For those of you unaware, I have been taking care of my grandma's Boston Terrier (Spanky) for the past several months, since she was in the hospital and now a nursing home. Spanky has had a pretty crappy life since my grandpa died almost 10 years ago. My grandma (for reasons of her own) never let him out consistently, never paid attention to him, and constantly fed him what amounts to doggie junk food. I really believe that when I took him, he was almost as seriously depressed as she is. He was pretty fat, had become accustomed to urinating/defecating in the house, he smelled terrible, and he just laid around all day. But ever since I've had him (and I have to admit that I did not agree because I am such a wonderful person- he just didn't have anywhere else to go), he's changed. He's lost most of his excess weight, he smells better, his coat is nice and shiny, and he is kind of spunky (if you can say that about an 11 year old dog). Anyway, Maddie and I have gotten used to having him around. I didn't realize until yesterday, however, when I took him to the vet because he's been sick, that I have become more than just used to him. I am attached. I can't quite figure it out, because he is not a dog I ever would have chosen for myself (left to my own devices, I seem to prefer semi-neurotic, separation-anxiety plagued dogs like Maddie). He is a huge hog, and he snorts when he eats...when he runs he resembles a pot-bellied pig on speed. In the fall we discovered that he has Cushing's Disease, and that this will be fatal for him. So it became my mission to make sure that whatever time he has left is happy for him. Recently someone I know commented that his life can't be all that good since he is crated for the majority of the day at least three days a week. But I strongly disagree. He loves routine, and we have that. He knows what to expect, and what is expected of him. He knows that he will be let out to relieve himself consistently. He knows that he will get a rawhide every evening before bedtime, and that I won't let Maddie steal it from him (though she attempts this every night). He knows there will be food in his bowl whenever he is hungry. He knows that if he comes and sits right in front of me that I will pet him. He and Maddie are buddies, even though she's the boss of him. My mom says that I should save everyone the trouble and just have him put to sleep right now. But as I sit here at the computer with him sitting next to me looking up at me with that so-ugly-it's-cute face of his, I know he's happy for the first time in 10 years. And even though he's just a dog, I think that in the end that counts for something. After all, in the not-too-distant future I will have to take him to the vet and hold him while they put him down. I'll cry because he has become my pot-bellied pig on speed and I will miss him when he's gone, even if I reluctantly took charge of him. But I won't have to live with any doubt as to whether I did right by him. And he deserves that much, even if he is just a dog.
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