Every Day was a Gift

Sending Reacher across the Rainbow Bridge nearly three years ago was tough. And sending Vega on her way last Friday wasn't any easier. 

The three of us were walking partners, logging hundreds of miles along the sidewalks, in parks, and down the trails for years. We walked every day. Sometimes more than that. We all loved it. We also trained together and played together. 

I was right by Vega's side when she had a litter of eight puppies on September 28, 2012. And I sat by her side, encouraging her to hang in there and nurse those babies when it was clear she'd rather get up and walk away. 

She had several health concerns over the years including perianal fistula and a low platelet count. She took Cyclosporine for years to keep the perianal fistula at bay while the treatment for low platelets was a steady dose of prednisone. The prednisone almost killed her. It made her listless, affected her walking and ability to go up and down the steps. She stumbled down the deck steps once, skinning her snout. Then she also developed a skin infection. And a UTI. 

It was hard to watch her decline, so I made an in-home appointment for a vet who performs euthanasia in people's homes. I just wanted to have a discussion and prepare myself before I made a decision whether or not it was time.

Ultimately, I told my vet we had to get her off the prednisone and take a chance with low platelets. She bounced back from the brink of death by prednisone slowly but surely. And several months later we were walking the neighborhood again. That was five years ago. 

The platelet crisis was five years ago when Vega was 10. Since the average lifespan for a GSD is 10-12 years, I was grateful she made it. As the years went by, she slowed down. But by 12, still we walked. Just not as fast. Or as far. 

Yes, she had arthritis and began to lose muscle. But we were happy here at home even on days when she wasn't up for much of a walk. Vega, and the clock, kept ticking. 

She began walking like an old lady. But still barked and chased deer along the fence line hop-along style. She went up and down the stairs with effort, but on her own. She was able to lie down and get up, also on her own.

I was sure Vega would reach her 15th birthday, November 1, 2025, no problem. I was wrong. 

Last Friday started out as usual. Breakfast, outside, back in for a nap. At 11:30am I heard the problem before I saw it. Vega was struggling to get up off her bed. She couldn't get her footing. She couldn't remain standing even when I helped. Her legs were slipping out from under her in four different directions. She was floundering, panting hard. Her tongue was pale. 

It was time to head to the vet. After an exam, the vet said she likely had a stroke. This wasn't the same as the prednisone days. There was no bouncing back from this. So, I scratched her ears and stroked her side, as she headed across the Rainbow Bridge. I like to think she and Reacher are chasing each other around doggie heaven like they used to do in their younger days.

Vega didn't quite make it to her 15th birthday. But every day past age 10 was a gift. 

I Smell a Rat

More accurately, it's Blitz who smells a rat. He and I are training for and competing in a dog sport called barn hunt. Despite the name, no barn is required. But the dog is definitely on the hunt for a rat. 

It's called barn hunt because the competition takes place in a barn-like setting, complete with a good supply of hay bales with one or more rats hidden safely among them. 

That's right. The rats are completely safe. They aren't scurrying around with a barking, snarling dog and in hot pursuit. The furry little rodents are housed inside a sturdy tube with plenty of holes so they can breathe. Think of it as a large, heavy-duty PVC-type pipe. The rat tubes are hidden among the hay. 

It's the dog's job to sniff out the rats and alert the owner when one is found. The dog might bark, paw at the hay and uncover the tube, pick the tube up in its mouth, or any other signal that says, "I found it!" 

I could go on. But you've got the general idea.

Blitz is a very enthusiastic ratter. Standard Schnauzers were originally bred as all-purpose farm dogs used for ratting and other jobs. So, it's no surprise he's in his element. 

At this point, obedience and rally don't seem to be his forte. But that's okay. As one dog trainer told me, the important thing is to have fun with your dog. And right now, for Blitz and I, barn hunt is where the fun is! 

Accentuate the Positive

I had lots of plans for this puppy. But mostly I was looking forward to taking Blitz on long walks in the neighborhood, shopping at dog-friendly stores, and enjoying a meal at restaurants with outdoor dining. In other words, I was looking forward to taking Blitz with me wherever dogs are allowed to go. As it turns out, Blitz is, what professionals in the dog world call leash reactive. In other words, he totally loses his sh*# when he sees another dog when we're out and about. 

We're working on it. Hard. And we are making progress. I no longer dread taking him on a walk, but I am still hyperaware of our surroundings and prepared to use all the strategies I've learned to keep Blitz under threshold when we see another dog heading our way. 

If I'm honest, not being able to walk him where and when I want is a huge disappointment. I'm hoping with continued training things won't always be this way. 

In the meantime, I've decided to accentuate the positive. Blitz hasn't chewed up one shoe and he doesn't eat socks. He doesn't sneak off when my back's turned and get into mischief. He doesn't mind the rain. Or a bath. He's good with my grandkids. He hasn't even eaten one of their toys. He's a perfect passenger in the car. Even on road trips. And he settles down for the evening not long after dinner. When it's time for bed, he's happy to get in his crate and sleep through the night. 

Plus, Blitz is a very happy go lucky guy. He puts a smile on my face every day. And often makes me laugh. Would I like a better walking buddy? Yes. But nobody's perfect.