doctors with instructions for lab tests.

Diagnosis: heartworm.  Diagnosis: hookworms.  Diagnosis: can't take him to the shelter because they won't treat heartworms in this advanced stage.  He had what is referred to as a high-antigen positive result on his heartworm test.  Meaning he was in the last stages of heartworm, and treatment was going to be hard on him, risky, and all around expensive.  My co-workers were looking at me: SUCKER.  Trembling, I went to the break room, dialed my now husband's number.

"Hello?"  It's me.  "What's up?"  We have a dog.  "WHAT?"  A very sick dog.  "So take him to the pound."  They will euthanize him, they won't treat this advanced stage of heartworm.  I want to help him, then place him.  And so I managed to salvage my own home and a foster home for a giant beagle.  However, we decided no more charity donations for me because I just bought a charity case to bring home.

His treatment had to be modified over the course of several months.  A series of injections that kills the heartworms had to be administered in several doses.  Because he had so many worms in his heart, a full dose of immiticide would be too risky.  After his first dose he was extremely lethargic.  He refused to eat and frequently vomited white foam and whined a lot.  It was rough going at first, but towards the end of treatment he was eating well and resting quietly. I didn't want to name him, because that meant attachment but I couldn't just call him stray dog.  So J.D. was born - just dog - so I wouldn't get too attached or anything.  (SUCKER). 

After several long months, J.D.'s heartworm test was negative.  No more worms in there.  Time to look for a home.  (GULP).  I couldn't bear the thought of placing him somewhere, not knowing if they would give him his monthly heartworm preventative.  So he stayed while I wrestled with the idea.  He is a very mellow dog, well, except for that whole garbage can fetish.  He bears a remarkable resemblance to the American Foxhound Walker strain - or as most people tell me: a giant beagle.

No one ever claimed him.  After treating him, laying with him while he was so sick during the nights of heartworm treatment, and finally getting to take him on a boat ride once the vet gave a clean bill of health, we had a four-legged family member.  He got along well with our cat, Nona, and he did well with my two year old niece.  There was no reason not to keep him.  Our bond was forged by soulful eyes and floppy ears when he walked through the office door.

J.D. - also affectionately known as Judd Lee or Bubba J - still happily snoozes in various locations, enjoys boat rides and going anywhere we take trips to.  Though he is now diabetic, blind, and has liver issues, he is still a very happy dog.  Although no animal is ever free (especially my bubba) the unconditional love I receive each day is priceless.