A Dog's Life

Last Wednesday I spent much of the day in Topeka completing the arrangements for our boys' final resting place. I say boys' and not boy's because Steeler's remains were actually involved as well as Celtic's. When Steeler died so suddenly five years ago, we had no idea where to have him cremated, so we took him to the Lawrence Humane Society where I volunteered. They were kind enough to do the cremation free of charge, but since their equipment wasn't exactly state of the art, let's just say the remains weren't processed very well. We didn't worry too much about it though, since it was always our intention to lay Steeler to rest with his brother when this time came.

So anyway, I took the little can containing Steeler's remains over to Topeka to the wonderful folks at Heavenly Pet Memorials. I'd discovered them on the Internet a week or so before Celtic passed, and I just can't say enough about how great they were. They were kind enough to take care of Celtic's body on a holiday weekend and also to process Steeler's remains with Celtic's for no extra charge. Now we have their finely processed ashes all put together in a beautiful and safely sealed velvet bag. Heavenly Pet Memorials had a big selection of urns and boxes, and they helped me pick out a beautiful box in which we'll eventually put their remains. Not only that, but they practically counseled me as well. Jody was the consultant there last Wednesday, and she sat there patiently as I talked about our dogs, cried a little, and even showed her pictures. I was there probably a good half hour, and she couldn't have been more caring and consoling.

When I got home from that trip to Topeka, I immediately started the search for the perfect picture to have engraved/etched onto the box. In my mind, I knew the one I wanted to use and remembered the frame it used to be in, but I couldn't for the life of me find the frame or the original in our old boxes of prints. I probably searched through pictures for at least 8 hours total before I finally found the negative on a roll that had no other pictures of the dogs at all. In the process of searching though, I found so many other pictures of the boys that I really loved, so now I'm not even sure if the sought after picture is even the one I want to use! Here are the ones that I'm most strongly considering--I would love your input in the comments!


From their puppyhood


At age 1


At about 3 years old


At about age 5


At age 9, just before Steeler died

For me, searching through all of those pictures was very therapeutic. As I looked back on the very full and active life that Celtic had, it was more difficult to be sad about his passing. As I was reminded of how close he and his brother were, it made me that much happier to think of them reunited in heaven.

During the great picture search I was also inspired to scan and then edit all of my favorite pictures--since I was a pretty horrible photographer in those pre-digital days! Someday I'll hopefully have time to put it to music in a better format, but for now, I hope you enjoy the slideshow of their lives!

A Heavy Heart

I'm not even really sure where to start this post, because the news is very sad and my heart is very heavy. I don't want to be overdramatic at all, but our dogs are obviously a really big deal to us, and yesterday we made a really hard decision about our little man Celtic. We decided to cancel his surgery.

This decision might seem like a strange one to our friends who know we would do anything for our dogs, but Chad and I are thankfully very much in agreement on this. While we didn't come to the decision easily, I think we're at peace with it as much as we can be under the circumstances. Since his CT scan a week ago and the needle aspirates that preceded it, Celtic's overall health has declined significantly and his tumor has literally grown by the day.

We've certainly been worried about this rapid growth of late, but the noticeable size increase wasn't really so out of the ordinary. Often times when cancers are disturbed by a biopsy they tend to react by growing--Hope's first mast cell tumor did the same thing when it was aspirated back in 2007. Although the growth was concerning, we were still hopeful that yesterday morning's bloodwork would be better and today's surgery would be a go. While the anemia was a tiny bit improved, our regular vet Dr. Coles was alarmed by the tumor growth, Celtic's coloring and his overall malaise. He suggested we try and get back in to see Dr. Layton yesterday morning for another consult and possible early surgery, even though Dr. Layton usually only does emergency surgeries on Mondays.

We thankfully got in to see Dr. Layton right away, and as usual, she was her amazingly caring, compassionate and helpful self. She agreed that the tumor was significantly bigger than last week, and she expressed her concerns about his lethargy and immobility. The incredibly rapid growth confirmed her initial suspicion that the cancerous part of the tumor is a hemangiosarcoma, the extremely aggressive kind of cancer that killed Celtic's brother Steeler. Because the tumor had grown so much down his leg, she thought there was a very strong possibility that in order to remove it she would have to amputate his leg as well--or at least damage the nerves enough to make his leg useless. Chad and I both agreed that because of Celtic's age and significant problems with pain and weakness in his back legs, he wouldn't be able to walk on three legs. To us the amputation didn't seem like an acceptable outcome, and if Dr. Layton got started and realized that was her only option, they would just have to put Celtic to sleep by not letting him wake up from surgery. We couldn't bear the thought of his final memories being ones of fear and anxiety in a scary hospital.

There were other significant surgery risks that contributed to the decision, namely that Celtic might bleed to death due to the vascular involvement of the tumor, or that Dr. Layton would open him up only to find that surgical removal was just impossible because the tumor was so connected to muscles and other tissues. Even if the surgery went perfectly and Dr. Layton had been able to remove the bulk of the tumor and save the leg, we probably would have only been buying Celtic another 3-6 months before the remnants of the tumor took over and took his life. Since the odds of a perfect surgery were so slim, we didn't think it was a risk worth taking. We decided we would rather spend Celtic's last few weeks spoiling him rotten and showering him with all the love we can.

Obviously I regret that we didn't have Dr. Layton do the surgery last Wednesday, which she could have done. Since the surgery was risky even at that time, I really wanted to have a few more days to spend quality time with him in case something went wrong. Since my brother came home to Kansas on Sunday, I really wanted Eric to have a last visit with Celtic as well. Dr. Layton didn't think waiting six days would really matter, but of course she had no idea how aggressive his tumor would be. Knowing that we might have had him for a few more months instead of a few more weeks absolutely breaks my heart, but maybe not having to recover from surgery will mean less suffering for him in the long run. At least that's what I'm trying to tell myself.

A Long Time Coming

I've been super unmotivated and unproductive lately--unproductive at work, unproductive at home, unproductive in my workouts, unmotivated to clean, unmotivated to blog, unmotivated to go out with friends, unmotivated to write my Christmas thank-yous. I'm not sure what my problem is. I guess maybe it's just post-holiday, mid-winter depression. Maybe all I need is a vacation to the tropics or something.

Regardless, despite my general laziness and blah mood of late, last night I did something productive. This particular something was not only productive, but it was also a long time coming. It was a project which had been sitting on a shelf in our computer room for about the last 2 years just waiting for me to get motivated enough to finish it. Motivation wasn't the biggest problem with this project though. It was a project of the heart, and my heart apparently just needed a little more healing before the project could be completed.

Last night I finally finished the shadow box I started in memory of our beloved little boy Steeler. I hadn't really worked on it for months, and it was sitting unfinished basically only because I hadn't found exactly the right picture for its completion. Most of the pictures I've taken since we went digital 6 or so years ago have never been printed, so finding that perfect picture meant searching through thousands of images on our hard drive, and I'd just never gotten around to that search. Last night, while searching for something else entirely, I came across an older, printed picture of our sweet boy that fit the collage just perfectly.

So here is my finished shadow box. I realize this many pictures might be a little overkill, but I just wanted to be able to share each piece of memorabilia.

This is a portion of one of the sympathy cards we received. It says
Perhaps they are not the stars
but rather openings in Heaven
where the love of our lost ones
shines down to let us know
they are with us.

The drawing was from a sympathy card from our friend Quillen


The staff at Stone House Animal Hospital made this precious imprint of Steeler's paw just after he died.




My friend Yaslyn painted this amazing tile for the shelter wall, but since it was burned in the kiln they ended up not using it.

We hung the box in our bedroom above the armoire.

We miss our sweet little Steely Man so much and think of him every day. It's nice to finally have his memorial in a place where we will see it each and every day as well.

One Year Later

I mentioned yesterday that I've been slightly depressed this week, and while some of it was softball related, some of it was definitely because today has been hanging over my head all week. Chad and I were just not looking forward to today at all. One year ago, on September 20, 2006, our beloved furry son Steeler passed away.

It seems like just yesterday that our little man was curled up beside me at bedtime or trotting along beside his brother on our daily walk. I still remember so vividly the early morning hours of that terrible day, when we took him to the emergency vet and watched so helplessly as he passed away. I still find it so hard to talk about him or to think about him without crying. I still just miss him so much. It certainly does get easier with time, but I know that no matter how many years go by, there will always be a Steeler sized hole in my heart. I miss you, little guy.

A Smile and A Tile

When our precious boy Steeler passed away in September, we had several people make donations in his memory to the Lawrence Humane Society. We used one of those donations to purchase a memorial tile for the lobby of the building, decorated by an aspiring artist who happens to work there. It took me several weeks to get a picture of Steeler selected and then several more weeks for me to remember to take the picture to the shelter, so a few months after his death, my friend Yaslyn got started painting his tile. A couple of months later, she showed me the final product before it had been fired, which I thought was absolutely amazing. It took several more weeks for the woman who ran the kiln to get it finished, but when someone from the shelter went to pick it up, they were horrified to find that the lady had burned it! Yaslyn felt terrible, and insisted that she wanted to do another one to put on the wall. I felt terrible, because I know how many hours she put into it and can't imagine having the talent to create such a perfect likeness! The good news is, since Yaslyn is painting a new tile, she gave us the old one to keep. You can see what an amazing job she did!

A Dog's Purpose

Probably the hardest thing about writing a tribute to Ginger the other night was that it made me miss our boy Steeler so much. It's so hard to let your dog go when you just don't feel like it was their time. I received this via e-mail from two different people in the last month or so, and I thought it was appropriate as we grieve the loss of two of our faithful four-legged friends in the last few months.

A Dog's Purpose - from a 4 year old

Being a veterinarian, I was called to examine a ten year old Irish wolfhound named Belker. The dog's owners, Ron, his wife Lisa and their little boy, Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle. I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer. I told the family we couldn't do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.

As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for their four-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn something from the experience.

The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker's family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away. The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion.

We sat together for a while after Belker's death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives. Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, "I know why." Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me. I'd never heard a more comforting explanation. He said, "People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life--like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?" The four-year-old continued, "Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long."

Whether this wisdom truly came from a 4-year-old, I don't know, but regardless of who said it, I find it comforting. :)

A Hairy Situation

The last couple of weeks, Celtic has been shedding excessively. It's very odd, because his light-colored undercoat is coming out in big chunks, just like it usually does in the spring as his body is preparing for summer. Last night while we were watching the game (yea Cardinals!) I decided to do some grooming, and here's what I ended up with after about 20 minutes. Yikes! It looks like we have a new small animal crawling around the house. I was baffled about why Celtic was losing so much hair at such an odd time of year, but then I realized--I've been complaining to Chad about the exact same thing. The last month or so, I feel like when I wash and comb out my hair in the morning, way more hair than normal seems to end up in my brush. My stylist didn't seem to be concerned, so I decided it must just be stress. Apparently, Celtic and I are both feeling stress as we continue to grieve the loss of his brother. We miss Steeler so much. Even though an entire month as gone by since his passing, there isn't an hour that goes by that I don't think about him. Celtic's hair problem makes me think that he must feel the same way. Thankfully, we have each other for support! :)

Laughter=Medicine

Last night, Chad and I went to the weekly meeting of our "Journey Group" from church. Over the last year or so, we've been so blessed by this wonderful group of friends! We have so much fun at our weekly gatherings, where we usually spend about an hour doing a group Bible study (right now we're working on John Calvin: Sovereign Hope) and at least another hour socializing and laughing our heads off. Last night we were sharing about our best/worst Halloween costumes as children, and we were in hysterics hearing about how our friend Beth's dad was a slavedriver when it came to trick-or-treating. He would map out routes to maximize the efficiency and effectiveness of the candy acquisition of his children, only allowing costumes which provided the kids with superior maneuverability. Beth says that several years she remembers crying from exhaustion while her dad forged ahead on their candy gathering mission. Apparently the hard work paid off in the end though, as the kids would gather enough candy (sometimes over 10 pounds each) to last them well into the next summer.

I am so thankful for the laughter we shared last night with these wonderful friends. It was the first time since Steeler's death that Chad and I had been really social and the first time we'd laughed really hard. It felt really good. :)

One More Amazing Detail

Someday soon, I promise that every post won't be about Steeler, but there was one more thing that I just noticed that is too amazing not to share. I was looking at our website, which I don't update very often, pondering how I was going to change the site to reflect Steeler's passing. On the front page I'd written how Steeler and Celtic came to live with us on September 20, 1997. Steeler died on September 20, 2006. I think this amazing coincidence is just more proof that he was an amazing dog.

Memories of the Steely Man

Since Steeler's death, Chad and I have been pretty unmotivated. I haven't had much of an interest in anything--not socializing, exercising, cooking, housecleaning, or blogging--so I've pretty much done nothing all week. We've lavished Celtic and Hope (especially Celtic) with lots of attention, cried a lot, and eaten a lot of fast food. We've received an outpouring of love and concern from our friends and family, which has been so comforting. I know that many people probably think we're insane for taking this loss so hard, but as a childless couple, our dogs mean everything to us. Steeler and Celtic filled a void, at a time in our lives when we were devastated about not being able to have children of our own. They made our lives so complete, we eventually lost the desire to have human children at all. Although we've obviously always known that we would outlive the boys and Hope, they all seemed to be in such great health, we expected to enjoy Steeler's companionship for at least another 5 years. I still have such a hard time accepting that he's really gone.

Last week I stuggled with whether or not we should have noticed that something was wrong with Steeler. The vet assured us that Steeler didn't want us to know that he felt badly, because his instinct is to not to show any signs of weakness to his "pack" that might cause him to get picked on. Regardless, I just felt like because we're so much closer to our dogs than many people are, somehow we should have sensed his discomfort. I went online to research canine spleen cancer, and found this website about canine hemangiosarcoma, which describes Steeler's cancer perfectly.

Hemangiosarcoma is a very aggressive, high-grade soft tissue sarcoma with the most common areas affected being the spleen and heart. A highly malignant cancer which preys on blood vessels, it can spread rapidly, causing tumors almost anywhere in the body. Hemangiosarcoma is insidious, as it attempts to build it's own blood vessel network, making blood blister like formations which disrupts normal organ function. It is commonly in the advanced stage before detection, making it virtually a silent killer.

When the vet showed us pictures of Steeler's spleen that he had taken during the autopsy, it was almost completely covered in blistery lesions. The vet indicated that he wouldn't have had long to live even if the cancer had been found earlier, and the webpage regarding hemangiosarcoma indicates that dogs often die weeks (rather than months) after diagnosis, with surgery and chemo extending their lives 4-6 months at the most. We certainly wouldn't have wanted to subject him to the pain and discomfort of such treatment to extend his life such a short time, so for his sake, we're so thankful that he only had a few hours of severe discomfort before leaving this earth.

With that said, we still wish we could have had even a few more weeks with Steeler. As my friend Amanda so perfectly put it, no matter how long we have with our pets, it's never long enough. I wish I would have taken more pictures of Steeler, Celtic and Hope together, and more pictures of us as a family of five. Although we've taken lots of pictures of Hope in the year that she's been with us, there are only few pictures of the three of them together. I wish we would have taken the dogs on more trips and outings as of late, since we've been reluctant to do so since becoming a 3 dog family. Toting around over 150 pounds of hound just seemed a little overwhelming. I wish I would have taken more video clips with our digital camera, which would have done a much better job of capturing the essence of Steeler--the way he would slather you with kisses the second you walked in the door; the way he would curl his whole body around and tuck his nose into your side when he wanted to snuggle; the way he would sneak into the bathroom trash, take out the tissue, and tear it into a million pieces; the way he would stretch his back legs straight out behind him, with his "arms" straight out in front, earning the nickname "Long Dog"; the way he would pant nervously in the backseat of the car, fighting off the carsickness he so often succumbed to as a puppy; the way he would hear a noise in the distance and start howling with his eyes closed, getting lost in the moment, forgetting what he was howling about, until you quitely spoke his name; the way he would let his littler brother chase him around the yard, never running at full speed because he was always looking over his shoulder; the way he ran like the wind and bayed his little head off when there was a rabbit in the yard; the way he never gave up the search for Chad or I when we played hide and seek in the house, and would diligently look for us in every nook and cranny (including the toilet) while his brother excitedly waited for him to do all the hard work; the way he always managed to get tripped over while he awkardly tried to avoid being tripped over; the way he always wanted to roll on your wet towel or wet hair when you came out of the shower, or on the dirty clothes pile on the floor while you were sorting laundry, the way he did less than 12 hours before he died. These are the wonderful things we want to remember about our boy Steeler.

Steeler

Words really can't express my sorrow, but since I guess blogs are for expressing yourself, I'm giving it a try. This morning at about 3:45 a.m., we lost our beloved boy Steeler. He was 9 years old. We had no idea, but apparently Steeler had been battling cancer for at least the last several months. He showed no signs of being ill at all until Tuesday evening, when he seemed to have some mild stomach discomfort after dinner. Since intestinal issues were nothing new to Steeler, we thought nothing of it and went for our normal evening walk. He seemed fine until bedtime, when he became unusually lethargic. We debated on whether to call the vet, but there weren't many clear symptoms, so we decided to wait until morning. At 2:00 a.m., I awoke to Steeler's rapid breathing as he lay next to me in bed. Our vet wasn't taking emergency calls, so we took him to a 24-hour clinic in Topeka. He walked into the office under his own power, but his lethargy was completely out of character. Within minutes of starting the exam, the vet already knew what we couldn't even begin to comprehend. Just after the vet started an IV and was preparing to do an x-ray, Steeler's breathing stopped. The vet was able to restart his heart momentarily, but the effort was futile. Our dear canine son passed away as we watched helplessly.

We asked the vet to do an autopsy, which found the cancer throughout his spleen and into his liver. The cancer had apparently caused a lesion on his intestines, which caused peritonitis, which is generally fatal in dogs and often fatal in humans. We were comforted somewhat by the fact that had we brought Steeler to the vet at bedtime 4 hours before, the ultimate result would have been the same.

The vet suggested we bring Steeler's body home so that Celtic and Hope could see him and understand why he wasn't coming back. Hope inspected him carefully, but surprisingly, Celtic took a very quick sniff and then darted away from his body. I suppose he understands that Steeler is gone, but I'm sure he is confused as to why he left the house alive and returned in such a different state. Chad thinks maybe Celtic already sensed that Steeler wasn't well, which may be true since Celtic is a very sensitive boy. Regardless, every time we walk in the door, Celtic sits and watches it, as if waiting for Steeler to come in behind us. I know Celtic will miss his brother every bit as much as we will. In their 9 years on earth, they never spent a night apart.

The pain is so great right now I feel as though my heart will never recover. I know our lives will never quite be the same. We are trying to be thankful for 9 wonderful years with Steeler, and that we were able to give him such a loving home and pampered life. We are thankful that his battle with cancer was not long and agonizing, and that we weren't left to make the decision to have him euthanized. We are so amazingly thankful for Hope, since without her companionship, I'm not sure that Celtic would survive without his brother and best friend. Finally, we are thankful for each other and for our faith. Even though we don't understand it right now, God has a purpose and this is all part of His perfect plan.

In Memory of Steeler Swann Luce
June 26, 1997-September 20, 2006