A Little Dachshund Miracle: How Dogs Know When it’s Time to Go
This is a true story about our Dachshund puppy, Charly, and our beloved Australian Shepherd, Miki. Unfortunately, or fortunately, this is exactly what happened.
(I originally wrote this only a few days after it happened.)
Charly is a girl pup, the runt of a three-dog litter only five weeks ago by our rare all-black Dachshund named Dora. (When you present a boy with a girl puppy and ask him to name her, these days you’ll most likely get something like Dora, as in “Dora the Explorer.”)
The daddy is named Rex (but actually his name was Zorro when we first got him). Zorro was too close to sounding like Dora, so when we called either name, both ran to us. It got a bit confusing.
“Rex” was part of Zorro’s very long official registered breed name, so we took that part of it, and he seemed to like it.
We wanted Rex and Dora — two rare all-black Dachshunds — to have one litter and one litter only. It was planned to be an educational, family experience for my nephews Dante, 14, and Donovan, 8. I think in retrospect, they will agree that it was a memorable moment for them.
When I was their age in Oak Cliff, Texas, a litter of puppies by our little Dachshund-like black dog Jody was a life-changing childhood experience that taught me so many things. Particularly, how to care for others, and take care of life more fragile than ours.
Charly is the only one of our Dachshunds who played with Miki, the bigger, fun-loving dog who was always attached to a tennis ball. Miki could chase a tennis ball for hours, and Charly plodded behind him trying to chew on the ball when she could get to it. Their last night together, both dogs snuggled on a pillow near the boys’ beds.
Charly is mischievous and at one point the next day I saw her chewing on a wire that was connected to a computer. I immediately checked the wire, and ran through the house telling everyone to watch for loose phone cords and other wires that the pups may chew on or pull out. We needed to be more careful.
That evening, we found Charly convulsing on a pillow, frothing at the mouth, shaking and whining.
We searched the house for poisons, we searched for plants she may have chewed on, we checked the computer wires. My thought was that she may have been electrocuted, or maybe hit her head on a metal table, or smashed her body against the glass door.
We rushed her to an emergency animal center, where they were rather thorough, but offered us only bad news. Charly suffered from a seizure that impaired her vision. Her pupils and responses were abnormal. She would be given fluids and painkillers and made comfortable, but she would probably not make it through the night. They would keep us informed, but there was nothing else to be done. Estimated cost: $1,600.
It was hard to imagine that Charly would not survive the night. I said “good-bye,” watching Charly whining with a high-pitched plaintive cry, connected to IVs and laying in an incubator-like container that I thought would be her tomb. It was heart-breaking.
It was even tougher to tell the news to the boys.
When I came back home, Miki seemed particularly concerned that I hadn’t brought back Charly. Miki jumped up on me, tugging at the empty blanket that I carried Charly away in.
Miki whimpered, took the blanket in his mouth and crawled onto the pillow they shared earlier in the evening.
It was close to midnight that night when we got a call from the emergency center to update us on Charly, and they said X-rays showed no fractures. Her pupils were tiny and even if she survived she may be handicapped, or completely blind. It still didn’t look good.
As I sat down to write about it on Facebook, I looked over to our lovely, loyal Australian Shepherd and he stood up from his pillow on wobbly legs and looked over at me with his big brown eyes. I saw Miki fall over and collapse, not far from the spot where Charly was found having the seizure. Miki, an 11-year-old dog in good health, but a bit overweight, couldn’t stand up at all. His tongue was gray and he put his head on my lap and whimpered.
I woke up my sister and the oldest boy, Dante, who knew Miki since he was 3. We comforted him, but very quickly, Miki died of an apparent heart attack with all of us around him.
Then, a call came from the emergency center, and they said, “Charly’s pupils are getting a bit bigger. She is responding to light. She may make it through the night, but she won’t be a normal dog. We may still have to put her down.”
Great, I sighed. I told them we just lost our old shepherd only minutes before. They said that that’s exactly when they noticed the first signs of new life in Charly.
The next morning, 8-year-old Donovan said good-bye to Miki and then wanted to come to the emergency clinic to say good-bye to Charly. The doctors there recommended that we either take her to a neurologist, or put her down by our regular veterinarian. They didn’t want me to take her home to die there peacefully.
Charly was on IVs and medicine and had a catheter in her and I was told if she didn’t get reconnected within one hour, she would die. They made arrangements with our vet, where Charly was born after an induced labor because Charly was a runt and just didn’t want to come out of Dora, even a day after Dora gave birth to the other two.
“If patient’s condition does not improve, recommend euthanasia,” is what the dog’s report said.
We gave Donovan the option to stay with Charly, or go to school. I urged school, and Donovan asked that if we had to put her to sleep, could he be there, too. I reluctantly agreed.
I came home, and Donovan’s dad, John was angry and frustrated that after that night of drama, all that the dog experts could do was recommend putting the pup down.
Adept at handling emergencies with our dogs in the past, John took out the catheter himself, against doctor’s orders. He stopped the bleeding, and eventually, Charly stopped the whining.
We put Charly down on the floor with both her mother and father licking her obsessively, then her brother and sister jumped on her and they all crowded her on their pillow. We expected the end to come soon, but at least Charly would be happy.
As the pet crematory service took Miki’s body away, we noticed how Charly seemed to get better.
That afternoon, Donovan came home from school and opened up the door. Mom and dad Doxies ran to greet him, then the two pups, then Charly. Donovan squealed with delight.
We thought Charly still wouldn’t make it, but it’s been a few days now, and she seems as normal as ever. We also found out that mini-Dachshunds can be prone to seizures. Unfortunately, little can be done about that.
My sister believes that somehow, the spirit of our old, loyal Miki has transferred into the little runt pup Charly. Miki knew it was his time, and he wanted Charly to live on because she just got here.
The doctors believe it’s nothing short of a miracle.
We’re just happy that Charly seems safe, and happy.
(Epilogue: Charly is now 9 years old, and has never had a seizure since. She is athletic, a fast ball chaser, and a favorite at the dog park where she frequently has a ball in her mouth that’s bigger than her head. When she sees an Australian Shepherd, she drops the ball and snuggles up with it immediately. She has never forgotten Miki, and has inherited the ball-chasing skills of her late mentor.)
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This is an excerpt from my new book, on paperback and Kindle now: A Dozen Delightful Dachshund Tales: True Stories Including Doxie Angels, War Wieners & Canine Inspirations … please check it out! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B085RTJ52V/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_U_x_KMeDEbB6PJRFQ via @amazon
