Help Lola Walk Again

Asking for help, especially financially, is something I have always struggled to do. Anyone who knows me can tell you that. But, unfortunately, Lola and I are faced with something bigger than either of us right now. I've always said “anyone who meets Lola loves her,” so let me do my best to share her story on her behalf.

I've never met a dog that has had such meaningful impacts on the lives of everyone she meets like Lola. Lola has made many people I know who aren't fond of dogs overcome their fears or their prejudices for pitbulls. She is the sweetest little blockhead with the funniest little snorting sounds that will get a laugh out of anyone who hears them. She is one in a million, and I won the lottery when I found her on the website for the Humane Animal Rescue in Pittsburgh on October 21, 2017– I immediately went to meet her and was lucky to adopt her the very next day.

Lola's life has unfortunately been one with its share of misfortune, from long since we adopted her all the way up to this day. The details we know about her previous owners are few, but what we do know still makes me feel horrible for her. She was a breeder dog for a puppy mill, covered in tumors, fleas, and ticks. She had just given birth right before she was brought to the shelter, and it’ll always haunt me that her puppies were still with her old owners. It's speculated she was kept in a basement cage for most of her life, as she was terrified of things like rain, stairs, and many other mundane sounds or objects. She didn't even know HOW to use the stairs when we got her, which was a learning curve on its own. We believe she had never been fed actual dog food before, as we still to this day have to sit and encourage her to eat, and will mix in small bits of wet food or some bits of cheese to persuade her. We had adopted Lola only two weeks after she was brought to the shelter, and so she was still riddled with stitches and infections. Her personality was very timid, playing fetch but only very slowly lumbering to go get her lambchop and bring it back to gently hold on my lap. Her quirks absolutely shone through slowly but surely, her snorting out of sheer happiness so much that she had to stop and let herself breathe from all of the excitement. She would “hold our hands,” gently taking them in her mouth just to have.

We had adopted Lola during the darkest point of my adolescence. I was not in a very good place, and my family helped remedy this for me by letting me adopt a dog– I cannot understate how much I've begged for a dog over the years. I have been training show dogs with a family friend since I was 11, and while I will definitely call those dogs my own, it's just not the same. At the end of the day, they're still my family friend's dogs, and they can't come home with me. Being able to adopt a dog was a life changing opportunity for me. Something I've always done with any animals I take care of is that I want to take the animal that nobody else will. I've done it with every fish I've taken care of, every snail, even any fictional pet. I want to show love to something that probably hasn't had very much before. When we were adopting Lola, I found out that another family almost adopted her before us, even bringing their greyhounds to let Lola meet them. The dogs got along great, despite Lola being very dog selective. There were no issues, until they backed out last minute because they said she “wouldn't fit with our family” based on how she looked. That gave me a sick feeling in my stomach. The thought of not adopting a dog because of their appearance not being aesthetically pleasing enough STILL enrages me. But, at the same time, I don't think they deserved to have Lola. If they're so concerned about a scrappy, scar covered, truffle-snorting pitbull not fitting in with their greyhounds, then they wouldn't have appreciated her how my family has. I'm lucky they didn't adopt her, because that gave me the opportunity to take her in, to bond, and for the two of us to both help each other through our struggles.

Lola would learn to love many of the mundane things of being a pet in our household. The wind in her ears on car rides, the occasional ice cream run at the drive-thru, the belly rubs galore at a family gathering, we made sure to make up for all of the years she missed out on being a dog. We learned she loves piggy ears as her favorite treat, we call all of her toys “lambies” after she got used to us saying it about her lambchop, and she eventually settled down in the life of a dog in suburban Maryland rather than the life of a big city dog. She engages in feuds with the local squirrels, became quite the fashion diva, and learned tons and tons of tricks over time.

Unfortunately, good things don't seem to last, as her cancer slowly came back. What we were told were harmless warts grew and grew until one even got infected from a nick in her side she got from rolling on her back and getting poked by a tree branch. Fast forward to November of 2019, and she undergoes surgery to remove what we would later learn was three tumors, as opposed to just the one. While we were lucky the procedure wouldn't break our banks and wouldn't require Lola to undergo chemo, there was definitely a learning curve for Lola during her recovery. But, as Lola always does, she wouldn't let this affect her. She wore a lot more clothes to cover her stitches, and would have a very fashionable winter going into 2020. She now has a few scars on her sides that have faded away, but we do worry about more warts we've found that we're hoping don't turn into anything bigger.

Recently, though, Lola hit her most impactful hurdle. The way she got hurt still makes me choked up, because of how unfair and mundane it was.

Lola has a spot in the corner of our living room where she will excitedly run and hide after you give her any kind of chewable treat, such as bones. On Friday, February 3rd at around 3pm, my grandmother handed Lola a bone after she came back inside from”doing her business.” This is pretty standard, and Lola will often waddle up to my grandmother in her armchair just to try and beg some treats out of her. When Lola took the bone, she got her usual zoomies, and bolted through the kitchen and to the living room.

I wasn't watching it happen, as I was in the hall too far away, but I heard it– it had sounded like a small dog had yelped, and I had figured it was just the TV. My twin brother who saw it happen started yelling for me to come over. As I'm the animal person in the family, this was pretty standard. When I saw Lola stumbling over and struggling to stay standing, I went into dog-parent-mode– My twin told me she tripped on the carpet, yelped, and then couldn't walk right anymore. I had no idea that my gruff-voiced Lola had it in her to yelp like that, which made my heart sink into my stomach immediately. What broke my heart was that Lola was still trying to pick up her bone to take it to her little corner, and her tail was wagging between her legs.

When I did what I could to try and figure out what was wrong, despite not being a professional at all, I had assumed she had hurt her toes or her nails as she wouldn't let me put pressure on them. A phone call and a drive to the vet later, the doctor was struggling to feel what may be wrong with Lola because of how muscley she was, which meant they'd need to lightly sedate her for some x-rays. I gave Lola a hug and a kiss goodbye, and my twin and I went to run some errands while waiting for the vet to call us.

We got the phone call when we were at the Walmart parking lot– I didn't expect any horrible news, but should have taken the hint when the vet asked if I wanted to talk to her in person. After I decline, she cuts right to the chase; Lola's CCL was completely torn, I think she described it as “a rubber band that snapped in half.” She told me I had three options: 1. I take Lola to an orthopedic surgeon to put plates in her leg, which would be anywhere from 5000$ to 6000$ or higher, and she would most likely recover fine over time. 2. The vet's own office does a different surgery, which has a 20% to 25% rate of failure. Or 3. We don't have her get surgery, and she lives on painkillers for the rest of her life, and most likely develops some kind of arthritis.

I told the vet I would let her know what I decided, and she told me that was fine, and that Lola was still half asleep from sedation and that we could pick her up in around thirty minutes. Upon hanging up, I broke down completely. My worst fear of something terrible happening to Lola had been recognized. I would rather ANYTHING happen to me over her, especially because it is so sad that she doesn't understand what's going on. Not to mention, I am supposed to be moving with Lola into our own apartment any day now. I have barely 500$ to my name, as I'm physically disabled, and unable to hold a job as I see more doctors and specialists than I can count, and walk with crutches and cannot stand or walk for long periods of time. I actually only recently have gotten better enough to the point that I can walk Lola around the block in my neighborhood, which was something I used to do with her every day before my medical issues progressed to where they are now. Walking with Lola was like a mental reset, a breath of fresh air where I can get out of my room for a little while and just take in nature. Not to mention, Lola has definitely evolved to be an energetic ball of love, and LOVES exercise. We can barely say the word “outside” around her without her losing her mind, thinking we're talking about her.

Since the day of the accident, Lola has had to adapt. For the first three or four days she wouldn't want off of my bed, understandably. She is always on my bed with me when she isn't on walks or vying for attention from others. She knows she can always come to me for anything, be it love, letting me know that nature calls, or if she just needs company. She even sleeps in my bed with me, and has helped me overcome years of nightmares and fits of anxiety. She's always been my security blanket, and I won't ever be able to repay her for all she has done for me.

She needed to eat on my bed for the first few days. It was hard to convince her to drink, but I succeeded after getting some small tupperware to hold up for her to drink from. She's on pain medicine day and night, and I've been woken up a few times now from her quietly crying to herself. Going outside was a difficult learning curve, and took her a week to figure out. I myself already struggle going up and down stairs, and now she does to. I still have to help her onto my bed.

March 16th was the soonest available day we could schedule the consult with the orthopedic surgeon. We are on a cancellation list for a sooner appointment if one becomes available, but I don’t have high hopes. Regardless, right now we are just in the waiting game, and trying to accrue the funds for any upcoming trips to the doctor.

The vet informed me that the more time she has to keep putting weight on her legs, the more likely her other CCL will tear. She said 60% of dogs who tear one CCL will end up tearing it in their other leg too, which is a terrifying prospect. That would mean she cannot use either of her hind legs properly or without pain. Seeing the amount of hurt she is in right now makes me so upset– I wish I could take her pain away. The fact that she hurt herself by being overjoyed is such a cruel, unfair twist of fate. She has never hurt anyone, and doesn't deserve to lose her fire from such a simple accident. All she has done is help people, and help me come out of my shell in the last five years.

As of right now, and I'm still budgeting, so some estimates aren't exact, I'm trying to be able to pay for the following things:

I guess this is a very long winded way of me asking for help. It's impossible for me to magically let Lola meet everyone in the world, so that everyone can understand the effect she has. Her unmatched charisma paired with how plain silly (and occasionally a bit dense) she can be just leads to the insatiable urge to squeeze her wrinkly cheeks! She snorts in response when you talk to her, has a side-eye that can pierce your soul, and does a happy little tap dance when you offer to take her outside. It's impossible to fit all of her quirks into words, there's just this unspoken uniqueness about Lola that draws you in. So, regardless of if you donate or not, it would mean the world to both me and Lola if you could spread the word that she needs help. Even if she just seems like yet another pitbull to you after all of this, you are still helping contribute to us by telling others about her. Word of mouth is the most powerful tool we've got, and we're gonna make it our sword against this goliath of problems we're trying to overcome. On behalf of myself, my family, and Lola, thank you for giving us the time of day, and if you've got any pets, give them some love from me personally.

~Mags W. & Lola

(Not trying to self-promo, but Lola has an instagram in case anyone wants to know how she’s doing, and how the process is going. Thank you!)