(Unfortunately, this is a true story. I wish it weren't, so I could change the ending.)
Little Phoebe was an eight week old Basset Hound pup who came into my life and my heart -- unfortunately a little too late. By the time we had picked her up, fallen in love with her, and brought her home, she already had contracted the Parvo virus. We had her with us for three days. In that short amount of time, with no effort at all, she burrowed her long floppy Basset Hound ears and her loving Basset Hound soul into our hearts.
When she became ill and the vet told us that she had Parvo, he asked what we wanted to do. Parvo is a fatal disease, more often than not. There is no cure; all that can be done is the treatment and alleviation of symptoms, and prayers that the dog has the strength to withstand the horrible attack on its body until the Parvo runs its course. I cried my heart out, then called my parents. Treating Parvo can be expensive, and we definitely are not well off, financially. Thankfully, my parents didn't want Phoebe to die either, and said that they would cover what we could not. So I told the vet to do everything in his power to save her. (I know that I probably would have done so anyway; what is money compared to a precious life?) And so, Phoebe was admitted to the vet hospital immediately. She had I.V.s placed into her tiny little body, to keep her hydrated and nourished.
Still, the dreadful symptoms continued, threatening to take her life every second. Phoebe went through a terrible period of time, but we all prayed that she would pull through and we would have a chance to make it all up to her. I dreamt of that day. I couldn't wait for that day! I spent hundreds of dollars on medical supplies for that day -- for when we brought our little baby Phoebe home with us at last!
At that time, I was recovering from brain surgery and in a fair amount of pain, as well as being quite unsteady on my feet. However, my love for Phoebe enabled me to get up, get showered, and get dressed, so that we could make the 45-minute drive to see her. We went to the vet hospital every chance we had. I would pick up and hold that tiny, fragile body and keep her close to my heart, fighting the tears that would inevitably come every time. We always brought a baby blanket that we had put our scent on, to leave with her when we had to go. Every time we went back to visit, Phoebe was burrowed into that blanket, nose first.
Phoebe began to make the turn to recovery, but then developed a serious complication that involved her intestines and required surgery. Naturally, we gave our permission. She came through it, but was considerably weakened. We continued to visit, despite the pain in my head, and the dreadful pain in my heart. She looked like she was four weeks old, instead of nine or ten, which she was by that time. She could barely raise her head, but her tail would "thump" every time she saw us. By this time, she had tubes running in and out of her stomach, and it took some talent to hold her, but I still did. I had to. I always held my little Phoebe up to my heart, and let her hear it beating, as I held her close and safely next to me.
Unfortunately, that first surgery was not her last. There were more complications, and she had two more surgeries after that. She wasn't eating well, or drinking. Still, that little tail would "thump" when she saw us coming to see her. Eventually, she was so weakened that she was unable to stand on her own, and would "scoot" instead. Her beautiful brown eyes, once so bright and shining, began to go "dull," even though she would still light up as much as she could, when we arrived to see our little baby. She would still "scoot" over to us, and I would pick her up every time, holding her close, petting her, and telling her how much we loved her. The vet let us bring her home one night, to see if we could get her to eat and drink more than they had been able to. She was not hungry, bless her heart, and initially refused the food that we tried to feed her through a large syringe. She eventually ate it, but threw it up not long afterwards. I spent much of that night holding her close and loving on her. I tried to put her down in the baby crib we had set up for her, but she spent all of the night throwing up, then scooting out of it. I would clean the crib, hold her some more, then put her back in the crib, hoping she would sleep.
None of us slept much that night, and early in the morning, Phoebe began throwing up quite a bit, and then had a seizure. We ran her to the vet's office, after I called them, and they thought it best to keep her again. I cried, and hugged and kissed her, telling her again how much we loved her, and then they took her back to the hospital section. We went home that day, and my heart was very heavy. I called every hour on the hour, but she was not doing well. Late that night, around 11pm, I bowed my head and spoke to God. I told Him that if Phoebe were to live but have special needs her whole life, that I would take care of every one of them, and love her with all my heart as long as we both lived. But, I told Him, if Phoebe was in such bad shape that living would be a strain on her, or would be painful, or cause her distress, that I would rather that He take her home, no matter how much it would shatter my heart.
Fifteen minutes later, my mother called. Our vet had gone in, after hours, to check on the critical patients. He checked Phoebe first, and she was fine. She was alive, sleeping but breathing well. He continued on his rounds, then checked on Phoebe one more time. This time, she had stopped breathing. Phoebe had gone home. There was no real reason for it. The only thing that was different -- the only thing that had changed -- was that I had prayed, and asked God to take her with Him if she would have had a miserable life, health-wise. God had to have whispered in her little ear and told her that her Mommy loved her, but said it was okay if she let go and let the Father take her home. I cried. I cried for minutes, hours, and eventually -- days. I missed that little girl. We had saved her from a bad situation, but not soon enough. I cried for the life she should have had, but didn't. However, while she was here, she did have love and care -- all of it that she could possibly have wanted. My parents even went in to see her on the days we couldn't get there. Phoebe was loved, very much. She was cherished, and will never be forgotten.
We did everything we could for her, but it isn't she who is indebted at all to us; it is I who am indebted to her. I didn't think I could do much of anything after surgery. I looked upon myself as an invalid, and basically useless. But when we got Phoebe, and Phoebe got so sick, I moved heaven and earth to be with her, love on her, comfort her, and nurture her. When I wasn't with her, I was on the internet doing research, looking for miracle cures, asking for prayers, posting her story, and praying.
Phoebe taught me that, even though things didn't turn out as I would have wanted, love can move mountains. That was her gift to me that will never be forgotten. Thank you, my dearest Phoebe! Thank you for your love, for accepting mine, and for teaching me all that you taught me in that too-short three weeks that you were with us here. One day soon, in "God's time," we will be together again. All of us.
I am sorry to hear that Phoebe didn't make it. I used to work for a veterinarian, and saw what Parvo can do to an animal. I was in tears as I read her story. She was an adorable puppy.
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Little Phoebe was an eight week old Basset Hound pup who came into my life and my heart -- unfortunately a little too late. By the time we had picked her up, fallen in love with her, and brought her home, she already had contracted the Parvo virus. We had her with us for three days. In that short amount of time, with no effort at all, she burrowed her long floppy Basset Hound ears and her loving Basset Hound soul into our hearts.
