I expected I would soon bid farewell to Marco. He was 14 and had surgery in October. By February, another ailment diminished his ability to walk.
Marco in 2012
We suspect cancer, but never confirmed. He deteriorated quickly so we simply made the best of his remaining time.
His spine became contorted and his hind legs couldn’t support his body beyond hobbling from bed to his bowls to the backyard and back to bed.
Eventually, he stopped returning from the backyard. Instead, he laid down in spots he never laid before. He looked sad and tired and finally looked his age.
His body was failing; medication was useless. One night he stopped walking entirely.
The day I woke up knowing Marco would be gone before I slept again was one of the saddest days of my life.
We didn’t have a set time that day – we had an ‘arrive by’ time.
We reminisced and thanked Marco for all he gave us over the years. We cycled through laughter and degrees of breakdowns as the day wore on.
Every memory ended with the harsh reality that he was leaving us within hours.
The biggest hurdle was taking Marco to the car understanding it was his last exit from my house.
In the car, Marco had an energy I hadn’t seen in a while. He smiled and wagged his tail once again. The excitement in his eyes was comforting. It’s as if he knew and told us it’s okay.
We carried him into the vet clinic. Our tears spoke for us. There wasn’t a dry eye in the waiting area as the staff escorted us to a private room.
We cradled him as he was prepped for injections. By the time we were ready, Marco was sleeping. The vet explained what would occur. As the final breakdown ensued, a single nod gave the green light.
We sat with him until his final breath.
An unavoidable void.
I was sad leaving the vet clinic, but relieved. I felt lighter. The worst was over and it was time to grieve.
I broke down everyday for two weeks. My house felt empty. I felt empty. Everything reminded me of unconditional love lost. I swear I heard Marco bark from other rooms. I caught glimpses of him in my peripheral vision, but saw nothing when I looked directly.
Denver and Marco added so much to my life and the lives around me.
What dogs provide us is worth every painful responsibility required when owning them.
Through their lives and losses, it became apparent how much of a ‘dog person’ I am. Letting our loyal companions go will never be easy, but I will do it again.
Sooner than expected.
I wasn’t looking for a puppy when a friend sent me the link that led to Bella.
She has this look mastered.
If you would have told me a girl would change my life this year, move in, and I’d pick up her crap, I would have told you that happened two years ago – and his name’s Eric.
Bella was born on January 30, 2016. I’ve accidentally called her Marco and Denver, but her nicknames are piling up.
Adapting to her new home well.
She makes me smile. She’s a positive spirit and loves everyone. Her eyes say everything. She makes me happy and makes me think. I feel like a kid when she’s around. Best of all, she doesn’t care about my alleged snoring.
I pick up her poop and she tries to get in the bathroom when I poop. That’s a first.
Puppy energy is exactly what this house needed. It’s exactly what I needed.
It’s been 11 days since Marco’s surgery and I’m happy to report that it was a success.
He’s officially 14-years-old and recovering like a champ.
I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I am. Pleasantly.
I was a little let down that the tumor, as big as it was, only weighed four pounds. I had the number 15 in my head, but I suppose it wasn’t as dense as a kettlebell.
It put perspective on the ratio of fat mass to weight for me. The good news is that it was four pounds. That means I only have a good 20 to lose, not 75. Even still, that will take more than a scalpel, anesthesia, thread, and a free afternoon. I digress. Marco’s tumor is gone and I simply need to do more cardio. Dammit.
Marco’s Tumor August, 2015: Age 13
Removing the tumor was the main procedure. He also had two small cysts removed. One was near his eye and the other was lodged between two toes on his back paw. The toes had to be sewn together upon removal. Yes, this puppy has lumps for days.
You should have seen Denver. We actually called him Lumpy.
We picked Marco up the day after surgery and the poor thing looked messier than I ever have.
He had a discharge drain coming out of his main wound which was held together by what looked like a 7-inch stitched zipper. His eye had stitches and his back paw was in a cast. You could hear his odd clomp well before you could see him.
After what had to be a confusing 30 hours, he had an infectious amount of anxiety. All I could think about was how the medication better calm this old dog down.
The vet reviewed the important stuff – empty the drain, apply compresses, medication, restrict movement, and constant monitoring. They lost me at ‘confine him to a small space.’
“The pain meds will make him sleep, right?” I asked.
“They should.”
No problem.
Of course, they gave us one of those lampshade cones. Does anyone really use those? I used one, one time, with Denver. I’m not sure that even qualifies as use. I’ve held planks longer than that thing stayed on.
Some breeds might do alright with cones. Not Weimaraners.
Back at the Pad – The first night back was a breeze! Either Marco was high or simply tired from being stressed. Bottom line, he slept.
The next morning, Marco’s drain tube disconnected. I only emptied it three times before it slid out. Within 24 hours, Marco was back at the hospital. No, the cone wouldn’t have helped.
Turns out, they couldn’t replace the drain without cutting him open again so they left it out and it was no big deal.
I slept with Marco on the couch for the next week. He’s a cuddle freak.
He was on a cycle. Food, pills, randomly walking around, and sleeping. Occasional potty break. Repeat. Perfect. And, he likes the same shows I do. Imagine that. Soulmates.
Tomorrow he gets all his stitches out and the cast removed. That’s good because I’m running out of wool socks to muffle the noise.
If my math is right, he’s almost 100. 12 years is the average life expectancy of a Weimaraner. Denver was 12. Marco is a trooper.
I’m not sure he knows what happened, but he looks more comfortable. I believe we made the right decision.
Our pets are family. They bring enormous joy and unconditional love to our lives. In turn, we provide them with the happiest, most comfortable life possible. That’s our responsibility.
Caring for our pets isn’t always easy. We rely on veterinarians if unexpected conditions merge. If surgery becomes an option, our vets lay out the risks and reasonably expected outcomes.
With no guarantees, it often boils down to this: do what you think is best for your best friend. When risk is your best option, proceed with caution.
We considered surgery before. Our first dog had a brain tumor which caused him to have seizures. Now, our second dog has a tumor on his chest that won’t stop growing. It’s as big as half a basketball.
Here are their stories.
Denver
Meet the pups – In July 1999, Denver entered and forever changed our lives. His favorite thing to do was bring back whatever you threw, unless it was edible.
In December 2001, we called the same breeder to ask about a future litter. She said a litter arrived seven weeks earlier and the puppies were available now. Same parents.
We lived in Milwaukee at the time. A Wisconsin winter in a building with the slowest elevator known to man isn’t optimal for potty training. It was too cold and too quick. We decided against it.
Two days later, the phone rang. It was the breeder. Denver’s mom was hit by a car and died. This was the last litter. We picked Marco up the next day.
Marco
Denver was the athlete and Marco was the puppy. Denver fetched while Marco walked around. Denver fearlessly swam; Marco waited on shore. For 10 years, Marco followed Denver everywhere.
Something’s wrong with Denver– In 2009, Denver began waking up at night. He would sit upright, slightly twitch, and then go back to sleep. The episodes were short and subtle, but not unnoticed.
Within a few weeks, he had his first grand mal seizure.
Seeing a dog have a seizure is scary and heartbreaking. Once the seizure starts, all you can do is make sure they aren’t knocking into walls or furniture until it’s over. You feel helpless.
Our vet told us that Denver’s seizures were likely due to a brain tumor. Of course, we had a million questions. Naturally, we asked about removal. How common was this? Was she sure it was a brain tumor? Is he going to die?
Denver
There was a lot to learn, but treatment can go two ways: medication or removal.
She prescribed phenobarbital in an effort to prevent the seizures while we discussed surgery. Within weeks, he had another seizure. More followed. The phenobarbital wasn’t working by itself.
The seizures I witnessed always occurred after midnight. He fell off the bed and hit the floor, convulsing violently. His eyes stayed open with a blank stare while chomping his jaw and foaming at the mouth. Sometimes he peed.
The seizures lasted about a minute. Then he laid still, breathing quickly, with his tongue out. He wouldn’t respond to touch or voice. He would only blink when he began to regain consciousness.
We returned to the vet and told her we wanted an MRI, which was the next step to move forward with surgery.
Meanwhile, prednisone was added to his daily cocktail.
Denver was 10 when the MRI confirmed what we were already told. Now, we knew the size and position of the tumor. They estimated that he had about six months to live if the tumor kept growing. The meds were an attempt to combat swelling and growth.
We scheduled an appointment with the surgeon, but we couldn’t get in immediately. During the next couple weeks, Denver responded positively to the prednisone. Experiencing fewer seizures helped change our conversation.
No surgery for Denver – Emotions are hard, if not impossible, to separate when making difficult decisions concerning your pet.
We determined the surgery was too invasive. He was too old. As it were, he had six months left whereas he might not survive the procedure. The prednisone worked well enough to get us away from the ledge.
Six months passed. By then, Denver’s seizures were often a month apart. We adjusted his meds, as needed, over the next year.
By spring 2011, 18 months after his diagnosis, the side effects of prednisone couldn’t be ignored. His attitude changed. He began peeing inside regularly. He was always thirsty and his hunger was endless.
He ate tissues and toilet paper at every opportunity. We’d find rolls of toilet paper that looked like apple cores. He ripped the dispensers out of the drywall in both bathrooms. He destroyed other things looking for food.
Who was this dog? He wasn’t the same. He looked uncomfortable and scared, almost as if he weren’t in control.
We decided to wean him off prednisone.
Although his attitude improved, the seizures returned. They became more frequent and worse. His recovery was longer. After regaining consciousness, he had a new phase that lasted up to 30 minutes. He couldn’t hear and I’m not convinced he could see. He was turbo charged and ran into walls and got tangled up in cords. He broke things.
I remember grabbing his head and staring into his eyes and yelling, “Denver, Denver, Denver!” trying to get some type of response from his vacant eyes.
Nothing.
I let him go and he’d roam room to room as I listened to him bump into walls and knock things over at 3:30 a.m. It was clear that we had yet to make the hardest decision.
Denver – August 30, 2011
Farewell, old friend – Denver had really good days, but he was on his way down. Our vet knew Denver his entire life. She assured us it was okay to let him go on a high note. We scheduled his euthanasia for five days later.
During his last days, my ex moved back in and we celebrated Denver’s life. We did all the things Denver loved. He ate like a king. The morning of the appointment, he acted like any other day the past 12 years. It was hard to not change our mind.
He was 12. He never had another seizure. He is in a better place. August 31 will always be Denver Day.
Marco; right photo by Jeff Brezovar
Marco solo – Marco mourned for two weeks following Denver’s passing. Life, as he knew it, always included Denver.
Marco turned 10 that year. Although he never developed a brain tumor, he began developing a different tumor. It’s become a problem.
The tumor – The fatty tumor started growing between Marco’s chest and left front leg shortly after Denver’s passing. It looked like a single breast implant. By the time we moved to Arizona in 2013, it had grown to the size of a grapefruit. Marco was 12.
At that time, the aesthetic of the tumor was its worst quality. It didn’t affect his movement or mobility. Surgery seemed like a stupid risk, especially at his age. The question became, how much and how fast will it grow?
Honestly, I don’t think we expected Marco to last a year in Arizona.
Today, however, I’m pleased to report that Marco is healthy. He’s full of energy and still acts like a puppy. He will be 14 next month.
The tumor, however, continues to grow. It has more than doubled in size. Marco’s limping more. It’s bulky. He looks so uncomfortable carrying it.
Even strangers are taken aback at its size. Their greetings have gone from “Oh, what’s that?” to “Whoa! That’s huge!” Now, they express sympathy.
What would Joan Rivers do? – I’m kidding, we all know what she would do. Joking aside, that’s exactly why I’m scared. The other day, for the first time, the vet said we should have the surgery.
The procedure sounds straightforward. The biggest problem is the location of the wound. Recovery will be a little more difficult.
Is surgery worth the risk at 14? Will that give Marco the happiest, most comfortable life? 14 is old for a Weimaraner. The tumor will continue to grow. Which option doesn’t shorten his life? I wish I knew.
We have an appointment scheduled for another opinion. I’ll let you know what happens.
UPDATE: The second opinion was with the surgeon who would perform the procedure. Marco’s in great health. He’s scheduled to undergo testing on Halloween – in two days. He’s taking his Frankenstein costume seriously this year. Pending successful tests, he will have the tumor removed that day. Stay tuned.
A while ago, I was talking to a friend who, along with his wife, own four cats and a dog.
Hanging out one night we had the age old debate – owning cats versus dogs.
I asked what the hell cats were even good for?
He replied, “Good question.” That was his answer, not hers. He has severe cat allergies so that’s how much he loves her.
Despite having four cats, their dog runs the house and reaps many benefits the felines don’t. When they come over, the dog is usually with them. He eats better than most humans, and has traveled more by plane than some people do in a lifetime.
The cats? They just chill. They hide when they want. They are seen when they want. They are absent, yet there. They eat. I’ve seen them all, but I couldn’t tell you what colors they are or which is which.
Maybe that says more about me than the cats, but they are sostand-offish. Plus, they’ve never come over.
Those are neutral things about cats, but I wanted to know what about cats really make them great.
Then, I realized a very important thing about dogs that I never really hear about cats.
Exhibit A
Dog owners make major concessions for the surprises we walk into due to the naughty behavior of our canine friends.
Mine have peed on strangers laying down in parks. They’ve peed in my bed. They snoop and counter surf when I’m not home. They’ve destroyed more garbage cans than I can count, along with clothes, shoes, bedding, glasses, dishes, pillows, and furniture for example. After all this, you better believe I’ll get another dog in this lifetime. That’s how great they are.
Exhibit B
Back to the question, “What are cats good for?” It’s simple. Cats are great for what they don’t do. I’m sure there are other redeeming qualities that make up for cats shitting inside, but case and point in Exhibits A and B.
If I weren’t so incredibly allergic to them, I like to think I would love cats. From the outside, they seem pretty easy.
If you told me that, in reality, cats rule the roost when owners go away and stand guard while dogs lay quietly, not destroying anything, I might challenge my allergy next time I get a puppy.
I love dogs. I’m a dog person through and through. I love them so much that mine did this to me and they still make my life exponentially better.
Along with dogs come certain guarantees. A few that come to mind are unconditional love, memories for life, occasional bad behavior, inevitable heartbreak, and ATTENTION. They wantit and they getit. From you, from everybody. While you may not be comfortable walking up and sniffing someone’s crotch before you’ve made eye contact, guess what? Dogs have no qualms about it. You learn how to deal with those interactions, particularly in elevators, where they are a little more awkward. Elevators are like traps and less voluntary.
When walking a dog, expect a lot of attention. And I mean a lot. You’re bound to meet at least one person every time you walk a dog.
This is Marco
When you do, they are bound to ask your dogs name. And, if you tell them your dog’s name is Marco, there’s a more than high probability that they will, almost instantly, say “POLO!”
I’ll give you an example.
Random stranger, “Is he friendly?”
Me, “Yes, he sure is.”
Random stranger, “Cool, can I pet him? What’s his name?
Me, “Absolutely, this is Marco.”
Random stranger, “POLO!”
The first time I might have laughed. As I it became expected and predictable, it became less and less amusing. Eventually, I would only be able to lift my head enough to smirk and a nod as people added, “You probably hear that all the time.” Continued nod.
It’s similar to when I tell people I am from Alaska. Naturally, they asked if I lived in an igloo or say something about daylight or darkness. After 2008, Palin became the new igloo. No, I don’t live in an igloo and no, I don’t know Sarah.
After over 13 years with Marco, I expect people to say ‘Polo’ after I introduce him. Even Marco understands the joke. Some of them even know they are about to say something completely unoriginal, yet they still say it. We’re all guilty.
It’s natural to migrate, immediately, to the obvious. It’s hard not to.
If you want to be original, I’ll tell you what I’ve never heard. Nobody has ever referred to the original inspiration of his name. No random stranger has ever blurted out, “ISLAND!”
As in, Marco Island, Florida. Not Marco Polo. Next time you encounter someone with a dog named Marco, throw them off.
If you already have a dog named Marco (like me) and meet someone with a dog named Marco, (I have) hold out until the other brings it up. Yes, they have heard it before. A rhetorical question is a lame conversation starter.
Regardless, dogs are awesome and this isn’t a situation unique to Marco. There are probably millions of predictable interactions occurring every hour of every day.
I’m guilty of it too. My friends have a dog named Dakota. Dakota has gotten brave since moving to the desert and discovered he likes surfing on foam pool pads.
Dakota’s family just moved into a new house that has a pool. So, I gave him one. Apparently he loves it! His parents sent me a pic!
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