Rennie's Last Day

We had our little dog put to sleep last Friday night. She was our youngster (10 years and three weeks old). She had developed liver failure secondary to transitional cell carcinoma in the trigonal region of her urinary bladder. The liver failure was making her inappetant, and she had lost about 15% of her body weight in the last two weeks. Also, the sheer size of the tumor was interfering with the movement of her rear legs. She could no longer jump, and would sometimes stumble or fall when turning rapidly or trying to scramble uphill. Steroids and piroxicam kept her comfortable, but eventually took their toll on her GI system as well. Still, until the last month, she remained an active and enthusiastic member of the family.

Our oldster, Yona, seems to be doing o.k. At least, she is eating and playing with her squeaky squirrel. But she's 13 1/2 and spends most of her time between meals and walks snoozing, anyway. It's hard to tell. She goes nuts when she sees other dogs on our walks now, wants to pull me down the street until she can catch up and sniff them out.

Rennie (Nuvak's Serendipity) was also known as Renegade or Gatorade (for her fearless spirit, pragmatism, and tremendous energy). She came from a working line and it showed. She was a middle of standard bitch, 20 inches and 45 lbs in good shape, and extremely strong and atheletic. Even with a tumor the size of two softballs in her tummy she could still jump five feet straight up in the air from a stand-still. We also called her "The Little Dog" (our oldster is a typical 'pet' Sam, a 22" 55 lb bitch with a huge droopy coat), "love-sink" (she could never get enough petting), and "bratwurst" (as a pup, she resembled a fur-covered sausage on stilts).

Rennie loved to chase squirrels. If any dog could fly, Rennie would have been the one. After treeing a squirrel, she would hop around the tree on her hind legs, like a little Lippezaner stallion, ordering those squirrels to play fair and come down out of there. Once I found her perched precariously on a swaying branch about 5 feet up. I assume she managed to jump high enough to hook her front feet over the branch and found enough purchase on the trunk to get her hind feet up. I think she was a little nonplussed at the result, though, she seemed happy enough when I plucked her down. At the age of 9 1/2, she could still run fast enough to put a good scare into the squirrels. Even though mine are strictly housedogs during the day, I've never had problems with squirrels getting into my garden. With Rennie around, those squirrels went in fear. We were thinking, if we ever got a plane we would have to name it Rennie but I'm afraid that might encourage it to fly right into the trees after a squirrel. This spring, I guess, there might be squirrels in my garden.

Then there was the time a cat shot out right under her nose as she was trotting off-leash from the car to my mom-in-law's house in a small rural town. The temptation totally overwhelmed all training. By the time we caught up with the dogs three houses away, they had flushed perhaps 30 cats and chased them into an old apple tree -- I counted at least 20 cats clinging to branches before we leashed the dogs and took them away. It looked like a regular Cat tree.

Despite the sound of the above, Rennie was a wonderful dog to train -- an incredibly quick study, and eager to please. I will always regret that I didn't get a chance to show her, but I started graduate school before I thought she was quite ready and that was that. She was a good tracker, a natural lead-dog when skijoring (not enough snow in St. Louis to train a team), and a tireless pack dog. She endured canoeing, though, and swimming she could do without. Wading was fun, especially in summer! But, she was also rather a pragmatist. "Off the sofa" meant "Oh, guess I'd better not get on it while they're watching". She would get into mischief -- knock over wastebaskets and the like -- then be found on the other side of the room with an angelic look on her face while Yona would be caught sniffing the goods. A quick examination of Ren's jaws would show up the real culprit.

Rennie was diagnosed last May after three months of bladder infections and pain (apparently reflected into her neck at times). The tumor was missed on xray, and diagnosed by rectal exam and ultrasound. We were told at the time, 3 months if you don't do chemo, 6 months if you do. We did not do chemo, choosing instead to spend our money and efforts doing the best supportive care we could achieve. She lived almost 9 months to the day after diagnosis.

We could have kept her with us longer, I guess. She could still eat small amounts. I am a vegetarian and don't cook meat in my kitchen, but we brought out our camp stove and cooked whatever she'd eat. For the last week it was nibbles of lamb shoulder and rice, small bits at a time. But, she was losing weight fast. When the blood tests came back indicating liver failure, we knew there was little hope of regaining her appetite. Then her last urine culture indicated that she was developing another infection of baytril resistant pseudomonas. And the appropriate antibiotic, amikacin, had been hard on her before.

We decided it was time. We took both dogs for a walk in a nearby park, one with wide open spaces and plenty of birds and squirrels. Rennie flushed a bunny and fell with a yip when she tried to corner and chase it. Her legs just went out from under her. But, she sprang up undaunted and chased several more squirrels and birds before jumping in the pond after the ducks. She had to be helped out over the bank because she couldn't climb it. She came out muddy and Oh-So-Pleased with herself. After a few more minutes of Squirrel Patrol, we spread out one of her polyester pile ex-pen rugs on the grass and dried her off and brushed her. She enjoyed the brushing greatly, stretching and rolling from side to side. We made her all fluffy and pretty and tied her festive red xmas bandanna around her neck. But afterwards, it was though she had used up all her energy completely just from a half an hour romp in the park. Her tail drooped, and you could tell from her eyes that she hurt. So we went to the vet.

My husband carried her in and we covered the table with her rug. Our vet injected her first with some valium and after a few minutes she rested her head on my hand. Then the barbituate injection. She died with us scritching her head. Near to the hardest thing I've ever had to go through with but painless and peaceful for her. I wish if I were terminally ill I could die like that.

That was Rennie. No titles, no trophies, just one of the sweetest and brightest most joyful dogs in the world. She was cremated, and we buried her ashes on my in-law's farm where she loved to run. I hope she's someplace where there's lots of squirrels, not too many trees, and plenty of multiflora patches to chase bunnies through.

©1996 - Must have written permission from Sydney D. Hoeltzli before reprinting.