R.I.P. Tamale

 
I started this blog to keep a record of the greyhounds we--Mark and I with, of course, Tamale the Wonderpooce--fostered. Without my realising it, it became a sort of cyber house in a greyhound neighbourhood.

When we decided to take in Omo for hospice care--one billion years ago--we stopped fostering. We didn't have the room or the extra finances. Omo forgot to die, becoming Tamale's BFF and luvva (she's against marriage--who knows why).

This blog was about fostering, and, because I stopped fostering, it became a lost-themed blog. I decided that I had to stop. I gave myself until October, when I'd have to pay up at TypePad, to decide whether I'd restart it. I didn't think I would. I had two permanent dogs. My stories dried up.

Then yesterday happened.

I had been in the US for three weeks with my husband and his daughter; we promised my stepchildren a trip to the US when they turned 15. This was C's trip, and we had a fabulous time.

We arrived back in Brisbane on Tuesday. By the late afternoon, I was falling asleep standing up. I knew that driving to Brooke's after Mark arrived home from work would be dangerous, so we planned on having Brooke's Matt deliver the kids on Wednesday--yesterday.

We don't know what happened, but who does with clots and strokes. She got out of the car on her own, but was dragging her right hind foot by the time she reached the gate and couldn't walk at all in within a few more minutes.

She was clearly in distress, and we treated it like heat stroke. Poor Omo ran into the house, but came back to Tamale and watched. We filled the clam pool; I brought out my ice packs. Matt, who had planned on making his way to see Brooke in the hospital, got on the phone with her for advice and coaching.

When Tamale still couldn't walk after calming down, we bundled her up and took her to a new vet. A closer vet. I wanted to find one closer, but since none of my pets was due for a visit, I kept forgetting. Now I had to take her to an unknown vet. A friend of mine who is a vet nurse knew the clinic and recommended it. I wasn't worried that she'd be in excellent hands. Brooke was in the hospital, so I sent Matt to her. He had done all he could. I'd get my husband. I felt for him. He knew that Brooke would grieve and stress about Tamale. Brooke would ask that he stay while she battled an army, suffered from H1N1 influenza, and lifted a truck from her leg. That's Brooke. I asked that Matt go. Brooke doesn't get to be alone; that's not right.

Without going into too much detail about the vet--I understood so little with emotions and jetlag fighting me--the prognosis was that she had something pressing against her spinal cord. Something was paralysing her. He was gentle but honest--it wasn't good. She was also dehydrated. He supposed that she was probably experiencing a minor stroke or other problem and didn't drink. She, like all healthy greyhounds, just lay about. How can you tell? We got her pumped with fluids, into the vet cage, and she looked much better--lifting her head, looking at me, eyes focused, drinking on her own.

Our plan was to have her in the vet's care for 48 hours. We'll know more to make an informed decision later. Mark had arrived by then. He, poor guy, was in shock. Tamale? Of all our pets, Tamale?! Not the old cat Zuni, the roaming cat Peppa, or the gimpy dog Omo. Tamale. Rough as guts Tamale. We left. My last words to her were: "I love you. I won't let you live in fear."

Mat, Tamale's foster dad, called to arrange to go with me back to the vet for a visit and to hear the latest development. I thought I'd come back to send her off. Had I known that the vet was going to call at 10:30 at night to tell me that she died, I would have repeated "I love you" and--spinal cord schminal cord--hugged her until she yelped.

So here we are.

It's October.

Omo is lost. Tamale was his live-in therapy dog.

My husband and I are grieving.

I won't start to foster. Omo wouldn't be a great host. He's not 100%, and I don't know how he'll fare without his ... lady friend.

But I miss blogging about my kids. I feel less alone because of the community this blog brought to me. A blog doesn't have to be necessary to everyone, just to the writer--me.

Now, I'm going to look through my photos of Tamale and cry. What did Carrie Fisher write that her grandma used to say? "Go on and cry; you'll pee less." There's my silver--yellow--lining.

Comments

[twopinkfeet]

Just looking at those sweet eyes makes me cry. I'm so sorry for you and Mark. I feel your grief. It's so difficult to lose one of our dear ones so suddenly.

[Sarah Regan Snavely]

I'm so sorry for your loss...

[Alex]

What can I say?- I'm sorry is so inadequate.
All across the world hounds and their owners are joining in a farewell howl to Tamale.

[Lisa]

I'm hugging Connor and Elly a little more fiercely, with tears in my eyes...I'm so sorry Katy xxxxxxxxx

[Trina]

She will be missed. I am very sorry. Cali, Dana, Henry, Dante and Shiloh send wet nose kisses ..

[Amanda]

you and your pups have touched the far corners of this globe and our hearts...from my family to yours, we're thinking of you in this toughest of times. she will forever be in all of our hearts.

[ginevra]

...

I'm so very sorry to hear this.

[Michelle]

Our deepest condolences for your loss. You and your family will be in our thoughts.

[Bronny]

We are so sorry to hear about your beloved Tamale, our hearts go out to you, Mark the kids and Omo. Big Big Hugs and smooches from Murphy and Homer and the rest of us.

[Jenny]

Read about Tamale but never met her but yet I sit here crying my eyes out. I am so sad for your loss.
xx
Jenny, Grace, Milly and Frank from Barkings of a Greyhound

[gyeong]

We miss you Tamale! Thanks for letting your mom post about all your crazy antics over the years.

[trac]

So sorry for your loss..........((((((hugs)))))

[Life With Dogs]

Sincere condolences - I longed for your return to blogging, but not under these circumstances.

[Terri]

I'm so sorry for your loss. I have a big lump in my throat. I'm hugging Sabrina and Apollo right now.

[Brooke Lidle]

I am so sorry that it took me age to post a comment but everytime I read this I cry. I miss her too. I can't believe that I am never going to see that dorky face looking at me, head down giving me the stinkeye because I am not getting her dinner bowl onto its stand fast enough. Or watch her stroll through my house casually with a toy in her mouth, taunting the others because she has it and no one else can have it. Or the filthy look she gave me each Xmas when I made her wear a Santa hat. She was, and will always be, the Original Number One Snorkelface.

[Katy the Greaty]

She loved going to Camp Spaz with the best counselors ever! I had to carry the ungrateful cow to the car just to go home. Camp Doggie Crackhouse was more like it.