Lizzie's Couch

I’m going to warn you now, this is gonna be a MONSTER of a post!  You also might want to get some tissues.

So anyone who read my first post probably knows who Vito is, he’s the German Shepherd I rescued from the local shelter, and has been diagnosed with EPI. He’s Lizzie’s big/little brother.  Big because he’s almost twice her size, little because he’s about half her age.  I’m mostly writing this all out as a sort of record for him, I want to keep this story forever fresh in my heart and mind.

Let’s start with the beginning.  Back in November I was looking up ads on craigslist for dogs up for adoption, since Liz tends to be a drama queen on walks and flops down like she’s dying literally every 20 feet.  But I noticed if I brought a friend along of the canine persuasion she’d walk farther.  Plus I was working long hours and I wanted her to have company while I was gone.

I found an ad titled “Beautiful Dark German Shepherd Needs Reprieve!! (TLAC)”  with pictures of a handsome, very skinny shepherd standing there, just looking sad and in need of some serious love.    I replied to the ad, and found it was posted by a rescue who goes to the local shelter and takes pictures of all the animals on ‘death row’ and posts them on craigslist in hopes of getting them that one final chance.  Luckily this time it worked.  I called the shelter and had him put on hold so I could go see him the next day.

I went in, and the lady at the counter looked at my application then at me.  She raised a brow.  “You are aware he’s in pretty bad shape, right?”  She said.  I knew from the photo he was skinny, but obviously there wasn’t much detail.  I just nodded and said I wanted to see him anyway.  She handed me a leash and told me where to go.  I went out to his kennel, opened the door and he hauled himself to his feet to greet me.

The pictures did not do him justice.  And by that, I mean he looked even worse.  His hip bones were sharp enough to cut paper, and you could count every single rib from across the yard.  In the photo, his dark fur hid his shape effectively, but up close…it was heartbreaking.  I leashed him and walked him out to a small fenced yard where I could let him walk around and get to know him.  He moseyed along beside me, quiet and solemn.  He looked ancient.  I sat down in an old, rusted out metal folding chair and watched him.

At first he was pretty aloof, wandering around, not really paying any attention to me.  He had nasty diarrhea a couple times, which I attributed to his being so emaciated.  He came when I called him, let me pet him a couple times, and wandered off again.  I considered this a good sign, that he would be self sufficient and wouldn’t suffer separation anxiety when I went to work, but it also worried me since it didn’t feel like we were bonding well yet.  Then he found an old, filthy tennis ball and brought it over to me.

We played ball a little, he was so weak he could only trot half-heartedly after it, but I could tell he was really trying.  He wanted to play, he wanted to live.  It brings tears to my eyes just remembering it.  I remember looking into his eyes and seeing intelligence, but there wasn’t any hope.  He knew he was going to die, and he just wanted to play ball before that happened.  That clinched it, I couldn’t let him go.

I took him back to his kennel.  I wanted to just scoop him up and steal him home right there, but I had to fill out paperwork and go through the right channels.  He went along quietly, I’m pretty sure he thought I was never coming back.  I went back to the office and told the lady I wanted him.  They had to do a medical on him first, so the earliest I’d be able to get him was tomorrow, Sunday.  I finished up my paperwork, and left, practically vibrating with the need to go back there and hug him and tell him it would all be alright, but knowing I had to be a grown up and responsible and go to work.

Sunday they called and told me he had had his medical exam…which I found ridiculous considering he was obviously unhealthy and would need to see a vet the moment I got him home..but I digress.  The frightful thing was they wanted to fix him.  Remember how skinny he was?  He weighed 58lbs that day, fully 32lbs UNDER his optimal healthy weight.  And they wanted to try and put a dog that sick and skinny under and do a completely unecessary surgery on him?!  Several phone calls later I finally convinced them that I would pay for the surgery myself AFTER he was healthy, and they finally released him.  This took until Monday, and finally, FINALLY, I was able to go get him.

In my excitement I had already bought him a new collar and lead, and I took them with me when I went to the shelter, all but bouncing with each step.  I walked in, got permission to go get him, and went out to his kennel.  Vito was on his feet the moment he saw me.  He actually even managed a little bounce or two of joy.  I knelt down, opened the gate, and he rushed into my arms.  He was crying.  I started crying too.  I hugged him and held him and told him it was okay, he was safe now, and he just pressed as hard as he could into my arms and cried.  We walked back to the adoption center together, and I swear he had twice the energy he’d had when I first saw him.  More paperwork was done, fees were paid, and FINALLY, he was mine.

He peed on their sign on the way to the car.