So the jewel known as Snitzle moved to LuckyPup Ranch, inserting herself among the other dogs as if they had always lived together. No growling. No fights. I lifted her onto the bed at night and down again in the morning. Every night she peed the bed. We got up at 1 a.m. and went for starry walks, and sometimes made it through a dry night.
“Her teeth need to come out,” the vet said. “All of them.” But first, of course, tests.
Hormone pills solved the bed wetting within a week, but the tests revealed a heart murmur, kidney disease and a liver that was none too sturdy. She kept her infected teeth and started on a regime of antibiotics and prescription dog food for kidney disease, sprinkled morning and night with enzymes.
I found my notebook from the day Trudi and I saved her. I’d written her name: “Shelby”
When I said it to her, she leaped and spun with delight. Now she is a jewel called Shelby, when I remember, and Schnitzle when I forget.
She must be fifteen by now.
I bought a staircase so she can climb in and out of bed whenever she wants, and a smaller one for the sofa. Her teeth are pretty good. Her kidneys have stabilized, as has her liver and her heart. She stays close, cooing behind me like a small flock of pigeons perched on a ledge.