…not Murphy, and not Guinness…but Finnegan! Long story, but we landed on Finnegan for his name. We will call him Finn more than likely, and so far it seems to fit.
Finnegan and I had an okay time on the plane ride home. He was scared and unsettled in the airport, and threw up twice in his carrier. He wasted no time letting me know how much work he’d be! Once home, he was good to go. The kids adore him, and I am thankful that he doesn’t seem lonely like I thought he would.
Night was a whole ‘nother story. Up to go potty at midnight, then up at 4am…seemingly for the day. We’re going to have to rectify that in a hurry or mamma is not going to be a happy camper. Meanwhile, coffee is my berry best friend. Yes, I said “berry.” That’s what being up at 4am will do to a person. A few more pictures before I bid farewell…
Get right on in there Colton for a big wet kiss!
Pay no attention to whatever is on my cabinets. Though, now that’s all you’ll see.
Needless to say…he is a lover.
This last one is Finnegan’s dad. So…this is how he’ll look when he’s full grown. He is going to go through all sorts of awkward and cute along the way, and of course, I will be compelled to share in photos!!
Oh, and for those of you who missed what type of dog he is...he's an Irish Water Spaniel.
Almost three weeks ago we brought our furry little bundle of joy home to join our family, and today he is fighting for his life.
I debated about posting this, but I fear my head may explode if I don’t hash it all out.
Wednesday night we were playing with him in our living room, and he needed to go out for a potty break. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then ten minutes later he was at the back door wanting to come back in. When he did his breathing was very labored and his gums were going grey.
Within ten minutes I had him in my car headed for the emergency vet. There he has been since. He has pulmonary edema, which, in laymen's terms is fluid build up on the lungs. He has a severe case. There are two types. Cardiogenic (having to do with the heart), and non-cardiogenic (obviously not having to do with the heart). He has the second type.
Causes could be: anaphylactic shock (brought on by a sting/bite), choking, head trauma, electric shock, or heat stroke. We have no idea what it was, but we know it wasn’t any of the above with the exception of choking. We don’t know if he may have swallowed something and it restricted his airway for a few minutes, or if his collar got hung up on a bush he plays in and freaked out, thereby choking himself.
In any case, most cases of this typically resolve themselves within 24hours. Finnegan has been in the vet hospital since Wednesday night and shows no improvement. Because he hasn’t worsened, they keep suggesting more time. So…we’ve been continuing to give him more time.
My heart is sick with worry, I cry out of no where throughout the day, I look at his toys strewn about my living room and cry again. I am a huge mess. There is already a hole in his absence. I can’t imagine what will happen if he doesn’t make it, and yet the vet has said we need to start preparing for that. How? I am not God, nor do I want to play God. The thing is, we don’t have an endless supply of money either.
I think the consensus that we have reached is to try to give him until Monday to show improvement. If he doesn’t go into respiratory distress before then. If that happens, then I will consider it his way of letting us know he can’t do it anymore.
In the meantime we are trying to figure out how we will come up with the money to support our little guy until then. Our bill thus far is over $3,000.00. Now is one of those times when I wish I were still working.
So…we wait. Just like we’ve been doing since this began. Waiting and hoping that he starts to show us that he is going to pull through. Meanwhile, I am an emotional wreck and was ill prepared to answer my precocious daughter’s questions about his whereabouts. “The doctors will tell us when he can come home, right mama?” “Mama, Finnegan is our dog…so he needs to come home to be with us.” “Do you promise they will tell us when he is ready, mama?” What on earth do you say to that?
…Finnegan Two. It may seem strange that we have gone about it this way, but we picked up the very last male from the breeder. We also named him Finnegan. Telling the youngest two of the three kids just didn’t seem like something we were ready to do. They are just still too young to really understand what happened.
So we brought this little guy home, and all the kids believe is that he is back from the doctor. He is making busy work of filling the hole in our hearts (mine, Andy’s and Drew’s), though it is not taking very much effort on his part in the least. While he is so similar in appearance and even personality, there are some definite distinctions, and I can’t help but compare them. I just told Andy, that I will know all is well when I stop doing that, and just love this new one for who he is.
Thought I would share a picture…
Just look at that face. How on earth could anyone NOT love him just as he is?
In the midst of all of this, we have experienced the genuine goodness of the human heart. The breeder we worked with (and I will most likely never work with another as long as we get Irish Water Spaniels), relayed our story to her breeder club. The members have told her that they want to donate to us to assist with the medical expenses we incurred. I don’t care if five dollars comes our way. The fact that she took the time to share what happened, and that they feel compelled to help is, purely and simply, a blessing.
Friday Andy and I decided to give Finnegan until Monday to make a turnaround, despite all the animal doctors’ advice. They continued to tell us that all signs pointed toward no, and we were still praying yes.
Nearly an hour after making that decision, the doctor called to tell me that Finnegan was declining. Declining? “What does that mean?”, I asked. “Does that mean we are at the point I have dreaded? The one when I will have to decide for him whether he has given it his all?” So, I went to see him. They led me back to where he was kept, and tears streamed in a torrential flood down my face at first glimpse. Not because he looked worse to my eye, or because he looked like he was hurting. Simply because there he was, looking at me like I should take him home. Looking at me like he didn’t understand why I kept leaving him there.
I talked with the doctor while standing there, and she told me his “prognosis” is not good. She doesn’t have a lot of hope for any recovery at this point. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to let him go. So I left, determined to give him at least until later that evening. Around 9:30pm I called, and a new doctor was in (but one who was with him the previous night), and she didn’t have better news. In fact, she told me it was time to think about euthanizing him.
I went in, and after crying for 30 minutes while talking with the doctor, I made the only decision I thought I could make. I let him go. I rubbed him the whole time, and as he left, so did a tiny piece of my heart. Then, as my tears seemed unending, I walked away. I drove home alone with his little collar in my lap wondering why on earth this happened. What purpose did it serve. Knowing that I may not ever have the answers, and that oftentimes the answers aren’t even for us to understand.
So Finnegan is gone, and our home is missing a family member. While he was only with us a short time, he made an indelible mark. His little paw prints are planted firmly on our hearts.
My four year old spent the day today as "Willy." As in Willy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. As in Johnny Depp, Willy. No, she didn't dress up. There was nothing going on for which she had to play a role. She simply decided that today...she was Willy. And Willy constantly referred to herself in third person. "Willy's full of this sandwich. Willy doesn't like animal crackers." I honestly didn't even know talking in third person was a skill a four year old would have. I should have known better.
Fast forward to bath time. Colton was already toweled off and went running, naked, out to the kitchen. I was drying off Willy when I hear Colton say to Finnegan (our dog) "wick my bunghole!" Yes. That was the cherry on the sundae that was my day. This is my life.
