… but he was our stinker.
When the wife first got the beast, he was at a Pomeranian rescue. He followed some lady into a bank, and ended up with the rescue. The wife got him from the rescue and took him home. Instead of being a Pomeranian, it turns out he was a German Spitz.
The first week she had him, he escaped six times. One of those times he dug under the backyard fence into the neighbor’s yard. The neighbor had several small dogs, I think a Papillion and a Yorkie and something else. He went into their house through the doggie door with the other dogs, went into their pantry and ate all the dog food. He was quite aptly named Houdini.
He continued to escape over the years. When the wife went to North Carolina for the summers, he would get out and lead her on a merry chase for five (or more) hours around the hills and mountains.
One time he got out and ran down the hill onto the main road through town. When the wife found him, he was lying in the middle of the road, motionless. She thought he was dead. People were mad because she was blocking traffic trying to get to him. She picked him up and put him in the back of the car and drove him home. When she got there, she opened the door to get him out. He hopped up, jumped out of the car, and ran into the house. She tells me she thought of killing him at the time.
There was another time when we drove to North Carolina for the summer. As soon as we got to the house, the dogs promptly ran off. Somehow, the wife locked the cat and the keys in the house. I remember looking in the window and the cat looked back at me as if to say “Idiots!”
I went running around the hill trying to catch the dogs. I think Sugar Bear came back on his own. I found Calli and she walked back to the house with me. Houdini was the last holdout. I walked up the hill calling for him. Then I saw him at the top of the hill. The spot next to the cow pasture. I called him but he wouldn’t come to me. He sat there, holding up a paw. Great, I’m thinking, the little brat hurt himself. I walked up the hill to get him. When I picked him up I found out he was covered in cow shit. Brat!
I had to carry him all the way back to the house. When I finally put him down in the backyard, he went running around, playing with the other dogs, any injuries completely forgotten. I think the thought of killing him may have crossed my mind at the time.
Several summers back, he managed to escape and run off two different times. I couldn’t find him either time and he was out all night. Both times he came back home the next morning, covered in burrs and dirt, and limping because his front paw got stuck in his collar. I don’t know how it happened but I think both times he was at an all-night doggie rave. He was dehydrated and slept for about forty-eight (48) hours as he recovered. Those raves seemed to be his last ‘hurrah’ since he was much calmer after that summer.
He’s had several tumors over the years. About two weeks ago, there was a black spot that appeared over his left eyelid. It grew a little bit until last Wednesday, when it suddenly blossomed to the size of a grape. Yesterday, he was rubbing his face on the floor and pawing at the growth and it started bleeding. This morning I called the vet as soon as they opened. Got an appointment set up for this afternoon at 4:15 P.M.
We got to the appointment, and the growth on his eye wasn’t looking good. The vet looked him over and said that if we were going to get the growth removed, we’d need to get a canine opthamologist to remove it. But upon further investigation, she found a lot of tumors under his coat, including a fairly sizeable one on his back left leg / thigh. She said she could give us some meds to see if it helped with shrinking the growth on his eye. It may or may not work, and then we’d be left with the decision of whether putting him down might not be the best option.
After deliberating, the wife and I decided to have him put down now instead of gambling on something that might not help anyway.
Rest in peace, Houdini. You will be missed.
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