Sparky & Tesla

Several months ago my very portly couch-potato dog stopped eating regularly.  We took her to the vet and got a diagnosis of an inoperable cancerous mass in her throat.  Prognosis: terminal.

We decided to help her live out her days as enjoyable as possible.  At first her good days way outnumbered her bad days.  Then they started to even out.  Eventually the bad days outnumbered the good days.

On her good days she would insist on traipsing out to the field with us.  If we wanted to leave her in the house we would literally have to sneak out.  We would feed her anything she would eat.  Ice cream, hot dogs, scrambled eggs with cheese, meat broth and she would often eat it with gusto. On her bad days she would refuse to eat anything and we were sure she would quit breathing any minute - and in fact we checked her often throughout the night and day.

Eventually there were no good days. Breathing became difficult and eating was almost impossible  She became so thin and weak she could not stand on the vinyl floor.  She no longer wanted to go to the field.  We knew the end was near but we were afraid she would hurt herself in the mean time.  A decision had to be made.  And with aching hearts we made it.  We decided that the following Monday we would contact the vet and "take care of things."

On Sunday we took Sparky for a drive in the country.  We took her to the beach were she watched seagulls and visited with people.  We tried to get her to eat her past favorite foods with no luck. She was done.  I like to think it was her way of confirming we had made the right decision.

Sparky was not a noisy dog.  She was quite and calm.  She was just always "there."  Despite that, the house became too quiet.  Her absence was a powerful thing.  The rhythm of our home had been broken.

Sparky was not an alpha dog.  The cats bossed her around, the chickens could make her beat a hasty retreat.  I had long wanted to get a second dog (specifically a Great Dane) but I could not do that to Sparky.  I could not put her in a position where she would fall from her shaky position as top dog in this household.

With the unwelcome silence around our house, and extra time on my hands since I wasn't busy making custom omelets and fresh broth, I started to poke around on dog rescue sites.

I recognized that I should clearly have my head examined.  Peter was no help really.  He seemed to almost encourage me in this new pasttime.

I totally believe in rescue as a way to acquire a new pet.  Puppy mills are bad.  I wanted a Great Dane.  I have wanted one for many years.  But a Great Dane Mix might be best.  I was even open to adult dogs, however, the breed I was interested in are short lived.  Less than 10 years usually and for every year my future pet might be, would be a year I would not have with them.  Plus, I needed a dog that could learn to live with cats and chickens and ducks and goats and alpaca and such.  So many I saw listed on the rescue sites said things like "doesn't get along with cats"  or "needs a home without other dogs" and such.  The younger the better thought I.  The chances of finding something so specific to my needs and wants was so slim, I felt continuing to look would be harmless dreaming regarding future pets.

Thursday night I stumbled upon a litter of 4 Great Dane mix pups that had been surrendered to a shelter in Tacoma at the very horrible age of 5 weeks.  They were now 8 weeks old and ready to be adopted.

Maybe it was fate.  The pups names were Darlene, Viktoria, Bethany and Frank.  I contacted the site.  Bethany and Frank were already adopted.  If I got my application in right away they could put a hold on the other two pups so I could come and meet them.  A quick decision was required.  Aaaack. It was too soon.  Or was it?  The pups were mostly Great Dane mixed with a little German Shepherd and a little Labrador.  Two excellent additions to an already great breed of dog.

I filled out an application and sent it in.  Friday afternoon I found out our application was approved but that Viktoria was now adopted out.  Darlene was still there.  Peter and I raced to Tacoma through Friday night traffic in Seattle and made it there by 7:50, beating the 8:00 cut-off with 10 minutes to spare.  On the way there we discussed names since we agreed that Darlene was not a name that we preferred and at 8 weeks old, we could certainly change it.  We narrowed our favorites to Tempo, Greta or Tyv.

Darlene was perfect.  She almost came unglued at the seams.  She wiggled this way and that way, she went every which way at once.  I think I did the same thing.  Peter got a boyish grin on his face and was immediately smitten as well.

It was meant to be.

We eventually chose the name Tesla - as she is a live wire and such a ball of energy.  Plus she has a white blazed "T" across her shoulders.. a T name was absolutely required.

I still feel a little odd about how quickly we moved Tesla in but it was just meant to be.  I still miss Sparky.  there will never be another Sparky.  She was something else.