On Friday, I did something very few shelter or rescue people would do. I took home a puppy with Parvo.
Parvo is a deadly disease that mainly affects puppies, but is deadly to all dogs without a vaccination. This little dog was transferred in from another shelter. She is about 9 weeks old. Some kind of golden colored mixed breed. We sent her into foster care when she seemed to have an upper respiratory infection. The next day she started vomiting and we knew even before the test came back positive what it was going to tell us.
Many puppies, if treated early enough, can recover from Parvo. She is so little, so weak, so emaciated. She was that way when we got her, but she is now just a whisper of a dog.
I am usually very pragmatic in situations like this. Irish people are genetically pragmatic, it is in our DNA. To quote one of my fellow Irish-Americans, the late Tip O'Neill, "To be Irish is to know that, in the end, the world will break your heart". Maybe that is how I am able to work in a shelter and not cry myself to sleep every single night. Because the world is supposed to be this way. Bad things happen to good people and innocent animals all the time, for no good reason.
Many shelters would not have given her a chance. It is dangerous to have a dog with Parvo in a shelter. Maybe she should have been euthanized when we found out how bad it really was. I do understand what other shelters would do in this situation, and why it should be done. But I could not do it. She seemed like she wanted to fight. So I figured that I should let her.
I took her home and have set up a makeshift hospice where she could be isolated from my dogs and family to minimize the risk of her infecting other dogs and the environment. I have been administering subcutaneous fluids, as an IV was unable to be inserted due to her weak condition and collapsing veins. I have been keeping her warm, clean and dry. I have been giving her nutritional supplements. I have been trying to keep her spirits up. Every time I think she is done for, she seems to read my mind and gather up all of her strength to get up and walk around so I can see she is not ready to go, yet.
Somewhere along the line I became a person who cannot bear a sad ending. I am not sure when this started, but I will not read a book or watch a movie anymore unless I can be certain of a happy ending. After living a pessimistic life where not only was my glass half-empty, but the liquid left in it was arsenic, I have turned into a believer.
I am the person who watches the wildlife shows on TV who roots for the wildebeest crossing the river with the crocodiles waiting nearby. I shout encouragement to the baby seals in South Africa, as they dodge the teeth of the Killer Whales. I know all about the circle of life, I saw The Lion King. But, while in my world, the zebra escapes to run another day from the pride of lions who are now happily munching on a dead animal they took from the hyenas off camera. I root for the underdogs. I root for the lowly and meek. Heck, I even root for the Mets.
I believe that this little puppy will somehow make it, and pull through this disease. Despite her weak condition. Despite her bad odds. Despite everything. I have done all I can do for her. It is up to her now. She has to be strong. She has to accept my medications, and needle pricks. She has to want to live as badly as I want her to.
I am praying for one more happy ending tonight.
