The Little Brown Dog Who Could

‘It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.’ Mark Twain

My cell phone rang on Saturday morning at 3 a.m.

“You had better get down here.” I hung up the phone and got dressed. And then my heart sank.

I had been summoned to come say goodbye to my long-time dog, Banjo.

Earlier that Friday evening, I had come home to find him very ill and my kitchen floor covered with vomit and urine. A long-time diabetic, Banjo’s blood sugar had gotten out of control and was spiking off the charts. My family had been gone for nearly a week and he had stopped eating. He’s what you call an alpha dog — and he was literally worried sick about his pack. I rushed him to the emergency vet. He was one very sick pup.

Hours later, I came back to find Banjo on the table, with oxygen on his snout and shivering. His heart rate was nearly 200. And he was on death’s doorstep. The vet said that the prognosis was grim — that he had diabetic ketoacidosis or DKA (His body couldn’t use sugar (glucose) as a fuel source because he had no insulin or not enough insulin.) and pancreatitis. It was like the perfect storm and to quote the vet, all were combining to cause a circling the drain effect. He was treating Banjo’s DKA, giving him fluids and oxygen. The poor dog’s breathing had become labored and his heart rate was beating irregularly.

But he was hanging in there. And he was fighting. Something inside of him was keeping him alive. The vet saw it. And so did I.

I texted my wife in Atlanta, sent her pictures and kept her up to date. I then pulled up a stool to the table and began to stroke his ears. I pulled one back and started whispering into it, “You are an amazing dog. You are brave. You are a good friend. You will get better.” I did this for four hours as he fought for his life.

I thought about the first time we met Banjo. He was at the breeder’s house; a six-year-old handsome Border Terrier who was very happy to see us. As he clicked across the tile floor, he wagged his tail. At that moment we were family (he was a rescue; we were his third family). He joined our other Border Terrier, Molly (who happened to be his aunt). Four years ago, he was diagnosed with diabetes. Twice-a-day, everyday, we give him an insulin shot and feed him. For the most part, we’ve managed his diabetes well. We don’t test him, but know the signs when his glucose is crashing or spiking. He has fallen out (get the corn syrup!) and has had blood sugar that is too high (peeing and vomiting!). But for the most part, he has had a very happy life. Until Saturday. I was on the cusp of losing a good friend.

I can’t tell you how special he is to me. The week that my job changed, Molly died. Banjo and I both went into mourning together and he stuck by me as I cursed the world. There are dogs. And then there are DOGS. Banjo is a DOG, one of the special ones.

At 6:30 a.m., I fell asleep while holding him. If he was going to die, I was going to be right there with him.

By 8 a.m., the vet said that he had turned a corner. While the prognosis was poor, but since Banjo was a fighter, there was hope. I went and got breakfast, came back and said a temporary goodbye and came back several times over the weekend. Each time I saw a remarkable improvement. When my family came home (his pack), we saw him perk up yet again. And of course, the veterinarians who have cared for him are nothing short of brilliant.

He came home this week, but relapsed. Once again, he began to vomit and was dehydrated. His blood sugar was out of control and literally off the chart. So back to the vet he went.

Yesterday the vet had determined that the cause of his problems could be insulin-resistance caused by the pancreatitis. Or, which is entirely possible, the insulin we had been using (the stuff isn’t cheap, btw), had gone bad due to it being left unrefrigerated. Banjo has responded well to new insulin and for the first time in a week, ate heartily. There is a chance we will get him home today or tomorrow.

The cost has caused my wife and I to joke that we’ll have to rename him “Wood Floors”or “Disney”. And I can’t tell you how many people have said, “Y’all are nuts, I would have put him to sleep.” I just shake my head at their comments.

I’m not naive. Banjo is a 14-year-old diabetic terrier with 250,000 miles on him. And I know that eventually, the diabetes will probably kill him. It’s a vicious and brutal disease. He could die tomorrow. He could die next week. But then again, so could I.

But as long as he has fight in him, I’ll have his back. I respect that fight. I admire it. And honestly, I can learn from it. We all can. Something inside that little dog’s heart made him want to recover. And while I’ll never allow him to suffer, I’ll honor his will to live –not take it away.

A lot of people have been pulling for Banjo this week. I appreciate every one of the prayers and well-wishes. I think they (and the veterinarians) helped him pull through. I can’t tell you how grateful I truly am.

But seven day later, I’m just thankful for a little more time with the little brown dog who could.

UPDATE: Vet just called and said that Banjo ate this morning, has regulated blood sugar and will most likely will get to come home tonight.