Our Beautiful Hoss

Our precious Hoss is gone, in the permanent sense.

He wasn't even two years old.

It first started with some tremors. The first time you see something like that, you think, "did he eat some toad or something?" We took him to the vet. Testing showed some elevated something in his liver. Didn't look life threatening, so back home, it was.

All was well for a few months, and then more tremors. Another trip to the vet revealed badly infected ears and thyroid problems, for which he was to be medicated for the rest of his life. The vet told us that the thyroid issues could cause the ear infections and tremors. Okay, so we're good, it's not horribly serious. We went home and began the cleaning/medicating regimen for those velvet ears. Boy, he did not like that, but after a few days he was getting used to it. The Fashionista would plop down by him and he knew exactly what was coming. We all got a kick out of the face he'd make.

The ear-cleaning face.

The ear cleaning routine continued for a couple of weeks, and suddenly, one Saturday, Hoss couldn't pee. Nature Girl was the first to notice early in the day, so we kept an eye on him, and sure enough, he would squat (due to the neutering, of course), but no action. We called the emergency vet who said if left like this he'd be gone in 72 hours. Off to the vet he went.

An x-ray revealed a bladder full of stones.

So the operating began. His bladder was cleaned out, flushed of hundreds of stones, but there were stones stuck in his urethra. As I understand it, they had put a catheter in, but he had pulled it out and they could not replace it. Someone from the vet's office called us after two in the morning to let us know they couldn't do anything more there, that Hoss needed to see a specialist from Los Angeles or Sacramento, and were just waiting to see what we wanted. My mother-in-law took that call and got me up at around seven to let me know (of course we couldn't afford that) and ask me to make the call that would sign his death warrant.

We always thought he looked silly while sitting.

I called. The gal I spoke to said they were able to get the catheter back in and he was "doing okay right now", and that they just wanted to wait and see what happened. Whoosh! After that roller coaster of a phone call, we were able to get in touch with our regular vet, who said he had performed the required operation and would do it the next morning. What a relief that was!

Hoss spent the next 24 hours with a catheter, and we missed our velvety family member. The next morning, my in-laws and The Fashionista picked him up from the emergency vet and drove him to the regular vet. This was Monday. Hoss came home Tuesday, exhausted and wearing the dreaded cone of shame. But he was home.

We stayed up with him, making sure he didn't tear open his stitches with his cone, holding his bowl up so he could eat and drink, placing sheets all over the house to catch the bleeding, cheering when he peed.

Hoss was a wonderful greeter!

He began to lose interest in his food. We thought he was being picky. He threw up, and the vet said to change his diet to reduce the fat as much as possible. Hoss lost interest even more. When he wouldn't eat anything and we had to get his medicine down, we gave it to him in cheese.

The next morning, another Saturday, he was miserable. He couldn't go to the bathroom, though he tried and tried. His tail was between his legs, and his hind-quarters were quivering. Thankfully, we caught the regular vet who told us to bring him in right away.

His first day with us; he had just passed his Cottonelle stage.

There's a point where you just know. It was dawning on me. The tail told the story. He wouldn't get out of the car and we had to get the vet's assistants to help us (two weak ladies). They brought out a stretcher and hauled Hoss out of the car. They didn't end up using the stretcher, but I wish they had, because one of the last times I saw him, Hoss was being tugged (gently, of course) across a parking lot, tail between his legs, when he wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep.

The vet took his temp, said they needed to keep him, and so we went home.

The vet called later that day and said Hoss had some sort of infection that had gotten in his blood, but they were treating him. He sounded positive. So we waited.

Just a completely random, silly face.

Sunday, around dinnertime, my mother-in-law took a phone call. I was at the computer; the kids, watching something on TV. My husband, who had been in the kitchen, came and whispered in my ear that Hoss didn't make it. They really weren't sure why because he was being treated for the infection.

We decided to wait until Mr. Big got home from work to tell the kids. There was one tense moment at dinner when we were asked by The Fashionista if we'd heard anything about Hoss. I said something lame about it being Sunday. I wondered if she noticed the eye-flicks that Dad and I shot to eachother.

So regal, yet so silly at the same time.

Telling the kids was the most painful thing we've ever had to do. Thankfully, Dad took the lead. There were a lot of tears. Dad said that God had picked exactly the right family for Hoss, because he had gotten enough love from our big family to last a dog's full, normal lifespan.

Hoss was always extremely tolerant.

And that's it really, God knew the perfect dog for us, and the perfect family for Hoss. The craziness that was acquiring him was all a part of His plan for this beautiful beast who had a short life ahead of him.

Even with all the sadness, I'm so glad he left his footprints on our family.


Notes:

• We live with my in-laws, and Hoss had chosen my mother-in-law as his alpha master. They decided to pay for the operation. If it had only been us, we would never have been able to do anything of the sort.
• Since the vet doesn't know and it was never fully resolved, we think that there was an underlying liver problem that eventually caused the rest of the problems.
  
• Our oldest son was 16 when we got Hoss. This was the children's first dog.
• Let your kids take a gazillion pictures of the dog. And videos. It is a digital camera after all. We're so glad we have them.
• He was probably going to lose it, but Hoss had the softest fur on his head and ears, just like velvet, so I called him "Velvet Head".