Rolling Dog Farm Blog

Starting last spring, our horse trainer, Nichole Zupan, trained our blind two-year Nikki for riding.  By the end of summer they were out pasture riding.  When winter arrived, however, the training stopped because we don’t have a riding arena and the snow is too deep to do any training outside. 

Recently, though, Nichole was able to arrange for Nikki to be boarded at a facility with a riding arena.  This will allow Nichole to resume training our frisky filly.  Nichole will take care of Nikki there for four days a week, and Nikki will spend the rest of the week back at the ranch.  So this evening I trailered Nikki over to her new boarding school for the first time, where Headmistress Nichole was waiting to greet her.   

I also brought eight stall mats for her run, bales of hay, her grain, and a horse blanket.  Nichole and I unloaded the stall mats and arranged them in place, then Nichole dumped a tractor load of wood shavings on them as bedding for Nikki.  We had two mats left, so we arranged them under the feeder.  I filled the feeder with Nikki’s evening hay and grain.  And then I took this photo of Nichole with Nikki. 

I was, of course, a nervous wreck about leaving Nikki at someone else’s place.  This was the first time Nikki had ever spent the night away from home, and she had never been away from Lena, our blind mare who raised her after she arrived here as a four-month old foal.

Well, there was no need to worry.  As Nichole and I looked on, Nikki buried her head in the feeder and helped herself to supper.  I turned to Nichole and said, "Yep, she sure is nervous, too."  As I drove off, Nikki was still munching her grain.

(Click on photo for larger image.)

Alayne and I wanted to thank everyone for the very moving comments posted on the blog and emailed to us about dear old Pappy.  It was a lonely weekend, with Pappy’s big bed lying empty in the living room most of the time.  But it is so heartwarming to know so many people cared about our elderly Shepherd and offered their condolences.

I wanted to share some thoughts from two people who knew Pappy.  The first came in an email from a longtime friend and supporter of the sanctuary, Christian C. in Great Falls, Montana:

Oh Steve, my heart is breaking for you and Alayne.  Pappy was such a wonderful dog and I know how much you loved him (how much you love everyone there!).  He was such a sweetheart and I know it just won’t be the same when I visit this summer.  I always tell everyone … the heck with Disneyland, THIS is the happiest place on earth.  Know that to be true, and that every one of the animals there knows it.

The second is from Laura W. from Helena, who has been a wonderful, long-term volunteer at the ranch.  She posted this on the blog today:

I remember the very first time I came out to volunteer and there was
Pappy to greet me and follow us around while I was shown what needed to
be done.  He also was there to say goodbye and perhaps to say thanks for
stopping by!  He will be greatly missed.  Dogs live in the moment and he
had the greatest moments of all with you guys.

Thank you all for helping us through this.

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.)

I took this photo of Claude the blind Great Dane and Tyler the deaf English Pointer this morning in Widget’s House.  We had just finished feeding everyone breakfast and then turned them out again for some romping and play time before bringing them back in.  (It was 12 degrees this morning so they’re not out for long in that kind of weather.)  Tyler was already on the bed when big Claude came lumbering in the back door, headed straight for the "sofa" and plopped down.

I realized I have been remiss in not posting any updates on Claude since coming back from WSU’s veterinary teaching hospital.  We have been managing his Wobbler’s Syndrome medically, following the treatment plan given us by the neurologist.  Somewhat to our amazement, Claude is doing a LOT better!  He’s not slipping and falling nearly as much as he used to, and he seems to have a better idea of where his feet are.  He also doesn’t seem to be as uncomfortable as he was.  He still has a great appetite and now that the medical management is working, he also has some of his old spark back.

Coincidentally, Claude’s neurologist, Dr. Fred Wininger, called this afternoon.  He happened to see Claude’s photo in the People magazine article while traveling earlier this week and wanted to check on how Claude was doing.  He was pleased to hear that Claude was responding well to the treatment, although we know this will not be long-term.  Still, it’s a huge improvement over how he was just a few weeks ago, and every day is a blessing.

So Claude settled in for his morning nap next to Tyler, who — much to Claude’s relief — surrendered the entire sofa to the big guy a few minutes later.  When a Dane stretches out, there isn’t a whole lot of room left!

(Click on photos for larger image.)

Alayne and I were eating lunch when blind Widget decided to climb up on the cot and join blind Willie the Beagle, a recent arrival, for a siesta.  The cot is right next to the dining table, so Alayne went to my office to get the camera and handed it to me.  I got out of my chair, knelt down and took this photo.  That’s Widget on the left and Willie on the right.

The first thing that struck me about this scene is that it’s the first time we’ve ever seen Widget and Willie together.  When Willie first arrived a few months ago he was a bit "in your face" about cot time with Widget, Callie and some of the other cot-aholics.  They didn’t want to necessarily share their space and he’d keep on pushing, trying to climb up and move them off.  This set off fireworks, needless to say, and Willie finally learned cot manners.  He also learned how tough some of our blind girls can be!  (Note:  There are four cots in our living/dining area and five other dog beds, so there is no shortage of comfortable places to zone out!)  Thus Willie and Widget have never exactly been pals, so this cozying up on the cot was a new thing.

But the other thing that struck me was that Widget, who is a Beagle/Dachshund mix, is the real Beagle in this photo.  Vocal, confident, playful, energetic (when not sleeping), fearless, and a complete character.  Oh, and very bossy.  Willie, on the other hand, is a shrinking violet and very un-Beagle-like in personality.  In fact, if he didn’t look like a Beagle, you’d never know he was one, because he doesn’t act like one.  He will occasionally bay like a Beagle, but that’s about the only sign there’s a Beagle in that body somewhere.

So we assigned Widget a new job:  teaching Willie how to be a Beagle.  Or, as Widget says, "He’s got the uniform but he doesn’t have the moxie!"

(Click on photo for larger image.)

Alayne and I are very grateful for all the heartfelt comments about Spirit that so many people posted on the blog or emailed to us today.  This little paralyzed Yorkie touched a lot of lives.  I wanted to share with you a beautiful note that Nicci Bennett, Spirit’s new Mom, emailed us last night:

We are so thankful that we were allowed to be her parents no matter how little the time was here on earth.  We know we will see her again and we know she will be waiting for us with open paws.  Even if we had known the outcome to this journey beforehand we still would have flown 3000 miles to get our little girl.  Thank you for opening your hearts and home until we could find one another.  We will always miss our sweet, sweet Spirit, but it is not forever.

And finally, I wanted to share with you an equally beautiful note that one of the sanctuary’s friends, Karen F. in Missoula, emailed me this morning after reading the news about Spirit.  I think Karen’s note perfectly captured the sentiments we heard from lots of caring people today:

As I sit here at my desk crying for our little Spirit, I know deep in my heart, she had a wonderful life with her new Mom and Dad.  Please pass on to them that there are so many who loved Spirit and were overjoyed for her.  And add that we all know there was no other decision to be made.  By releasing Spirit from her pain on earth, she is running free at the Bridge.  Spirit is on God’s lap now.

Spirit, our little paralyzed Yorkie who we adopted out in early January to a wonderful couple in Florida, died this weekend after a sudden deterioration in her spinal condition.  Nicci and Glenn Bennett, who flew to Montana to adopt Spirit, told us on Friday that she had begun to exhibit pain last week, along with increased anxiety and rapid breathing.  They had taken her to the vet, who said X-rays showed Spirit’s spinal condition had worsened and was now affecting other parts of her spinal cord. 

The vet put Spirit on steroids for inflammation and pain medications, but cautioned that the prognosis was not good.  The vet said that given the type of degenerative problem Spirit had, surgery probably wasn’t an option.  By Friday she couldn’t hold her head up and couldn’t sit up, and her back legs — once the little powerhouses that propelled her along — were suddenly weak, too.  On Saturday morning Nicci and Glenn took Spirit to see a neurologist at Florida Veterinary Specialists, who reviewed the X-rays and concurred with their primary care vet’s findings.  During the course of Saturday the pain increased even as the pain meds were causing Spirit to throw up.

By Saturday evening Nicci and Glenn decided they didn’t want their tiny girl to suffer, and their vet came over to the house to let Spirit go peacefully.  Nicci emailed us a short while later to say, "We love her so much and miss her so much already."

Alayne and I talked with Nicci and Glenn this evening.  We told them how sorry we were and that our hearts went out to them.  But we also told them that they had given Spirit the best life she could ever have enjoyed … even if it was so short.  The Florida sunshine, the rides in the convertible, the rolling around on green grass (in February!), the round-the-clock love and care … and being treated like a princess.  The top photo is one Nicci took of Spirit in the convertible just two weeks ago.

For a little no-name dog who was being kicked down the street in Butte, Montana … well, Spirit had come a long way.  Dogs live very much "in the moment," and I think how they spend their final weeks or months — even after a lifetime of misery — can more than make up for everything that went before.  And I know that’s certainly true in Spirit’s case.  When Spirit took her last breaths Saturday evening, all she really knew was the life she had just enjoyed with Nicci and Glenn … and that’s all that mattered.

We told Nicci and Glenn that we couldn’t imagine Spirit being with anyone else … and she couldn’t have been in more loving hands. 

This last photo is how we’ll remember Spirit the most … the sheer thrill and excitement of her first wheelchair ride.  We took this photo shortly after she arrived at the ranch, on the day she was fitted with her new wheels.  The wheelchair gave her mobility and independence after years of hopping on the ground.  It was the start of a new life.  But Nicci and Glenn gave her the rest … and the very best … of that new life.

Bless their hearts … and Spirit’s, too.

(Click on photo for larger image.)

The issue of People magazine that goes on sale tomorrow, Friday the 23rd, has a special section of stories called "Animal Rescue Heroes."  We’re one of five different individuals or couples (well, we’re the only couple) profiled in this feature.  The section begins on page 85, and the article on us is the last one in the series, on page 88.  It’s a short piece and is titled "Creating A Sanctuary For Disabled Pets."  A reporter flew up from People’s L.A. bureau last Monday, February 12th, to spend a
day with us, and their photographer came out the following day.

We haven’t seen the magazine yet; the reporter who did the story was kind enough to fax us the article from the advance copy he received today.  This is what the magazine cover looks like; the edition is dated March 5, for some reason, but it comes out tomorrow.

The senior equine surgeon at Washington State University’s veterinary teaching hospital, Dr. Claude Ragle, called this afternoon with some great news — he performed Brynn’s surgery today and said he was "very happy" with how it went!  The operation, called a urethral extension, should fix our little blind girl’s leaky plumbing that has left urine scalds all over her backside and thighs and down her legs.  Dr. Ragle cautioned, however, that it would be two weeks before we’d know for sure whether the surgery was a complete success, although we’d have a pretty good idea within a week if she was "springing any leaks."

So we have to be careful not to get our hopes up too much in the meantime.  Because of her small size (she’s only 8 months old) and her abnormal plumbing, Brynn is not a typical urethral extension case.  Moreover, Dr. Ragle is now pretty certain that after two ultrasounds it appears Brynn’s right kidney is no longer functioning, so we can’t afford to have anything go wrong with her remaining kidney.

But overall Dr. Ragle was pleased with how the surgery itself went, and I think we can allow ourselves to be cautiously optimistic at this point.  Brynn has been in the hospital at WSU for three weeks, and we’re anxious to get our girl home.

To everyone who contributed to our special surgery fund for her, THANK YOU for making this new day for Brynn possible!

This rather odd looking fellow is, yes, our boy with a fused jaw, Travis.  I took this photo a couple of weeks ago after he "escaped" again from the dog yard and went zooming around the ranch at 90 miles an hour.  I forgot I hadn’t posted it on the blog and re-discovered it tonight.

His jaw is fused from a rare muscle disease called masticatory myositis.  (Go ahead, say it fast three times.)  As a result, Travis can’t even open his mouth to pant.  So after he’s had a really good work-out, this is what he looks like.  In this photo he is actually breathing rapidly through his cheeks because there’s a gap between his upper and lower jaw in one place (this is also where he can get his tongue out to slurp his food).  I just didn’t capture the "poof" part when he was breathing out.

When this happens he ends up with this clown-like look, along with the funky pulled-back-ears thing.  His head is pointy because the jaw disease also affects the muscles on the top and sides of the head that are used to close the jaw.  (Interesting tidbit: There are different muscles  to open the jaw.)  What people usually first notice about Travis is his pointy head, but then we have to explain that’s really not his main issue, it’s the jaw.

Because panting is the primary way dogs cool off when they get hot, we really have to be careful with Travis in the summertime.  Of course he doesn’t realize he can’t cool off by panting, so he’s at risk for overheating because he never slows down.  On hot summer days we keep him indoors a lot, even though he’d much rather be racing around outside. 

So not being able to pant is mostly a summer problem.  Being pointy headed … well, that’s a year-round problem.

(Click on photo for larger image.)