As I write this, my darling Chloe is in the hospital, alone, receiving supportive care for a type of cancer for which there is no cure. And the onslaught of the “what if’s,” the “maybes” and the “if onlys” come to assault me in the still of the night – which is now, 1am March 3, 2017. The asault and the accusations are relentless and I fight to find the calm, still and gentle voice of God – to hear what He has to say in this. For just like everyone’s beloved pet, there is a story that is untold and often privy only to the heart of the person who’s life has been deeply intertwined, impacted, and ultimately made different because of the animal who entered their life – for however many years, months, weeks or days.

And so to do any justice to Chloe’s story, and what she has inspired, I must go back many years to where it all began. It is not a pretty story. It is a heart-breaking one that continues to this day. But it is without question one worth telling.

Out of veterinary school, and head first into the real world

I had just finished my fairly brutal internship after reaching my doctorate of veterinary medicine in 2002. I had high hopes of the future and big plans to create a clinic where every pet and person was known, loved, and cared for like my own family. As I waited for this dream to come to fruition, I decided to volunteer for a local humane society. The ultimate irony was this – there was nothing in my career path that changed me more deeply than this rather small volunteering experience. I learned very quickly to improve my efficiency in surgery (mostly spays and neuters) because there was ALWAYS another patient waiting on the surgery table behind me to get to as soon as possible. Two operating tables in one large room. I, the veterinary surgeon would stand in between these tables and as I was sewing up my last patient, I felt the pressure to hurry up so I could begin the next surgery on the table just behind me. No time to use the restroom, chug a drink of water, or eat a quick snack (and then deal with friends/family later demanding to know why I did not answer my phone.)

And that is how the day would go – operating on one animal, turning around and beginning the process on the next. It was exhausting, but their was a part of me that also found it exhilarating – I WAS making a difference!

And then one day all of those high hopes came crashing down. I turned to the table behind me to begin the next surgery, and to my utter horror I quickly realized that I was expected to perform a spay on an extremely pregnant (and by that I mean she could have gone into labor at any moment leading up to the surgery) Rottweiller. I was expected to spay her. And I was urged to move on because of course there were more surgeries to be done. I asked, I begged, I pleaded, but the answer was the same, “we don’t need more puppies.” And so I willed myself forward, forcing my hands to stop shaking, and began the procedure. I decided that I needed a huge mental shift and FAST if I was to survive this. I MUST be preoccupied with the mom, and make my efforts about her – making sure she was safe, and that she would come out of this experience alive, well and ready for a forever home. I vividly remember clamping the arteries – the blood supply to the babies, and I felt the tears stream down my face and drip into my surgical mask. “Focus on momma, focus on momma” I urged myself on. And when I had done my duty, I passed over an enormous uterus filled with many many viable puppies to the technician. I forced myself to concentrate back to mom, but I could NOT block out what was happening in my peripheral vision. The technicians drew up several syringes full of euthanasia solution. And, one by one, they killed her puppies.

I was physically ill, (literally) but again I was now absolutely determined to get momma through this horror and get her on the road to recovery – and ultimately adoption. With immense relief, I finally  placed the last skin suture. The other vet took pity on me and said she would cover the remaining surgeries. I was so grateful. I sat in the cage with momma and waited until she was completely recovered before I left.

I walked to my car with a broken heart. I endured eight years of intense schooling, sacrificed SO much, so that I could HELP animals. And here I was walking to my car having just killed that poor dog’s entire litter of babies. I felt like a monster.

I don’t believe I slept more than a few hours that night and at the first light I drove straight to the humane society. I was not scheduled to be there, but I HAD to make sure momma was ok. I looked through the recovery cages and did not see her. I looked through the various kennels, and still no sign of her. Finally I grabbed one of the techs and asked her where momma was – I desperately wanted to check on her.

And as though my heart could not sink any lower, I was informed that she was euthanized – WHAT?!  I was told that they took x-rays of her hips (larger breeds are more prone to hip problems) and they decided that her hips looked bad enough that it was best to euthanize her. And through clenched teeth and a great deal of self restraint, I asked “and why could we not have done this BEFORE putting her through such a major surgery?” Well, as it turned out, the babies were in the way of getting a good x-ray of her hips, so there was no way to tell until AFTER they were removed.

Before I continue the story I must offer a little more background info. The internship that I had just completed included a rather intense training with a highly renowned and greatly respected board certified surgeon. One of the big take away points was that you NEVER make a prognosis for a dogs quality of life based on an x-ray alone. So now, we will never know if that beautiful dog could have lived a full, rich and wonderful life.

To say I was disgusted is the most modest description. I was forced to perform a very high risk procedure on a full-term large breed dog. All of her puppies were killed. And for what? to eventually kill her with the excuse of “bad hips?”

This will haunt me for the rest of my life. But it was also the moment of a great awakening.  After MUCH MUCH effort, I finally convinced the board of directors that they should consider an alternative when made available – and yes, that alternative was me. And THAT is how “Cherished Life” began. They agreed that I could take animals that were at term pregnancy, but ONLY I was allowed to do this since they knew I would spay/neuter all puppies/kittens prior to adoption.

Not 24 hours after I received the green light, I was messaged by an employee that they had the first female for me to take but I MUST hurry! When I got to the kennel I understood why – there was a large sign on her run that said “EMERGENCY SPAY.” I watched at least a dozen employees/volunteers walk past this dog – and she remained at the far corner of the run hunched in fear. The SECOND I came towards her cage, she leapt up and came right to me. I put a slip lead on her and she bolted me out the door! I took her to my car and helped her in (she weighed about as much in puppies as she did her own body weight). She rested her head on me, and I knew that she was waiting for me to take her home.

Somehow, she knew she was safe with me.

I drove her straight to my clinic which was about an hour away. Within the next 30 minutes, her first baby was born on the floor of my car. By the time I got to my clinic, there were three newborns to bring inside with her. I put her in my office, dimmed the lights and set up a nesting area. It was not too much longer that the last two pups were born.

She is my Chloe. My dear sweet sweet girl that I rescued exactly 12 years ago. And now, her life is coming to an end.