Even when we started this year, with Pokey being 16 years old, I never dreamed that we'd be ending the project early. My sweet boy passed away yesterday, 6/15/24, due to kidney failure. He had just turned 17.
5 years ago we had 6 dogs. 9 months ago we had 4 dogs. Now we only have one (Chico). Its going to be an entirely new experience.
The following life-story of Pokey is very, very long. I don't really expect anyone to read it all - but if you do, thank you. I did it more for myself. As if I could ever forget anything about this boy's special life.
Pokey’s story began months before he came into my life...
Back in Indiana, we ended up having a lot of cats. Not by choice, but because people dumped them on our dead-end road, or they just found their way to a sucker’s home (mine) and knew I wouldn’t turn them away. At first, I didn’t consider them mine – I was just doing them a favor by feeding them – so I didn’t get them spayed/neutered, which of course, resulted in unplanned kittens. (I did eventually get them spayed/neutered, one by one) On August 9. 2007, I took the latest litter of kittens to the animal shelter. When I arrived with them, the Animal Control Officer told me that in the past month alone, he had put to sleep over 300 dogs and cats. So, I took my cat carrier, with my little funny kittens, and walked back out of the shelter. On my way, I passed about 20 dogs, all wagging their tails ferociously and barking at me, as if to say, “Please don’t leave me here!” I vowed that when my current dog (Keiba, an Akita) passed away, I would never buy a dog again – I would save one from that horrible place.
Keiba passed away on 10/27/2007. So, I went to the animal shelter. I saw all kinds of nice dogs, but it still felt too soon after losing Keiba for me to actually adopt one. While there I realized that I finally should and could do something positive for unwanted animals. The staff at the animal shelter gave me a brochure for the Humane Society, and I called them the next day.
The woman from the Humane Society was thrilled to hear from me (that woman ended up being my lifelong friend, Melanie) She told me that there were only 3 foster people in our county, and they were in desperate need for more. A few days later she called me again. She said she knew I wasn’t quite ready to start seriously fostering, but she had an emergency. There was a little Chihuahua mix at the animal shelter that needed to get out of there right away, because he was next on the list to be put to sleep. She had arranged for a No-kill shelter in Louisville Kentucky to take him, but they wouldn’t have room for him until 3 days later. I thought this would be the perfect first foster dog because I didn’t care for small dogs and if I only needed to keep him for 3 days, I couldn’t get attached, so I wouldn’t be tempted to keep him.
I picked up the little guy from the shelter on 11/19/2007. He looked more like a Rat terrier/chihuahua mix than just Chihuahua. Based on his teeth and size, he was bout 4-5 months old. When Carl came home, he took one look at the dog and said, “Why did you bring that funny looking dog with the hand-feet home?” (Pokey had funny boney toes that looked more like fingers – much different than the round fuzzy feet our Akitas’ had) He was so scared and frightened, but I tried to take him for a walk. He lagged behind on the leash, as if he was afraid of where I might be trying to take him. I finally turned toward him to pick him up and carry him back into the house. When I bent down to pick him up, he stood up on his hind legs and reached for me with his little front feet. I knew at that moment that I was doomed to love him forever. I called Melanie to let her know that I was thinking of keeping him. She really didn’t know me at all at that time, and she sounded a bit perturbed. She told me that the dog was promised to the rescue in Kentucky and that I absolutely could not keep him. I really wanted to be successful at fostering, so I tried to harden my heart and on the day he was due to go to Kentucky, I loaded him into my car, along with a bunch of other dogs that I had agreed to take to Kentucky. When I got to the Louisville Humane Society, I unloaded all of the other dogs first but when it came to him, I just couldn’t do it. I walked back inside and told the woman that the last dog had already been adopted. She said, “oh Ok, that’s great!.” I took Pokey immediately to PetSmart and bought him some clothes, a new collar, toys, food and treats and then paid Melanie the adoption fee. He was mine!
Pokey seemed so small compared to the 100+ pound Akitas that we were used to. I let him sleep in our bed, but I didn’t think he could jump into it on his own, so initially I always picked him up to get him in/out of the bed. At one point, in the middle of the night, I heard him jump out of the bed. I was half asleep, but I could hear him walk through the kitchen into the living room. When he came back, he went under the bed for a while before, then surprisingly, he jumped back into bed on his own. The next morning, I looked under the bed to try to figure out what he had been doing. To my surprise, there were many of his toys, a piece of paper he had found and torn to shreds, some of Carl’s socks and other odds and ends. After that, when we couldn’t find something, we never said “did you look under the bed?” instead we’d say, “did you look in Pokey’s stash?”
On December 8, 2007, Pokey and I stopped by the Humane Society's Adoption Fair, which was being held at our local pet supply store, to help out. I stuck Pokey in a playpen with another dog that was up for adoption. Melanie asked if I would take this other little dog home to foster... I named her Darla. Obviously, I ended up adopting Darla too and that was the beginning of Pokey and Darla’s love affair.
On October 30, 2009, when Pokey was about 2 years old, I woke up to his crying under the bed. I coaxed him out and noticed that he seemed to be having trouble walking and he was in obvious pain. We had no idea what was wrong, so we rushed him to the Emergency Vet. While we waited in the waiting room, his symptoms worsened before my eyes, and he eventually was completely paralyzed in his back legs. Testing showed a large, herniated disc in his back. He was prescribed a steroid, a pain medication and we were told to keep him on crate rest. I carried him everywhere for weeks. Luckily, the paralysis disappeared, and he was soon running around again. Over the years, he had a few more episodes of back pain, but never to that extent. About 6 years ago, after looking at a new x-ray of his back, a vet told me that if he was her dog, she would never let him run or jump ever again. Running was Pokey’s biggest joy in life – I knew I could never take that away from him, and luckily, it never seemed to affect him badly.
Despite the two failed fosters, I went on to successfully foster (and not keep for myself!) 100’s of other dogs. Pokey was great with them all. When meeting a new foster dog, Pokey’s plan of action was always the same – he would pester them until they chased him. He always had to be the chasee, not the chaser. I think he loved to show off how fast, and how uncatchable he was. When we moved into our new house, we set up the finished basement as the foster-dog area. Pokey thought that was great – even though he got along with other dogs, he did not like the foster dogs being upstairs with him. I admit, he was a bit pompous and smug about it – he loved being #1 and what we called “an upstairs dog”.
In April 2009, I adopted Muffet. She was like a little old lady from the start (even though she was not that old) so Pokey accepted her and didn’t mind her also becoming an “upstairs dog.” During that time, when we were all in bed, Pokey would bury himself under the blankets, and slept plastered up against me. He often would kiss my knees while under there, which was kind of sweet. When he was younger, Pokey was almost naked on his belly and chest – you could see all the different colored spots on his skin, because he was so hairless. He would get so hot under the blankets that after a while he would emerge, and his skin would look bright pink. We used to say ‘here comes the hot potato” when he came out from under the covers.
Then in January 2013, life changed forever for Pokey. I found a little black dog along the road – he had been hit by a car. I rushed him to the vet and after several days I was able to bring him home to further nurse him back to health. That little black dog was Chico, who I couldn’t let go once he recovered. Chico also ended up being an upstairs dog, much to Pokey’s dismay. Unlike Darla and Muffet, Chico didn’t accept Pokey’s place as #1. When we were in bed, and Pokey was under the blankets, Chico would step all over him, or he’d push his way in-between Pokey and me. After Chico’s arrival, Pokey no longer slept under the blankets next to me; he slept on his own pillow next to my head. That always made me feel bad – I missed feeling his little body next to mine.
For about the past 10 years, Pokey suffered from periodic episodes of gastritis, which would get so bad that it often progressed to hemorrhagic gastritis. Hate to admit it but it often occurred when I was stressed about something. He always was affected by my emotions. We learned how to deal with it, and after the first few times, it never concerned me greatly because I was always able to make him better. We did always have to watch what he ate, and he was on a bland diet for many years because of it.
In May 2013, I took Pokey to the Rover Rescue Pet Show. He won 2nd place for Best Kisser (he gave me 23 kisses in 1 minute. The winner gave her owner 26 kisses.) He also won 2nd Place for fastest eater in his size category.
About 4-5 years ago, Pokey had a dental done by our regular vet. It took him a long time to come out of the anesthesia and for weeks afterward he sounded like he had pneumonia – lots of chest gurgling and shortness of breath. I vowed I’d never get his teeth cleaned again. He was about 13 yrs. old at the time, and I assumed that at his age, he would not be able to handle another cleaning. I also switched to a new vet because I had lost confidence in the previous vet. But during late 2023, Pokey seemed to have a hard time eating his regular kibble. I thought that it must be due to his teeth being bad. I switched him to a soft diet, and in February 2024, I took him to the local veterinary dentist, who I’d had a good experience with in the past, when Chico needed surgery for an oral-nasal fistula. The dental vet quoted me a price of at least $5000 and did not give me much reassurance about Pokey’s ability to tolerate the procedure. So, I took him back to our new, regular vet who felt that she could do a much less extensive cleaning with a milder anesthesia, but before that could be done, he needed lab work. That blood work showed that Pokey had kidney disease, so no dental for him.
Since February, Pokey was on a prescription renal diet. Problem was that after a few weeks, he would refuse to eat it. I tried 3 different brands, but it always ended up the same. I started mixing his old food with the renal food in order to get him to eat. He did well on the diet, and even at 16 ½ years old, he was still running around the yard (just not as fast as he once did) in April and May 2024. And Memorial Day weekend, he even went on a little trip with us and hiked through the woods. But his appetite continued to get worse, and he nearly stopped eating all together (but still loved his treats and popcorn). On 6/7/24 it got worse, so I bought hamburger, green beans, acorn squash and coconut oil to make a homemade renal food recipe that I found online. Pokey ate it that night, but the next morning refused it again. He was losing weight fast. I then began feeding him baked chicken breast, and he took it well, for a day or two.
On 6/13/24, I had to be out of the house all day for work. When I got home, I could see that Pokey had taken a turn for the worst. He looked so sad and tired. I didn’t want to accept it, but I knew it was time to say goodbye. I slept maybe an hour that night. As a last ditch effort, I obtained subcutaneous fluids from the vet on Friday, 6/14/24. The fluids perked him up a little but not enough to give me hope. I called the vet that does home visits, and scheduled Pokey’s final visit for 6/15/24.
Oddly, I did not have to debate myself over that decision like I’ve done with all my past dogs. I KNEW I could not let him suffer and that it was time. He didn’t feel good Friday or Friday night, but it wasn’t horrible. He even ate some of his favorite treats for dinner. I woke up Saturday morning at 6:00 a.m. I did not want to spend our last few hours sleeping. I took him outside, he peed and I carried him back inside. Then he suddenly vomited terribly - harder for him because he was so weak. He must have aspirated some of it - up his nose and into his lungs. He spent his last few hours trying to sneeze to get it out of his nose and his breathing sounded gurgley from it being in his lungs. It hurt me that he was feeling poorly enough – did he have to have it even more difficult by not being able to breathe? I never ever thought that I’d want our time to end, but I was wishing the vet would get to us sooner rather than later.
I spent the morning comforting him, and I had a continues looped slideshow on our TV playing, of all the photos and videos I had ever taken of him. The visiting vet was very compassionate, and he spent some time watching it, saying things like “Pokey, look at your run!” Pokey passed peacefully, or at least as peacefully as possible, at 10:20 a.m. on Saturday, 6/15/24. His suffering has ended but mine has just begun.
I’ve said, since the day I adopted Pokey, that I knew one day he would break my heart. I think when he passed the typical life expectancy for a dog, and seemed to keep going strong, my head was somewhat in denial. As if he would live forever. He’d overcome a lot of illnesses in his lifetime, and I was always able to nurse him back to health.
I called Pokey my beloved, the love of my life, my baby boy, my sweetheart, my little love. He was all of those things plus so much more. He had such a wide range of personality traits. I think, for me, the most endearing was his sweet, baby, wimpy side (he would always run to me and want to be held when he was scared or upset). He had his fearless side too (he once caught a 4-foot-long snake and shook it to death within seconds – not something I encouraged). And of course, like all dogs, he had his playful silly side. And one last thing about Pokey – although his fur was barely longer than an eyelash, he was the softest dog I’d ever had. People would be surprised at how soft he was when they reached down to pet him.
Pokey changed my life when he came into it and his passing has changed it once again. I will miss him forever,
