One day we’d carried groceries in from the car, leaving several bags on the kitchen floor. A neighbor distracted us for several minutes, and as we returned to the kitchen we heard strange sounds. Moose had chewed through a paper grocery bag, he’d eaten an entire loaf of bread from it, and he was now eyeing another bag in hope that it held another loaf. His trim little figure now resembled the shape of the bread loaf he’d just devoured!
Coping With the Shadows
Moose’s love of eating may well have stemmed from the weeks in which he was lost and had nearly starved, yet it seemed a genuinely positive and motivating force in his life. But a negative impact lingered from those lost weeks, and that was his strong fear of storms. If we flipped the television channel to a station which had gone off the air, he’d hear the rain-like sound of the static and become concerned. A strong clap of thunder could cause him to tremble for hours.
We were also concerned that, despite his energetic and robust demeanor, those weeks of ordeal might have caused damage which would later pose challenges to his health. These and other challenges did indeed arise. But it was his response to them that frequently left us speechless and grasping for an adequate explanation.
It began with the need for Moose to have surgery for bladder stones. The vet reminded us that Moose was no longer a young dog, and that the recovery period would be neither short nor free of pain. But when we brought him home, he immediately resumed his regular activities at full energy level, as though he were having a perfectly normal week.
A few months later, as my wife walked him through the neighborhood, a large dog spotted Moose and decided to attack. In the flash of an eye, the dog ran toward Moose at high speed, hitting him with full force, hurling him into the air, and knocking the leash out of my wife’s hand. Moose landed hard, and found himself unable to stand or walk. As my wife carried him home, and as we prepared for the emergency trip to the vet, he cried non-stop at the top of his lungs, the only time we ever knew him to do so.
Yet as we prepared to carry him to the car, he suddenly became silent. He stood, looked around, and, without limping, began walking away as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Then came the day that we noticed swelling in Moose’s body. As we drove him to the vet’s office, we realized that he was sicker than he’d been since his arrival.
The veterinarian called the following day with sombering news. The immediate cause of Moose’s illness was a serious case of pancreatitis, and the internal swelling caused by it was extending dangerously close to his heart. In addition, the X-rays had shown a large tumor growing in his chest. And, most serious of all, blood tests had uncovered a case of advanced leukemia, which we could expect to soon be fatal.
Many prayers were said in the following hours that this wonderful little dog might somehow be a part of our lives for a while longer. Yet logic indicated that his situation was without hope. I cringed as the telephone rang the next morning. I knew it would be the vet, but I wasn’t prepared for the news he conveyed.
Moose was recovering from the pancreatitis with dizzying speed. The swelling was nearly gone, he was feeling much better, and he could soon come home. The blood tests had been sent to another lab for verification, and it had been discovered that the original tests were in error: Moose’s blood cell count was normal, and there was no leukemia. And as for the tumor, the radiologist had concluded that it likely would grow so slowly as to not be a hindrance to a normal life span. Much later, X-rays would show that it never grew at all following its discovery.
But it was impossible to ignore the fact that our friend was getting older. The vision in his remaining eye gradually faded, to the point that he could make out only shadows and shapes. His once-so-acute sense of hearing was gone, and now only loud voices could be discerned. Instead of running up the stairs at full throttle, he now walked up them one step at a time. And, although Moose never exhibited discomfort or pain, the vet began mentioning spinal arthritis with increasing frequency.
But despite the decline of his body, it was apparent that the inner energy of his spirit had not diminished at all. There were times when he seemed able to fully overcome his infirmities, such as when he awoke in the morning, or at meal time, or when my mother would come for a visit. We grew even closer together. It was obvious that this little dog still enjoyed life, and that his zest for it remained strong.
And whatever force it was that seemed to heal and protect him continued unabated. I was preparing to herd all three dogs down the stairs during his final year, when one of the other dogs brushed against Moose, sending him tumbling. For what seemed like an eternity, he bounced off step after step, as I mentally planned an immediate trip to the vet’s office to deal with his injuries.
At the bottom of the stairs, he hit hard against a wall. He stood up and looked at himself and then at me. He shook himself off, and then proceeded, nonchalantly and none the worse for wear, toward the door to the yard.
A Final Journey
As the following Spring arrived, we somehow knew, and we sensed that Moose knew, that our days together were drawing to a close. One Sunday afternoon early in May, he began limping on one of his front legs. The next day, X-rays indicated to the vet that, rather than having a mere knee or shoulder problem, his skeletal structure was entering a state of collapse. “Horrible arthritic lesions” were now present on his spine.
This being Moose, we had expected his last days to hold at least one major surprise, but we were quite unprepared for what actually transpired. Somehow, in all respects other than his arthritis, Moose’s body clock seemed to suddenly roll back by at least three years. Both his eyes became bright and shining, and we were astounded to discover that the vision in his better eye had returned. Sitting several feet behind him one day, I spoke his name in soft tones, which he hadn’t been able to hear in many seasons. His ears perked up, and he turned around.
His fur acquired a soft and shiny luster, and he became almost radiant with a healthy glow. The vet was stunned to discover that a long-standing internal infection, which had seemed impervious to treatment, had suddenly disappeared. His level of alertness and mental energy became as high as it had been since we had known him. Our quality of communication and closeness became, I believe, as great as is possible for a dog and a human to achieve.
But his ability to stand and walk quickly deteriorated and disappeared. We were determined not to let him suffer, yet his fighting spirit and determination appeared to remain strong. As a last-ditch effort, and in continual consultation with the empathetic veterinarian, we fashioned a rehabilitative device by cutting leg holes in a towel, placing him in it, and pinning it at the top.
With the help of this device, which we nicknamed the “zoot suit,” and with Moose’s warrior spirit in full fighting mode, we were gradually able to teach him to stand, and to walk in short, tiny steps. If he could do this consistently and without discomfort, we might be able to share a bit more time together. Moose was even prouder of his accomplishment than we were. A portion of his much-cherished mobility had returned.
On the afternoon of May 20, he was able to stand and walk better than on any day since his illness began. But that evening his strength began to slip away. By morning, it was obvious that no further miracles would be forthcoming. To the end, his alertness and communication with us never faltered.
One last dog treat and a final hug; and then it was over.
A Place To Rest
We buried Moose under the outside stairs leading up to the deck where we’d sat together so many times. A beautiful setting, it permits sunlight and rain to reach the flowers which surround the grave, yet the stairs shield him from the worst of the storms which he so dreaded. The grave marker bears his name, the date of his arrival at our door, and the day he left us.
Around the little grave mound, we placed river rocks in the form of a horseshoe. The horseshoe is a symbol of good luck, and it represents the Tibetan legend that for one to be given a Lhasa Apso is a sign of great honor and good fortune.
The legend is correct.