Friday, 10.26.2012 - 10:17 pm.
I took the puppies back to the vet clinic yesterday. I cried when I packed their stuff and my heart still bleeds a little when I remember them. It's been a while since I've had that sense of loss.
They turned one month old. I spent that month feeding them every four hours, then every six hours, and cleaning them as frequently, and at times it was so exhausting. But also, it was wonderful watching them grow: they went from crawling to walking clumsily but merrily. From not noticing me to wagging their tails at the sight of me. From sucking each other as a reflex (69ing, WTF) to playing and growling and biting each other. From feeding from the bottle to eating dog food. They stopped looking like worms and began looking like real puppies. Or tiny bears, or hairy hippos.
Many times I cursed them at 2 am while feeding them, because I was so tired. But things improved as they grew and I moved them from a box to the bathroom, covering the floor with newspapers and lending them one of my cats' beds. One more week here and they wouldn't both fit in it. They started teething and they learned to eat by themselves, although making a mess at first. Thankfully, they became very calm and the last days here they slept throughout the night. I got my good night's sleep back.
The problem was the rug. Sometimes they'd do their thing on the newspaper in the bathroom, but inevitably they'd come out and pee or poop in the living room while playing and exploring. There was always toilet paper on the floor absorbing something. The time it took me to look after this particular issue is the biggest reason why I took them back to the vet, on the day my vet friend told me to.
Andrew was amazing. From the start it was established that it was my responsibility but he went the extra mile on helping me when he could. He helped me prepare the bottle or the food, clean up, get newspapers, boil water to keep them warm, buy medicine for their teething pain. I didn't have to ask, it was always his initiative. Sometimes I'd come running after seeing a patient and I'd find the bottle or food was ready or that he had already fed them. More than that, he never complained, not once. It didn't seem to bother him the occassional whimpering or barking, or the dirty rug. He never told me anything like "get them to shut up" or "when are you taking them back?". He looked at the puppies with tenderness and he'd caress them to sleep or keep them in his lap while we watched TV. Once again, I see what an awesome man he is.
He was actually the one who suggested we kept them one more week. I've been struggling with the idea, why don't I bring them back? I thought there was a strong reason why I should take them to the vet, but I guess my vet friend was just trying to take this weight off my back. They do need to be in observation, because they lack antibodies since they weren't fed by their mom. And they need their shots and get neutered. But I could have them here all the same. I have a cute video of my cat Nico embracing one of the puppies and both of them nibbling the other. We could have that again.
Then I think, they are a distraction and I need to finish my thesis ASAP. Also, they'd be ready for adoption by november 25th and november will be terribly busy for Andrew and I: two congresses out of town (three for him), the annual dinner of my scholarship agency which means traveling for 16 hours, the Pulp concert, Nephew #3 coming, possibly my best friend Victoria coming. Plus our regular schedule. And eventually, I'd still have to give them up anyway. I don't mind going through that pain but there's no use in putting it off.
When I took them yesterday to the clinic, they didn't make a noise. They were very calm and my vet friend said that meant I'd raised them well. They weren't anxious or scared. In fact, one of them was peacefully asleep when I took him out of the pet carrier for his check-up, and he kept sleeping on his back in my hands while he was being checked upon. And kept sleeping when he was being weighed.
I felt guilty when they were put in a cage. Andrew had the idea of taking the cat bed and the blanket they slept in, so at least they'd have a familiar smell. They kept sleeping peacefully in there. By next week they'll be moved to a bigger cage. I know it's standard procedure and obviously can't be let loose around the clinic; they may be taken out to run around the room. They also can't be in touch with grass (the clinic has a nice backyard for dogs to run around) until their immune system is strong. But I feel so sad, because they recognized me, they cuddled with me and they had all the space to run in our apartment. I know they'll be very well taken care of at the clinic but I'm sorry I've removed them from the nice life I gave them.
In a month, one of them will be adopted by a friend of Andrew's. This friend has stayed with us a few times and he was here when I'd just brought the puppies. He fell in love, it seems, and is waiting for the little one to be ready for a home. I hope the other one is as lucky.
The odds were against them. Their mom was a stray and cancer-ridden (the tumors were removed but the cancer spread though she has a couple of years left). Had she given birth to her 11 babies, they'd have died within days out in the cold, as probably she would have, too. Instead, these babies, at least the two I became responsible for, have spent their first month with full bellies and warm blankets, with lots of love and a couple of cats. It's not a bad way to start a life, I think. I like to believe it's a good sign of how nice the rest of their lives will be.
***
Speaking of cancer: my mom is making progress. A report came in this week, the treatment is working. My dad is talking about traveling with her next year. Brother #2, a doctor, wrote back saying that she'd be fine by then. It hasn't dissapeared but it was wonderful news. Looks like she's beating the cancer.
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