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Discussion Starter #1 (Edited)
I joined this forum partly to get pit people's opinion on my seizure dog. I was commanded to put him down by the pit advocate who helped me after I found him on the street in Chicago. I just wasn't sure if he was a real danger, or if I should try everything to treat his seizures, and every day I was back and forth in my mind, while the pit lady angrily demanded that I kill him. I'd seen a few mild episodes of erratic pacing, and isolating himself, and I think anyone could have lived with that. But after his second "scary dog" seizure the other day, I was ready to do the deed.

He was a loveable ox of a goofball with the mouth of a great white shark. When he looked at you with serious attention, his ears were perfect triangles folded over in front, his huge brown eyes so alert and intent on you. He danced little tappy-tappy steps when he was excited, and sometimes he chased his tail. Picture a great white shark, all his teeth showing in his cavernous mouth, chasing himself in a circle. He was happy-waggy-friendly to all humans, and cautiously hopeful to play with all dogs. He was verrrry respectful of cats.

When I found him, he was emaciated, terrified, filthy, stinky, scarred, clumps of fur peeling off him in great wads. He slept solid for a day and a half, barely moving. I fed him three times a day for a while, he didn't over eat. He began to revive, and want cuddling. If I moved too fast he would flinch. Sometimes he would jump up out of a dead sleep at some small sound, spin around in complete terror, wondering what was about to happen to him. When I leash corrected him, he would sometimes hunker down into the ground with his eyes closed tight as could be, expecting to be beaten.

I knew him for over five months, including the time I had him briefly adopted out (their landlord reneged on allowing him). Besides some basic commands, he learned to play tug, to fetch a ball, to roughhouse gently with humans--he put no pressure with his teeth, just made goofy, happy dinosaurocerous noises. He got to run at the park (after being caged most of his life?). He was a white rhino, all clumsy bulk and raw power, hurtling gracelessly, with a huge grin. He got to play with dogs, politely, delighted to chase and then turn and be chased. He got to feel loved and safe. He got a dog bed--he would not climb on the furniture, with rare exception, and he had callouses on his elbows from the hard surfaces he had always known. Oh, did he take to that dog bed. My sister-in-law said it was probably the best thing to ever happen to him. When we were in Iowa, where I live half time, he got to sleep nights with my ex brother-in-law (I keep my ex husband in the basement, don't ask). His bed is a mattress on the floor, which is kinda like a giant dog bed with a cuddly man in it. He'd run up the stairs after our last walk of the day, hoping his bed buddy was home.

He survived my ahole other foster pittie, who did eventually attack him, but fortunately, I was the only one who got hurt. :flush: His last couple weeks were more restrained, with keeping them separate. But he still got to run at the park every day, and all the love and attention that I don't think he ever got before.

The last day of his life, he jumped up and started pacing in circles. I talked to him soothingly. He didn't go nuts, but it looked like a mini seizure. I didn't think much about it, as it had happened before. A few hours later, the dog exercise helper came (since I couldn't walk them or exercise them together, since the fight, or even throw a ball cuz of stitches on my hand, and sprained fingers on the other). She saw a little blood on his head, spotted pink under his fur. At first I thought the dogs got to each other, though they were tied in the living room carefully so they could barely touch noses. Had he been scratching himself? It almost looked like it was seeping out of his skull. It was strange, but it wasn't a lot of blood. We decided to continue with the plan to get them to the park (separate fenced areas).

We got them loaded up in the car, with knotted leashes shut in the doors to keep them apart. He started barking at nothing out the window. Normally, his deep, dark bark, straight out of a horror movie, was a ridiculous contrast to his goofy, friendly nature. This time, he looked at the girl next to him in the back seat, kept barking and growling, like he didn't know her. This was his second scary-dog seizure, and it was enough for me.

So instead of the park, he got a ride to the vet and the Rainbow Bridge. He was more or less himself by the time we got there, but I was resolved that if his seizures could look aggressive, this ox with the jaws of a great white shark needed to go where all sweet doggies go sometime.

My small town vet gave me a harsh lecture. Caspar had been vetted in Chicago where I found him, and they had given me no lectures, just sympathy for having the instincts of a dog rescuer. The country vet was intimidated by my tyrannasaurus rex, who didn't instantly take to the first shot, as I pulled a leash tight through the crack in the window to keep his jaws away from the needle-sticker. "Pit bulls are not pets! I will not treat another pit bull of yours! No more pit bulls!"

Caspar became relaxed and sleepy. He got his last walk, out of the car, tottering a little, his last sniff around, his last pee, and he settled down on the ground, breathing softly, while I caressed him and talked soothingly. The vet gave him an extra sleep shot, couldn't believe how much it took to put him under. Then the shot of death. It wasn't long before his deep breathing, jowls fluttering, stopped, he suddenly flipped over on his back and pulled his head way up, like he was about to do something important, then he released, his life was gone. I was in the vet's driveway, cars going by, sitting on the ground with the remains of my sweet beast.

The eighteen year old who was helping walk him after my other foster dog attacked him, she was distraught that I was thinking to put him down, so at least she saw his condition at it's worst, and can understand. Because of Caspar, she's decided to go to veterinary school. She asked for Caspar's name tag, a purple bone. I was happy to give it to her.

I have to go do an appointment. Afterwards, I have pictures on photobucket I would like to post here, when I figure out how.
 

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You are in a tough place pittieparty and there are no words that will help right now. You have my condolences. Most of us have gone through the loss of our pets and it never gets easier. Only time will help ease the pain in your heart. Take comfort in the fact that Caspar is now free of suffering and that you did the right thing. Hang in there.

Joe
 

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BTW, to post pictures here, copy the URL address from the picture on Photobucket and come back here and open your reply box, click on the yellow icon box above your post and an "insert image" box will open. Paste the URL into that box and it will insert it into your post.

Joe
 

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Discussion Starter #4 (Edited)
Ah, I did it, I got photos posting.

Thank you for your kind words, Joe, I really appreciate it. I feel lighter, it was really hard being responsible for them both, being responsible for a dog with his condition and worrying about the right thing to do, and I know this was the right thing to do. Yet, it's still a heart breaker. I appreciate the compassion.

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Because of you, he knew love, and joy, and what a full belly feels like. That's an enormous thing for a dog. They truly do need that love.
And, at the end, he knew more love, and tenderness, and snuggles.

I know how hard this is. And I'm so sorry for that pain.
RIP, Caspar.
 

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Thanks for the pictures pittieparty. I now understand Caspar's name. He was a beautiful boy with such a sweet face. Rest in peace big boy.

Joe
 

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Discussion Starter #7
Thank you both. Your kind words hit the wound that I was fooling myself wasn't so deep. That's a good thing, healing.

I named him Caspar after the friendly ghost, to help him sound adoptable. I really had no plans of managing two of them, especially knowing my other foster pit was just fine being an only child. But Caspar came back to me, and we managed.

This is Caspar a few days after I found him.


And here he is, less than a week later, his happy self coming out.
 

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what an amazing smile. Thanks for trying to do right by Casper, and I am sorry for your pain.
 
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