Our beloved old German Shepherd, Pappy, died this morning. We had taken Pappy to the vet clinic a couple of weeks ago for treatment of a lingering growth on his leg; it was benign but something he kept licking and making worse. Before he went to the clinic, he had been going through his ups and downs, as old dogs do. Some days were good — he could get up and down on his own, and he could walk around, albeit stiffly. Other days weren’t so good, and then he needed help getting up and walking. Yet he always rebounded.
But in the week since he came home, Pappy had deteriorated. He became more and more feeble, and could no longer get up at all on his own. Alayne and I would have to walk him ourselves, one of us holding his shoulder harness and the other with a towel or strap under his hips. He had been incontinent for quite a while, so we were used to frequently changing his bedding throughout the day. Now that he wasn’t able to get up on his own, though, we had to lift him to change his bedding and turn him from one side to the other.
Yet he still had a good appetite, he seemed interested in what was going on around him, and he loved to lie on his bed on the living room floor and watch everything with his big brown eyes.
Alayne and I kept thinking he would rebound any day. But the rebound never came.
Pappy had come to us several years ago from a rescue group in Seeley Lake, Montana. He was old, he was emaciated, he looked miserable, and a vet had said he probably had cancer. We agreed to take him, thinking he was a hospice case. We soon found out he had a dislocated hip, and he had been living with the ball outside the socket — with bone grinding on bone with every step he took — for months if not years. No wonder he looked like he wanted to die. The pain must have been excruciating.
A few days after arriving at the ranch, Pappy had surgery on his hip, and we had a new dog. You can read his original story on our Web site here.
Pappy became our faithful side-kick, following us everywhere on the ranch. Morning and evening, he followed us from barn to barn as we did chores. He never let us out of his sight. His motto seemed to be, "You are my sheep, I am your Shepherd."
What he loved most of all was riding in the truck. Oh, he loved that back seat, which we folded down flat and filled with dog bedding. He went with me everywhere, sitting up and looking out the windows as we cruised down the highway or ran errands in Missoula. He even just liked to sit in the truck as we drove around the ranch, moving supplies or hauling water. Whenever I’d reach for the truck keys, Pappy would spring up and head for the door. We might be in the truck for eight hours in Missoula, eventually get home, and he wouldn’t want to get out. I’d have to drag him out of the back seat!
His favorite stop in Missoula was the Good Food Store, where I’d always buy some fresh oatmeal cookies after grocery shopping. Pappy and I would munch our oatmeal cookies on the 60-mile drive back to the ranch.
In July 2005 Pappy was hit by a bad case of pneumonia and landed in the vet hospital in Helena. After days of intensive care, he was finally ready to come home when disaster struck. He suddenly came down with meningitis. Meningitis can often be fatal, especially in old dogs, but to come down with it in the same week he also had pneumonia? Our vets put the chances of him surviving at 20%. We were devastated. Yet thanks to incredible medical care and his own inner strength, Pappy survived. He became the inspiration for Pappy’s Fund, our emergency medical fund.
About a year ago, when Pappy became incontinent, I had to start leaving him behind when I drove to town. It broke his heart and mine, too. He would look at me forlornly as I headed out the door without him. Pappy would stand in the living room and look out the window, watching as I drove off. I felt awful. Yes, he would forgive me, but only if I arrived back home with a bag of fresh oatmeal cookies for him from the Good Food Store. I’d walk into the house, his big ears would go straight up with an expectant look on his face, and I’d march over and give him my peace offering.
All of this was going through our minds this week as we kept watch over Pappy, hoping that he would spring back. But by Tuesday Pappy could no longer sit up on his own, so we had to prop him up to eat. Yesterday was worse, and he wouldn’t let us even prop him up. By yesterday evening he wasn’t interested in eating. We knew the time had come. Alayne and I cried a lot last night, hovering over this old Shepherd who had given us so much love and devotion.
This morning we loaded Pappy into the back seat of the truck, his favorite spot, for his final ride.
At the vet clinic in Helena, our primary care vet, Dr. Brenda Culver, came out to the truck. I sat in the back seat with Pappy, stroking his big ears and holding his big paws in my hand. He looked and felt so peaceful … the only thing moving were his eyes. And then suddenly his eyes were still, and I knew he was gone.
Goodbye, our special boy.
We love you, Pappy. We always will.
(Click on photos for larger image.)
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