It was a typical south Mississippi summer day; a decade ago on a Saturday morning. I was volunteering at the local university equestrian center feeding horses and cleaning out barns as I did every Saturday. I did not want to go on this particular Saturday, as tornadoes were forecast, but I figured with our group of six volunteers, we could do the job fast, and get out fast. It started out like any other day. But it was a day that would change my life forever.
As most people who know me, I am an avid animal lover, particularly dogs and cats. Though I’ve owned many of both over the years, I find I prefer to own dogs, but find cats to be wonderful creatures as well. As we entered the 180 acre compound, lightening struck and nearly touched ground. I knew we were in for a rough day. Visibility was not very good as we continued working through the storm.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw three animals about two hundred feet in front of me enter the barn. I could not tell what type they were, the rain was too thick, but they appeared to be dogs. I left my wheelbarrow full of sawdust and ran towards the barn. Inside, I found three obviously stray dogs who had been out in the elements way too long. One was a chow mix, another a pit bull mix and the other I was not so sure but looked a bit like an oversize Benji terrier mix (I would later find out he was a bearded collie or polish lowland sheepdog (or mix of the two). Of the three, he was in the worse shape,and huddled in the corner. The other two were more socialized and gladly greeted me when I entered the door.
We decided to let the dogs live at the barn and feed them, rather than hand them over to the shelter as most were older, and these types more often get put down than not. We posted banners at the university and the chow and pit bull mix were adopted the next week. The third, whom I named “Thor” as he barked and chased thunder, was now alone in the barn. The horses became his friends. He was scared of humans, but every few days we came and filled a large bowl of water and dried kibble. He drank the water and only ate a few pieces of kibble. He appeared to want to be “a friend”, but he was badly abused, either hit by a car, or beat by an owner, limping badly, his beautiful gray fluffy fur one big mat, but his sad, soulful eyes, always caught mine. I can never forget that face that said to me “I don’t want to be here or in this kind of situation. I need help”. I know it sounds crazy, but every time I went to feed him, though he would not let me touch him, I felt that message from him.
So I called a veterinarian friend and told her the story. She promised to take him home and nurse him back to health, if I would promise to adopt him. I had just finished caring for four years for an ill mom, and this was just a few weeks after her death. I did not feel I had the energy to now take on the burden of a sick dog. I bowed out at first but she was persuasive. Since Thor did not allow human touch, she had to set a trap with some raw bacon in it. He fell for the bait and she tranquilized him, took him home, shaved all his hair which was one big mat of fur, and put him on drips as he was now skin and bones and almost dehydrated. I checked on him every few days and could see slow progress. Eventually he was letting us stroke his fur. He mostly lay on the rug in the living room and his limping decreased. After a month, he was wagging his tail and begging for attention.
I took Thor home, but had cold feet a few times, and took him by some other animal-lover friends but every time I did, he would be in the shotgun seat and show me those soulful eyes that seemed to now say, “You took me on. I am your responsibility, but…I will take care of you too”. Now I knew I was going crazy. Was I hearing voices? I took it as a message from the universe and took Thor home.
I figured I would have to housebreak him, socialize him, train him and everything else, but not so. He apparently either had a keen mind or was trained early on. The vet figured he was around
twelve at the time.
My office was downtown on the Ms. Gulf Coast (before Katrina ruined it), and there was one
problem. Thor became neurotic about being left alone when I left for the office. He howled like a wolf when I left, and neighbors complained. I shared an duplex office with mutual waiting room with a therapist, who happened to be a dog lover who fell immediately in love with Thor. She decided I could bring him to my office, if he didn’t enter the waiting room, unless her clients specifically asked to pet him, which many did. Since Thor now had become so socialized and gentle, the therapist considered it a part of her therapy for her dog-loving patients. And Thor loved all the attention.
When Thor turned thirteen, something odd happened. He began staring at the walls and not responding to me. I rushed him to the vet who said it was some form of seizures and would need to be on barbiturates for the rest of his life, which might be a year at the most. I said “no”, took him home, and began a long research process. I looked at many diets and treatments. Suddenly I found a website that made sense. It was a small town veterinarian surgeon from Australia named Dr. Ian Billinghurst, who had authored a book titled “Give Your Dog A Bone”. It talked about a totally raw foods diet for dogs and cats. It didn’t have much science behind it, but a lot of testimonials and a lot of show dog champion breeders were now utilizing it worldwide. Some were claiming their dogs were living into their late teens and even twenties with few or even no vet bills. I was a skeptic but science had not helped so I put him on it.
The first month was a nightmare.
I felt certainly I might be killing my best friend, but Dr. Billinghurst responded to me via email when I wrote him and gave me instructions, advising me the dog was eliminating a lot of toxins from eating processed foods, and that he might be weak for a few weeks or even months. One month went by and I was awakened early in the morning by a big happy dog on my bed smiling and licking my face. He was a bundle of energy, more than I’d seen in a lot of puppies. I felt I was dreaming. It was Thor. His coat was shining and his breath smelled good. He only wanted to go out, or so I thought. I let him outside but he stayed in the backyard running around chasing birds, squirrels, etc.
I wrote it off as a fluke. The energy continued all day, all week, and even into a month. He simply was a happy healthy dog, the likes of which I’d never seen. As the months went by, he even became healthier. I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, after all, he was already considered a senior almost geriatric dog (at least to most vets) but it was not to be.
Thor and I settled in the Ouachata Mountains of Arkansas where I’d had friends and relatives in 1999. He lived happily another eight or so years. The vet feels he was around 21 or 22 when he died
(they can tell by the teeth). He lived a full ten years after the “seizures” without one more seizure and one more vet bill until the very end when his heart finally gave out. He came back to life twice though, after I was sure we were putting him to sleep. The vet said “no”, but he’d have to go on Lasix, a heart med. I reluctantly agreed and he lived a decent comfortable quality of life for another two years.
Several times I felt certain it was time to put him down, rushed him to the vet, but the vet said “no, not yet”. He would administer some drug and Thor would rebound once again. Finally, when I was told he had now contracted liver damage from the heart medicine, and could no longer get out of bed, I took him to the vet and demanded that he had no quality of life. I was in tears. I did not want to put him down, but I did not want him in pain. I left him at the vet overnight and he seemed to worsen. The vet said he still had a chance. I finally said to the vet, “Look, I know that there can be pain with liver damage”; this does not happen with heart damage and dogs, they simply get tired and numb, but heart problems don’t have the same effect as on humans where there is noticeable pain so please, if you are not going to put him down, I know this dog well, and he’s not going to make it. The vet said to me, “Rick, I know your dog, he wants to be with you at home when he goes.”
This made no sense to me, I could feel his soul wanting to go. I demanded morphine, enough for around the clock. I took Thor home in a blanket and administered the first tablet. He slept but was still breathing. I gave him another every four hours. I wanted to be certain he was in no discomfort. I lay on the floor with him that night and set the alarm clock for every four hours. I gave him his pill, and after he went back to sleep, so did I. At 6 am, the alarm clock rang, and i opened the medicine bottle, but could see Thor was not breathing. He had died somewhere between 3 and 6 a.m. on November 17, 2006. He was in my arms when he died, oddly enough, still with a smile on his face. Dogs DO smile and he had a distinctive one. He was always happy, always, and being around people made him happier. Though I knew my dog very well, knew his energy and his soul, I would not have been right to put him down when I felt it was time. Thor *had* wanted to die at home and with me by his side, and I was there for him, just like he had been there for me through so many of the ups and downs of life. Even in death, he was smiling. Just one day before, I remembered, after picking him up from the vet, there was no smile on his face, and hardly any life left in his tired body. I felt so confused as I felt like I was trying to decide if I should have my own baby put to death, yet, I knew from experience with animals, keeping them alive too long, when/if there is too much pain, is not the right thing either. I also knew, and pledged, if he were to be put down, it would not be due to economics. And the economics of keeping a geriatric dog can be high. And one does not have the “fun” with the dog, one had when it was younger and full of life. It is like caring for a sick ailing parent, its needs often coming before our own.
I say this because of the oddity of how he was when I found him, beat up nearly to death, abused and untrusting. Then, with just a bit of love and attention, he “lived in the now” and lived “life to the fullest”. He lived the way I wanted to live. Forgiving, loving unconditionally, caring. Things that had slipped my mind in the everyday hustle and bustle of life. Finally, I realized that the universe had sent me something very special. I was not as perfect as Thor at loving, but I was much better at it than before we had met. He was my teacher, not the other way around. He was who gave. I took and he still loved me, totally, unflinchingly.
I buried him 2007 on his favorite mountaintop behind my house, where he loved to chase birds, squirrels and anything else that moved. I miss Thor. Today is the anniversary of the day I found him on that stormy day in Mississippi. I get sentimental on anniversaries like this.
I could go into detail of the difference he made in so many lives, how he was trained to be a certified therapy dog and did so beautifully in nursing homes, how he made friends with every shop owner in our downtown hamlet and every shop owner knew his name, and only a few remembered mine. Thor had special stores he liked to visit on our walks, as the owners gave him more attention than some other owners. He immediately took a sharp turn into each of their stores during our 3-5 mile daily walks (until he was almost 18 by the way). Even the manager of the pristine Bank Of America building demanding I bring Thor in with me, rather than leave him outside. He was loved by all, and adored the attention.
Recently, I visited a close friend who owns a gorgeous great dane who had a similar temperament as Thor. The dane however was around thirteen while I was there, and had been on the same processed food diet as Thor had. My friend had learned about the raw diet before I arrived, but was not ready to put him on it. She did it correctly, unlike me, weaning him off of processed food with canned organic food for a month, and the dane was ready. When I looked in this dog’s eyes, I could see the soul of Thor, same beautiful energy, same special quality that made me realize, there are some special dogs out there who are “healers”. When they turn old, it is time to heal them.
My friend is doing just that and he is responding beautifully. Thor, of course, paled size-wise in comparison to this dane who could easily eat ten times as much. It takes a rare owner and lover of animals to commit to such a thing, but, as she told me, this dog was special and brought her so much joy and watched out for her over the years. I applaud her, or anyone who will make such a commitment to these wonderful creatures who teach us so much about unconditional love.
If you’ve not learned about the barf (bones and raw food), please google it. It remains controversial, but so what. If it did what it did for Thor, and the dane has been on it only a few weeks and one can see changes, the science behind it does not matter. These creatures are special and deserve the best.
I will never in a million years be able to repay to Thor what he gave to me, and until I recently met this beautiful, kind, great dane, I was not sure I wanted another dog. I will be shopping at the shelter next month and he/she too will be started on the b.a.r.f. diet. I hope this one takes care me half as well as Thor did.
Rick London is a writer, cartoonist and e-entrepreneur. He launched the critically-acclaimed Londons Times Cartoons. He has numerous cartoon gift and collectibles stores, many of them containing award winning dog cartoon products. A percentage of all sales benefits various animal causes.