Sunday, July 24, 2011

Moose

Moose is a subject I could write chapters about.  For those of you who may not know, Moose is the apple of my eye, my favorite thing in the whole world.  He is my dog.

I have been facing a lot of judgement regarding my recent decisions with Moose.  Most of this judgement has come from the last place I expected, but I won't get into that.  Rather, I will get into Moose's story, and maybe then my decisions will be better understood. 

Moose found me on March 11th, 2003 at the SPCA.  This was exactly two days after I made my courageous move to the Sunshine State.  Upon discovering that my newly rented apartment was NOTHING like the brochure presented, I decided I was going to need some protection (and a companion-seeing as how I knew no one here).

My friend "Ruff" and I made our way through the shelter.  After about an hour, I decided I couldn't find the right match.  I thought I'd make one more run-through.  At that very moment, a big, brown, floppy eared dog walked through the outside doggy door, sat down, and gave me his paw.  "Found him!", I yelled.  Ruff and I took him to the interaction area, where he immediately commenced kissing me.  I signed the papers, paid my $35.00, and left with my new best friend, Moose. 

The next few days were a learning experience, just getting to know one another.  He was very intelligent, and thought to be about a year and a half old.  He chewed some shoes, gnawed on a hair brush, but didn't get much more destructive.  We went to the beach, where I learned he LOVED to swim.  On several occasions, he continued to swim out into the Gulf, not obeying my command to come back.  I would swim out, get him, and together, we'd doggy paddle back, both out of breath.  He ate a rock once, which blocked his lower intestine, resulting in surgical removal of the rock. 

Had I listened to Moose the first time he met Ken (my asshole ex-husband), I would have ended it right there.  Moose hated Ken, but eventually, they grew to like each other.  A few years later, Moose started having seizures.  He would get aggressive following the seizure.  This resulted in him biting part of my lower lip off in 2005.  It left a cool scar, and we both recovered (with the aide of a plastic surgeon on my behalf).  I was criticized for not giving Moose up then.  Why?  So he can be euthanized for a condition that's beyond his control?  No.  Parents don't give up on their children when they do stupid shit, why would I give up on my dog? 

He has always loved road trips.  He loves his belly rubbed.  He loves doing tricks.  Moose has seen me through some of the darkest moments of my life-things that shall not be discussed on public forum.  If it wasn't for him, I am certain I would not have survived these ordeals.  He gave me reason to get out of bed in the morning.  He made me smile.  He didn't judge me for crying.  He gave good hugs (yes, that's one of Moose's many tricks).  He didn't care if I was having a bad hair day, or if my jeans made me look fat.  Moose is the only one who has been with me the entire time I've lived in Florida. 

Most people have family nearby.  If not family, friends.  Since all of my family and true friends are far away, I count on Moose.  He counts on me.  We need each other. 

Moose was diagnosed with Cushing's Disease two years ago.  Cushing's has no cure, but can be treated.  He must be monitored by a vet for 8 hours every six months, and takes two pills a day to maintain cortisol levels in his body.  This disorder affects his immune system.  Over the past couple of months, Moose's health has deteriorated.  He has had inner ear infections and urinary tract infections.  He has lost 34 pounds.  I have had him examined by two very reputable vets, both of which have assured me that he is not suffering by any means. 

I know that Moose's days with me are numbered.  I will never see him suffer.  The day he starts suffering with no remedy, will be his last.  I will not keep him here on earth for my own selfish reasons.  With that being said, I will do whatever it takes to keep him happy and healthy for the remainder of his life.  He eats what I eat.  I give him a bath, he runs out and rolls in the grass.  I mop the floor, he drags sand in.  He lays across the width of the bed, I sleep in the one square foot left.  I owe him this.  Words will never express what this dog has done for me.  It is because of him that I have meaning here.  Without him, I am completely alone. 

So, feel free to ridicule me for spending my last dime to get him well.  That's fine.  It's not his time yet.  He will let me know when it is. 

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