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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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