It’s been a month and a half since I started writing this post. I let you all know it’d be a few days before I was back. That it would be a few days before we felt recovered from all that happened mid-August. I guess I lied.

I’ve never lost a dog before. Not one that slept by my bed (or in my bed). One who depended on me to feed and bathe him. To let him outside. To love him.

I hate that I haven’t had time or energy to write these past few weeks. This blog is supposed to be a journal of our lives and a reference for a birth mother some day. So, for that woman, here’s the story of our first child…

In October of 2009 my sister-in-law called to say she had found a dog in the countryside. Lost, starving, and scared. She picked him up and brought him home. Since she was coming home from school over the weekend, she loaded him up and brought him to Junction City.

He was short, scrawny and a little bit skittish. His ribs showed through his skin and his head seemed massive in proportion to his body. But with food, time and love all of that changed. Brett spent weeks bonding with him, and though our initial goal was to locate his people, it wasn’t long before we realized his people were long gone and that we loved him too much to let him go.

You can see how skinny he was in the picture above where my father-in-law is feeding the dogs treats

Fast forward nine years. We’ve been on road trips, and camping trips, and to the farm too many times to count. Squirt’s favorite word initially was “farm”. There’s been popcorn aplenty. And in the last few months, really all of the last year, there’s been lots of medication, vet visits and pain… mostly in our hearts, but here at the end a little bit on his part as well.

About a month and a half ago he made it clear that it was time to let go, so we have. Reluctantly.

A few Squirt stories…

He got his name because initially he “squirted” on everything. He was a fully intact male and wanted everyone to know it. I came up with the name on a whim despite, my father-in-law, Tom’s reluctance to let us keep him. I remember him giving his wife and kids a direct order, “do NOT name this dog. We’re not keeping him!” He didn’t count on me not being able to follow directions. Ha!

Squirt, Brett and I used to enjoy Saturdays at the family farm. One day during the first year we had him, he and I were out exploring. I was taking pictures while Brett worked on a Jeep. Squirt “found” something and spent a good few minutes digging frantically in the dirt. I could tell he’d found something, but it wasn’t until I saw something come out of the hole, something that was mostly black with a distinct white stripe, that I turned to run. That’s right. A nice, healthy skunk came up out of that den and sprayed my baby right in the face. Squirt went nuts trying to get “it” off. And I, in my haste to run, had slipped in a rather large mud puddle and landed on all fours. Never have I been more thankful to actually use the neck strap on my high dollar camera. It was muddy, but not broken. And the pictures from that day are priceless.

As time went on Squirt grew to love snuggling with us on the couch, and at the foot of the bed, at least until we turned the light out to go to sleep and then he’d jump down and return to his bed. Apparently I wiggle too much for his taste and a queen size bed was clearly not big enough for the three of us. He’d only return to our bed in the middle of the night during a particularly noisy storm. Generally he wasn’t afraid of them, but sometimes he’d be just nervous enough to wiggle his way between Brett and I on the bed.

We have HUNDREDS of photos of this dog sleeping.

Every morning Squirt would come over to Brett’s side of the bed and snort at him. Brett would get up and they’d get around together and then Squirt would either hop onto the bed and lay down next to me or settle back in on his dog bed next to my side of the bed. Brett would come over to wake me up, and kiss me goodbye, only to be met with growls. Squirt never once woke me up in the morning. Not before he got sick. Not after. Not even if Brett was out of town and he really needed to pee. He truly understood my hatred for mornings and was okay with it.

Have you ever met a lab who was terrified of water? Bath time has always been a challenge, especially near the end. His illnesses resulted in skin infections and the last few weeks were filled with baths. Thankfully, as time went on he became more trusting of Brett and I, but no less terrified when we doused him with soap and water to get the stink, mud, and grease off.

Yes, Squirt was a grease monkey! Nothing made him happier than sniffing parts in the garage while Brett worked on a vehicle. The Jeep is just tall enough that Squirt could stand under it and get his back all nice and greasy.

Squirt and Brett had a common hatred for public displays of affection, unless of course it was with each other. Every man who’s ever been owned by a dog knows that when I say they were best friends, they were truly, and completely, best friends. Inseperable up to the end.

Fast forward to April of 2017. We had noticed that he had become fuller around the middle and I took him to the vet to have it checked out. A few scans later and a trip to KSU and several vets were able to confirm a tumor on Squirt’s spleen. He never once showed any discomfort or illness, so we made the difficult decision to operate. The vets were very clear. Surgery was risky. And if successful, he still might only have a few months. Typically a splenic mass is a sarcoma. And that type of cancer is quick growing.

We chose to have our local vet operate, but it was going to be a couple of weeks before she could get him into her schedule. And as “luck” would have it, by the time she went to operate the mass had doubled or tripled in size. We went straight to KSU. Brett knew that he wasn’t going to give up Squirt without a fight.

Surgery resulted in the removal of a 7 pound, basketball-sized tumor. It took several sets of hands and a blood transfusion to remove the tumor safely and bring Squirt out of surgery alive. He began to recover fairly quickly, as animals do. And the lab results came back with evidence that the tumor was not the type of cancer the vets thought it might be. It was cancer though. That much was clear. Since we didn’t know much about the rare type of cancer Squirt had, we decided to enter him into a clinical trial, for which he just-so-happened to qualify. We also decided to do a few rounds of chemo. Just in case.

We knew going into it that only one dog made it to the year mark in the trial. Most passed on in the first few months. We wanted to do it anyway. Cancer research comes in all forms, and I believe that anything they can learn from any trial helps us come closer to better treatments, and someday maybe even a cure.

Two rounds of chemo later we found that Squirt’s immune system appeared to be killing off red blood cells. We stopped the chemo and started dosing him with various steroids and immuno-suppressant drugs. The only thing that appeared to work was prednisone. Prednisone is a steroid that’s perfectly safe, for short-term use. At high doses and long-term use it works against the body. In the end it shuts down organs and causes skin rashes, among other things.

Squirt spent a year and four months fighting for his life. Most days I’m not even sure he knew he was fighting for it. There were ups and downs. Days when we’d get off work and find a mess on the carpet. And there were days when he’d meet us at the door wagging his tail, wanting supper.

In the end, we could have put him down instead of operating. We could have given up at any point in the last year and a half. And if we hadn’t been blessed with the means to operate we’d have had no choice.

Whether or not everyone agrees with our choice to operate, and spend a year caring for him, we know we made the right decision. Squirt taught us many, many things. And we believe that God had a plan for us this past year. He taught us that trusting there’s a plan is crucial. He taught us that there’s joy in life despite difficulties. And, He taught us that loving and letting go is part of life.

This past month has been a shock for me especially. I find myself running into the foot of bed, because for years I’ve weaved my way around a dog and a dog bed on my way to crawl into my bed. I find myself leaving food on my plate, only to realize there’s no one to eat it. Brett has called out Squirt’s name at bedtime, to let him out one last time before bedtime. And, on Labor Day weekend we found ourselves completely at a loss on Monday afternoon. No one to follow Brett around the shop, or to go for a walk, or even just lay around with while reading a book.

I know losing people is hard. But I had no idea that losing a pet could be just as hard, if not harder. Somehow, spending 90% of your time caring for someone makes it that much harder to lose them. And that’s despite the fact that you might have more free time, less mess to clean up, or just a more flexible schedule.

I hope I never have to lose Brett, at least not for a good long time. And I hope to never lose a child, but I don’t know God’s plan for my life. I can only pray for the wisdom, strength, and fortitude to go on when the inevitable happens and goodbye comes.