An Odd Blog About Old Dogs

This is an odd blog run by Sophiane, an odd person who likes to write about all the odd things that happen when you run a rescue for odd old dogs.

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Hope you all had a fun, safe, spooky Halloween last night! Dobby (dressed as Dobby) and Ollivander (dressed as King Ollivander) certainly did! #halloween #halloweendog #olddog #chihuahuasofinstagram #poodlesofinstagram #seniordog #fospice #adoptanolddog

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Hippo’s Best Last Day

Well, it’s happened. Something that I made has gone (kinda) viral.

As someone with very few, very specific talents, I never really anticipated that anything that I created or did would be exposed to 1.5+ million people. But it has happened. So, I suppose I should probably say something. And strap in boys and girls, because I’m about to say a lot.

I won’t talk about myself much. Let’s just keep it simple- just an introduction for those of you who may just be joining us. My name is Sophiane Nacer. Many of you have already sent me friend requests. I probably won’t accept, just because most of things I post are either also posted to the rescue’s official Facebook (because they’re pictures of the dogs), or they’re about how my life-size Severus Snape from Amazon just arrived or how, according to a Buzzfeed post, I am a Chinstrap penguin. Anyways, I digress. I founded Cayleb’s Kindred Senior Dog Rescue five years ago, when I was 14 years old. A childhood filled with feral cats and other animal oddities culminated when I rescued Cayleb, who I had for a month until he passed suddenly from advanced liver cancer. Realizing just how many senior dogs were being overlooked and euthanized in local shelters, we decided to continue to rescue dogs like Cayleb- his kindred spirits, you could say (see what we did there?). So I drafted my unsuspecting mother and my extremely dog-and-everything-else allergic father into the strange, wonderful world of old dog rescue.

It’s been five years of mostly just my mom and me tackling the insurmountable task of not only rescuing senior dogs from euthanasia, but convincing people that senior dogs deserved to be rescued from euthanasia. The first few years were difficult. We were frequently accused of “wasting time and resources” on these “lost causes”. These accusations didn’t just come from uneducated members of the public, but from fellow rescuers. Luckily, in the past year or so we’ve seen a definite change for the better. We have more support than ever, and more people (fosters and adopters) looking to share their lives with amazing old dogs, no matter how long (or short) that time may be.

Hippo was one of those amazing dogs.

Hippo was brought to Adams County Animal Shelter- the same shelter we got Cayleb from five years back- as a stray. Anyone who looked at him could see that he was severely neglected. His face was misshapen and ulcerated from what appeared to be aggressive tumors. His skin was infected and raw. His nails were unkempt and curling into the pads of his paws. Whoever had Hippo before didn’t deserve him and he certainly didn’t deserve to suffer through what they put him through. So I offered to take him. I was under no illusions as to his condition. Just looking at his intake photo it was clear that medical intervention would be of no help to him. The kindest thing would be to make sure that he passed easily and peacefully. And if that could be accomplished in a home, where he would be loved, then I was more than willing to do that for him. Of course, I didn’t really know if he would want that. The rescue coordinator, a friend of mine, didn’t know either. He was suffering so much, and had been for so long, that nobody would blame him if he didn’t want to be touched. If he didn’t want to move. If he didn’t want to interact. If that was the case, I wouldn’t force him to get into another car and go to yet another place. But I would’ve stayed there for his passing and hoped that he knew he was loved.

Of course, like all of our dogs, Hippo exceeded all my expectations.

When I met him, he was gently wagging his tail from behind the chain link of his kennel. He happily walked out into the play yard, even though he would bump into things as he went because of the tumors growing over his eyes. When we were out there, he peed on everything like a typical boy (though a lot more than any dog without nearly complete kidney failure would’ve ever been able to muster). He trotted around and sniffed all the smells. He came up to us and asked to be pet. He tried to climb into the shelter vet’s lap. He had a lot of life left in him, but his body was failing him, and there’s nothing worse than watching a dog who wants to continue to live and love and romp be dragged down by their own shut-down body. But I decided that if today really was to be his last, we were going to make it a really, really great one. The best one. Filled with only the best things.

Best thing #1: drive with the windows down. I rarely let any of our dogs stick their heads out the window, due to a perfectly justified fear of them rocketing out of the car at the next sharp turn. But for Hippo, well, how could I say no? Hippo stuck his head out and his little Shar-Pei ears twitched in the most adorable way only really happy little Shar-Pei ears can. After five days in the shelter for a legally-required stray hold (during which nobody came to retrieve him), he basked in the feeling of a warm breeze on his face.

Best thing #2: we stopped at Starbuck for a puppuccino. They gave us an extra puppuccino after hearing his story. He devoured them both with an unparalleled gusto. Picture a pre-teen girl drinking the first pumpkin-spice frapp of the season, and you’d still be failing to grasp the sheer enthusiasm.

Best thing #3: go to the park. It was beautiful weather (thank you, global warming, for giving us such a nice day in October). We found a spot underneath a still-leafed tree, sat down on the grass, and opened a can of tripe. For those who may not know, tripe is one of the strongest-smelling (read: worst-smelling) things on earth, but I have not met a single dog that can resist it. Hippo certainly couldn’t. That entire 13.2oz can was finished in less than a minute, though a fair amount was smeared all over my hands (Hippo was unable to eat on his own due to the painful and disfiguring nature of his facial tumors) and the grass around us. If you ever walk your dog in Wash Park in the next few months and find them inexplicably drawn to a patch of grass in the North side of the park, it’s because the pungent smell of tripe is clinging to the blades with a death grip.

Best thing #4: drink from the lake. This is something I never let our dogs do, as I shudder to think about the havoc the bacteria would wreak on their delicate systems. But for Hippo, long-term consequences weren’t really a consideration. So he got the go-ahead. In five years of this, I have never seen a dog drink as much water in one go as that dog drank. As impressive as it was, it was also sad to know just how damaged his internal system must’ve been for him to be drinking that much and peeing completely unconcentrated urine in equal volume. But we didn’t focus on that. Instead, we focused on not ending up in the lake itself- Hippo was quite perturbed when the water had the gall to lap at his toes and I was not particularly looking to wade any time soon.

Best thing #5: make some friends. At first, I didn’t try to introduce Hippo to any other dogs. I was worried that if they happened to bump into his face, or another sore spot, he might react. But when an over-excited, wiggly, off-leash Golden Retriever rushed over to us, Hippo was so happy. His tail began to wag faster than I had ever seen it. He let his face be sniffed, and sniffed right back. After that, I tried to find other friendly dogs to introduce him to. It was difficult. People who began to make their way over to us with the clear intention of letting their dog visit would quickly turn the other way when they got close enough to see Hippo’s condition. I can’t imagine what they thought- that I was a monster who was abusing my dog, that he was infected with a horribly contagious disease, etc. And I could somewhat understand- after all, it is our job to make sure our dogs are kept safe and away from horrible people and horrible diseases. But it also broke my heart because every time Hippo knew a dog was coming (either by seeing them enter into his limited field of vision or by hearing the clinking of their tags), his little tail would start wagging. And when he heard them leaving, it would stop. Luckily, we met a wonderful woman and her older Golden Retriever. Both her and her dog stopped to say hello to Hippo, and the two of us talked about him while the dogs happily visited. When she heard that it was Hippo’s last day, she went over to him and pet him and told him how glad she was to have met him. If you are reading this, wonderful woman (or her awesome dog, in which case wow- good job learning to read, awesome dog) I want you to know how much it meant to me (and Hippo, of course) that you stopped and said hello.

Best thing #6: cuddle. We sat in the grass for a while, just watching and smelling and hearing all the things going on around us. With his tummy full and his initial exploration done, Hippo and I got to know each other. He was an extremely soulful dog- the type of dog that would approach you gently, quietly, with everything he had. The type of dog that had eerily human eyes. The type of dog who stands right in front of you with his head bowed, just waiting for a kiss or ear scratch. Just for a moment, when he allowed me to rub his ears and under his chin, trusting me entirely despite how close I came to his painful sores, I started to cycle through that unavoidable thought process. ‘Maybe,’ I thought ‘I could take him to CSU’s Teaching Hospital. Maybe they would know of some miracle cure. Maybe I could raise enough money to do all the fancy new procedures that exist in the hopes that one would fix all his ailments and give him the time he deserved.’  But that wouldn’t have been fair. I think oftentimes we become so overcome with love and the feeling that “there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my dog” that we forget dogs live in the moment. They don’t think “well, if I go through this painful, exhausting treatment for a few months I’ll have an extra year”. All they know is that, in that moment, they’re painful and tired. And after three hours in the park, Hippo was both. He began to slow his trot to a stumble. He began to paw at his face, breaking open two of his sores despite my best efforts to prevent it. He became less interested in the things around him.

So we headed home, with his head out the window once more.

Best thing #7: eat a roasted chicken. Dr. Erica Rambus, the veterinarian who generously does all of our in-home euthanasia, brought a chicken for him. We spread a blanket out on the floor of the living room and sat down with him, overcoming our delicate vegan sensitivities to tear off pieces for him to munch on as he drifted off to sleep. I laid down beside him, rubbing his tiny little ears and kissing his wrinkly cheek as he began to snore louder and louder. And then he was gone.

Hippo’s passing was very peaceful, filled with lots of gentle kisses, whispered words of affection, and lots of tears.

He’s home again now, this time in a wooden, flower-engraved urn next to the ashes of my own two hospice dogs Annie and Gremlin (whose ashes are mixed in with his best friend, Soze the old albino rat). He’s right next to the head of my bed, where I wish he could’ve slept- he would’ve been quite the snorer, but after five years of sleeping through the assorted noises old dogs emit during sleep that would’ve been just fine.

With all that I loved him, I can’t help but feel angry. I try to refrain from judging the former families of the dogs we get- after all, you can never really know the circumstances that led to an old dog being a stray. But in Hippo’s case, I don’t think there is an excuse good enough to justify his state. The video I took doesn’t show the magnitude of Hippo’s sores, overcoming his face so much that he could no longer see out of one eye or eat without assistance. How his nose was all but destroyed. How there’s blood on the inside of my rear window where he rested his head. How his folds of skin were raw and infected. How his nails hadn’t been trimmed in ages- if ever. What makes me even angrier is that, through all of that, Hippo was an amazing dog. It is unimaginable to me how someone could let any dog suffer, much less a dog who must’ve still loved them despite their total neglect.

But it doesn’t do to dwell on that anger. What we should dwell on is how loved, spoiled, and happy Hippo was on his last day. He left this world having felt grass under his paws, the wind in his face, and a smorgasbord of goodies filling his tummy. And as much as I wish I could’ve known him for much, much longer, I feel so overwhelmingly lucky that I met him. And I’m so glad that you all have met him to- even if it is after he passed.

His circumstance is one of the worst we’ve seen, but his story one of the best we’ve ever been a part of.

So thank you- so, so much- to all of you who have cried over his video. Who have donated to our cause so we can continue to help dogs like Hippo. Who have shared his story with your friends so they too can see how special old dogs like Hippo are. 

One day, there will be a dog that you too can give a best last day to. And when that happens, remember this: you literally cannot go wrong with a puppuccino in the park.