it's a tough thing to do... trying to decide when to let someone go. it's even worse when you have to decide if letting them go means that you will be responsible for them passing. i think its about time for passing. I likely will be the one to push the button.

This is Buffy. Yeah, i know... horrible name. Let me tell you a little story.

2001 I discovered that my parents were planning on leaving Atascadero, CA summer 2002. I had graduated in 2000 and had been taking classes after about six months of doing nothing (literally). Which meant i either had to move with them or find a way to make a living in a town that requires (yes requires) you to be making 30k$ in order to be livable (yes livable, average apartment was renting for 1.22$ a square foot, houses were going for 1.44-1.80$ a square foot). So... the next year i would be going to Oregon.

My mother had been over to my grandmothers house mid October and said, "You wouldn't believe the puppies my brothers dog just had! Their all so cute!" The mother was a Border Collie that apparently had sex with everything in the neighborhood, but one of the was quickly turning into a problem child.

My uncle had found homes for the other four, but this one was going to be my grandmothers dog. When she was four months old she was already hoping and bouncing around a 94 year old woman. Everyone in the family was worried that she was going to knock my grandmother down. So, on one trip over (mid December), my mother talked my grandmother in to taking the black poofball Chow/BorderCollie mix my grandmother had named Fluffy (she looked a bit like a ball of black dryer lint... literally POOFball). By the next trip (a month later) my grandmother had realized Fluffy was more dog than she could handle and agreed to send the dog to my house.

There was a contingency problem though. My mother had no intentions of keeping Fluffy. Her intent was to get this 'roudy and sometimes vicious dog' away from her mother and then take the puppy to the pound.

This is where I come in. Given my background with handling animals (yet another long story), I ran Fluffy through the gamut of dog aggression tests... she failed every one (food aggression, dog aggression, other animal aggression, contact aggression). If she had gone to the pound she would have been dead within three days.

After talking to my parents about it for half a day (literally sitting at the table and duscussing) I used my agression and said 'Shes staying here. Two weeks. If she doesnt have an atitude turn around by then you can do what you want." When it comes to the 'right thing' I tend to be very a very scary person. So i had my two weeks.

The dog run was a cement pad that ran from one end of the houe to the other passed the garrage side door and the back house door. I sat on the steps of the back door and forced her to have to walk past me if she wanted to go to the other end. After about six hours of her growling and snapping at me every time she wanted water I layed back and just stared at the sky. About five minutes later she was running back and forth next to me like 'yeah... i win :P'. Four days in, time to tackle another very difficult problem: food aggression.

Food aggression is the second highest killer for any dog in a pound/rescue. You put her food down or went near her bowl (empty or otherwise) she would literally try to rip you apart. So I took her bowl away completely and forced her to eat directly from my hand. First couple days she was starving. i could tell, but by the third morning she couldn' t wait for me to get out side. Food aggression stopped at that instant. but there was a catch... anyone else went near her food bowl she will still try to rip them apart but i could literally take the food right out of her mouth. (that part of her aggression never realy went away, but it expanded. the 'direct family' can now do the same, anyone else will likely die).

The dog aggression problem... well it really wasn't a problem. We were moving to Oregon shortly and needed a dog that would bark at anything that moved. So instead of concentrating on dog aggression, contact aggression was a bigger bill. Mind you, I had four days left to break her of nipping and biting everything that 'looked' like it was going to pet her. So i took a page from my dads old military attack dog training book. I pinned her down and rolled her on her back until she submitted and stopped squirming. I still have the scars on my chest where she got me good one of the times but by the end of the second week i could wander outside and drop my paws on her head and she would wag and expect a treat. Everyone else would have lost a finger, but it was worth it to see that she at least had a chance.

There was a catch-22 on this whole thing though. I was using 'military style' tactics to calm her down and pull her back from her aggression. Problem was she was literally trained to me. No one else could control her. So... by the end of the two weeks I didn't have a choice any more. "Mom, Dad. This is Buffy. And she's my dog."

Six months later, and a lot more direct contact and handling training (she still hated to be brushed), we got to Oregon it was not even 20 minutes to her peeing on brand new carpet in the house. Yarg... no this wasn't like 'new territory pee' this was 'omg i haven't gone in 9 hours *gush!*' I swear the puddle was like three feed in diameter...

She was my dog; a bit of a pest from time to time (try changing your oil with someone laying on your lap, I dare ya!) and barked at everything that moves (even got into a 'stamping fight' with a skunk one time [no spray though]). She was always happy and healthy.
And brilliant. My god was she smart and yet so stupid from time to time. She was running back and forth along the fence line (around the age of four) barking at the UPS guy like she was about to use him as dental floss when BOOM! she hit the pump house. She hit it with such force she moved it over a foot... I can't even lift the damn thing and she MOVED it by running into it. Hilarious yes, but oy did she have a headache.

When she was three, my older brother Erny gave us a puppy. Literally, "here's a dog from a litter my dog had. :3" Buffy got over her dog aggression really REALLY fast. Like less than four hours of 'no! *noseswat* no hurting the puppy!' It worked, Auska, a german shorthair, is now the bigger dummy at all times. But this is where Buffys intelegence shined. Auska always wanted what Buffy had. If Buffy left her favorite place to lay on the porch, Auska was there before Buffy got down the steps. I wouldn't have believed this if I hadn't seen it. Buffy walked out into the middle of the yard and peed, turned around and saw Auska laying in her spot at the door. I could see the gears turning in her head. So Buffy wagged and walked over to the old destroyed frisby laying in the hard and picked up. Started tossing it around and jumping/bouncing and basically playing catch with herself. Auska saw that 'oh hey look! something she wants, its mine!' and ran down the steps to go steal the frisby... Buffy dropped the disk and hurried up the stairs and laid down leaving ADHD Auska to chew on the plastic and then look at the porch going "DO'H!".

About five years ago she was in for one of her annual checkups and the doctor said 'uhoh... sounds like she might have hear worm'. blood tests and xrays later, yep... she had heartworm. So it was a desission, fast treatment or slow treatment. I did all the research for the level of 'infestation'. She was borderline long or short treatment. I said long, my mother said 'shorter is cheaper'. Fuck...
The shots of melarsomine were terribly strong and painful. I could see it on Buffy's face when my mother would return home with her. Buffy when even as far as biting me because I 'tapped' the hair on her lower back right above the injection site. The hardest part of it all was she couldn't be active... at all. She was locked in a 6x6ft kennel for six weeks, treatments two weeks apart. This is a dog that would stand up and charge the fence at full speed at the site/sound of the UPS truck or the sight of a small child.

There's something you don't notice about a dogs personality until its changed. She was growing agitated and crabby by the end of the sixth week. There was no more of anyone being able to put a collar around her neck. She knew the collar meant 'another treatment!' To this day, if she sees a nylon strap of any kind she will hide under the porch.

Well... now we fast forward to the last two years. After the drug treatments for the heartworm, we noticed she was a lot slower in her movement. She acted like her back end was always achy and weak. All of us agree that the drugs had been so strong that they had injured her ability to walk. Auska over the the last two years has been taking advantage of this slow wobblyness and pushes Buffy out of the way of food or into Buffy's bed.

But Buffy is now just the crabby old granny that talks back but gives in. Today however, I had a late start and went to the house to grab myself some food (PB&J). And noticed Buffy was laying in her usual hiding spot under the porch. I didn't think much of it. I ate and went back out to the cabin. About four hours later i went back to the house did a few things then went back out to the cabin. Went back to the house to cook dinner on the grill and didn't even notice that Buffy wasn't around (not that she ever did. she was more interested in after dinner scraps than food on the grill). So after dinner I went back to the cabin, about an hour ago my mother called me on the intercom and said "I've been trying for over an hour to get Buffy to come out from under the deck. But shes acting like she can't. She wants too but she can't seem to get her legs to move."

It took me about 20 minutes to get her to drag herself to her feet and wobble a few feet then sit, stand up and move another few feet then sit. I even broke the lactate off around the deck to make it so she wouldn't have to duck down to get out. Once she was out i tried to get her to move around. Typical, she was able to move once she got going but soon as she stopped she had to sit. She got some water and i got her walking towards her pin (rather than the porch). And now... she's out at her dog house with her dog bed, a pile of blankets, and a piece of plywood as a roof for now.

But yeah, overall. She doesn't want to quit. She never wants to quit, but I don't think its up to her any more. It's more up to her body and me watching her suffer. If she doesn't show some improvement in her giddy-ahp in the next day or so... well... she made it 11 more years than she would have otherwise. But somehow... the pain of having to let go after all those years doesn't seem worth it now that the end is near.

p.s. Another story of her i just remembered that happened about a week before this photo. My mother was out washing the 63VW beetle in the driveway. Buffy was still spry and playful (no Auska yet). Buffy loved to play tug-of-war to the point we were burned out. Buffy had managed to get a hold of the end of the towel my mother was using to dry the Beetle. Of course the car was dry by the time and my mother wanted to get out of the heat so she tied the towel to the bumper of the car. I was in the house when I heard my mother come in the house and about a minute later we could hear 'screech...! screech...! screech...!' Both of us ran outside to find Buffy dragging (YES DRAGGING) the Beetle backwards. She had already managed to pull it back out of the garage about two feet by the time we got out there. It's a 2400lb car and she dragged it with the emergency break AND the transmission locked in first gear. Remember what i said about being smart and dumb? This was one of those moments.