I barely remember her with hair. The Cushing’s has claimed most of it. She’s got a little mohawk on top of her head now and resembles a short-haired dachshund instead of a wire-haired one.
I read her story and it broke my heart so I sponsored her. But it gnawed at me knowing she’d never get adopted. No one wants a dog with a bad heart. That’s the only condition they had disclosed, it turned out. They pretty much gave her to me when I drove down to meet her a couple days later. She had been in a shelter for about a year and was miserable. They got her a foster home only a month or two before I got her where her demeanor seemed to be improving. Her foster mom drove to meet me half-way in Stockton and since I was willing they waived all normal adoption requirements and signed her over to me in a McDonald’s parking lot.
That was on a Saturday. The following Monday we were in the vet’s office and I got to find out the extent of her ailments. She endured over a year of Cushing’s without treatment. It’s toll–I really did think I was bringing her home to die. She looked like she had already checked-out.
This dog has beaten so many odds that I’m tempted–but ultimately unwilling to subject her to surgery that would very-likely leave her dead on a table. Her heart disease is pretty advanced and I’d rather she goes here at home, where she’s comfortable and as happy as I was ever able to make her.
She wouldn’t have gotten three years without me. Of that I’m certain.
