After a tear-filled day of digesting overwhelming information from pet med sites and recounts of people whose dogs suffered the same fate, I shut my eyes and asked for a sign. “Maybe if she’s still alive by tomorrow, it means you would want to give her that fight, and I would respect that. But if it’s her time to go, then take her by tomorrow. Whichever way, I hope that your decision would be something that she would be most comfortable in. She deserves that.”
At 12:30pm the following day, I did get my answer.
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| 2009. |
Three days ago, when I brought Batchoy to the vet, I was afraid that it was going to be the same virus that claimed the life of two of our Rottweiler pups the same week because like them she was lethargic and totally anorexic. But to my relief it came out negative. Negative for distemper too. But as the vet opened her mouth wide, he discovered a bevy of ulcers on her gums and tongue. Her breath reeked of strong ammonia. Then that dreadful hunch: Renal failure.
Two days prior to that, she ceased eating totally. She tends to be picky and wouldn’t take regular kibbles if she has been eating it for a week. Wouldn’t take a bite to save her life. So I moved on to giving her rice mixed with table food and meat chunks, which during most times, she’d leave alone save for the meat. I thought that her increasing pickiness has to do with the fact that she was receiving gracious rations of tasty meat from the neighbors. There were no significant behavioral changes at all.
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| Plump and heavy as a puppy, we named her Batchoy. |
She was feisty as usual, scaring away messengers and “intruders” like she was in the goddamn K9 Squad. Till two days ago, she kept that welcoming and buwis-buhay habit of running to and fro across the parking lot as the car backs up – which annoyed Jigs to bits. She’d jump at family, lean her head on their belly and beg for a pat on the head whenever they visited.
Choy-choy has always been a very smart and sweet dog. We didn’t teach her tricks. She learned what halika, alis, tabi, up, and sit meant on her own. Whenever she ate, she would stop in an instant if I said “‘Wag mo muna kainin”. She loved playing hide-and-seek, and would rally up the stairs to find us in corners, behind curtains or doors, inside tents, and squiggle excitedly every time she does.
We didn’t have to order her or coax her for a walk. She’s always loved those and eversince I was in college, she would instantly jump off her feet whenever I’ve put my shoes on and accompany me to the jeepney stop regardless if she was sleeping or not. I’ve always felt safe during lone walks even when I was so pregnant because she was trampling alongside, and no dog or man could come near to harm me and Lia. Her dog instincts were lightning fast.
She has survived two near-death experiences: One from acute renal failure in 2006, and another, a deep laceration on her intestines from a jump-off-the-gate stunt she did at dawn while we were asleep two years ago. Both instances, she was up and running the next day, even with an IV line on. Like nothing serious happened. A dog with the spirit of a Viking.
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| Batchoy with her sister Stitch, back when I was still living my parents in Manila. |
But, for the past month-and-a-half we also saw how she gradually lost weight. Her abdomen, deep and hollow as a crescent moon, and her coat, an unkempt, lackluster shroud of white in disarray – all effects of her kidneys failing. Later I would find out that majority of affected dogs don’t exhibit any symptoms at all, lest the disease has hit Stage 3. By then, irreversible kidney damage has occurred, and only 25% is left functioning. From old age most probably, said the doc. After all, she’s already 56 in human years.
Being it a Sunday, the lab was closed and the vet decided to do the blood work yesterday morning. I wasn’t expecting that the results would turn out promising. All her symptoms pointed directly to end-stage chronic renal failure. And even in human patients in the hospital, when this is the case, we don’t expect them to continue on their mortal journeys for very long.
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| A walk at dusk in 2011 with our Rottie, Shisha, when I was three months pregnant with Lia. |
From the time she went home with the IV line on her last Sunday till yesterday, she was in close watch, and we saw how the IV, water, and meds didn’t seem to help. She was depressed and asleep most of the time, and vomited yellow bile four times. The light in her eyes was gone. Whenever she looked at me, she seemed immensely exhausted though still fighting. I know her spirit would have wanted to stay, but her nearly eight-year old body has given up on her.
By noon yesterday, her breathing was faster and deeper, much like she was heaving a sigh with each breath. I gave her water through a syringe and told her I was going to check again on her right after lunch. Jigs was the first to go out, and he yelled that Choy-Choy was gone. Thirty minutes. That was all it took. She went peacefully in her sleep, no grand exits, seizures or loud, painful groans. She wiggled her tail a last time Monday evening, after snarling at some pesky fly bugging her leg.
She was still warm though a bit rigid when I prepped her for burial. Cleaning that huge cage and tucking the soft mats away in a plastic bag where her limp body laid for three days was the hardest. It was like taking out memoirs and letters out of a soul box
for burning and watching it transform from a safe, memory-filled home to a hollow, useless space.
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| Batchoy at 2 years old. 2007. |
The lab results came out around 3 pm and confirmed our suspicion. Four-fold BUN and two-fold Creatinine values, toxic wastes in her blood, which meant her kidneys’ filtering ability was totally useless. As a result, she had also become anemic and septic. Had she been alive when those came out, I would have brought her to the vet to be put to sleep anyway. There are no treatments. She might have lived a few more weeks or months being fed soft diet through a syringe, but it would be an insufferable journey. She would have seizures, severe vomiting, pain. And that’s not a life I would choose for her just so we could buy more time to spend with her. Better one day sooner than a day of misery, as they say.
In the end it’s a choice between fighting for a second (or fourth) chance at life and learning to let go. It’s always unbearable to be making the second one, but as caretakers we do it, because these animals as we call them, are as much family as our brothers or sisters are. And they too, deserve to die with decency and comfort for all the unrelenting love they have shown us, even when we forget to replenish their bowls, scold them crazy, or even sell them for meat at times. I was lucky I didn’t have to make that heartbreaking choice. Choy-choy went on her own terms.
People say that my pets are blessed to have been saved from the streets. Sometimes I tell them that I am the one who’s blessed to have been endowed that incredible opportunity. In the end, I’d like to believe that it is us humans who get more out of these relationships. Not only are we offered unconditional loyalty, companionship and protection, pets do awaken a certain humanity in us that we may have never thought possible.
Thank you, Batchoy, for sharing eight wonderful, love-filled years with us. You will forever be missed. I’m sorry you weren’t able to stay long enough to play with Lia, but I promise you will be in her bedtime stories. Don’t bite Jesus. He’s a pretty nice guy.
we will miss you Batchoy.thanks for the good memories…
Sorely missed!