The scare that was Belle

All my life I've had a dog.  I cannot remember ever being without one.  I got my first dog when I was 5 from the postman.  Had my second when I was 8, one that we found on the farm.  So at 19, living on my own for the first time, I decided to get a pug, Belle.

I can remember picking her out from the litter.  I had my choice.  She was the one that came to me, so very tiny...she was the runt.  I should have known then that runts are the survivors.  They have to fight the hardest to stay alive.

Belle and I had some great college years.  She went everywhere with me.  She loved riding around in the convertible...she even fell out of it once.  Oh the stories that dog could tell, the secrets she's kept for me all these years.  The parties she's been to, the boyfriends she's been through.  Every afternoon we would take a nap together.  She was the best stuffed animal to sleep with. 

Then I met Warren, and we (Belle and I) moved to Los Angeles to be with him.  We lived in the world's most disguisting apartment in the most ghetto neighborhood you can imagine living in...but Belle didn't care.  She was with me and that's all that mattered to her.  She was our baby and we spoiled her rotten.

Fast forward 5 yrs.  Mama gets pregnant.  Belle can no longer fit on my pregnant lap.  I'm throwing up so often that she can't sleep in the bed with us anymore...and so she gets moved to the floor.  It was a big adjustment for her.  But she coped well...really, what choice did she have??  She was still the baby, still felt loved.

Twelve months later we bring home Tristan.  I was so concerned about the dogs and how they would feel.  When we walked through the door with that big bundle, the first thing Belle did was steal his blanket, then his socks.  She was an attention hog...just like her Mama!! 

But I didn't have a clue how difficult it would be to raise a child.  Some days the dogs didn't get fed at all.  It wasn't out of meaness, it was just forgotten.  And when baby #2 came, the dogs just became dogs...no more were the days of pettings and kisses.  And my patience for the one who had been with me since the beginning was wearing thin. 

Belle got kicked out of our room completely because I couldn't stand the constant licking and snorting and annoying habits that became her norm.  The way she followed me around became more than I could stand...I had two other little things following me around constantly, whining and being needy.  I just didn't have time for Belle anymore.  Days would go by when I wouldn't have any contact with her at all.  I started putting her in the office during the day so she wouldn't follow me around anymore...I just couldn't stand it!!

But one week ago, everything changed.  Warren and I came home after helping my sister at her house.  It was 112* that day, hottest day of the year.  And somehow, Belle had been left outside...with no water.  When Warren found her she was limp as a noodle, just barely clinging to life.  Completely unresponsive.  As I held her on the way to the ER, all I could do was sob and tell her how sorry I was.  For 12.5 yrs this dog had been my constant, and in an instant, it was all taken away.  The extreme guilt I felt, we both felt, cannot even be put into words.  I hadn't even pet her that day.  Did she even know that she was loved?  When she arrived at the ER, her body temperature was 109*...9 degrees higher than it should have been.  The doc gave her a 50% chance of survival. 

After several torturous hours of trying to decide if she would live or die, I finally told Warren to take me home.  I couldn't make that decision just yet.  If she made it through the night, she might have a fighting chance. 

At 3am we received a phone call that she was having trouble breathing and they wanted to put her on oxygen.  We agreed.  At 6:30am, I decided to go pick her up b/c if she was going to die, I wanted her to die in my arms, at home, and not in a cold cell in the Vet's office.  When I got there, they strongly encouraged me not to take her.  They said she would for sure not make it.  But I knew in my heart that she needed to get out of there.  For all she knew...especially after the way she had been treated for years....she was left there to die.  At least with me, she might fight to survive. 

So I brought her home.  It was a rough day, she definitely was having trouble getting enough oxygen.  She was exhausted and couldn't lay her head down to sleep b/c she couldn't breath.  BUT, by the end of the day she was eating and drinking and had stopped panting.  She was calming down in the comfort of her own home.

By the next morning her breathing had slowed and she was no longer struggling to get in enough air.  It was a miracle.  My stubborn little pug was a fighter...she was fighting to stay alive for me...b/c she loved me...b/c she wanted to give me a second chance to do right by her.  Because she deserves a life full of love and soft dog food!

So here we are a week later....she is by my side, as usual, snoring away in her bed.  Living the life of luxury with water bowls in every room and as much soft dogfood and belly rubs that she could ever want.  I've even let her get in the bed with us at night.  Warren doesn't say a word.

At this point we don't know if there is any irrepairable damage.  We won't know probably until it is too late.  But if we only get another week with her, I now appreciate the value of her life.  It is sad that it took such a horrible accident to make us realize how irreplaceable she is.  Her snoring has become a comfort, knowing, even if it's just for a little while, she is still here.  We love you, Bellerina.  Thanks for being a survivor and giving us a second chance.