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The first birth
was exciting, and Pepper handled everything beautifully. After securing
her first pup, Pepper elected to nap. I believe she thought her
job was done, and she entered into a well-deserved deep sleep. When
the second puppy arrived, she barely stirred. Being new at this,
I began to panic. I couldn't dial the phone fast enough! The vet
tech, Pat, was able to talk me through the steps of delivery, and
the second pup was fine. Pat was nice enough to stay on the line
with me for the birth of the third. I was becoming quite adept at
breaking the sack, cutting the cord, towel drying, etc. Pepper would
occasionally lift her head as though she were trying to help, but
would fall back exhausted. I felt confident by now, so I petted
her head and told her to rest. All went well until the birth of
the seventh puppy.
When I broke the sack, I realized that this pup was not breathing.
I gently tipped him upside down to clear his airway, but nothing
happened. I started to rub him with a towel. Still there was no
response. I felt I didn't have time to call Pat, and I made a decision
to do what I could. I placed my thumb on his chest. I knew if I
pressed too hard, I could break his ribs. If I didn't press hard
enough, it would do no good. I breathed into his face, knowing that
if I breathed too hard, I would collapse his lungs. Yet if I breathed
to shallow, I wouldn't inflate them. Time seemed to stand still.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Pepper watching me, pleading
with me not to let him die. Suddenly, I felt a slight movement,
and he drew his first breath. At that moment, I knew this dog was
mine.
Just before midnight, there were a total of thirteen little squealing
puppies surrounded by two very tired Moms, one biological, and the
other human. My non-breather was just a little bit of a puppy compared
to his littermates. I promptly named him Little Bit and knew that
he was the most beautiful Lab X I had ever seen. There were nine
black and four chocolates. I knew that Dad was a purebred Black
Lab, but because I had adopted Pepper from a shelter, I was unsure
of her heritage. I knew she was Lab and some type of Terrier. Half
of the litter looked like purebreds. The other half had Pepper's
appearance. To me, they were all beautiful. The first month was
a hectic schedule of changing newspapers, providing supplemental
milk, screening adoptive parents, and watching with delight as the
thirteen little wigglers grew. My life revolved around these wonderful
little bundles of mischief.
Suddenly, things began to go wrong. Little Bit started to have seizures.
I rushed him off to the vet, but was not prepared for what I heard.
Little Bit had placement problems, minor brain damage, and his left
eye was underdeveloped. The seizures may have been a result of lack
of oxygen due to his position in the birth canal. I was told that
I have a severely handicapped puppy that would become severely large
handicapped adult dog. After much discussion, I made an appointment
to have him euthanized the following week. It was my son's birthday,
and I just couldn't come home without Little Bit. To protect my
son from being hurt on his birthday, I told him that Little Bit
had some problems and had to go back to the vet the next week. I
couldn't face the truth, and could not tell my fourteen-year-old
son that our new puppy had to die.
The next day, the Alpha female determined that she would save me
the trouble. Realizing his weakness, she attacked him, clenching
her teeth around his neck. I lacerated three fingers prying her
sharp puppy teeth from his throat. The protectiveness I felt for
this poor puppy was unbelievable. I moved Little Bit out of the
whelping box and into my bedroom. Each time I looked at his beautiful
face, I cried. He hadn't lived. What right did I have to say that
he should die? I called my vet and cancelled the appointment. I
had breathed life into this animal, and I had no right to take it
away. Life is precious, no matter what form it takes. It took months
of trying new medications and getting them regulated, but the seizures
were finally under control. The placement problems had disappeared,
and Little Bit no longer stumbled. He had lost the vision in his
left eye, and was developing a cataract in his right. On our last
trip to Tufts University, I was told that Little Bit would be completely
blind within a month or so, and that the process was irreversible.
After hundreds of miles, thousands of dollars, and millions of tears,
I had a nine month old puppy condemned to a life of darkness. What
had I done? A decision of the heart was made when I chose to take
action rather than to let nature run its course when he was born.
But how can a decision based on love be wrong? Was I wrong to have
wanted this puppy to have a fair chance at life?
My vet had warned me that because of his medical problems, Little
Bit might not live as long as the others. I was determined to give
him the best life possible. That was almost nine years ago. Today,
Little Bit is a happy, healthy 100 lb blind dog. He sleeps with
me in a full size bed, has more toys that I care to pick up, food,
shelter, and a human Mom who absolutely adores him. Together we
have faced and conquered each medical problem from birth to his
present allergies, inter-digital cysts, chronic ear infections and
the occasional seizure. Blind dogs see with their hearts, I have
recently read. If this is true, Little Bit has a vision that is
unparalleled. When he looks at me through those sightless eyes,
I see nothing but love and devotion. We have been involved in the
Pet Therapy Program through the Connecticut Humane Society, and
assist a local Animal Control facility with fundraisers. When I
see the joy he brings to others, I am confident that I made the
right decision.
Raising a handicapped animal isn't easy. Nothing in life worth anything
is. Little Bit, through his blindness, has opened my eyes to a whole
new world of compassion, caring, and a love for him that is boundless.
What he has taught me exists in no book, nor can be measured on
any scale. Euthanasia is not the answer when faced with an animal
that isn't perfect. If I had followed logic instead of my heart
nine years ago, I would have been deprived of the bond we share:
a bond so strong that only when he takes his last breath, will it
be broken. And even then, I'm not so sure.
Story by Arlene
- featured in Storytime Tapestry and Themestream.
Read more on the heart-warming rescue of Little Bit's mother, Pepper
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