Even man’s best friend needs rehab

It was ten o’clock at night on a temperate winter evening in early February three years ago when my best friend suffered a grand mal seizure. I rushed her to the hospital, and waited. And waited. And waited some more.
Then the doctor came out and informed me that she felt my friend had a brain tumor causing the seizure, because my friend was not responding to the anti-epileptic medication administered to her. The doctor said the only way to be sure was a three thousand dollar CT scan or MRI.
Well, that was out of the question for my wife and I. With a special needs child to care for and a single household income, we just didn’t have the money for a cost prohibitive exam.
I asked for the doctor’s professional opinion again. I looked at my friend. She was not recovering from the seizure. She hadn’t recognized me. She didn’t know who I was. I regarded the doctor again. My wife and I looked at each other, and I looked at my friend one final time.
“I don’t want her to suffer,” I told the doctor. “Will the scan change anything if you’re right?”
I didn’t need the doctor to answer. I already knew.
It was the doctor’s professional opinion that my best friend had a brain tumor that caused such a severe seizure, and things were going to get worse. The episodes would become more frequent, and no amount of medication or treatment was going to change things.
My wife looked at me again. “What do you want to do?”
With a lump in my throat, and fighting mist in my eyes, I looked at the doctor and said, “You’ll need to put her down.”
A few minutes later, after the injection of the lethal sleep drug, my dog’s heart stopped beating and she lay on the table a motionless lump. I stood by her to the very end, holding her, because she was my best friend. It was the least I could do, because she stood by me all those years before.
Upon releasing her, the doctor asked if we wanted to spend a few more last minutes with her before letting her go. I said, “She’s already gone, doctor.” And with that, we left. I let the tears come.
I’ve been through losses in my life, and losing a dog only gets harder after the first. I’ve also seen, read and heard of too many cases where dogs were put down because no other help was available.
Sadly, in some cases, that remains true. But, in others, euthanasia no longer has to be the way out thanks to the efforts of the Canine Rehabilitation Center and Sanctuary (CRCS) located in Washoe Valley.
I met CRCS Executive Director and Founder Kristen Ivey late on a Friday morning. She reviewed my volunteer application and led me on a tour of the facility, which is gradually being converted from the old steak house restaurant the property once was to a state-of-the-art haven of recovery for man’s best friend.
The master plan is a thoughtful, caring design meant to help the most hopeless canines in our community find new lives.
My impression about the organization and its transforming facility is that it serves as a light in the darkness for dogs who would otherwise be destined for an early demise.
All of the placements at CRCS are dogs who would have been destined for the euthanasia table had it not been for Ivey and her organization stepping in and giving these animals a home and some hope for a better life.
Some of the dogs at CRCS are severely injured with handicaps that the ordinary dog owner could not and would not tolerate. In days gone by, these poor wretches would have been put down and out of their misery.
Other placements have been severely abused or neglected with substantial emotional scars that would ordinarily lead them to be euthanized because nobody would want them or could handle their special needs.
I saw dogs walking with assistive devices on their hind legs. Years ago, a dog with broken legs or hips would have been euthanized. When I was a child, I remember a puppy we had that had been hit by a car and suffered multiple broken bones. He was euthanized. It’s possible he could have been rehabbed had a place like CRCS existed in my day.
I saw dogs at CRCS with such severe behavioral and emotional problems that they would be designated unadoptable any place else and likely put under the needle.
I met a dog that was deaf and with the sort of special needs that the average adopting family may not be able or willing to provide.
Without CRCS, the dogs at this facility would end up at a landfill or in the incinerator. I’m sorry to be so candid here, but it is the sad truth.
Thankfully, though, that doesn’t have to be the reality for these best friends anymore. They have guardian angels at CRCS. They have people who won’t give up on them. And they have a second chance at life, a better one from which they came.
My dog was not quite ten years old when I had her put down. She was at the prime of her life, and she could have had a few more good years left if not for her unfortunate medical diagnosis.
Like my dog, the canines at CRCS are either still in the primes of their lives, or are still too young to reach it yet. And the good folks at CRCS are giving them a chance at better lives.
Some of the animals will be adopted to families that will give them the love and attention they missed out on early in their lives. And some of the animals will likely live the rest of their days in a sanctuary. Either way, the CRCS placements are fortunate to have been rescued when they were and by the people who did.
I am very pleased to be associated with this organization. I am completely on board with its vision and its goals for the canines it serves.
While there are many animal rescue organizations worthy of praise, this column is all about praising the efforts of the CRCS. They help and care for animals who would otherwise be written off.
The CRCS gives hope and life to dogs that wouldn’t have any under even slightly different circumstances.
If there is one thing I can appreciate more than anything else in life, it is hope. I do not believe there is such a thing as no hope or hopelessness, even though sometimes life feels that way. There is always hope, always a light at the end of the tunnel, always a silver lining some place.
For canines in our community, one of those places is the CRCS.
I am proud to offer my support for it. I hope you will, too.

Brett Fisher is a writer living in Carson City. He and his wife, Lisa, have resided in the state capital for over seven years.