This Little Piggy Needs Help
Donation protected
Publicly asking for help is a challenge of its own. But I'm here for it. I'm here for all of it.
My newly adopted fur baby tore his CCL (ACL) one week after we found each other. I have decided to go ahead with surgery to give him the best quality of life. Below is a more detailed story of how I came to ask for this help and why you are reading this.
THANK YOU so very much for your support. Financially. Emotionally. Bourbon-ly? I am, and always will be, eternally grateful for the amazing human beings in my life.
in gratitude,
Miranda
The irony of my situation is twofold. As a longtime professional fundraiser, I have no problem talking with strangers about money and making big asks of their pocket books. I am good at it and I enjoy it. Particularly because it's always 'for a good cause.' Meaning, it's for someone or something in need. Yet, when I think about asking for money for myself, from loved ones, when I am in need, it feels overwhelming and extremely challenging. My fierce independence turns into pride. And too much pride is not helpful for anyone.
The other irony is that in the last two years, from March of 2017 until today almost to the date, I have been presented with the challenge of caring for and tragically saying goodbye to two of my three adopted fur babies.
In Spring of 2017, I was hustling (mostly happily) to grow a public relations and fundraising consulting business, after dreaming of working for myself for many years. I leaned, as comfortably as I could, on family and friends and on my two adopted mutts, Roo and Leroy, for invaluable support. I had adopted Leroy just two years before, when he was one year old and fresh off the rough streets of Los Angeles. I wanted Roo to have a young companion and let’s be real, the more dogs the merrier. Leroy had a grade 4 heart murmur, cryptorchidsm (a uniballer!), and pterodactyl toes (official term = polydactyl). He was a mess. But his zest for life was contagious and the three of us began to roam tree-lined trails on the daily. The forest was where we were our best selves.
One Saturday morning, Leroy started wobbling as he walked around the house. Things progressed rapidly and later that night I took him to Dove Lewis Emergency Vet. They ran a few tests but couldn't find anything neurological so we were sent home to keep an eye on him. Things got worse, fast. Within two days Leroy had lost the use of both his back legs. Always the optimist, I started looking at buying him a wheelchair for his hind legs, picturing him on the trail, still running at full speed while popping wheelies. But, the next day his immobility traveled to his front body and soon he could not stand up. We took him to a specialist who told us it was likely an infection in his spine. He could be a candidate for an invasive, expensive surgery but anesthesia would be risky given his heart murmur. The prognosis was bleak and I quickly realized I would have to let him go.
Saying goodbye to my vibrant yet broken baby boy, at just three years old, was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Growing up with many dogs, I wasn't unfamiliar with losing a pet. But this was the first time I had to say goodbye to one who was truly my own, quite unexpectedly, and at such a young age. As the vet gave him the injection, I held his tiny, scruffy head and whispered in his ear again and again what a very good boy he was.
While I mourned the loss of Leroy, I leaned harder on Roo, my sidekick for almost a decade. I promised her I would do everything in my power to keep her happy and healthy for as long as I possibly could. I increased the supplements she was already getting and I started to home cook her food. I created a solid recipe for what I called Roo Stew, which consisted of whole foods good enough to eat myself, if I was having a desperate day in the kitchen. Over the next year, I decided to make a massive career change, end a six year relationship, and move to a new home. It was a lot, but Roo and I were feeling as good as we had when we first moved to the northwest together, excited for our new adventures. In July 2018, after taking her to the vet to test a few suspicious lumps, Roo was diagnosed with an aggressive form of lymphoma.
Well, s%#*. This again. It felt like I had just lost Leroy and now I had to face losing my other best friend. The Roo Stew and my other efforts to keep her around for at least a few more years felt all for naught. After consulting with those who considered Roo and I family, we decided to give chemotherapy a try. We had to. While Roo gracefully endured weekly chemo treatments, we continued to adventure around the northwest; to the beach, the mountains, the desert, and back. Our favorite place to be was on the road. Four weeks into treatment things were looking positive (pawsitive? ok, no). Roo was responding very well to the chemo and the vet gave me the go ahead to take her on a backpacking trip to the Sawtooths Wilderness in Idaho. She blazed that trail with her pack on like she was a puppy. Upon our return home, at the next vet visit, we were told her body had stopped responding to the treatment. There were other options but they were extremely expensive and didn't guarantee anything. It was time to say goodbye to my other sidekick. In the three and half weeks between that last vet visit and her death, Roo and I zealously checked off her bucket list. More trips to the beach, full ice cream cones. I even thought about catching a squirrel so she could experience the sweet taste of revenge (don't worry, I didn't). We were in Bend for a weekend away with friends when I decided it was time to let her go. She had stopped eating two days before and was having trouble going up and down stairs. I layed with her on the floor at that cabin in Bend knowing it was our last great adventure together. On the way home to Portland, while my friend was driving, Roo passed in my arms in the back seat of my car. As I held her head, I whispered in her ear again and again what a very good girl she was.
I wasn't sure how long it would take to grieve Roo, after ten years by my side, especially since it felt like I had just recovered from grieving Leroy. Frankly, I'm still grieving. But five months after Roo's death, here I am with a new furry soulmate (trust me, we get more than one in a lifetime).
Today, I face a relatively easier challenge with Piggy, my newly adopted mutt. More irony was thrown my way when he completely tore his CCL (ACL) just one week after I adopted him. Crazy. True. All I can do is laugh. He has been with me for three weeks now and I have decided to pursue surgery to heal his leg. At ten months old and full of spirit, surgery is the best way to ensure he has a good quality of life. Just as the weather is starting to get warmer and the days longer, my dreams of abundant outdoor adventuring with my new sidekick have come to a screeching halt. A full recovery will take a good six months but I'm committed to helping him heal so he can enjoy the full, active life that he deserves.
As I said above, publicly asking for help is a challenge of its own. But I'm here for it. I'm here for all of it.
Details of Piggy’s surgery:
Scheduled for April 4th with Dr. Alon Kramer at Oregon Expert Vets (OREV).
The same incredible team who cared for Roo during her chemotherapy.
https://oregonexpertvets.com/
Dr. Kramer will be performing what is called a Tibial Plateau Leveling Osteotomy (TPLO).
https://oregonexpertvets.com/Services/Tibial-Plateau-Leveling-Osteotomy-TPLO
Surgery is estimated to cost between $4000-$4500.
I am asking for support of an additional $500 to cover costs occurring after surgery, including medications, supplements, and other rehab modalities.
I will post updates to this page and to my Instagram as surgery and recovery happen.
www.instagram.com/kiwichronicles
My newly adopted fur baby tore his CCL (ACL) one week after we found each other. I have decided to go ahead with surgery to give him the best quality of life. Below is a more detailed story of how I came to ask for this help and why you are reading this.
THANK YOU so very much for your support. Financially. Emotionally. Bourbon-ly? I am, and always will be, eternally grateful for the amazing human beings in my life.
in gratitude,
Miranda
The irony of my situation is twofold. As a longtime professional fundraiser, I have no problem talking with strangers about money and making big asks of their pocket books. I am good at it and I enjoy it. Particularly because it's always 'for a good cause.' Meaning, it's for someone or something in need. Yet, when I think about asking for money for myself, from loved ones, when I am in need, it feels overwhelming and extremely challenging. My fierce independence turns into pride. And too much pride is not helpful for anyone.
The other irony is that in the last two years, from March of 2017 until today almost to the date, I have been presented with the challenge of caring for and tragically saying goodbye to two of my three adopted fur babies.
In Spring of 2017, I was hustling (mostly happily) to grow a public relations and fundraising consulting business, after dreaming of working for myself for many years. I leaned, as comfortably as I could, on family and friends and on my two adopted mutts, Roo and Leroy, for invaluable support. I had adopted Leroy just two years before, when he was one year old and fresh off the rough streets of Los Angeles. I wanted Roo to have a young companion and let’s be real, the more dogs the merrier. Leroy had a grade 4 heart murmur, cryptorchidsm (a uniballer!), and pterodactyl toes (official term = polydactyl). He was a mess. But his zest for life was contagious and the three of us began to roam tree-lined trails on the daily. The forest was where we were our best selves.
One Saturday morning, Leroy started wobbling as he walked around the house. Things progressed rapidly and later that night I took him to Dove Lewis Emergency Vet. They ran a few tests but couldn't find anything neurological so we were sent home to keep an eye on him. Things got worse, fast. Within two days Leroy had lost the use of both his back legs. Always the optimist, I started looking at buying him a wheelchair for his hind legs, picturing him on the trail, still running at full speed while popping wheelies. But, the next day his immobility traveled to his front body and soon he could not stand up. We took him to a specialist who told us it was likely an infection in his spine. He could be a candidate for an invasive, expensive surgery but anesthesia would be risky given his heart murmur. The prognosis was bleak and I quickly realized I would have to let him go.
Saying goodbye to my vibrant yet broken baby boy, at just three years old, was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Growing up with many dogs, I wasn't unfamiliar with losing a pet. But this was the first time I had to say goodbye to one who was truly my own, quite unexpectedly, and at such a young age. As the vet gave him the injection, I held his tiny, scruffy head and whispered in his ear again and again what a very good boy he was.
While I mourned the loss of Leroy, I leaned harder on Roo, my sidekick for almost a decade. I promised her I would do everything in my power to keep her happy and healthy for as long as I possibly could. I increased the supplements she was already getting and I started to home cook her food. I created a solid recipe for what I called Roo Stew, which consisted of whole foods good enough to eat myself, if I was having a desperate day in the kitchen. Over the next year, I decided to make a massive career change, end a six year relationship, and move to a new home. It was a lot, but Roo and I were feeling as good as we had when we first moved to the northwest together, excited for our new adventures. In July 2018, after taking her to the vet to test a few suspicious lumps, Roo was diagnosed with an aggressive form of lymphoma.
Well, s%#*. This again. It felt like I had just lost Leroy and now I had to face losing my other best friend. The Roo Stew and my other efforts to keep her around for at least a few more years felt all for naught. After consulting with those who considered Roo and I family, we decided to give chemotherapy a try. We had to. While Roo gracefully endured weekly chemo treatments, we continued to adventure around the northwest; to the beach, the mountains, the desert, and back. Our favorite place to be was on the road. Four weeks into treatment things were looking positive (pawsitive? ok, no). Roo was responding very well to the chemo and the vet gave me the go ahead to take her on a backpacking trip to the Sawtooths Wilderness in Idaho. She blazed that trail with her pack on like she was a puppy. Upon our return home, at the next vet visit, we were told her body had stopped responding to the treatment. There were other options but they were extremely expensive and didn't guarantee anything. It was time to say goodbye to my other sidekick. In the three and half weeks between that last vet visit and her death, Roo and I zealously checked off her bucket list. More trips to the beach, full ice cream cones. I even thought about catching a squirrel so she could experience the sweet taste of revenge (don't worry, I didn't). We were in Bend for a weekend away with friends when I decided it was time to let her go. She had stopped eating two days before and was having trouble going up and down stairs. I layed with her on the floor at that cabin in Bend knowing it was our last great adventure together. On the way home to Portland, while my friend was driving, Roo passed in my arms in the back seat of my car. As I held her head, I whispered in her ear again and again what a very good girl she was.
I wasn't sure how long it would take to grieve Roo, after ten years by my side, especially since it felt like I had just recovered from grieving Leroy. Frankly, I'm still grieving. But five months after Roo's death, here I am with a new furry soulmate (trust me, we get more than one in a lifetime).
Today, I face a relatively easier challenge with Piggy, my newly adopted mutt. More irony was thrown my way when he completely tore his CCL (ACL) just one week after I adopted him. Crazy. True. All I can do is laugh. He has been with me for three weeks now and I have decided to pursue surgery to heal his leg. At ten months old and full of spirit, surgery is the best way to ensure he has a good quality of life. Just as the weather is starting to get warmer and the days longer, my dreams of abundant outdoor adventuring with my new sidekick have come to a screeching halt. A full recovery will take a good six months but I'm committed to helping him heal so he can enjoy the full, active life that he deserves.
As I said above, publicly asking for help is a challenge of its own. But I'm here for it. I'm here for all of it.
Details of Piggy’s surgery:
Scheduled for April 4th with Dr. Alon Kramer at Oregon Expert Vets (OREV).
The same incredible team who cared for Roo during her chemotherapy.
https://oregonexpertvets.com/
Dr. Kramer will be performing what is called a Tibial Plateau Leveling Osteotomy (TPLO).
https://oregonexpertvets.com/Services/Tibial-Plateau-Leveling-Osteotomy-TPLO
Surgery is estimated to cost between $4000-$4500.
I am asking for support of an additional $500 to cover costs occurring after surgery, including medications, supplements, and other rehab modalities.
I will post updates to this page and to my Instagram as surgery and recovery happen.
www.instagram.com/kiwichronicles
Organizer
Miranda M. Hansen
Organizer
Portland, OR