Norman No More

I am heartbroken to report that Norman was put down this past weekend. The shelter training director sent out a 2-page letter to staff members and to me, explaining why she felt that Norman needed to be put down. Norman was unpredictable, had bitten three people at the shelter (staff and volunteers), and was not making consistent progress over the 3 months that he was there. She felt there were very few, if any, home situations that could handle Norman. He would always be a guarder, and he could resort to biting at any point in time.

I did not agree with everything in the letter, and I definitely did not want Norman to be put down. But with my own eyes, I had seen Norman try to bite a volunteer on the hand--it was the most random, weird reaction I'd ever seen in a dog. He was all sweet and fine, accepted a treat from the volunteer happily, then a few moments later, snapped at her hand with his teeth. He didn't break skin in this case or with the other bites, but they were all equally random and unpredictable.

The shelter training director saw and worked with Norman every day over the past three months, while I saw him for less than an hour, twice a week, if that. So even though I wanted to, I felt I couldn't argue with her assessment of him. She loved Norman and was very invested in him, and this decision had to be 10 times more difficult for her than it was for me. I know that I could have offered to foster Norman long-term or adopt him, and she would have allowed me to do that. Dogs behave so differently in a home than in a shelter environment. Those three bites might never have been repeated once he got settled. I felt he truly trusted me, and I completely trusted his behavior toward me personally.

But I couldn't have trusted his behavior toward other people. There are small children (who are both very scared of dogs) living on either side of my house, and if Norman had ever gotten loose and hurt one of them, I would not be able to forgive myself. If Cabana ever got loose, I know she'd never hurt anybody in a million years. But with Norman, I'd be worried until the day he died.

Which is how the training director must have felt, and which is why I supported her decision. It's hard, though, full of what if's and doubts. I got to see Norman as they were about to put him down, and he was sooo sweet. All wags and cuddles and full-out joy, to have all his favorite people around him at the same time, while we humans were all bawling our eyes out.

I know there's a lesson in here for me. I'm not quite sure what it is yet, other than that life isn't fair. I don't know what Norman's life was like before he came to the shelter, but I'm quite certain it wasn't good. He seemed starved for companionship, both human and canine, but at the same time, was clueless about how to interact with either. He was fearful and distrustful, but maybe any dog would have been, given the same circumstances. Norman's name used to be Lucky, but shortly after arriving at the shelter, the training director changed it to Norman, jokingly saying that he was anything but lucky. Little did any of us know how true that would be.

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Goodbye, Angie

Over the past several days, our 17-year old cat's condition began to deteriorate rapidly. Angie stopped eating, stopped drinking, and couldn't hold herself up anymore. Because my older daughter was planning to come home from college tomorrow to see Angie one more time, I tried to keep Angie alive for just a few more days, coaxing her to eat and drink, trying many different kinds of cat food, tuna, scrambled eggs, cheese, cream, kitty Ensure. But Angie wanted none of it.

I'd been putting Angie on one of Cabana's dog beds because she hasn't been able to get on or off the couch without help. Being low to the ground, I felt Angie had more freedom to move about if she wanted to. Because she enjoys laying in the sun, I'd put the dog bed in a sunny spot, then scoot it over every so often as the sun moved across the room.

On previous days, Angie spent most of the time sleeping, but yesterday, she seemed restless and unable to sleep. Every time I looked at her, she was in a different position on the cushion, and her eyes were open and glazed. I knew that she was uncomfortable, perhaps even in pain, although she never made a sound. I knew the day had come to put her down and that my daughter would understand we had to do what was best for Angie. I was grateful for a warm, sunny day so Angie could spend a little time outside on her last day.

Cabana seemed to sense something and spent some time keeping Angie company and watching over her. Or who knows, maybe she just wanted to lay in the sunshine, too. My hope has always been that Angie and Cabana would be snuggle buddies, and we got pretty close to that toward the end.

As we drove to the vet's office yesterday evening, I was grateful that we had the privilege and blessing of being able to make such a decision for our pet, and I hoped that we will be given the same opportunity with Cabana someday. To get to decide how your pet dies, painlessly and quickly, after a long and carefree life--what an honor that is. Of course, I am sad that we don't have Angie anymore and that my older daughter won't be able to see her when she comes home this weekend. The loss also seems to mark the end of both daughters' childhoods, since they'd had Angie almost their entire lives. That added significance makes the loss even stronger. But Angie's life ended with our final act of love toward her, and I find great comfort in that.

Rest in peace, lil' Ang. We will always remember you with love.

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