Category Archives: Medical
In case you don’t know who Snoopy is, Snoopy is a 12 year old dog was recently surrendered to the shelter because his owner had become homeless. He has certainly seen some of the hard times that lead to his dad’s homelessness, and they are evident in his ever careful movements.
We were able to find a sanctuary foster for him and, on Thursday, Snoopy was able to leave the shelter on his new PBRSD journey. On the way to his new foster, Snoopy took a brief stop at the vet’s office to get checked out. We had hoped for typical “old dog” stuff.
Unfortunately, it is not good news.
Snoopy has indicators for advanced lymphoma (cancer).
We need to ask for your help again for our little old man. We are committed to giving him the very best care for whatever time he has left and hopefully give him some days (if not weeks or months) of happiness. We would like to be able to run further tests and have him see an oncologist. Because of his age and his extreme frailty, we aren’t inclined to put him through the discomfort of chemo or surgery, but would like to be able to do all the things that an owner would do to make him comfortable. As you know, hopefully not from personal experience, this sort of medical care can be costly.
With your help, we can afford to do the $500 of diagnostics that will help us arrive at the best course of action for Snoopy’s upcoming months. We can provide ongoing care for as long as Snoopy’s might need it. Snoopy will know love and comfort because you cared enough to give that to him.
Snoopy’s foster mom reports that he is absolutely adorable – that he wags his tail weakly at the cats and ever so gently curls up with her on the softness of her couch. He happily shares space with her resident dog, Wallace, and seems to enjoy being a pampered inside dog. She does feel that he is uncomfortable and we want to be able to start helping him as soon as possible.
We have set up a special link to ensure that your donations go directly to Snoopy’s care. As always, we are so grateful for all you do to help us help those in need.
We will use Snoopy, a frail 12 year old who we’ve fallen in love with in the local shelter, as an example. We first heard about Snoopy through an email sent to our Intake Director (Kim) from our contacts at the shelter last Saturday. The email included a photo and his medical information. He had been surrendered by his homeless human father and was not faring well at the shelter. Poor Snoopy had medical concerns that the shelter could not address in that setting. They asked us to make a decision by Tuesday.
Kim receives 3-6 requests a day from local shelters. She reads through all the ones that are sent and often has to let the shelters know that we do not have the resources to take certain dogs. She receives a report every week from the Foster Director (Ann) that showcases what foster homes are open and the types of dogs that they can house in those homes. She weighs each shelter request against the homes currently available. It’s also important to know if there are several open homes for a type of dog, just in case the first home doesn’t work out. Even though boarding is always an option, it isn’t an option for a dog fresh out of the shelter (they need to have been out at least 2 weeks) and it is not ideal for any dog that we’re pulling from the shelter because dogs don’t know the difference between the shelter and boarding and are often overly stressed about being placed back into a confined area. Read the rest of this entry
I enjoyed my first night at my new home. They tell me it is temporary, but it is warm and dry. The lady allow me to sit on the sofa with her, my head in her lap. I don’t know why, but I cannot use my hind leg. It hurts, a lot. The nice lady is stroking my scabby head. She gives my bumpy belly some rubs. She takes me to a crate and picks me up and puts me in. I don’t mind it so much. She gives me a chew toy, and I lie down and go to bed.
The next day I get some breakfast. My leg is still killing me, I do not know what is wrong. I really do not want to go outside, so I piddle by the back door. The other dogs are trying to play with me, but all I can do is sit down and watch them go back and forth. An hour or two go by, and the nice lady is taking me for a ride in her car.
I go into another place. I hear people talking, I hear them say my name “David”. They weigh me, 32 pounds. The nice lady goes into a room with me and sits on the floor with me. I hobble around a bit, but then I crawl into her lap. I don’t like the smell of this place. Some guy in a white coat shows up, he gives me a smile and pets me a bit. The two of them start talking. I hear them talk about my demodex and skin infection. I then hear them talk about the white worms she found in my poop this morning.
The nice gentleman listens to my heart and my breathing. He then moves my leg around. It hurts. He shakes his head, and says I am deformed. My legs are not in the correct position, and that the grooves for my knees are slanted. It allows my knee caps to slide in and out. He calls it a luxation. He tells the lady he does not think surgery will help me, but wants to give me a prescription to help with the pain and swelling, then said to have a surgeon take a look.
The lady thanks the nice man, and we head back to the car. She turns to me and says “Sorry”. I know it is not her, and I know she is trying to help me. I sure do hope this pain goes away.
I was somebody’s pet. But one day I ended up on the streets. I do not know if I started to lose my hair, then ended up homeless, or if I lost my hair on the streets. I was cold, hungry, and all I really wanted was a warm bed and someone’s lap in which I could place my head.
Instead, I got cold concrete and people shooing me away when I went up to them for food or affection. I do not know how long I was on the streets until, one day, someone called the guy with the funny truck. He called to me and I readily came to him. He was the first person in a long time who wanted to pet me. He gave me a few things to eat, then put me on his truck. I bounced around in the truck for a bit, but then we stopped. He brought me into a building. Inside – I have not seen inside in a long time.
A lady took me from the nice gentleman. She shook her head and, for a moment, I think I saw a tear. I could hear her tell people, “how can someone let him get this bad”. I did not know what she meant. She started to poke me with needles. I did not like that. She ran a blade over my skin. I did not like that. She stuck something up my butt. I did not like that. In the end, she put me in a kennel. It was dry. It had a bed. It had a bowl of food. I loved that.
The next day, I was told I had a heart murmur, graded 2 of 6. I was told I had demodicosis, a very severe case which has left me with only a few patches of fur. I was told I had a very bad skin infection and my feet were swollen. I was told I was underweight. I was told I was a stray, and I had only a few days for someone to claim me. I was told if no one claimed me, then they would do what they could, but it would be very difficult to find someone who would want me in this condition.
I spent my time on the medical ward. I could hear other dogs, but I could not play with them. People would come into my kennel and feed me, clean-up after me, and even give me some love. But my owner never showed up. One day, a very nice lady said she would help me. She said she had friends.
The next day, she introduced me to two of her friends. They played with me, they gave me some treats. They said I was a good dog. But then they left. I spent more times on that medical ward.
But then the day came. One of the nice ladies came back. She took me to her home. She gave me a toy. Another lady took some pictures. Then they took me to another house. This house had dogs for me to play with – lots and lots of dogs. It may not be my forever home, but the beds sure are comfy… and they call me David.