Rusty Boy

If you’ve ever been loved by a dog in the way our Rusty loved us, you are indeed blessed and so very lucky. Our boy Rusty’s body gave out on him at age 16.5.

In the spring of 2009 we decided to look for a dachshund rescue to join our dachshund Rocky. (Rocky loved walks in the woods with his dad. Rocky died of cancer in 2015.) We found our precious Omi (Naomi, named by her foster mom), the sweetest girl anyone could ever hope for. She arrived in New Hampshire on a transport from Florida, with the scars of her past visible on her body and in her behavior (loud noises, even dropping a fork, terrified her all her life). She had been fostered by a wonderful lady who brought her back from starvation, and loved her enough to allow us to giver her a loving, forever home. (We had to have a home visit even by the organization.) Everyone who met Omi could feel the love shining out of her being. We always marveled at Omi’s ability to love so deeply despite her past. She loved everyone and everyone loved her. She was, and now is forever our sweet Angel Omi.

At the same time that we found Omi, a young male with dark, thick red fur appeared on Coast2Coast Dachshund Rescue’s site. I just knew he had to come live with us as soon as I saw him. “Seriously?” “Yes, Dan, I’m serious.” “Three dogs? Can we do that?” We did. We needed to. For the dogs and for us. Sad changes were happening in our lives (we lost both of our moms in a year’s time) and this new challenge would be a joyful one, occupying our time, minds, and hearts with bits of happiness.

Rusty (his name which matched his color given at birth, he was given up by a family at age one and fostered by a truck driver and his sister) too arrived on a transport from Tennessee to the pick up spot in New Hampshire. Dan says from the moment Rusty saw me, Rusty knew I was his human. It was instant bonding. I was, and remained throughout his life, his safe place. That’s not to say he didn’t fiercely love Dan, he certainly did.

At first Rusty was so timid that we thought he had no voice. (Wow, were we wrong on that one!) He ate so nervously he would throw up. But those thing changed fairly quickly as he settled in with Rocky and Omi. Rusty loved to bark for barking’s sake, and everyone will tell you that he loved to eat. The one thing that never changed, I believe, was a fear or distrust of people. Therefore he was likely the most misunderstood dachshund we’ve had. He was what psychologists term “slow to warm”. And most people simply didn’t have the time or maybe the desire to create a loving bond with Rusty. Until he was no longer able to charge the door, I would need to hold him when someone (except for a very few people) came in the house. He tolerated family and friends, but he truly loved his Aunt Nada and his nephew Lucas, and my friend Kathy’s visits always meant some extra treats.

When Rusty was young, he loved to chase squirrels and dig holes. He would swim if he saw a need to such as a gull to briefly chase from shore. But he truly never learned to play in the traditional way. The one thing he loved to do though was roll! He wrapped himself up in his blankets and rolled and rolled. If he could pull Dad’s jacket onto his dog bed, you’d see him with his nose poking out the sleeve. And he was our “noodle boy”, so flexible that he could practically tie himself in a knot. I was surprised, even though it is a dachshund thing, when he developed IVDD (disc disease) because I thought a noodle would never break, just bend. But in Rusty’s later years, even after his back surgeries and subsequent back injuries, and no longer a noodle, he simply loved to roll. That was Rusty’s play.

Rusty was usually sitting beside me, following me from room to room, lying by my feet. I knew he loved me. But my understanding of how much Rusty loved me became clear in 2016. The Rusty that I will forever remain so very grateful for is the boy who, still healthy and strong, spent hours snuggled beside me when I was “dying”. That winter we were living in our camp (while our home was rebuilt after a fire). I was so very ill, newly or not quite yet diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. I was focused on living, but those around me I know now were afraid I would die before a successful treatment could be found. Dan took over all the household chores and business, and cared for me. Rusty stayed with Mama. No matter what else happened (when we were not in Boston) my pal Rusty was by my side on the futon in the loft at camp. And that attachment simply never changed. He was my constant companion for the next 8.5 years. When we moved home that spring, he continued to watch over me and just never stopped.

And so, in Rusty’s later years, beginning with his first back surgery (He had a funny hop run after that) and through subsequent back troubles, including one where we were given no hope from the experts, it was my privilege to lovingly take on the role of care giver for my boy. His will to live and perseverance was as strong or stronger than any being I’ve met. With his second paralysis we were told by the neurosurgeon that he had less than a 50% chance of walking again with surgery, a surgery that cost $9,000. We’d been through it before when he was a little younger and stood a better chance of recovery. It was weeks of recovery and a very painful surgery. It had meant leaving him. I just couldn’t see putting him through all the stress and pain with little chance of success. I thought our days together were few. But the ER vet talked with us about other options, saying that sometimes with absolute rest, there might be some recovery, and we might have time to consider a cart for him to be mobile. Dan saved Rusty that day. I was not convinced that I could do the work needed to bring him back. And there were so many what ifs because of my cancer treatment and having to depend on others, so much to consider. “We have to try,”said Dan. He knew Rusty and I would both give it everything we had. The ER vet said we should see some movement (his hind end was paralyzed) in a week, and in two weeks he should be able to move his legs, maybe walking with help. But if he wasn’t able to move by then, we were told he wouldn’t recover with just rest and we would have to decide if we could manage a dog with no use of his legs, incontinent, and more. So armed with steroids for inflammation, gabapentin for nerve pain, and a glimmer of hope, we brought him home. For hours a day I sat on the couch with Rusty by my side. I carried him outside and then supported him with a sling under his tummy, and even at first needing to express his bladder. I kept him ever so still. I carefully massaged his legs. For days. There was no thought of crating him because he got frantic even with gates between rooms, never wanting to be caged. After a week, no sign of movement in his hind end. I spoke with Rusty’s local vet. She thought we’d be facing two options: life as we were (with the addition of a cart for limited mobility or euthanasia. I was definitely feeling tormented. I saw no way that I could take care of him disabled to this degree, and there was the impact on all who helped when we made our trips to Dana-Farber Cancer Treatment. But our boy Rusty was not to be underestimated. On day twelve, with decision day looming large, he wagged his tail. Yes! His tail moved! At that moment I knew we would make it to some form of recovery. Rusty’s strong will, our perseverance, Dan’s support of our work, and love, so much love led us to victory. It was weeks more before Rusty was walking on his own, unsupported, and he never walked smoothly again. But he became independent again, even able to use the ramp to go in and out on his own. While outside Rusty’s nose was always. working, searching the air for something, someone to bark at. This became more pronounced as his hearing began fading in his “old age” and he relied more on his sense of smell.

This past spring it was obvious that Rusty’s body was fairly quickly making life harder for our boy. A quality of life visit with Rusty’s vet eased my worries that he was in pain. He was simply wearing out. I made the decision to give Rusty one more Salt Pond summer, determined to pour love and joy into his final days, weeks, months, however long we had together. We did as much of the things he loved as we could. He even went berry picking on our side of the mountain at home, walking around a bit. At the start of the summer Rusty could walk on the beach a little once carried down. Then when that was too much, he could walk in our quiet backyard. And then finally, when I carried him out he would do what was necessary and be content for me to pick him up and carry him in. He continued to enjoy his food (becoming even more demanding), did some modified rolling, followed me around, and soaked in our love. His built-in alarm clock still sounded regularly for my breakfast, lunch, and dinner times as well as his and Ruby Jean’s meal times.

In the final few weeks of Rusty’s life, his behavior changed. He alternated between barking, sleeping, wandering the camp, and following me less. But he was still eating great and slept at night. Another conversation with the vet determined he may be suffering from dementia. She thought we should consider Rusty to be in hospice care with us now. She was really thoughtful and thorough in her approach and her explanation of what we might expect. She prescribed some medication for pain and to help him relax, sent me a link to a website about the choices we can make for our pets. https://www.lapoflove.com/how-will-i-know-it-is-time

On Sunday, Sept. 1 Rusty’s body let us know it was time for his final vet visit. It was the right decision, hopefully at the right time. Dan, Ruby Jean, and I were there. I held my boy as he took his last breath here on earth. He was 16.5 years old. (115 if you believe in dog years) A full life. But oh how missed Rusty is! I can’t begin to describe how very quiet it is without his voice, yet we feel his presence everywhere.

And now, Ruby Jean is an “only” in our home. September is her birthday month. At 9 years old she has never really been alone. We brought her home when a puppy just before my cancer diagnosis. I’ve thought she always wanted to be an only child, but she surely misses her Rusty. She has chosen the dog bed with the blanket that Rusty last rolled in as the one she uses, not her usual one. We’re filling this new life with lots of outdoor time, Chippie watching, four wheeler rides, hiking in the woods with Dad, even going to a soccer game. She is her own little dog who loves sleeping in, chasing balls, killing squeak toys, is passionate about watching but never hurting chipmunks. She loves going anywhere with her dad. Rusty loved eating chicken and boiled eggs for treats, she loves raw carrots, beans, and cucumber. Ruby Jean picks her own blueberries in the field and beans in the garden. She doesn’t bark for attention, but taps you on the leg. Like Rusty and Mama, she is a homebody, so we have some socializing to do.

Eight years ago I worried about leaving Rusty behind if the cancer in my body couldn’t be controlled. Thanks to science and the expert care I receive at Dana-Farber, along with the hope, positive thoughts, and prayers of many, I was able to be here for Rusty’s entire life. He was a huge piece of my joy, my hope each and every day. He will always be Mama’s Boy.