This is the story of an Irish Terrier who was, as our vet once said, “too tough to die.” My husband said she was too mean to die. I am pretty sure the truth fell somewhere in the middle.
Philomena Marie (yes, she had a second name because sometimes when a dog is really bad you have to use the full name–my boy has no middle name because he doesn’t need one) came to us when she was just eight weeks old. She was ridiculously, disgustingly cute. My husband had planned her arrival, unbeknownst to me. He had NOT planned that I would have a trade show that weekend. He had to be elsewhere, so I put Philly into a big Rubbermaid container (see above) and carried her into the ballroom as if she was just another tub of product.
Almost immediately, people started carting her around. The gentleman at the booth next to me who had a biker beard wanted to hold her. She started chewing on his beard, and he laughed. I tried to explain that for terriers, who also have beards, this was alpha behavior and he shouldn’t allow it. But he said “awww, she’s so cute, what could it hurt?”
Which was pretty much how Philly got away with everything the first couple of years of her life.
Nothing scared Philomena, least of all her older brother. No matter what happened to her in her entire life, she always came out fighting. It didn’t matter how big the animal (Philly! Get back here! That’s a freaking stag!), she thought she could conquer it.
When she was about four, Philly developed allergies. We had her tested, only to find that she was allergic to everything. Pollen. Grass. Dog dander. Cat dander. Human dander. Wool. Dust mites.
So we had to start giving her allergy shots every week. I can’t remember how long that lasted. Maybe six months for the full course. But even then, the allergies came right back. Steroids worked, but no one wanted to keep her on them for the rest of her life. That’s not a solution.
But then, when she was around six, the miracle drug came out. Apoquel. It was so hot that our vet dermatologist could hardly get enough to supply her clients. And it worked! She seemed great!
Until her kidneys failed. (I have since met too many dogs who have had this happen right after Apoquel to believe it to be coincidence.)
She was seven. She went from bad to worse. She stopped eating, got weaker, and ended up in the hospital. Even on IV, she didn’t get better. Finally, the doctor said there was nothing to do but put her on a feeding tube. My husband and I couldn’t do that to her. It was no kind of life for a young and active dog. So we resigned ourselves and took her home.
But Philly heard “feeding tube” and said “OH HELL NO.” She started eating. We had to give her tons of meds, but she perked up and everything was fine.
For three years, she was back to being the leader of the pack. Literally. She went on pack hikes four days a week and the hiker said she always helped him keep everyone else in line. Philly was second to no dog and only one person. (In our home pack, she ranked above my husband, but below me.)
In January of 2018, her kidneys failed again. Again, she stopped eating. Again, she was hospitalized. Again, she continued to fail until they told us that she would need a feeding tube. Again, we took her home and prepared ourselves.
And again, she came back. Whee, celebrations! In addition to the drugs, we had to give her subcutaneous fluids, but she was otherwise happy and perky.
And then she was diagnosed with lymphoma. We knew the clock was ticking, but it was a year before she got really sick. We chose today put her down because her favorite vets and vet techs were there. She still had enough energy to let everyone know she loved them.
She would have been 12 in June. We had more than four extra years after her initial diagnosis. In the end, the kidney failure took her life. It terrified us, but it never scared her for a minute.
What a great tribute to your family member. I remember and grieve all my past dogs. I’m 54 so there are a few! Thanks for sharing some of the good memories.
We’re the same age, Rebecca, and yes, I remember all of mine, too, right back to childhood.
Laura, I’m so SO sorry. My heart just lurched when I saw this. Rest in peace, dear Philomena. Huge hugs for you, & your hubby. xo
Give your two rascals extra love from me!
I’m so sorry for your loss. hugs.
Thank you, Dru.
This is a wonderful tribute.
Thanks, Penny. Much love to Lucy.
I’m so sorry, Laura. Philly sounds like a great girl. It breaks my heart she went through those difficult times, but it’s good to know she had you and your husband fighting right there with her. Sending you lots of love and hugs.
Thanks, Maura. Hug yours for me.
Hi Laura,
So sorry you lost your Philomena! A pet is also an integral part of a family, very often more devoted with unconditional love than humans are able to display.
May she RIP in puppy heaven, never having to suffer again.
So sorry!
Alice ❤
Thanks, Alice.
I am so sorry for your loss and understand more than you know. We’re currently holding on to our 16-year-old cat who endures chronic pancreatitis and probably thyroid cancer. He teaches me how to live life to the fullest, and has started eating again when he heard feeding tube as well. Big hugs for being a wonderful mom to Philomena.
Thanks, Dorine. She was a fighter to the ends. Sounds like your cat is the same.
I am so sorry I too lost my little boy Riley.. EVERYDAY I think of him and my Lacey Mae is 12 and i am worried our time is limited too.. Find it in your heart to give another special gurl your love… Your pup would want you to have that love again.. Thank you for sharing your story…
Thank you, Michael. My boy, Conan, is 13. So I know your fears for Lacey Mae. Take care.
I am so sorry for everyone Philly left behind, and for St. Peter, too, whose halo keeps getting stolen now in ferocious tugs-of-war.
Yeah, I don’t think St. Peter is ready for that.