Ivē Needs Surgery

Mom snuck this picture while I was sleeping.  

 

I was spending time with my friend.


Me again.  I don't know why Mom takes so many pictures.

                              ******************************

Herroh there! My name is Ivē. And this is my story. Once upon a time, many dog years ago, I was living in a shelter in Berkeley, California where I spent most of my pup-hood. I was adopted. Three times. Then, returned. I don't know why. I thought perhaps I wasn't good enough. It was an orphan's worst nightmare. I was confused and sad while hearing the others whine in their kennels. Bark for their mommies. They shouted Pick me! Please pick me! And there I stood, staring out from behind the chain link door, with my hopes shattered as visitors passed by. All the other dogs, big and small, wished for just one chance to be chosen. Just one. Meanwhile, I wasted three. What kind of dog was I to be returned?

I wasn't stupid. I knew who I was. I was the reject. If I was picked again, it would be just a matter of days before they were bored with me and brought me back just like the rest of them. I was anxious. I remember shaking uncontrollably as the others called out for a savior. Their voices were loud on purpose. Their echoes filled the air, bouncing back and forth, trying to get the attention of at least one person. And then, I spotted them. A couple. They pointed at me. The kennel assistant opened my door, but I didn't want to come out. No, no not again! She put a leash on me and tugged, but I stood my ground. No, just leave me here. Leave me here! The couple looked at each other in surprise that I wasn’t eager to greet them. They waited patiently as the kennel assistant attempted to figure another way to get me out. She bent down and scooped me off my feet and carried me outside. Darn! She placed me in a fenced area where the couple can spend quality time with me. I wanted to ignore them. But their voices were sweet. And the man bent down to my eye level beckoning me to come over. They pet me, they played ball with me, they walked me. Ok, yes. I confess, I loved it all.

They showed me affection. But I didn't believe it was real. It couldn't be real. It wasn't real. They don't want me. Who would want me? The reject? I was a joke. But they adopted me anyway. They brought me to their home. They gave me a bed, much more comfortable than the cot in the shelter. But I was scared. I was scared for the morning that they would change their minds. The day they'd decide I wasn't good enough. But it didn't happen. That day never came. With every passing day I became more confident. I started believing that just maybe I was here to stay. That maybe they really wanted me. Maybe they loved me. And even when I made mistakes like pee in the house, they didn't bring me back. I guess that's what families do, they forgive. They didn't give up on me. Not even when the new property management wanted to kick me out just because of what I look like. I remember my foster mom was so upset. Embracing me with tears in her eyes, she whispered "I will never get rid of you. Never." And that's when I knew. I was a permanent member of the family. I wasn’t a reject anymore. I was somebody. My new identity was Ivē.

It was Saturday morning, and Mom was disappointed. She called the vet on her cell phone to cancel my appointment. She told them that she lost the coupon for a free pet exam. Before she can say anymore, they said they would extend it to her. Dad drove us there, and I was excited because Mom was excited. She said lovingly to me "Esa es mi nena linda." That's Spanish for "That's my pretty girl." They brought me in for my mouth. My gums are swollen with tumors. They hang over my teeth and hurt when I eat. Sometimes they bleed. But I don't complain. I'm not a complainer. This pain I feel in my mouth is nothing like the pain I endured. That pain of abandonment before I met my parents. They were gracious enough to give me what I never had, a family. So, I don’t bother them with such things. But they’re bothered by it. They care about me. They care that I’m in pain. They care because they love me. They want me to get better. But when the vet informed them how much the surgery would be, they were silenced. Mom avoided making eye contact with the vet as she replied solemnly in a low voice "We can't. We just can't do it right now."

Before we left, the vet technician and receptionist, gave me a bunch of treats. They told my parents what they already knew. “She's such a good girl… She's so sweet… Wow… She's so gentle." Quietly sitting in obedience, I waited for the last treat. Mom watched me intently, smiling at me. Wagging my tail, I was glad she was in a better mood.

As we left, Mom had an idea. "I know how we can do it," she informed Dad enthusiastically. As far fetched as it may sound, my parents believe a miracle will take place. And because they do, so do I. Motivated, Mom typed up my story because I don't have fingers. And here it is. Your support is that miracle. All you have to do is donate. And if you're not financially capable, that's ok. Just pass this along. Share with your friends. And don’t ever estimate the power of prayer. Thank you for caring.

08/03/2014

08/03/2014  - Right side of my mouth.  


08/03/2014  - Left side of my mouth.