Join Date: Jan 2012
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Today, I spent hours trying to save the life of a precious pit bull puppy deemed "Zod." My boyfriend texted me last night to tell me he still wasn't doing good, and that he didn't know if he'd make it through the night. He did, but just barely.
Zod was born about a month ago to a mother dog who has had so many litters she finally refused to breed anymore or nurse the new litter. This wasn't surprising due to the conditions she lived in; her owner had to be begged by his mother to buy the dogs or the puppies food when they ran out. Her puppies usually went for $50 each, several weeks before any reputable breeder would sell them, sick, and sometimes with cuts. When the puppy miller, 17 year old Nicholas, saw the problem with the mother dog - he immediately acted. He took the puppies and the mother dog to his cousin's house and dropped them off with the family. Two of the puppies were on the verge of dying already. He sold the few that "looked" healthy and left the two with the cousin family, along with the mother, saying she was "Useless and stupid" now. The white puppy never had a chance. He died the first night and was buried in the backyard, a stone as the only remembrance. Zod held out, trying to survive though the odds were against him.
Zod lasted through Christmas plus two days. He was lethargic, unresponsive to stimuli. He squaked like a bird. December 26 he spent the entire night being coddled by Michael. He wouldn't eat, clamping his mouth shut with strong pitbull jaws. He pushed any attempt to feed him away with his tongue. His will to survive seemed to be dwindling.
December 27 he spent trying to be rescued while death stood in the doorway. Zod's eyes wouldn't open, his only sounds were like a dying bird, and his body temperature was way too low. He cuddled in bed with Michael the human radiator until he was warm. As he warmed, he opened his eyes and moved to cuddle closer. When I was satisfied that he was warm enough, it was time to eat. He was a ragdoll when I held him. I had held kittens like this, but never a puppy. Puppies were supposed to be lively. Zod wouldn't drink from a dish, and wet dog food had not worked before. It was time for puppy milk. He was the runt of the litter and hadn't spent much time nursing anyway, so he wasn't use to the idea. It took him a while to get a hang of swallowing but once he did, he wanted more. It was looking promising as he swallowed and started to search for it when it wasn't in his mouth. I thought he might need a little break, since this was the first time he had eaten in a while. I put him down on the floor happily, thinking how strong a bond this would create between Zod, Michael, and I. And how this was a miracle dog.
It seems that as soon as his stomach was full and he was no longer in pain, Zod was comfortable enough to let death take him. He left this world after the best we could do for him, and all I can say is that I'm glad he left it in the presence of the two people in the world who cared the most for him.
Zod has his own stone in the backyard now, a marker for the memory of a precious puppy who just didn't make it.
(FYI: I got the info about the puppy miller after Zod died. The cousin family was told the puppies were 7 weeks old (not possible, even if I'm not familiar with Pitbulls), and as much as I know all of you are going to say "take them to the vet," until you have lived as below the poverty line as this family, you can't understand when I say we couldn't. And as someone is bout to say they shouldn't have taken the dogs if they couldn't take them to the vet - the other option was leave them with Nicholas, the very person who has put so many puppies in this situation already. Also, the puppy miller's name has been changed and Michael is my boyfriend. If anyone has any information on how to turn someone in for this type of thing, I'm working on getting his address.)