ShadowAceD
Lagniappe Exotics
This is a long read …
My husband and I rescued Chase five years ago in Las Cruces, New Mexico from a breed specific rescue organization that specialized in Boxers. The group had pulled him out of an animal shelter when they got a call that a malnourished, fearful Boxer with evidence of fighting scars had been picked up in the middle of the desert by an ACO who had responded to the call of a dead dog lying in the sand. When he arrived, he found a weak, but alive dog that looked like he had been through the ringer more than once.
It was by chance I ran across Chase the moment his foster mother was pulling him from animal control one day. I had been looking to find a Boxer for my husband who had expressed wanting one for years, even when we had just been friends. My goal was to surprise him with the dog for either an early Christmas present (I started looking in October), or for Christmas itself.
Though my husband had wanted a female and a puppy, I could not help but empathize with the battered Boxer when I first met him while he was being loaded into his foster mother’s SUV. I took photos and video of him and brought it home to my husband. After a brief conversation, we decided to head back to Las Cruces to meet the dog with our Shih-tzu and see if we qualified to adopt him. Within the first five minutes, I knew my husband had found his match in the dog and I knew we were not leaving with him.
It goes without saying that Chase had led a poor life before we got him. It took months to rehabilitate him and to work with him through all of his problems, but within a year, he was what a Boxer should be; goofy, loving and a bit dumb.
When we adopted Chase, we had been told he was around a year old by looking at his teeth. A part of me wishes I had gotten a second opinion on that because it may have helped me better prepare for heartache.
Within the past few months, I started noticing that Chase was slowing down a bit. Nothing overly significant, but enough to be seen and made note of. I am well aware the problems that Boxers are prone to and I knew that Chase’s life expectancy, like with most Boxers, was roughly ten years old. Baring this in mind, I knew the next few years were going to show further deterioration for our dopey friend.
Unfortunately, what I thought would be the next few years turned into a matter of weeks.
Two weeks ago, my husband left for a temporary deployment. A few days prior to this, Chase had been acting weird towards me. While my husband was fine with him crawling into his lap, I was not, and Chase had been trained to only do so with permission, which he never got from me. I was happy to pet and love on him, but not with him in my lap. However, Chase had begun just crawling onto me without my permission and refusing to get down, even when I physically pushed him off (he was a 70+ pound animal).
I thought it was strange and figured he was just being a bit daft, but I did not think anything of it.
A week after my husband left, I noticed that Chase was acting even stranger. He was going outside a lot, just to lie down under the trees. He was not eating as much. He was not playing as much. His face, which had been showing some signs of grey, seemed to turn white over night. It was a little disconcerting. I realized Chase was aging far quicker than I had thought.
This past Sunday, I went to feed Chase. He got through half the bowl and then began acting as if he was choking on food. I stood over him and patted him on his back until he gagged and spit up the entire contents of the bowl. The kibble was surrounded in foamy saliva, but had no evidence it had ever actually gone down his throat. I grabbed a flash light, opened his mouth and failed to see any obstruction. I also felt about his throat and, again, nothing. Chase drank some water and appeared no worse for the wear. I just assumed he had eaten too fast and it got the better of him.
A few hours later, Chase walked into the office where I was and I noticed swelling on his chest. I felt around and it seemed like he had a fluid pocket. My initially thought was he had been bitten by something, but I was unable to find a bite mark or a wound of any kind. I decided I would take him to the vet. first thing in the morning. Chase seemed fine besides the pocket, so I was not in any mode of panic.
I woke up in the middle of the night to Chase gasping for air. When I turned the light in the room on, I was shocked to see the swelling had overtaken his entire chest, throat and forearms and was causing his collar to choke him. I quickly removed the collar, got dressed, loaded him in the car and rushed him to the animal E.R. two hours way in Niceville. When I got there, I was a little relieved to hear the vet. believed it was an allergic reaction caused by Chase ingesting something he shouldn’t have. Knowing Chase, this was not that hard to believe.
They gave him a shot of Benadryl, a steroid shot and a diuretic. They told me to go home and get him to his regular vet. for chest x-rays.
As I was heading back home to get Chase to his usual vet. the swelling was subsiding, his breathing was not as labored and he appeared much more comfortable. I was feeling more confident that it had been an allergy and nothing more.
Twenty minutes later though, the swelling was coming back full force.
The first thought in my mind then was that Chase had cancer and the steroid had quelled it momentarily.
After arriving at the vet. I had to leave Chase to get the x-rays done due to the office being overwhelmed with patients. My vet. expressed the same concerns I had in that Chase had been suffering cancer for some time and it was now coming full circle within his body. His suspicion was a form of lymphoma.
When I got the phone call from the vet. to let me know the results of the x-ray, my stomach knotted, I had already known it was not going to be good, but I did not expect it to be as bad as it was. Chase’s entire chest cavity was filled with blood. So much so that the x-rays were nearly unreadable and no definitive masses could be seen. In fact, virtually nothing but the fluid could be seen. I was given four other test options to put a name to whatever was plaguing him, but in the same breath, I was informed that no matter what name they gave it, Chase was going to die.
With my husband away in Germany, I made the heartbreaking decision to put our beloved Goober to sleep. Had I thought he would have made it until my husband came home, I would have waited, but in the few hours I had left him at the vet. the swelling had doubled and Chase’s breathing was almost impossible for him.
I was there with him when he went. I was not going to let him go alone, but it tears me up inside that the person who loves him most, my husband, could not be there with him. I have to wonder if his absence is the reason Chase slid downhill so quickly. I know most mammals do not want to die around those they are closest to. Chase had been trying to tell me he was ready, I see that now, but I wish it just had not been while my husband was gone.
The dogs are taking his loss as hard as I and my husband are, but I worry most for my eleven year old Shih-tzu who has been the constant companion to Chase for the past five years. She has quit eating and simply lies around the house with no desire to do anything else. I am keeping an eye on her and giving her plenty of attention in hopes she will be able to get over the depression.
These pictures were taken a few months ago.
These pictures were the last pictures taken of Chase.
R.I.P. Goober
My husband and I rescued Chase five years ago in Las Cruces, New Mexico from a breed specific rescue organization that specialized in Boxers. The group had pulled him out of an animal shelter when they got a call that a malnourished, fearful Boxer with evidence of fighting scars had been picked up in the middle of the desert by an ACO who had responded to the call of a dead dog lying in the sand. When he arrived, he found a weak, but alive dog that looked like he had been through the ringer more than once.
It was by chance I ran across Chase the moment his foster mother was pulling him from animal control one day. I had been looking to find a Boxer for my husband who had expressed wanting one for years, even when we had just been friends. My goal was to surprise him with the dog for either an early Christmas present (I started looking in October), or for Christmas itself.
Though my husband had wanted a female and a puppy, I could not help but empathize with the battered Boxer when I first met him while he was being loaded into his foster mother’s SUV. I took photos and video of him and brought it home to my husband. After a brief conversation, we decided to head back to Las Cruces to meet the dog with our Shih-tzu and see if we qualified to adopt him. Within the first five minutes, I knew my husband had found his match in the dog and I knew we were not leaving with him.
It goes without saying that Chase had led a poor life before we got him. It took months to rehabilitate him and to work with him through all of his problems, but within a year, he was what a Boxer should be; goofy, loving and a bit dumb.
When we adopted Chase, we had been told he was around a year old by looking at his teeth. A part of me wishes I had gotten a second opinion on that because it may have helped me better prepare for heartache.
Within the past few months, I started noticing that Chase was slowing down a bit. Nothing overly significant, but enough to be seen and made note of. I am well aware the problems that Boxers are prone to and I knew that Chase’s life expectancy, like with most Boxers, was roughly ten years old. Baring this in mind, I knew the next few years were going to show further deterioration for our dopey friend.
Unfortunately, what I thought would be the next few years turned into a matter of weeks.
Two weeks ago, my husband left for a temporary deployment. A few days prior to this, Chase had been acting weird towards me. While my husband was fine with him crawling into his lap, I was not, and Chase had been trained to only do so with permission, which he never got from me. I was happy to pet and love on him, but not with him in my lap. However, Chase had begun just crawling onto me without my permission and refusing to get down, even when I physically pushed him off (he was a 70+ pound animal).
I thought it was strange and figured he was just being a bit daft, but I did not think anything of it.
A week after my husband left, I noticed that Chase was acting even stranger. He was going outside a lot, just to lie down under the trees. He was not eating as much. He was not playing as much. His face, which had been showing some signs of grey, seemed to turn white over night. It was a little disconcerting. I realized Chase was aging far quicker than I had thought.
This past Sunday, I went to feed Chase. He got through half the bowl and then began acting as if he was choking on food. I stood over him and patted him on his back until he gagged and spit up the entire contents of the bowl. The kibble was surrounded in foamy saliva, but had no evidence it had ever actually gone down his throat. I grabbed a flash light, opened his mouth and failed to see any obstruction. I also felt about his throat and, again, nothing. Chase drank some water and appeared no worse for the wear. I just assumed he had eaten too fast and it got the better of him.
A few hours later, Chase walked into the office where I was and I noticed swelling on his chest. I felt around and it seemed like he had a fluid pocket. My initially thought was he had been bitten by something, but I was unable to find a bite mark or a wound of any kind. I decided I would take him to the vet. first thing in the morning. Chase seemed fine besides the pocket, so I was not in any mode of panic.
I woke up in the middle of the night to Chase gasping for air. When I turned the light in the room on, I was shocked to see the swelling had overtaken his entire chest, throat and forearms and was causing his collar to choke him. I quickly removed the collar, got dressed, loaded him in the car and rushed him to the animal E.R. two hours way in Niceville. When I got there, I was a little relieved to hear the vet. believed it was an allergic reaction caused by Chase ingesting something he shouldn’t have. Knowing Chase, this was not that hard to believe.
They gave him a shot of Benadryl, a steroid shot and a diuretic. They told me to go home and get him to his regular vet. for chest x-rays.
As I was heading back home to get Chase to his usual vet. the swelling was subsiding, his breathing was not as labored and he appeared much more comfortable. I was feeling more confident that it had been an allergy and nothing more.
Twenty minutes later though, the swelling was coming back full force.
The first thought in my mind then was that Chase had cancer and the steroid had quelled it momentarily.
After arriving at the vet. I had to leave Chase to get the x-rays done due to the office being overwhelmed with patients. My vet. expressed the same concerns I had in that Chase had been suffering cancer for some time and it was now coming full circle within his body. His suspicion was a form of lymphoma.
When I got the phone call from the vet. to let me know the results of the x-ray, my stomach knotted, I had already known it was not going to be good, but I did not expect it to be as bad as it was. Chase’s entire chest cavity was filled with blood. So much so that the x-rays were nearly unreadable and no definitive masses could be seen. In fact, virtually nothing but the fluid could be seen. I was given four other test options to put a name to whatever was plaguing him, but in the same breath, I was informed that no matter what name they gave it, Chase was going to die.
With my husband away in Germany, I made the heartbreaking decision to put our beloved Goober to sleep. Had I thought he would have made it until my husband came home, I would have waited, but in the few hours I had left him at the vet. the swelling had doubled and Chase’s breathing was almost impossible for him.
I was there with him when he went. I was not going to let him go alone, but it tears me up inside that the person who loves him most, my husband, could not be there with him. I have to wonder if his absence is the reason Chase slid downhill so quickly. I know most mammals do not want to die around those they are closest to. Chase had been trying to tell me he was ready, I see that now, but I wish it just had not been while my husband was gone.
The dogs are taking his loss as hard as I and my husband are, but I worry most for my eleven year old Shih-tzu who has been the constant companion to Chase for the past five years. She has quit eating and simply lies around the house with no desire to do anything else. I am keeping an eye on her and giving her plenty of attention in hopes she will be able to get over the depression.
These pictures were taken a few months ago.
These pictures were the last pictures taken of Chase.
R.I.P. Goober
*hugs*
