I first heard of Curly Joe about four months ago. Before I moved back in with my sister, we would talk online a lot and she was always mentioning this brain damaged puppy that a friend of hers knew from volunteering at a shelter down in Louisiana. At first I didn't pay much attention to it. Over the course of about a year and a half, our dog pack went from five to two (and this wasn't including the old golden retriever we'd rescued who died of liver cancer in '04). All we had left was my 10-year old hound dog, Tank and my sister's Shep/Lab mix, Meathead. Tank's best friend, Luke, died in January of '07. Nine months later, Lady died after battling Cushing's Disease for several months. Bernie followed her five months later; they were inseparable the whole time we had them.
Since Luke died, Tank had been growing more and more depressed, and I was starting to really worry about him. I didn't feel ready to start thinking about getting another dog, but I knew it would be the best thing for Tank. Around that time, I heard about some laboratory dogs (for a vet school) who needed homes or they were going to be euthanized. Fortunately, it turned out that the dogs actually weren't in any danger of being euthanized and all found good homes, but it made me realize that I was ready to take in another dog. It was right around then that my sister sent me a picture of this brain damaged puppy in Louisiana. My sister's friend, LaShea, told her that the puppy had been found, dying, outside of a nail salon. He had some seizures and passed out a couple of times, and the vet suspected he'd been poisoned. Well, the second I saw his picture, I knew I had to have him. Sis told me he'd been named Curly Joe because of the way the tips of his ears curled backward. The photo at the top of this blog and in LaShea's entry are the ones that sold me. I knew he would be Tank's new BFF.
Summer was upon us and we were concerned about how to get Curly Joe from Louisiana to Oregon. Flying was the easiest mode of transportation, but with his health issues, it wasn't something we wanted to attempt. My sister and I discussed driving down to Louisiana; LaShea talked about driving Curly up her herself. In the end, we decided to meet in the middle (or thereabouts): Boulder, Colorado. Sis and I had never been there, and I was very excited at the thought of a road trip. I hadn't been on vacation in eight years. We made our plans and got ready. On July 3rd, an hour before we were set to leave, Meathead started acting funny. We figured it was a pancreatitis flareup, as he'd been having issues with it for several months. We dropped him off at the vet, who called us back a few hours later. Meathead was really bad. His temperature was so high, they had him covered in ice packs. By the time we got there, he was mostly gone. When temps run that high, dogs go into organ failure. We think he waited for my sister because he died a few minutes after she crawled into the kennel and curled up with him.
Naturally, we canceled the trip. Over the next few weeks, Tank's depression got worse. He was eating and drinking, but I practically had to drag him out of Meathead's bed and make him go outside. LaShea and her husband had taken Curly Joe in to foster because the woman who was taking care of him went on vacation. We made plans again to meet in Boulder, this time at the beginning of August. On the evening of August 9th, 2008, my sister and I walked into our hotel room in Boulder and threw down our bags. I called LaShea's husband to let them know we were here (we got rooms in the same hotel), only to find out they were in the room right next to ours. He actually opened the door and surprised my sister when she was coming back from the car. I hung up the phone and went to meet Curly Joe.
First impression? A little underwhelming. Just kidding! Curly was flopped out on the bed, just ... hanging out. If it'd been Tank, he'd be bouncing off the walls and bruising my shin with his tail, but not Curly. He was like, "Hey, what's up? Come rub my belly." Of course, road trip adventures take a lot out of six month old puppies, so naturally he was tired.
I just couldn't get over how small and quiet he was. We hung out in their room until about 3 a.m., just talking and having a good time (watching some stupid movie on the Sci Fi channel). We left Curly Joe with them for one more night, and the next morning we all drove to Estes Park and walked around the Stanley Hotel. It's the hotel that inspired Stephen King to write The Shining, you know. And they let Curly Joe in!
Sadly, we parted ways that afternoon. Sis and I and little Curly Joe headed back to the Pacific Northwest, LaShea and Chad headed south to Louisiana. Very sad. I'm not really good with people; I'm very shy and awkward. But the moment I met those two, I felt completely at ease, like I'd known them for years. Though leaving them was sad, we knew we would be seeing them again, as they are planning to move to Portland in a couple of years. What a reunion that will be!
Since Luke died, Tank had been growing more and more depressed, and I was starting to really worry about him. I didn't feel ready to start thinking about getting another dog, but I knew it would be the best thing for Tank. Around that time, I heard about some laboratory dogs (for a vet school) who needed homes or they were going to be euthanized. Fortunately, it turned out that the dogs actually weren't in any danger of being euthanized and all found good homes, but it made me realize that I was ready to take in another dog. It was right around then that my sister sent me a picture of this brain damaged puppy in Louisiana. My sister's friend, LaShea, told her that the puppy had been found, dying, outside of a nail salon. He had some seizures and passed out a couple of times, and the vet suspected he'd been poisoned. Well, the second I saw his picture, I knew I had to have him. Sis told me he'd been named Curly Joe because of the way the tips of his ears curled backward. The photo at the top of this blog and in LaShea's entry are the ones that sold me. I knew he would be Tank's new BFF.
Summer was upon us and we were concerned about how to get Curly Joe from Louisiana to Oregon. Flying was the easiest mode of transportation, but with his health issues, it wasn't something we wanted to attempt. My sister and I discussed driving down to Louisiana; LaShea talked about driving Curly up her herself. In the end, we decided to meet in the middle (or thereabouts): Boulder, Colorado. Sis and I had never been there, and I was very excited at the thought of a road trip. I hadn't been on vacation in eight years. We made our plans and got ready. On July 3rd, an hour before we were set to leave, Meathead started acting funny. We figured it was a pancreatitis flareup, as he'd been having issues with it for several months. We dropped him off at the vet, who called us back a few hours later. Meathead was really bad. His temperature was so high, they had him covered in ice packs. By the time we got there, he was mostly gone. When temps run that high, dogs go into organ failure. We think he waited for my sister because he died a few minutes after she crawled into the kennel and curled up with him.
Naturally, we canceled the trip. Over the next few weeks, Tank's depression got worse. He was eating and drinking, but I practically had to drag him out of Meathead's bed and make him go outside. LaShea and her husband had taken Curly Joe in to foster because the woman who was taking care of him went on vacation. We made plans again to meet in Boulder, this time at the beginning of August. On the evening of August 9th, 2008, my sister and I walked into our hotel room in Boulder and threw down our bags. I called LaShea's husband to let them know we were here (we got rooms in the same hotel), only to find out they were in the room right next to ours. He actually opened the door and surprised my sister when she was coming back from the car. I hung up the phone and went to meet Curly Joe.
First impression? A little underwhelming. Just kidding! Curly was flopped out on the bed, just ... hanging out. If it'd been Tank, he'd be bouncing off the walls and bruising my shin with his tail, but not Curly. He was like, "Hey, what's up? Come rub my belly." Of course, road trip adventures take a lot out of six month old puppies, so naturally he was tired.
I just couldn't get over how small and quiet he was. We hung out in their room until about 3 a.m., just talking and having a good time (watching some stupid movie on the Sci Fi channel). We left Curly Joe with them for one more night, and the next morning we all drove to Estes Park and walked around the Stanley Hotel. It's the hotel that inspired Stephen King to write The Shining, you know. And they let Curly Joe in!
Sadly, we parted ways that afternoon. Sis and I and little Curly Joe headed back to the Pacific Northwest, LaShea and Chad headed south to Louisiana. Very sad. I'm not really good with people; I'm very shy and awkward. But the moment I met those two, I felt completely at ease, like I'd known them for years. Though leaving them was sad, we knew we would be seeing them again, as they are planning to move to Portland in a couple of years. What a reunion that will be!
Up next: What happened when we brought Curly Joe home.
1 comment:
Many hugs for your sweet li'l pup.
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