Memorial To Our Canine Family Members

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Spud and Chiquita

Spud

My first chi experience was with a chi mix.  She was produced from Sonny's dog, a Schipperke, who met up with a male chihuahua who was quicker than we were!  Spud was born in our house, under our bed, July 30, 1978.  Chiquita didn't know what to do with the membrane around the puppies when they were born -- so she did nothing.  I broke the membrane off each one so they could breathe.  Before that I was a "dog person" all right, but I had never really cared much for small dogs. At any rate, the Schipperke, Chiquita, had five puppies and all were solid black like her, but one.  The one exception was black and tan and that's the one Sonny wanted to keep.  I wasn't too keen on keeping any of them at the time.  Well, Spud, as Sonny had named her, never looked anything like her mother.  She didn't look like my idea of a chihuahua either.  I later saw some of the other puppies after they were grown and they all looked like a Schipperke.

My lasting memories of Spud as a puppy, a black and tan short coat, was of her running to me (looking like a little black mouse) in a big hurry everytime she was about to spit up some milk (which she did often).  In those days I wore shower shoes around the house, and as soon as Spud would reach me, she would hold her head over my bare toes till she spit up the milk, and the milk would run down, squishing, between my toes.  Why she was so obssessed about doing this, I never figured out.  Anyway, despite the "milk" business, I soon fell in love with the little sweet soul. It wasn't long before I knew that Spud was "my dog" just like Chiquita was Sonny's dog.  And I've been a chihuahua person ever since.  I only wish I had met Spud earlier in life.  I've missed so much.

Spud was born wild.  For the first year of her life, she would not allow anyone to pick her up.  If we needed to pick her up for something, such as giving her a bath, looking for ticks, or putting her in the truck to go somewhere, we had to trick her into it!  Sonny would usually pretend that he was mad at her about something which would cause her to run to me for protection.  She would actually jump into my arms on those occasions.

To give you an idea of how "wound up" Spud was as a puppy, you need to know what she did until she was about six or seven months old whenever drinking liquids or liquid-like foods.  Because it was liquid, Spud was required to stand at the bowl while she lapped it up.  But she was wound up so tightly that, whenever her head went down to the surface of the liquid, her rear legs and hindparts went up.  As long as she was lapping up the liquid, the rear part of her stayed up, her hind feet dangling about two inches from the floor.  Her hind legs went back down whenever her head came up.  I thought it looked like an impossible feat.  It reminded me of a wooden duck I used to see when I was a child - you know, the kind that dips its bill into water every few seconds, and everytime it does so, its tail goes up.

Spud hated to ride in the pickup.  We had to watch Spud  very carefully while preparing to go somewhere, else she would run off and hide.  Even so, we would usually have to "rake" her out from under the bed with a broom handle when we were ready to leave.  Spud was extremely scared while riding in the truck.  She would hide under the seats and shake and would not let us hold her or console her.  I never liked to have to take her anywhere, but we had no alternative.  We were not about to leave her alone!

While traveling with Spud we had to be very careful at any and every stop we made.  Every time a door was opened, she would try to make a break for it - at lightning fast speed.  Sometimes she succeeded and those were some very trying times for all of us.  I guess we didn't know then about leashes and crates.

She weighed 7 lbs.   She was my shadow -- she would not even let me go into the bathroom without her.  She loved me so much that she once proudly presented me with one of her most prized possessions.  We had friends over one night for a big "mountain oyster" fry.  Sonny loves 'em.  He had acquired a large amount of the fresh variety that had to be shucked (skinned) before slicing for frying.  The next morning, as I first began to awaken, I felt something in my opened hand.  I looked under the covers and Spud's gleaming face was the first thing I saw as she guarded the contents of my hand.  She was so proud of her gift to me -- she had somehow discovered the place where the "schucks" had been disposed of.

On the day that Chiquita died, I noticed that Spud had a fatty tumor, just below her breastbone.  Her vet said it was not malignant and it was no problem.  So we just left it alone.  If it grew at all from that point on, it was only slightly.  But she was diagnosed with congestive heart failure and we began having to give her heart medicine as well as a diuretic.

 Spud required more care the older she got.  I never noticed any symptoms of arthritis (Chiquita obviously had Spud's share), but more and more she preferred softer and softer pillows and beds.  She finally reached a point where she would not lie down at all on a hard surface, preferring to stand, no matter how long, if nothing soft was available.

Her physical condition deteriorated noticeably almost on a weekly basis the last year and a half of her life.  Her hearing started going and she soon became totally deaf for most sounds (certain sounds she could still hear quite well).  Her congestive heart failure worsened and her coughing spells became more frequent.  Her hair became grayer, coarser, and duller.  She developed cataracts and frequently had to have her teeth cleaned because of infected teeth.  She had mammary tumors removed.  We had not known of the health benefits of early spaying, so Spud had never been spayed. For years Sonny and I have not had any air conditioning, preferring ceiling and window fans in the dry West Texas climate to stale air conditioned air.  But beginning when she was about 15 years old, although Spud had been cold natured all her life, she began to show definite signs of heat discomfort during most of the hot afternoons.  That was enough  to send us to Sears to buy $2000.00 worth of refrigerated air conditioning ($3000.00 when you figure in the maintenance agreements and interest).

Spud was diagnosed with kidney failure on April 1, 1994, and her doctor recommended euthanasia, but quickly saw that we were not going to go for it.  I would not even discuss it.  I think I went into shock.  I had never before encountered the need to have a beloved family member put to sleep and knew that I would not be able to handle it.  He gave Spud an antibiotic shot for her kidneys, heart, and infected teeth that had been hurting her.  Then he gave us antibiotic capsules to give her twice a day, and k/d food, dry and canned.  This was in addition to her Cardoxin (heart medicine) and diuretic.  Plus he told us to give her distilled water with a little GatorAde added to replace the pottassium lost by the diuretic.

The first week she ate the k/d food like it was going out of style and she improved greatly.  She was bouncing around the house as though she had springs in her legs, and her stools became solid again and she stopped vomiting.  Sonny and I were ecstatic.  The second week the diahrea and vomiting resumed, her eating slowed -- and the springs in her legs began to corrode.  The third week was even worse, and so on -- and on.

took over.  "Whoever" it was took over everything in a very efficient manner, calling and making the appointment, taking care of all the other details (including placing a brand new collar with a bow around Spud's neck), going to the vet and coming back to Sanderson, and even to the point of taking care of a few distasteful things after we had returned home.  Sonny was with me and drove, but I (or whoever I'd turned into) made all the moves.  The "real me" broke through, screaming (but only for a few seconds), shortly after Spud had received the deadly injection.

I had held Spud in my hand as I helped her into the world, and fifteen years and ten months later, I held her in my arms as I helped her out of the world.  We brought her back home and waited till the  next day to bury her.  Fifteen, our cat, was extremely upset and agitated when she saw Spud and remained upset all night and part of the next day.  Upon awakening on the morning of her burial, the  first sight that met my eyes on that Spring morning were bright sunbeams streaming through the bedroom window.  I questioned the Sun and demanded, "What right have you to be shining so brightly now that Spud is gone?!!"  I just couldn't believe that Spud could be gone and the Sun could still shine!  We buried Spud in our backyard wrapped in all the blankets she liked so well.

I will always miss her.  At times the grief seems too much to bear.  I believe the loss of a pet who's been around for several years is similar to the loss of a small child (like a toddler) because of it being so small and dependent and not able to understand weighty matters (well, I guess a lot of adults can't do that either).

   Chiquita  

Chiquita was born May 16, 1976 to the dog owned by our next-door-neighbor while we lived in Fort Worth.  From the time they first opened their eyes, our neighbor would place the entire litter of solid black puppies on her front lawn every morning to soak up some sun. Their lawn was adjacent to our dining room windows where Sonny always sat drinking his morning coffee while the puppies sunbathed. Pretty soon, one puppy began to sit every day under the window where Sonny sat.  With pleading eyes, she would stare up into Sonny's face, holding one leg up with her little paw drooping.  And every morning Sonny would say, "If I were to ever get a dog (which I'm not!), I'd get one just like this one."  Then Sharon happened to be visiting once when it occurred.  She asked Sonny why he didn't go ahead and get a dog.  He said he had no kids at home and didn't want to be tied down with something that might prevent him from going somewhere whenever he got ready to go.  So Sharon said, "Fine!  You get ready to go somewhere, I'll dogsit!" Immediately Sonny asked me to go next door to inquire about getting that puppy.  I did, and she was the only one left of the litter that had not been spoken for.  I took her to our home on that day, and Chiquita never looked back -- she never considered again the house next door where she was born as her home.  We've always said it was as though she picked us, and not the other way around.  From that time on, she was Sonny's shadow, preferring to be by his side in everything.

Chiquita had been with us a week before our neighbor informed us what breed she was.  We had never heard of the Schipperke breed.  I had to ask her how to spell it.  A couple of weeks later I had to ask it again.  It was several months before we actually learned how to spell it or pronounce it.  By the way, Sharon never got the opportunity to dogsit with Chiquita because, wherever we went, so did Chiquita!

Chiquita's sisters and brothers did not fare as well as she did.  Our neighbor informed me that none of them survived their first year, most succumbing before they were six months of age -- all from some type of accident.  I can only remember the details of one -- where the puppy attacked a large dog and the large dog killed it.  Although we tried very hard to protect Chiquita from all harm, we can't take credit for all of her good fortune.  I believe at least part of it is due to just plain old Good Luck.

Although Chiquita was a small dog, she had the courage of a lion, at least while Sonny and I were nearby.  During her first year, she would probably have literally attacked a buzz saw!  But something happened soon after to temper her courage with a little fear.  Traveling in and around Fort Worth, we often had to go near Carswell Air Force Base.  On one such excursion, a very large plane, one of those huge bombers, took off from the base.  It was extremely noisy, and its route took it directly over the highway we were traveling.  It appeared to be a small, noisy object coming toward us from behind.

Chiquita immediately began to jump toward the back window, her hackles up, growling, snarling, and barking at the approaching plane.  The plane appeared to be very low-flying as it came nearer our position on the highway.  Chiquita's attack continued full-blown as the plane loomed ever larger and became more frighteningly loud.  Just before it went over our heads, it looked as though it was about to come flying through the back window of our car.  At that moment, Chiquita's courage flew out the window and she caved in.  She dived under Sonny's seat.  When we later pulled her out to comfort her, she was shaking like a leaf.  Her courage after this incident was never as great as before -- almost, but not quite.  For the rest of her life, she would only attack 18-wheelers, not planes.

I had read somewhere that the Schipperke breed of dog was originally produced to kill and reduce the rat and mice population aboard ships.  If so, the original breeders were remarkably successful.  Once she caught a whiff of a mouse, Chiquita didn't give up.

There was a time when we bought a used cabinet to install in our kitchen.  There was nowhere in the cabinet for a mouse to hide, but there were obviously smells of mice in it.  Chiquita almost went crazy trying to find the "mouse who wasn't there."  But she didn't actually need to smell a mouse in order to hunt for one.  She would hunt for a shorter length of time, about an hour or two, just on somebody's say-so.  Anytime anyone, friend or foe, pointed somewhere and said, "There's a mouse," she was off to the hunt.

Another time, Chiquita smelled (or heard) a mouse in the wall of our kitchen.  She began to scratch on the wall and the floor.  Once again, Sonny and I were more preoccupied with watching TV than with watching her, but we commented to one another about how cute it was for her to "dig" in the kitchen trying to reach that mouse.

A little while later, when one of us got up to get a drink of water, we no longer thought it "cute."  Chiquita had ripped a hole in the wall about two feet in diameter!  And was still ripping out portions of the wall with her teeth.  Well, we had a little trouble convincing her to leave the rest of the wall alone, but we finally distracted her enough with other things that she forgot about it.  Just imagine what could have happened if she had been a large dog!

After moving to Sanderson, we lived for a while in the jail apartment in the courthouse.  Just about every day we'd all go for a walk around the courthouse.  Chiquita loved the goldfish.  When we would reach the fountain below the front steps, Chiquita refused to walk any further.  She wanted to stay with the fountain and walk around the rim of it.  She would stick her feet in the water to try to touch the goldfish, and she would stick her mouth in the water as if to pick one up in it, but of course, she never did.  The gold fish swam up close to look at her.  Sometimes water overflowed the fountain, wetting the rim and making it slick.  Sometimes, while Chiquita walked the rim, "fishing" for goldfish, she would lose her balance and would fall in.  Whenever that would happen, she would quickly look around to see if anyone had been watching because slipping and falling in the water always seemed to embarass her a lot.

When Chiquita began to show her age, everything was fine except that she had trouble moving around after lying asleep in one spot very long -- she was arthritic and stiff.  She slept a lot more. I bought a rubber sheet that was made for a baby's crib.  I lined Sonny's recliner with it since that's where she preferred to sleep during the day.  Chiquita had become incontinent.

She didn't get much use out of it, though.  Shortly after I bought it, Chiquita had trouble standing one morning.  When she tried to stand, she fell over on her side.  Sonny scooped her up and took her to the nearest vet 64 miles away.  I didn't get to go with them because I wasn't dressed yet, and he didn't want to waste any precious time waiting on me.

The vet had no idea what was wrong with her and wanted Sonny to leave her overnight so he could run some tests.  The only thing they knew at that time was that she was anemic.  Even though Sonny really didn't want to, he left her there.

The next morning, January 8, 1992, Chiquita's doctor informed Sonny that she had passed away during the night.  They said none of the tests revealed any information and that they had ruled out most everything but cancer.  The doctor offered to perform an autopsy to try to determine the cause of death, but he said if he did that, we would not be able to have the body.  Sonny said, "No," that it wasn't that important to find out the cause and he'd rather have the body.

We made the trip to the vet's office, picked up Chiquita, and took her home.  We buried her in the back yard, lying in her favorite bed, wrapped in her favorite blanket with her head resting on her one and only pillow.  Sometime during that most sorrowful time, I remember saying to Sonny, "I sure hope death is not nearly as painful for the dead as it is for the living."

Since none of our family live nearby no one knew that Chiquita had died until about one year after her death.  Neither one of us could bring ourselves to mention it to anyone (or to each other) for the first year after we lost her.  It's still very hard for us to talk about her.  And Sonny has still not forgiven himself for leaving her overnight at the vet's hospital to die alone in a cage.

Created by Matt Lake of Matt's Web Design on September 14, 1998, and last updated on March 29, 2003.