Glad That Beauford Had A Dad

 

I always wanted Beauford to have a “Dad”.  I was soon to be 30 when Beauford came home on March 5th 2010, single, and he was officially my first canine kid.  It was just the two of us for a very long time.

Five years later I met someone incredible.  Someone that made me laugh like I’d never laughed before, someone I knew from the instant we met that Beauford would adore.  And boy did he ever!   He never developed a bond so quickly, one that was so genuine, and so filled with love.

The first night they met, Beauford knew instantly who he was and he liked him…a lot!   As we walked together around the block, I left for a moment to dispose of the obvious in the garbage, and I turned to see the pair walking away together.  Beauford not even looking back to see where I was.  He totally trusted him, and was entirely comfortable to go on his merry way, to meet and greet this super guy.

I watched them for a moment and caught my boyfriend testing Beauford’s knowledge of tricks, and his manners.  Of course my monkey passed with flying colours.  He sat, gave his paw, and laid down instantly when asked.  In that moment, it was like all was right with the world, my two guys had met, and Beauford thought he was just as amazing as I did.

The most difficult thing to find in a partner was someone who ‘got’ that Beauford isn’t just ‘a dog’.   My boyfriend not only understood, but he appreciated that Beauford required extra care and attention because he faced health challenges and had special needs.  He helped me cook for him, asked about him every day, and would always take his leash when we walked together.

Beauford became ‘The Beaufords’, and there was never a day that a message wasn’t sent that included a picture or video of Beauford.  There’s got to be an hour of film sent to him of me asking Beauford ‘Do you want the ball?  Do you want the ball? ‘ ‘Go Get That Ball’. There’s also one that will forever live in the history of my heart.  Beauford and Sadie (My Father’s Dog) were out playing in the yard.  I was attempting to play with sweet and patient Sadie who LOVES to fetch, but Beauford kept coming to steal the ball from me. After several attempts on video I’m heard saying ‘Do you want the ball?  F*ck off Beauford’.  It was dog-comedy-gold.

This man’s love of baseball, re-ignited a childhood one that I once had.  I was reminded how great of a game it is.  Of course within a few short months Beauford became a fan, and made a really exciting team look even better!

The first time Beauford visited the downtown condo, he was quick to make himself at home.  He hopped up on the couch to test it out, and checked out the high-rise view.  He followed this man, he loved so much, around, checking out everything there was to see and sniff.

As they cooked in the kitchen I heard ‘not for doggies’ so many times, and it just warmed my heart and made me smile.  They were totally bonded.  It filled me with delight to see Beauford’s tail flap up and down each time my boyfriend passed him laying on the floor. And there was never a time that this man I loved didn’t stop, bend down, and give him a little scratch or belly rub.

Beauford, who wasn’t supposed to be allowed in the downtown bed, snuck right in one morning for his usual morning snuggles.  In a moment of pure humour I watched as my boyfriend folded ‘like a cheap suit’ and cuddled him.   I thought, this is what love is…and this is what love does.

For our first Hanukkah together Beauford received a bacon scented/flavoured ball (ironic, I know) and a special sign to hang above the plethora of toys that occupied our home.  They were sweet and thoughtful gifts from someone who obviously loved this dog.

They had a different relationship.  It was totally a dad and dog relationship.  Beauford was spirited, energetic, and happy to run with him.  I often caught them playing a good game of tug, or just goofing around with one another.

When we went for walks together downtown Beauford instantly transformed into his downtown dog personality.  With less grass and fewer spots to go, he showed me he could make it work if we moved down there. He loved walking down by the water, and seemed interested in everything this new area had to offer.  Though it wasn’t home, I started to think it could be.  Once he’d been on the subway once to see him, he remembered the way to get there the subsequent times we went.  I’d tell him where we were going, and who we were going to see and he’d march proudly to the subway, knowing he was going to see his dad.

I knew Beauford loved him, when he got ‘the Beauford’ which is when you snuggle Beauford and give him kisses, or you kiss his head while you play, and he lets out a grunt or groan.   Beauford genuinely enjoyed his company.   When we’d have sleepovers and go out for early morning walks Beauford would do his business super fast (lightening fast for Beauford actually) and turn around to head back to his downtown home.  He’d run in the condo and find my boyfriend cooking breakfast in the kitchen, who would quickly remind him that pancakes were not for doggies.

On Beauford’s 6th birthday, which happens to be New Years Eve Day, the three of us ventured to Petsmart to get Beauford his very own bed to sleep in when we slumbering downtown.   Of course, I let Beauford choose the bed he desired, and of course instead of selecting anything on-sale (as I would, and kind of encouraged) he picked a crazy expensive orthopedic bed.  Of course I caved, and it was carried to the cash desk.  To my surprise my boyfriend paid for the bed, giving Beauford the best present, and something that made him smile.

Beauford was so spoiled by this man.  Lots of tummy rubs and tail wags were had.  Pictures were shared on Instagram and he never stopped spoiling him.   Beauford even got a special sombrero that cost much too much money as a trinket from a business trip in Mexico. Beauford had stolen his heart, as much as he had stolen mine.

As I face losing this dog I love with my whole entire heart, I am so incredibly grateful that he had a dad.

Opening Yourself Up To Kindness

Saturday Beauford and I headed to the beach.   It’s a place I know he adores.  He loves walking along the boardwalk, in the sand, by the water, taking in all the new sniffs and meeting new people.  The entire time we were down there I was taking pictures of Beauford, capturing these moments, making memories on film.

 

I had taken this picture, one which is “so Beauford”, when something pretty special happened.

 

 

Though we weren’t down there long, as Beauford does tire more easily than he used to, we were down there just long enough to be on the receiving end (again) of someone’s kindness.

Laura Dittmann a local  photographer and videographer stopped while walking along the boardwalk with her friends.  She offered to take our picture together.  I am not at all comfortable getting my picture taken, but I opened myself up to getting photographed by a stranger feeling emotional, exhausted, and slightly under the weather.  Yet another branch of kindness was being extended and I grabbed hold of it not knowing how amazing these pictures would turn out.

It was an impromptu shoot, and in the minute we spent with her she did a remarkable job capturing who Beauford is, and who we are together.

photos courtesy of Laura Dittmann

 

Her pictures are stellar.  She did a great job, on the fly, with a dog that was tired, and easily distracted.  I will be forever thankful for her kindness, for stopping, and giving me a lasting memory of me and my golden guy.

 

Thank you, Laura!

website:  www.lauradittmann.com

email:  contact@lauradittman.com

 

A Difficult Choice: Standing In Front Of Two Doors Not Knowing What’s Behind Either One

Beauford’s CT Scan left us with many questions, and very few concise answers.   I have been forced to make an impossible choice, and one which I never want to look back on and feel regret.

Ultimately, I was given two paths.  The first surgery, remove the mass, biopsy it, and that opens the door to surgical complications, post surgical complications, and the possibility of other therapies (like chemo) being necessary to fight this beast.   The risk of Beauford not surviving the surgery, I believe I was quoted 20%.  Any way you look at it, that number is a high one.  There’s one school of thought that he’s got an 80% chance of pulling through and doing great.  If you got an A on a paper you’d be happy; right?

Only I wasn’t.  I have to be clear and concise when I say this.   I don’t doubt (AT ALL) the skill and ability of the surgical team in Guelph.  They were incredible.  And their confidence was reassuring, and they left me with a lot to think about.

The surgery, no matter how it’s done is complex because of the location of the mass, how close it is to the vessel.  It means a 3-4 day stay in the ICU,  and 2-3 weeks of recovery at home.

Unfortunately, what we don’t know and can’t know unless the mass is removed is exactly what the face of this beast is.  Nor do we have a definitive idea of how much time Beauford would have if he had the surgery, or the quality  that this time would be.

He could get the mass removed, have a crap month and be okay for 3 years.  He could get this mass removed and find out that this cancer is aggressive and the month he spent recovering might be one of the last that we have.  He could get the mass removed and be okay for one year.  He could…he could…he could…

The second option is to do nothing.  And by nothing I mean monitor the mass with regular ultra sounds, and allow him to leave out his days without significant medical intervention.  Choosing this course would allow me to spend these good days that he’s having now, doing things he loves, and making memories.   This option allows me to say he will have his best days, he will do all the things he loves while he still feels great, he will be able to go every week to play at his best friend Dexter’s place, he will be able to go to the store each day and chew his bones, he will be able to eat special snacks and enjoy trips to the beach and seeing all his buddies.  He will…he will…he will.

Will it mean saying goodbye to him sooner?  Possibly? Maybe?  Probably?

I had a lot to think about, a lot of medical information to absorb, and an ultimately a massive decision I had to make.

The first thing I had to do, was set aside my feelings and put Beauford first.  I had to think about everything, the gigantic picture, all of it, and make the best decision for him.

I have chosen to monitor the mass, and at this point will not proceed with surgical intervention.

I know there are going to be different opinions on this.   Some may feel that I have been provided an option that could give me more time; so, why on earth wouldn’t I take it? Here’s why.

Beauford is my entire world.  He is my purpose.  He is my heart, and he is a part of my soul.  His health, well-being, and happiness have always been my TOP priority.   I don’t think anyone who’s met us has even remotely thought otherwise.

Even though I am facing losing the one thing on this earth that loves me unconditionally and quite honestly saved my life, I can’t be selfish now.  I can’t think about me.  I have to put him first.  I can’t think of the agony of waking up without him here, can’t think of the loneliness, the sadness and heartache.  I can’t let those feelings get in the way, and make me want to do whatever they can to save him…for me.

If Beauford was a “healthy” dog with cancer i.e. he didn’t have the neurological condition, and esophageal dyspepsia , I would more strongly consider the surgery.   The thing is, he has these episodes that are akin to (or might very well be) gastric seizures.  They can last anywhere from 6-36 hours before all symptoms subside.   In all likelihood he would have one post-op at some point.  That would be incredibly hard for him.

Though I don’t think these “episodes” are terribly painful, they are undoubtedly tough on him.  He needs a steroid injection to ease any inflammation, and he wouldn’t be able to have those before or after the surgery for quite some time.  That is a giant factor.  Him having episodes of pica, gulping, drooling, coughing, and excessive swallowing while he has bruising, stitches and discomfort on his belly is, to me, not okay.   In that case something that is uncomfortable would be painful AND we don’t know that any stress on his system would do to his recovery.

At the moment the only thing I notice about Beauford that has changed is he’s lethargic, doesn’t want to walk as much, and sleeps more.  He is still bright and smiling, still eating and drinking, still has bursts of energy, loves going to Pet Valu to chew his bones, loves playing with his friends, and he is LOVING our new adventures and making each day special.

If I do the surgery, I am taking away days where he will feel this vitality and we are doing the funnest of fun things, and replacing them with nursing care and him feeling crummy.  He will be away from me for days in an ICU, recovering again from an anesthetic that I know makes him feel awful, and won’t be able to do much for the 2-3 weeks at home.

I asked how long he would have without medical intervention, and I was advised 6  to 8 months.  With the surgery they said 1 to 3 years.  Three years being incredibly optimistic.  In Beauford’s case there is just too many unknowns.  To do the surgery to possibly get an additional 4-6 months, wherein we lose 1 to recovery seems to not be the right choice for Beauford.

The one thing the surgeon did say to me is you can’t compare cancers.   My father’s dog had liver cancer and the surgeons in Guelph removed that tumor and he didn’t require chemo and we had MANY years with him after.   The short term pain in Theo’s case was absolutely worth the long term gain.  She told me to remove Theo’s story from my mind because they simply aren’t the same kind of mass, and respond differently, with completely different medical courses of intervention.

I feel as though my time with Beauford is incredibly precious, and I am treasuring every single second I have with him.  I want to spend this time with him making memories, doing the things we love, and spoiling him with love, and of course treats.

Beauford has fought a lot in his short life.  We fought against a doctor that said he wouldn’t live passed the age of 1, and I know that he will continue to fight.  We will continue to fight together.  Though our decided weapon of choice (at the moment) is LOVE, not medical intervention.

I know that some may not agree with the choice I’ve made.  Some may feel I have been given an option that I am blindly choosing to ignore, that I am possibly robbing him of “years”, or think it’s worth the effort to save him; right?

Others may look at my choice and think I am absolutely doing the right thing, realizing that it has NOT been an easy one to make.

In this instance, honestly, I don’t believe there is any right or wrong choice.  There is just too much that’s not known.  It’s like standing in front of two doors, not knowing what’s behind either one.  In my gut, I feel I am making the right choice for Beauford and I am at peace with this decision.

 

A CT Scan That’s Left Us With So Much Unkown

As we arrived at the University of Guelph, Ontario Veterinary College, Cancer Centre, we were both exhausted.  If coffee was available via IV I would have hooked myself up and been entirely okay walking around with a leash in one hand and a coffee drip in the other.

Beauford had seemed in decent spirits on the way to the clinic, and given that this wasn’t his first time at the OVC he knew exactly where were we going, and even stopped to pick up a stick along the way.  Despite being tired he still finds happiness in the littlest of things.  A lesson which I absorb now daily, hoping to always carry it forward.

We walked into the cancer centre and a flood of comfort came over me.  I looked up at the wall and saw a portrait of a treasured family friend’s Golden, Tucker.  Seeing Tucker’s face I felt instantly at ease, knowing that Beauford had someone special watching over him.

You see, because of Beauford’s condition he was at higher risk for the anesthesia.  I had fought the fears that he might not wake up, or would wake up with complications, in the days leading up to this appointment.  Once I saw Tucker it’s like I knew that Beauford was going to make it through this.  He had one of his very first buddies there, in spirit, who’d give him the strength and guidance he would need to be okay.

As we walked over to the portrait I decided to document this moment, and took a picture of a pair of two old friends.

The first person we met was a student named, Sarah.  I offered apologies for being tired, and warned her I might get teary.  I explained that I hadn’t slept much since the mass was found on his ultra sound.

As we went through Beauford’s extensive medical history, and reviewed his  current diet, vitamin supplements, and medications, I realized just how much knowledge I keep stored in my brain.  It’s no wonder I get up to get something from the kitchen, and in the mere seconds it takes me to get there I have forgotten what I went in for.

Here’s one lesson I’ve learned as Beauford’s mother.  Having a dog with special needs means sacrifice, but for every sacrifice you find new strength, new talents and abilities you didn’t know you had.

Then we met “oncology” a team led by Dr. Woods who has a fantastic supportive manner with his patients both animal and human.  You see I feel like a patient too.  I am the person responsible for understanding and retaining the information I’ve been told, and making all the difficult decisions.  They advised they were mostly certain that the mass Beauford has is cancer, but there was a slight possibility that it might not be.  It was a glimmer of hope that for some might have lit up their souls, but since my gut has known for some time that my monkey (Beauford’s nickname) was sick, it did little for me.

The mass could not be biopsied.  The risk of complications far too high.  Had they tried, he would likely die.  So, the face of the beast, the name of the beast, might never be known.

I was very clear with everyone that Beauford’s best interests were what mattered to me.  I wasn’t the patient that was going to tell them to do whatever they could to save him if it meant him feeling pain.  I told them that I would rather bear the unspeakable agony of him not being with me, than him having to undergo complicated and complex surgeries, or treatments that would leave him feeling unwell and no clear idea of survival time.  I wasn’t going to keep him alive, for me.

Beauford’s CT scan was scheduled for 1:30 that afternoon, and he was going to meet with the anesthesia team to be certain that extra care and attention was taken with the tubing.

Dr. Woods and Dr. Safi were both incredible.  Knowing that he was in such capable and kind hands I signed the papers, with all the warnings,  knowing all the risks, without much hesitation and anxiety.  I gave myself five bonus points for being able to kiss Beauford and leave that clinic without crying.

That day was LONG.   I worked at the hotel, but nothing could distract my mind from knowing that my golden child was under anesthesia, and that within hours I would hear what I already knew, that Beauford has cancer.

As I walked to pick him up from the clinic that evening, the storm had started.  The roads went from being calm and clear to snow covered and dangerous.   I couldn’t have written the irony better.

I met with the team.   The mass that had been seen on the ultra sound was confirmed by the CT scan.  It was made clear to me that the mass was actually on the adrenal gland.   It was likely cancer, but there was no way without removing it to know exactly what kind. Basically the CT scan exposed a lot of unknown, and left us with more questions than answers.

I am no scientist, so I have to explain things is the lamest of terms.   The tumor he has could be an Adrenal Pheochomocytoma or an Adrenocortical carcinoma.  Without a biopsy there is no way of knowing what kind of mass this is.  And the only way to biopsy would be to surgically remove it.

There is so much unknown, a giant box of unknown.  The only certainty with cancers like these are that they  will inevitably spread.   This mass could invade the surrounding vessel, it could affect his blood pressure causing episodes of collapse, or it could stay small and just spread.

I asked the question any pet parent would ask.   How much time do I have left with him?

With surgery or without, still there is no definitive answer.  It could be months, it could be years.  They may remove the tumor and find that he needs chemotherapy or radiation, or he may not.

There were two options presented to me.  Surgery, or let him live out his remaining days, with regular ultra sounds to monitor the mass.  I was left to take him back to the hotel and think, with an appointment scheduled to see the surgical resident the following morning at 9:00 a.m.

A cab picked us up from the clinic.  And thankfully the cab driver was AMAZING.  So sweet, so kind and offered me words of encouragement, and complimented Beauford on his nature and disposition.

The snow was raging, and Beauford was unsteady on his feet, whimpering with confusion – a side effect of the anesthesia.  When we got back to the hotel my little piggo ate.  That’s the only thing he knew how to do was eat.  He struggled with laying down, and standing comfortably.  His surroundings, not home, were confusing.  Everything confused him.  His cries ripped at my heart, and I am not kidding, stabbed my soul.

It was a heartbreaking evening, filled me me calling the emerg service to make sure Beauford’s behaviour was normal.  I ended up placing a sheet on the hotel carpet, with a pillow and wrapping myself around him, hugging him, and singing to him.  It was the only thing that would settle him for a few moments.  I let him feel my heartbeat, enveloped him with as much love as possible.  I can’t adequately describe how brutal that night was.  He was scared, and he was unsure, and to top it all off he started to have the trots at midnight.  So, there I was, alone, in Guelph, outside of a hotel, in a blizzard, with a dog that couldn’t quite figure out how to poop yet.

Here’s a tip — a big one — don’t go to these appointments a lone if you don’t have to. You need another set of ears, and a comforting hug when you’re dealing with the after effects of the anesthetic.  SO much information is relayed to you, and your heart hears it, your ears don’t process and relay every message to the brain.

After a 3rd completely sleepless night for me, Beauford finally started to be “normal” at 7 that morning.  We left for the clinic to meet the surgeon.  Beauford hesitated several times as we trudged through the snow on the way (a message that didn’t escape me) and I assured him I was not leaving him there.  We were armed with Roosty (in my purse) since I was told what I already knew, that stuffed guy is his security blanket.  They knew he would feel safer if it was there with him.

We met with the surgical resident.  She was also amazingly kind, and patient and gave me LOTS of additional information to process.  What’s known is what we have a slim window to remove the tumor laparoscopically (ph) given it’s size.   The risks and recovering time are high and long, but the laparoscopic approach is better than waiting and going in later, which means a more invasive surgery.

I believe they told me that the risks were as high as 20% chance Beauford might not make it through the surgery.  That’s a high number.

Ultimately, Beauford couldn’t get the surgery right away anyway, even if that’s what I decided.  Given that it could be an AP tumor he would need 2 weeks of medications to stabilize his blood pressure and reduce the risks associated with the surgery.  So, basically I had time.  Time to process, time to think.  I left the appointment armed with journal articles and not the foggiest clue what to do.

We did do a special urine test – one that had to be sent to a lab in the States – in efforts to determine if the tumor is AP or AC.   Results will come back in 2-3 weeks.

I left Guelph with more questions than answers, through no fault of their own, and began this leg of the journey committed to my vow to put Beauford’s needs first.

 

Travels To Guelph

With our appointment with oncology booked, my father, Beauford, and I headed to Guelph on a quiet Monday evening.

It was the calm before the storm, literally.

Our bags were packed (I was told by my boyfriend that Beauford packs like a girl!) and we were as ready as were going to be to face the fierce realities we were about to hear.

That Monday morning, Beauford had barfed.  Woke up at around 5:30 and just vomited.  Now, in the old days Beauford throwing up wouldn’t have been alarming.  He used to suffer from bouts of (chronic) pancreatitis as a puppy.  No matter the fat content, or whether a food was grain free, holistic, veterinary prescription, etc.,  Beauford would get sick.  He’s a dog that’s dog food intolerant.

The thing is he just likes the finer things in life, loves to be spoiled, and deems himself worthy (which he totally is) of home cooked, fresh, real food.  FYI if your dog struggles, researching a home cooked diet is worth it.  The food might cost more, and you definitely exert more effort in having to cook, but once you’ve got your recipe, vitamin supplement and you’ve got a balanced diet, you’re golden.

As soon as Beauford went “real” the bad terrible poops ended, and so did the barfs.  Prior to that Monday Beauford had vomited only twice in 2 years.

Instantly, as I struggled to survive on what can only be described as epic lack of sleep, I panicked a little, convinced that this was possibly the cancer rearing it’s ugly head.  You see, up until that moment the only “symptoms” Beauford had of cancer was some increased lethargy and weight loss.  The sudden and consistent weight loss was what started this journey.

Beauford, who is the most sensitive of souls, looked at me immediately after he threw up.  His eyes said “sorry” since a little bit ended up on the carpet.  I gently told him everything was going to be okay as I cleaned up.   But we both knew it wasn’t.   He didn’t feel like walking, which worried me, but listening to Beauford, and allowing him to determine his exercise level is all part of this diagnosis.

Despite his pukes he was still hungry.  Still came to the kitchen door wondering why the felines were eating and he wasn’t.   I had texted my vet at 6 a.m., to see if it was okay to eat (I am so incredibly lucky to have a primary care provider that has given me her cell number in case I need advice) , but hadn’t heard back from her yet given the early hour.  I figured what the hell, why not feed him a little?  The worst case scenario is that he throws up again, best case he keeps it down, and starts to perk up.

I stood there in the kitchen, and popped the meatballs in his mouth and he already started to look brighter.  When I spoke to vet only moments later, she said he may have actually barfed because he was hungry…RELIEF!   He kept all that food down, and even asked for more…so I fed him.  You see, I know eventually Beauford is going to lose his appetite, and his appetite and food are what gives him so much joy.  He is a Retriever that I am certain would nibble on his own leg if he knew he could survive on 3.  So, at the moment, he eats, and eats some more.

That afternoon as I packed for him, his medications, supplements, treats, his travel bowl stand, his coat, boots, bones, blanket, food, and some “guys” – including the ever important ‘Roosty’ (whom I attempted to pack several times only to have it retrieved from the bag, clearly he wasn’t being packed – he was just going to be carried to the car by Beauford himself).

As I packed I thought about everyone that helped get us there.  All the kind words, the generous donations, and the remarkable friend we’ve made at the insurance company, Danielle.  She made sure that we would arrive in Guelph with a pre-approved claim.  She spent hours on the phone with me, listening, and helping make these financial arrangements, and ensured within hours that coverage was guaranteed.

The drive to Guelph was a quiet one.  Beauford had to fast after 8:00 p.m., so we had an evening snack in the car.  We all shared some banana (Beauford’s favourite snack) and he enjoyed some extra liver treats.   He was GREAT in the car, snoozed away as my dad and I rode mostly in silence.

When we got to the dog-friendly hotel and checked in Beauford couldn’t contain his excitement, – the guest service agent upgraded us to a room that would allow me to work more comfortably, yet another kindness  – eager to check out the room, he quickly bounced on both Queen beds, and seemed to select the one he’d play on, and the one he’d rest on.  I wasn’t quite sure where I was sleeping 😉

He got some hugs, and a pep talk from his Zadie (my dad) while I unpacked the car, and shortly after my dad left to head back to the City.

It was just going to be the two of us, me and my guy.

That night Beauford slept for a half an hour, that’s it.  He snuggled up next to me and could only find a peaceful sleep for 30 minutes.  It’s as though he knew what tomorrow would bring.

 

Showered With Kindness – A Community Rallies Together

Within a few short hours of learning of the “beast”, I received a phone call from our vet. I’m no stranger to chronic calls and questions to various veterinarians and specialists about Beauford, but these – these were different calls.  Beauford needed either an MRI or CT Scan and several other tests to determine exactly what battle we were facing.

Verbal quotes had been received from two of the best canine cancer treatment centres in Toronto and the GTA.  After speaking with the specialists everyone seemed to concur that this mass in all likelihood was cancer, but we needed to learn more.

Diagnostics and treatment figures ranged from $2,500 to $25,000+.  Thankfully Beauford has insurance (some say it’s  a scam, and everyone is entitled to their opinion.  But I can tell you right now Beauford would not be alive if not for the coverage I so wisely enrolled him for when he was 10 weeks old!), but even with insurance I was not in a financial position to afford the care that Beauford so desperately required.

I was ashamed to admit just how bad things were.  I thought people might (and some may still) judge me for having a dog (and one with special needs to-boot) that I can’t afford.  As a single, self-employed contract worker, finances can be tight.  And sometimes they can be so tight I feel a bit like I can’t breathe too well.

As I sat in our local Pet Valu, and absorbed the figures that were being tossed at me, little did I know the employees already had a plan.  I spent the night worrying about how I could come up with the deductible, exam fees, 10% and taxes I would need to get Beauford to the Ontario Veterinary College in Guelph.  Not to mention the hotel expenses and the money required for gas and incidentals to get us there.  Needless to say, not much sleep was had.

Saturday morning we walked into Pet Valu.  Beauford immediately ran behind the counter to relish in the joys of his now greatly nibbled knuckle bone.  And as I stood there, smiling but fighting back tears, an envelope was placed in my hand by one of the kindest and most thoughtful store owners I’ve ever met.  Hanna and her staff had gotten together, written a beautiful card and donated enough funds to cover the exam fees required for Guelph.  The tears flowed freely now.  I was absolutely humbled by the kindness that was being extended to us.  I was one step closer to getting Beauford the CT scan we needed to get clearer answers.

Hours later Anthony, who works at the store, had taken it upon himself to set up a Go Fund Me Page, Help Give Beauford a Chance, and donations began to trickle in.   I can’t adequately express in words how grateful I am for the outpouring of love, and generosity friends, family, and strangers showed us.  A friend – and mother of 3 – whom I haven’t seen since high school (though we’d known each other since the age of 3) donated.  People that are living on disability or old-age pensions donated.  People who have don’t have a lot, gave so much.  For every single cent donated, we say thank you.

On Sunday a donation box was placed at the cash desk of Pet Valu, and Hanna had printed flyers with Beauford’s story.  We were literally being enveloped in a blanket of love, support, kindness, and generosity.   I cried thankful tears, and received many hugs. Beauford, meanwhile, was working on his second bone given to him by Hanna as his wages for being such an excellent pawployee — he’s kind of on staff as a greeter and quality control (quality control is also known as sampling without paying).  But if you ask Beauford he’d insist he is doing it to make sure everything is fresh 🙂

Beauford and I are committed to paying-it-forward, or in his case paw-ing it forward and already have a plan as to how we will give back.

The community rallied together around us, to help get Beauford to Guelph.  And within a week the appointment was made and we were on our way.

Thank You — two words that don’t begin to scratch the surface of the gratitude I feel.  It’s a feeling that humbled me, something that I will never forget.

This love, support, and unwavering encouragement is what gave me the strength to keep going.

I will be forever thankful.

 

 

 

 

 

Diagnosis Day

When my home phone rang, I was in the midst of a tumultuous conversation via text, completely absorbed in my own upset, with Beauford at my feet.

As soon as I heard the vet’s voice on my machine I instantly dove to pick up the phone. She’s been our family veterinarian since I was in my mother’s womb, [ironically kinder to me than my own mother] and I knew, as soon as she said “Hi”, that Beauford was sick, and that this was a battle we couldn’t possibly win.

Tears flowed freely, and my feet began to pace in efforts to catch up with the rapid thoughts within my mind.  The precise details of the conversation escape me, since I felt an instantaneous rush of white noise, and like a part of my soul was rotting, quite literally dying inside me.

Beauford has a mass.

I remember, saying two things:  “It’s bad” and “He’s going to die isn’t he”.  These were statements of fact, not questions.

YES.

And with that I let out a loud sob, and fell to the floor.   My legs just gave out.

In that moment the grieving began.  Some say you only experience those 7 stages of grief when something or someone you love dies, but I can tell you as a matter of fact you experience a roller coaster of emotions; and you definitely travel in between those 7 stages as soon as hear a diagnosis like this.

I attempted to process what we knew so far.   The mass was on his kidney and they weren’t sure whether it was malignant or benign, but even if it wasn’t cancer it was still a vicious beast threatening my 6 year old Golden Retriever’s life.   At the moment the mass was “small”, but it’s proximity to the main vessel was dangerous.  Too much pressure could mean it could cause the vessel to burst and he’d bleed out.   He wasn’t in imminent danger, from what they could decipher, but the “beast” (as I now call it) isn’t something that stays sleeping.  It’s going to grow, and it’s going to spread, and things will inevitably get nasty.

My head was filled with facts, my heart was filled with rage and hurt, and I had no idea what to do.   I called my Dad first.  I can only imagine how difficult it was for him to hear the pain, sorrow, and fear in my voice.  The words came out of my mouth like water from a faucet “Beauford is going to die”He was devastated, and at a loss for words.  Though I remember him telling me to hang in there, be strong for Beauford, and he reminded me that Beauford is a fighter.  I have no doubt in my mind that after I hung up that phone he dissolved into tears himself.

My next call resulted in what I am quite certain was a gut wrenching voicemail for my then-boyfriend.

I then spoke to an amazing friend, someone who has been an unbelievable source of support in my recent travels in this journey called life.  She was an ear, a great one, and someone that I am tremendously grateful for.

Then came the deafening silence as I struggled to find the strength to get off the floor.

All I could think was…How could I possibly wake up and have him not be here?

This dog is my world.  We’ve been through everything together.  I have sacrificed every ounce of savings, and a vast amount of credit, keeping his golden smile on his face.   He eats a home cooked diet, and has to be hand-fed while sitting upright in front of me.   He requires medication before meals, and gentle walks after to assist in motility and digestion.   And without question, it’s all been worth it.

 

You see Beauford has esophageal dyspepsia (only one of his muscles works right in his esophagus – he can swallow food, but needs a second piece of food to push the first one through) , severe dog-food intolerance, and what’s thought to be a rare neurological condition that results in gastric seizures (for lack of a better term).   This certainly is not his first veterinary health rodeo, but it will likely be his last.

Beauford came and laid at my side, resting his head in my lap.   His eyes were filled with warmth.   You see he has been there for me through it all, providing the ultimate comfort and his unconditional love.  He has seen me through unfortunate relationships, vanishing friendships, medical crisis, vocational and financial stress.  His first reflex was to comfort me.  And I couldn’t love him more for it.

I realize I had to do something, anything, to get up and keep going.  This dog saved my life, and now I had to do whatever I could to make every single second of our time together special.

The below is what I posted on social media sharing the details of the rest of our day.  I am not sure I could write it better if I tried.  It is raw, genuine, and written from the bottom of my heart.

“Yesterday after I got the news about Beauford I didn’t know what to do next. My golden child, my best friend, who absolutely saved my life, is sick.

I have idea how much time he has or even if there is anything we can do to save him. The prognosis though is not good.

I was quite literally in a heap on the floor crying. At the moment I have a plate full of challenges I need to overcome, and I told him he wasn’t allowed to be sick…i couldn’t possibly manage that too now…and he is.

Gutted is an understatement. Heartbroken doesn’t do it justice. I don’t have children, haven’t been lucky enough to do that, but I have Beauford. A dog that has taught me more valuable lessons in his short time on this earth than I learned in any school.

As I sat there yesterday, he looked at me…Beauford may know he sick, he may not. That is the shittiest thing about all this, he can’t tell me verbally how he feels. He isn’t acting sick, he is eating and drinking, and smiling and playing with his plethora of toys and loving his treats.

But the tumor is there. It is silent and I fucking hate that thing. Pardon my language, but that fucking thing is a viscous beast attacking and threatening the sweetest of souls.

So, I am sitting in a heap of sadness on the floor and he is looking at me with those eyes that melt your soul, wondering what’s up, and how he can comfort me. I knew in that moment I have to be strong, get up and keep going. But where to?

The answer was simple… Take him to Pet Valu to see our PV family. Let’s get this guy a treat. We got to store where I shared the news. There were hugs, tears and of course Beauford marched right to the beef bones at first chance.

I sat down in the store on the floor, not normal I know, and again attempted to process what I had just heard.

A young man with his dog was watching me and I said sorry, I know this is weird but I just found out he is sick and I don’t know what to do next.

He came over with his dog, and pet Beauford. I told him Beau had just started as a therapy dog, and how amazing he is.

As this young man shopped he kept looking at us, me still on the floor and Beauford still stealing licks on the bones.

When he was about to leave the handed Beauford his very own bone. He looked at me and said, I was where you are three years ago, I know how hard this is. And he said to Beauford, you are a good dog, and so loved.

I started to cry. He gave me a hug. And I said thank you.

I have no idea who this man is, but he is the epitome if of an animal lover. A kind and generous heart. He gave me the strength I needed to get up, and get through the afternoon. I am so thankful.

This is Beauford enjoying his treat.

And remember when someone is down, it doesn’t always take much to give them a hand up. Live each day with kindness in mind.

Our pv family is setting up a go fund me page to help me with costs and I can’t even begin to describe how thankful I am for that… So incredibly loving and kind.

Today, as I got up wondering how many more morning snuggles I have with Beauford I told him we are going to pay this forward. And I am going to make every day a little special for him.

We aren’t giving up…we are fighting with all our might and treasuring each and every moment.”