Joey

I came home Sunday night to find our dog, Joey, laying on the tile in the kitchen. There was something unnatural about the way he was lying on the floor, about the way he didn't jump up to greet me.

He looked the way a person does when they collapse. He was laying in his own urine. His hind legs stretched to one side in a way a dog does not lay. He looked up at me with large, sad eyes. Poor Joey.

He had been laying around more than usual on the days leading up to Sunday night. He had always had hip problems. Just an old arthritic dog, so when I found him that night I thought it had to be his hips.

I called my friend who's a vet and she instructed me to make him comfortable until I could take him into the vet.

That night I cleaned him up as best I could and gently moved him onto his dog bed. With a wet rag I gently wiped his face, his legs, his head. I thought of my dad in the ICU on a ventilator and the time I rubbed his hands with lotion; looking for some way, however minor, to ease the pain. I thought of all the times I had sat next to him petting his head and telling him he was my "baby dog."

Andre came home early in the morning and together we lifted him into the car. The first thing we discovered was that it was not his hips at all. They were, at most, an unrelated problem. It was his abdomen that was causing the real problems. His pale white gums were a sign of a problem with his spleen, but there were other possibilities too. X-rays, blood tests, tick tests, and finally they recommended that we take him to the pet hospital to stay in ICU. Perhaps he had leptospirosis. He was started on intravenous antibiotics immediately, with another dose ordered for 8 hours later.

He seemed to perk up as Andre transported him to the animal hospital. He called me happy and hopeful saying that maybe Joey just needed the antibiotics, that he was doing much better, maybe it would all be okay afterall.

When he called back an hour or so later, I knew by the sound of his voice that his hopes had fallen short. Joey was not going to be okay after all. The vet had tried to draw some fluid from his abdomen and the syringe was nothing but blood. They believe he had a tumor on his spleen that ruptured. He's an old dog for surgery, and besides, the vet said, it is likely to be malignant. There was really nothing we could do.

Andre picked me up to say our goodbyes to our "baby dog." We pet him, and loved on him, and told him how wonderful he had always been, crying the whole time. Andre brought him an Arby's roast beef sandwich with extra cheese. Then the doctor gave him a sedative, then a shot that stopped his heart. And like a clock winding down, he let out one final snore and he was gone.

Freya, our German Shepherd, has been looking for him. Standing at the windows, or just staring blankly in the yard. I know exactly how she feels.

We buried him the next day on our friend's land out in Bastrop.

Joey was such a wonderful dog. He was more human than a lot of humans I know. He was sweet, gentle, and lovable. He would lay his head on your lap, or just lean against you. He was happiest eating and lying in the sun. Everyone who met him, loved him, as did we. He broke the stereotypes for pit bulls and was a breed all his own: a "pig-dog".

Video of Joey