I know I could put this in the Dog Forum, but it belongs here. Besides, you'd have a really tough time convincing Kineesa that she was actually a dog anyway. So, here's my little tribute to her.
Her name:
I know, it's weird. When she was born, a good friend of mine who travelled to Australia and NZ with me had a wheaton terrier named "Kneesa". Her family didn't pronounce the "Kin" though. Anyway, she was named after one of those furry Star Wars wookies (I think they were called wookies, I don't really care for Star Wars/Trek whatever the heck). Well, as you can see, Kineesa looked like one of those when she was a puppy.
She was only four months old when our new house in the country was finally ready for us to move in, and she was the first dog to live there. Kineesa was Winnie's daughter, and Winnie was Sadie's daughter. Sadie was our first of many Shelties. Here's a picture of Winnie and Kate:
Kate is also Winnie's daughter from a later litter--so basically Kineesa's little sister. Anyway, it was several months before the rest of the pack moved out to the new place, and Kineesa decided that she was going to rule the roost. I admit, I spoiled her rotten and let her get away with murder. She was "above" being subjected to the limitations of a real dog (in her mind, at least). Kineesa was also the only one of our dogs that my dad actually liked, and she was the only one who was allowed to sit on the couch with him. (Not that she cared what he had to say about it.)
When I started working at a vet clinic, she would often come with me when I went in alone on weekends to take care of boarding and post-op animals. Even at 10-12 pounds, she was very good at reminding the bigger dogs "who" they were. Yeah, she was a little snot. If she were human, she would have been a spoiled, stuck-up, snotty brat that wears "princess" shirts.
The main difference being that Kineesa couldn't resist rolling in raccoon crap. I don't know, maybe there's teenage girls out there that do that too though.
In July of '99 after graduating, I moved to Madison. Kineesa came with and was my only pet for over a year.
Here's a picture of Kineesa, taken during summer school in 2000.
Then I got Jersey, my Golden Retriever in August. Kineesa wasn't incredibly thrilled with the idea of living with a real dog at first. With her at 12 pounds, and Jersey at nearly 50, Kineesa would not hesitate to tell Jersey which toys she was allowed to play with.
Shortly thereafter, when Kineesa was about 4 1/2 she was diagnosed with adrenal-based Cushing's disease. (to read more about Cushing's disease, click
here.) She quickly started losing bladder control, her fur started falling out, and her joints began to ache. After numerous tests, the vets came up with her diagnosis and gave us the option of putting her on Lysodren. The drug is not a cure for Cushing's disease--at least not for the type of Cushing's that she had. If it were used, it would only be to make her more comfortable, and would not prolong her life. The potential side effects were too risky though, because Kineesa was also diagnosed with an enlarged heart. Additionally, if she were put on Lysodren, she would have needed blood tests every other week to make sure that it wasn't affecting her kidneys and liver which could have caused Addison's disease.
Kineesa didn't seem too uncomfortable though. Less than 12 hours before she died, she was bouncing against the kitchen door to remind my mom that she needed to be fed first before the "dogs" were taken care of. Whoops, back up... We had decided it would be best for Kineesa to move back home to the farm since I was at class full-time, and my mom would have more time to take care of her. Also, with her declining physical strength, a rambunctious golden retriever wasn't the best thing for her to be around.
Her condition deteriorated gradually for a few years with no other significant health problems. However, around Thanksgiving of last year, she took a pretty sharp turn for the worse. She had become increasingly barrel-chested from her organs fighting with each other, her hair was falling out and her back legs were weakening. What was left of her coat wasn't even black anymore. She was turning reddish-colored and her hair would fall out when you were petting her. We knew it wouldn't be long.
I hate this picture because I hate what the disease did to her. She was as vain as any dog could be, and I could tell she wasn't happy with what was happening to her. This was taken on my birthday (11/19) when I went to see her:
My mom called me last night to tell me she didn't think Kineesa would make it through the night. She had started breathing heavily and was coughing up blood. I drove the 50 miles to my mom's house, hoping to get there in time to say good bye. She looked up at me one last time to let me know that she knew I was there. I apologized for making her wait, and told her it was okay for her to let go. She let out her last breath five minutes after I got there.
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