elfination

Let me tell you about this little dog I found.

Barrett and I were driving home after doing some errands, and as we drove past the golf course we live near, I saw a brown blur start running toward the road.  By all the fur, I decided it must be some kind of little animal, honked, stopped.  The dog ran into the MIDDLE of the road and ran STRAIGHT TOWARD MY CAR.  (??)  Clearly, not a bright animal.  I stop the car, open the door, and the dog runs right up to me, smiling, and wagging its curly little tail.  The dog is TINY.  It’s about 5 hefty pounds of Pomeranian.  All smiles and thrilled to see me.  Of COURSE no collar.  Jeez.  This can’t be easy.  Barrett wasn’t pleased with me doing anything except avoid the dog…. of course I scooped the dog up and got back in the car.  (Barrett was VERY displeased with this also.)  “Honey, this dog isn’t smart enough to stay away from cars,” I said.  “It’ll get hit.  I’ll find its owner in a few minutes.”

We were less than a block from home.  I left the dog in the garage (she wanted to come straight into the house, but we wouldn’t let her), found a collar and a leash, and went off to find which house this dog belongs to.  On my way out, I see some neighbors out walking their dog.  I ask, “Do you know this dog?” and the husband, Tony, thinks he does.  He hops in the car and we head off to find the house the dog belongs to.

After a lot of driving around, asking young children (who know these things), and peering unashamedly into people’s backyards (all while watching this little Pom’s reaction to other dogs) we could not locate an owner for the dog.  I left a note on one house, (although their neighbor said this little nice doggy couldn’t POSSIBLY be their dog, because their dog was a nasty little runt and mean…) and went home with the dog (dropping Tony off at his house) and put the dog in our backyard with a bowl of water.  Barrett was unthrilled about this development, also.  Kismet kept looking out the window with this utter disbelief on her face.  “What the FUCK is that THING?” she kept asking.

I called Animal Control. They aren’t in on Saturdays, but will be back on Monday… I left details about the dog with the police dispatcher. (”Really sweet little dog,” I said. “Looks a little older, has white on her chin, like she’s aging.  Pumpkin-colored.”)  I explained I’m home on Tuesday… just call me first thing Tuesday morning.   I decided to give the dog some food.  She turned down dry catfood, but inhaled a pouch of WET catfood.  And I mean, inhaled.  A whole pouch disappeared in under 2 minutes.  We broke out the digital camera to take a few pictures of this little dog and make flyers.   The dog struck a pose.  (Seriously.)  Clearly she’s familiar with cameras.  I went back outside to check on her again, and found her splayed out on the deck, shaking dramatically, eyes bulging out, limbs twitching and stretched out.  Couldn’t stand or move her legs when I tried to right her.  (Damn.) 

OK so this cute little yapdog has seizures, too.  Grrrreeeaaaaaat.  I call our regular vet, explain, and the vet offers to see the dog for free and see what we can do.  I rush to the vet’s office (dog still in mid-seizure), and the vet is in awe.  “HOW did this dog ever run up to you?”  We decide it’s probably a combination of epilepsy and stress… and Pomeranians are high on the list of epileptic little doggies.  Not that you’d ever suspect that, right?  After all, being so damn spastic has to have a drawback somewhere.  The vet explains, “Tiiiiiiny little skull.  Even smaller brain.”   (I can agree with that assessment.)  Dr. George decides the dog is somewhere over 10 years old, maybe older.  Early-stage cataracts. Epilepsy. Bad knees, probably some arthritis. Terrible rot in her teeth. 

The vet calls in a favor from the animal hospital and they agree to take the dog, for free, and keep her under observation until Monday.  (I have to pick her up Monday afternoon.)  No problem.  I rush the dog to the animal hospital.  And the dog is all goofy smiles and prancing, cute lil’ tail all curled up.  “I swear she was having a really bad seizure,” I told the vet.  “For like 20 minutes. I swear.  Dr. George saw it.” 

Meanwhile, the owner of the house that I left a note on called and said this isn’t her Pom.  Her Pom is safe-and-sound in her kennel… and there went my one good lead.  Barrett made flyers, I called a few rescue leagues, and am hoping that the one league that deals mainly in older pet placement will call us back.

Considering the medical condition of the dog and the speed at which she inhaled food, Barrett and I think she was probably dumped by someone who didn’t have money for a vet for an epileptic old pomeranian.  The dog seems like the kind of animal someone might get for their children (I mean, who doesn’t love a Pom puppy… especially when they continue to look like a puppy all their lives?) but didn’t have the responsible knowledge that this breed is often beset by seizures.

Barrett read up online, and said that the seizures are uncomfortable for the dog, but not life-threatening, and not considered to be painful.  They can’t swallow their tongues or anything like that. It’s just a whole-body muscle spasm.  This makes me feel better.  Barrett also found that treatment for seizures like this isn’t really necessary just nice.  Something that you can do if you have plenty of money and only want the best for the dog. 

Well, great.  Anyway, this story isn’t over.  And maybe some little 10-year-old pumpkin-colored Pomeranian will find a home that wants her.

–Em

PS: Not that it matters, but I think of the dog as “Terre” (Tara).

Short for Pomme de Terre Douce.

Sweet potato.

–Em