A Difficult Month

February 13, 2024

February is always a tough month. In SW Mississippi, it almost always brings the coldest temperatures of winter. It's not just cold, but it's also dreary, windy, and either wet or frozen. It's hard on people, plants, and animals, so most often Dan and I stay inside when we can, keeping our dogs close to us. Over the years, if we lose elderly dogs, it's typically in February. Two years ago it was Bowser (17 years), one of Dan's farm dogs. Last year it was Itsy (15 years, Japanese Chin) and Millie (approx. 10+ years, a rescue Dachshund). This year was no exception. Last Tuesday, I lost my precious Little Bit and, just a few minutes ago, my wonderful little Joy breathed her last breaths in my lap.

February's barely half over yet.

Just to add to the trauma, Copper has dropped about two pounds in the last month, a significant amount if you've never weighed more than eight pounds in your entire life. I know I need to write this story, but right now it's too much.

February 29, 2024

It's the last day of February. The soil temperature says that spring is here, even though a cold wind is blowing and it will be 42 or so tonight. This last front is winter's last hurrah, I think. For the next several weeks, we're predicted to have 60s and 70s for daytime temps. Then it will be air conditioner weather until October.

I wish that Belle and Joy had made it through till now. They both loved the springtime. It was cool enough for them to do terrier things in the pen, but still cool enough to cuddle up with Mama at night. I miss them.

Belle (LoupGarou Belle of the Ball, aka "Little Bit")

Little Bit had a difficult time when she came into the world. Mercie was not able to carry her litter to term, so they were born five days early. I tried to weigh them, but they didn't even move the scale. Toy Fox Terrier puppies usually weigh from three to five ounces when they are born. These might have weighed an ounce.

For the first couple of days, Mercie was indifferent to the three puppies. I spent those days bottle feeding, sleeping next to her pen. When she finally started nursing the puppies, she only nursed two of them. The third, a white and tan boy, she pushed into the corner of the whelping box. Once they were stabilized, I brought the three still-tiny pups to the vet. She agreed that it was the right thing to humanely euthanize the boy, but that the remaining girls could probably have normal lives, barring internal issues. We lost the white and tan girl at three weeks, as she was unable to process food normally: her digestive system was not fully developed. That left Little Bit.

Normally, TFTs gain about a pound a month for the first six months of their lives. They generally top out between six and eight pounds, although some grow larger--toy-sized dogs are difficult to keep small. Little Bit didn't top one pound for almost three months. I kept her in an exercise pen set up in my living room, by herself, once she was weaned. The other dogs would have killed her by accident, just playing with her. I prayed every day that she would survive and live a good life. And she did.

Little Bit never weighed more than four pounds in her entire life. She had two "royal" bloodlines behind her, but she was never a show dog. For some reason, she developed an overbite well after it should have been possible. The top of her jaw was at least a half an inch over her bottom jaw. Dan described her as "able to eat an ear of corn through a picket fence." Her limbs became gangly, her appetite was erratic. But she completed a basic obedience class when she was a young dog and became a beloved companion. She got limited playtime with the other dogs because she was still breakable but loved every second of it. Toward the end of her life, Little Bit developed a chronic cough. I assumed it was from the propane that I was using to heat my cottage: propane has a distinct aroma and burning it causes very dry inside air. Boiling a pot of water on the stove seemed to help relieve her coughing.

The last night before she passed, Belle curled up at the back of my neck, making a nest in my hair. That was her favorite place to sleep. For whatever reason, she moved around to the front of me and tucked herself under my chin. Content, she fell asleep. It was the last night of many that we had spent together. She was curled up in her blanket when I left for the day. When I returned, she had passed. I had her for a little over ten years. Every day was a gift from God.

Joy (LoupGarou Bay Toys Angel's Share): The first time I saw Joy, she was an antsy little mess coming off the handler's rig. She was, as all TFT puppies are, a tiny little shark, full of energy and wanting to eat up everything in sight. I had wanted to call her "Angel," but she wanted none of that name. After she'd been home a week, frustrated, I commented, "well aren't you just a little JOY, then." At the word "JOY," she came running. For the remainder of her twelve years, she was "Joy," no matter what it said on her papers.

Joy was another one that was not a show dog. She had one of those "royal" bloodlines behind Little Bit and, standing still, she looked every inch the part. It was when she moved that you could see she would never win a thing. She had a slightly stilted gait, and her expression told the judge that she'd rather be home watching "Meerkat Manor," thank you. So, like Little Bit, she stayed home and became a pet. Joy was never bred because genetic testing showed that she carried spinocerebellar ataxia (SCA), which could have explained her gait. It was fine. She was happy simply staying at home and attending to dog business.

Joy had been losing weight during the winter, which was not uncommon for her to do. I upped the fat in her diet, and she began to look better. Her appetite improved. Then, on February 13, she began to look really listless. I took her from the crate that she slept in, anticipating a long night of nursing her until going to the vet the next morning. We never made it. Around 10 p.m., she started whining. I brought her outside to use the ex-pen, assuming she had to potty. When I put her down on the ground, she collapsed like a puppet freed from its strings. She blinked slowly at me as I picked her up from where she had fallen and brought her back inside. We spent the next two hours in "my" chair in the living room, Joy wrapped in a blanket in my lap, until she passed. Joy was 12 years old when she passed.

Special Mention: Emma

I never met Emma, but I knew her well. Emma was a beautiful short-haired calico cat that lived with a dear friend, Lisa, from Virginia. Like Yaddle at my cottage, Emma ran the household schedule to suit her own needs, to her satisfaction. She made certain to keep the people for whom she was "responsible" on track, every day. Emma would sit in Lisa's lap between 7 and 9 p.m. and then it was off to her husband's lap from 9 to 9:30. When Emma's lap time was done, she would remind him that it was time for a treat and for him to get up to bed. When Lisa's husband was safely shepherded up to bed, Emma would return for Lisa, who she would also escort upstairs. It was then time to get Lisa's son, who she would usher DOWNstairs to play computer games, while she gave him lap time. Once everyone had been given their time and she'd had been given her due in treats, her duties were done and she could rest.

A few weeks ago, her behavior began to change. On February 9, the day after I lost Little Bit, Lisa told me that Emma "just hasn't been right" and so they had gone to the vet with her. Usually tractable, Emma had to be sedated for the vet to do any work. It wasn't long before she "coded" on the table. Although she was revived, she was unable to come back from the sedation. Eventually, she regained consciousness, but she couldn't stand or lift her head. Her reflexes were sluggish. The vet put her on supportive care and took her to the ER. Unfortunately, her temperature dropped before they made it there and her pupils were fixed and dilated. Rather than attempt to prolong her life, Lisa made the difficult decision to speed Emma to her rest. Like me with mine, Lisa still mourns for her precious soul, too soon gone.

The Good News

We have three of our oldsters still with us, thank Goodness. February was still tough on them, but they made it through to see another spring.

Copper: Copper is still painfully thin, even though he's fed three times a day now and gets snacks with my meals. His water consumption tells me that it might be diabetes, but I worry that it might be cancer. Toy Fox Terriers in general are no more prone to it than other dogs, but at least one dog in Copper's pedigree died from cancer. I'm on a fixed income and it will be difficult for me to take him in for a complete workup, but if it means me eating ramen noodles for a month, I will do my best to do so when I get next month's check. Say some prayers for him (or think good thoughts/send positive energy), because my sweet boy can use all that he can get.

Cowboy: Another of Dan's farm dogs, Cowboy is a 14-year-old American Pit Bull Terrier. He's been a working dog all of his life but is now arthritic. He spent the winter inside, in front of Dan's wood heater. When he was a younger dog, Cowboy eschewed being inside for more than a couple of minutes at a time. Now he barks at the door every night, so that he can sleep on the dog bed he has stolen from Archie.

Leela: My little Leela is another of my "was never a great show dog" pets. Leela is 15 years old. She's mostly blind and has lost much of her hearing (although I think the hearing loss tends to be selective). She still loves her life, with snuggles, food, and a toasty propane heater in front of her own pillow on the floor. Even though she's the oldest of our remaining seniors, I was least concerned for her this past winter. Leela is one of those dogs who seems as if they will go on forever--and reality hits you like a brick when they don't.

Continuing On

One of the best things about being a breeder is that you can remember your past dogs in their descendants. Unfortunately, the only thing left behind by all mentioned here is their memories. It was so hard picking out their photos for this article, knowing that when they are gone, they are gone forever. They've left no mark on the world, save for the love we feel for them in our hearts.

That's why sharing them and their memories seemed so important. Maybe, someday, when you see a little white, black, and tan dog walking down the street you might say, "that reminds me of Little Bit." Maybe, if you watch Westminster on television, you might check out the Toy Fox Terriers, just to get a better idea of what these little dogs are all about. Or, maybe, you'll be inspired to bring home that adorable little kitten, who just might want to take over your world. Because, even when they have no way of continuing on into future generations, none of these special animals--your animals, Lisa's animals, my animals--should ever be entirely forgotten.

Shade and sweet water, Little Bit, Joy, and Emma. We'll see you when we get there. Keep our places warm on the couch, please.

If you have any memories that you'd like to share of your own special pets, please feel free to share them here.