When you have spent as many years deeply involved in rescue as board chair Paula has, you see a lot of heartbreaking stories – too many, really. And you know you can’t save them all, so you look, feel sad, but concentrate on the ones you can help. Sometimes though, the Universe has other ideas about that.
In September, 2009, a rescue friend in Michigan, knowing Paula’s fondness for old sick dogs, sent her a posting from a small rescue in the northern part of the state. Paula had been debating a third dog for a while, but had decided that the two she already had (James and Jules) were happy as they were, and that a third one would disrupt the balance. All the same, she opened the post to see a photo of a little black and tan long haired face. He was sweet, but it’s a long way from Michigan to Nova Scotia, and she was firm in her decision to stay with two. The Universe however, had other plans…As she read through the posting, and looked at his little face, Paula could distinctly hear him say “help me.” At first, she did her best to ignore him, but something kept drawing her back to the posting. And each time, she could hear the same request for help. A week later though, the message became more urgent – she heard him say “Help me. Please hurry!!” That did it – one can only argue with the Universe for so long. So Paula sent off an application, although she figured that given how far away Nova Scotia is from Michigan, it would be rejected.
The head of the Michigan rescue phoned Paula and told her Wendal’s story, as far as they knew it. It was a very sad tale. Wendal had come into rescue in March, 2009. She’d found the little, very bedraggled dog dragging himself down a rural road. It took her an hour to catch him, snapping and snarling the whole time, obviously petrified. He was covered in pee and poop, and his mouth was so infected that the abscesses had broken through his sinuses and eye sockets. Sadly, they were infected and draining sores all over his snout. He had a bunch of open infected sores on other parts of his body, and scars on the top of his back feet where it appears he had gone down at some point, been left untreated, and was dragging himself around. He had a collar on with a rabies tag, so the rescue tracked down the address, and went to the house. Apparently, it was one of those foreclosure / abandon-the-dogs scenarios which were happening all over the US during the 2008 financial crisis. The neighbours told them that Wendal and a pit bull lived in crates in the garage, and that the stench when the door was open could be smelt all over the neighbourhood. They added that it was a dogfighting operation, and that Wendal had been used as a bait dog to hone the pit bulls’ blood lust. When the house was abandoned so were the dogs. The neighbours had come over and opened their crates, but then left the dogs to fend for themselves. Which is how Wendal came to be in that place at the same time as the rescuer. The Universe had definitely taken him in hand.
The rescue got him bathed, and vetted, and his mouth sorted and eventually more or less healed. He also lost almost all of his teeth, and the ones he had left were really dull (probably from chewing on the wire of the crate). He was tiny…only 8.5 lbs, emaciated, and severely malnourished. And of course, not mobile. All the same, the rescue decided to keep him going, because despite all of this, once he settled into his foster home, he was revealed to be a sweet, loving little guy.
Now here’s the odd thing…it turns out that the day Paula’s friend sent her the posting, the rescue’s board had decided that no one was going to apply to adopt Wendal, and that he was probably going to be a sanctuary dog, remaining in his foster home for the rest of his life. This was a worry, because like all rescues, they were short of foster space. This particular rescue only took in the worst cases, dogs that were really sick, or abused, and they then did their best to rehabilitate them and rehome them. Wendal was in the room during the meeting where this was all decided. Then, three days later, the day Paula heard him say “please hurry,” they got word of a dog in Ohio with such a bad case of mange that the shelter was going to euthanize him. Mange dogs were this rescue’s speciality, and they wanted to take him, but the foster home that was the most experienced with mange was the one that Wendal was in. Again, Wendal was in the room during the discussion about this dog. Scoff if you will, but there can be no denying that the order of events is more than a little coincidental!
After hearing all this, Paula bowed to the inevitable, and arranged to fly to Toronto, from where she and another dachshund friend would drive to Michigan and pick him up. Before that could happen though, Paula heard back from the rescue. They had taken Wendal in for his “emigration” medical, and the vet had some bad news – Wendal had developed some kind of skin condition causing hair loss, and had an infected hot spot at the base of his tail. Worse, he’d developed what she said was a “bad heart murmur.” Heart murmurs are not uncommon in small dogs, especially as they age, and were something Paula had a lot of experience dealing with. However, the vet had told the rescuer that flying Wendal cargo would kill him, although he’d probably be ok in the cabin. Did Paula still want to adopt him, she wanted to know? The answer, of course was a resounding yes.
And so, October 3, 2009, became Wendal’s Gotcha Day. Paula flew to Toronto, then she and her friend drove to Michigan to bring him home.
Back in Nova Scotia, Wendal met James and Jules – who had their reservations about this interloper – then was whisked off to Paula’s vet. She specialized in traditional modalities in addition to the conventional Western ones, and was a board-certified veterinary chiropractor and acupuncturist. Fortunately, she was always fond of a challenge. Their introduction was traumatic – Wendal had to be put in a run because he was NOT a good dog in the cage, not surprising given his history. He also bit the vet not once, not twice, but three times, but she took it all in stride, saying it was because she was manipulating his legs and it hurt, and she couldn’t blame him one bit. She figured he was between 8 and 12, judging from the changes in his eyes- there was some cloudiness there, and he didn’t see all that clearly, so it was agreed that they would just monitor them. The skin issues turned out to be thyroid-related, and so could be controlled, and were quickly healed.
All was not well on his inside however. During his first vet visit, a series of X-rays were taken, which confirmed his enlarged heart. More significantly, his mobility issues were the result of a fractured pelvis. It was broken in 3 places, and had healed in such a way that his right leg was shorter than his left, which explained his little hopalong gait. (Subsequent investigation by the Michigan rescue revealed that he’d been kicked around like a football and thrown into a wall, at which point they just locked him in his crate to suffer.) Her vet told her that while he would never walk normally, she could give him more mobility and ease the pain in the back end. There were also a couple of vertebrae that were problematic, and some serious issues with his shoulder, no doubt the result of having to use them to drag himself around for so long. His bloodwork also revealed kidney issues.
After six weeks, with proper food, medications, supplements, and lots and lots of vet visits, the scruffy little waif soon turned into a beautiful, bright spark. His coat had grown in everywhere and was thick and silky, if still a bit flaky. The chiro treatments had got him to the point where he could bend his back right leg a bit so that he was able to take the occasional “real” step, and he could even sit normally, not with his legs sprawled out sideways. Most impressively, he could (and did) run like the wind! However, the nerve damage that had been done made him more or less incontinent. He’d gained 2.5 pounds and still had a couple more to go, so while still thin, he was no longer the little skeletal boy that first arrived. All the same, he spent much of his first month with Paula under her bed, venturing out cautiously to eat, have a bit of a snuggle, then retreating to his safe place. In time, he emerged, and grew to not only trust her, but to adore her. The feeling was entirely mutual.
But inevitably, such long standing neglect leaves an indelible mark, and the evidence of long-term malnourishment was everywhere. The next two years were one long series of health crises – eye and ear infections, and on-going skin issues were the result of a systemic bacterial infection that fought antibiotics every step of the way, requiring the addition of steroids, which of course were of no help to his damaged endocrine system. His heart continued to get worse, making dentals an impossibility although sorely needed. About a year after he came though, his mobility was good enough that he was able to enjoy walks with his fursibs on the beach, although Paula carried him a lot of the way. He didn’t care, happy to just sniff the salt air, have a good nose around in the seaweed and dune grasses, and enjoy the sun and the warm wind.
By this time, you might be wondering if he wouldn’t have been better off euthanized. Paula and her vet were very well aware that he was living on borrowed time, and if he’d shown the first sign of being done, they’d have let him go. But he wasn’t. Oh, how he wasn’t! Wendal enjoyed his life to the fullest. He was the kindest, sweetest little spark of joy. It was as if he knew he’d been given a reprieve and was determined to make up for all the lost years, to pack a good life into every second he had left. He became very bonded with Jules…the two were inseparable. James on the other hand considered him a waste of space, and while never outright mean to him, did a good job of ignoring his existence. Despite all the abuse and neglect he’d suffered at the hands of humans, once he decided his new mom was ok, he was glued to her side, even performing Houdini-like feats of magic to get around closed gates, and down stairs, to get to her. The picture that is forever etched in her heart, right next to where he now dwells, is of him sitting in a pool of sunlight, blind eyes seeking her out, the slow sweep of his feathery full tail greeting her as he smiled up at her. He became, quite simply, her heart.
But time, when borrowed, eventually needs to be paid back. About a year after he arrived, Wendal started to suffer what could only be described as panic attacks – usually at night, where he’d wake up very agitated, and having to run, as if to outdistance whatever demons were chasing him. The vet tested him for everything under the sun, and tried all kinds of traditional and conventional methods to stop them. These would work for a little bit, but then things would worsen again. Finally, the vet determined he was suffering from psychomotor seizures – the panic happened as he was coming out of the seizure, perhaps due to the period of blindness which immediately follows that type of seizure, typically lasting a couple of hours. Because of the sudden onset and increasing frequency Paula’s vet strongly suspected that the underlying cause was either a brain tumour or else thickening scar tissue from head trauma suffered as a result of the abuse. She prescribed a drug called topiramate. It had a dramatic effect on him, and the next eight months, although managing all of his issues was a real balancing act, were the best of his time with Paula.
But little things were creeping in – his mobility started to regress, there were increasing breakthrough seizures, and final, on November 5th, 2011, Wendal had a major seizure followed by a severe anxiety attack – he was panting, his over-worked heart pounding, scrambling to get into Paula’s arms. She couldn’t calm him down at all, and finally had to resort to a sedative. About 15 minutes later he finally fell asleep and didn’t move all night. By the next morning, he was back to his usual self. But this was the final slide to the bottom of the slope. Over the next two weeks he deteriorated badly, until he stopped eating and drinking. Finally, he lost the use of his back end completely. Paula’s vet said that all of this was originating in his brain, in the same place as the seizures. After all the work to give him the best life he could have despite all of his physical issues, it was heartbreaking to see him struggle. There was nothing more that could be done. Wendal was tired, and ready to go.
And so, on November 22nd, 2011, it was time. Paula’s wonderful vet helped him peacefully on his way while he slept in Paula’s arms in their chair in the kitchen. As the last breath left his body, Paula had a vision of him running, full of joy, broken little body now healed, through the green and blue and gold. Wendal looked back at her, and then laughing, ran on out of sight. Paula has no doubt that it was a true seeing, a small balm to her broken heart.
One last miraculous Wendal thing – since then, he has appeared to help each of Paula’s dogs to the Bridge. He is always a presence in the room until they’re gone.
So when the time came to decide on a name for our new rescue, which is focused on helping high needs dachshunds, and either rehabilitating them as best we can, or giving them a loving place to land in the last stage of this part of their journey, the founding board members unanimously decided to honour Wendal. For what dog could more perfectly embody what Wendal’s Way Dachshund Rescue is all about? And so, his legacy continues to live on, and to help other dogs in need.
