Ezekiel

Last week was a tough week around the homestead, hence my radio silence last week.  If nothing else, I normally put up a wordless Wednesday post but last week was a little tough.  Tuesday before last I came home from work to find my younger miniature dachshund was a little off.  He normally bounded out of his kennel to greet me and then out the door he goes to potty.  Ten hours is a long time for a little man to hold his bladder.  But that Tuesday he just layed in his kennel looking a little forlorn.  I checked to make sure he hadn’t hung his nail in his collar, a regular occurrence, and no hung nail.  I checked to make sure he wasn’t tangled in the blanket, another regular occurrence, and no he was still good.  I helped him out of the kennel and I knew immediately things were not good.  He sat down a minute and then got up but looked like a little stumbling drunk old man from the rear.  His hind legs just didn’t seem to work right and I was immediately concerned.  Back injuries are very common in these little dogs, it’s honestly the only really bad thing that they have to deal with.  His mobility was limited Tuesday night but he seemed okay.  I didn’t want to panic so I told myself let’s see what he looks like tomorrow.  Wednesday morning he was still a little wobbly but mobile and was able to go outside and do his business and looked okay when I left for work.  Getting home Wednesday afternoon was a punch to the gut.  His rear legs had stopped working.  He had little feeling and I knew then we needed to see a vet.  Amos, my older dog and Zeke’s daddy, did this to me last year so I was hopeful if I could get some medicine in him he would be okay.  Thursday morning bright and early we were at the vet and though the vet determined he did not have any pain response in his back legs there was 

nothing on the x-rays that showed something that would cause this.  I left him overnight to get some steroid injections, observation, and see if we couldn’t get him fixed up.  I picked him up Friday morning with some medication, instructions, and a kind word from the vet that he was a lot worse off than Amos had been but there was still a little hope of recovery.  My main problem with him was his lack of bowel/bladder function (sorry but it’s true) and his not wanting to eat or drink.  This was my chunky monkey.  He would eat anything. Anything.  I’ve seen the dog scarff up raw carrots and dill pickles.  I couldn’t even get him interested in grilled chicken or a boiled egg.  He was pretty much living on soft dog food I mixed with water and chicken stock.  He continued to deteriorate throughout the weekend and would show moments of spunk and try to sit up but more often than not he would just lay around and follow me with his eyes.  To say I was heartbroken was an understatement.  This was my cooking buddy, my riding partner, my little peeping tom that sat in the bathroom and watched me take a shower every morning.  What was I going to do?  I’d raised him since he was 6 weeks old and 

he was a puppy off Amos.  He was only 5.  Monday night was pretty tough.  He was listless and just looked pitiful.  I sat a long time in the chair with him last Monday night petting him and talking to him and telling him what an awful good boy he was.  I cried and he would look at me.  Amos sat with us in the chair and it was with a heavy heart I put him in the dog bed beside my bed for the night. Tuesday morning I was up early and he was still here.  Checking me out with those big brown eyes and watching me get out of bed.  I only got him to drink a few small sips of chicken broth and I got him comfortable before I got ready for work.  Leaving that morning was hard.  I’m a little bit of a drama queen about my pets and thanks to my dad I probably have an overdeveloped sense of responsibility (not that that’s a bad thing) about taking care of my animals.  I had a terrible feeling that he wouldn’t be there when I got home.  He wasn’t.  I made a flying trip to Dollar General to get a suitable plastic box to bury him in, I hope that’s not too redneck and honestly I don’t care, wrapped him up in a piece of his favorite blanket, and called Momma and Daddy to let them know I was headed up there to bury him.  My dear sweet momma and daddy already had a place fixed for him when I got there.  (Having to dig with a pickaxe and shovel by the way that’s real love there.)  He’s below the house with two of my horses and another working dog of daddy’s.  The rest of the week was pretty tough.  No one to snuggle with at night, no one to bark at me when I opened the door, and definitely no one sitting in the kitchen while I cooked waiting on a scrap to fall.   My poor sweet monkey.  I’m glad he’s no longer in pain but I’m gonna miss that sweet fierce little spirit.  Today was a week ago I lost him and I’m still not used to how quiet the house is.  Of course I still have Amos and he’s been extra cuddly lately and we’re still deciding what to do about another dog.  I’m not rushing into anything and honestly I just want to take a little time before we get anything else.  Sorry for the downer of a post but I wanted to note his passing.  He deserves that.  I’m a silly girl, but he was a great little dog and I’ll miss him.  He's been gone a week today.