A Bug's Life

Bug burst onto the scene on April 4, 2023, less than two months after we said goodbye to Flea. I needed convincing - I wasn't ready, certainly not for another Chihuahua so soon. They sent me his picture and said, "...he's fluffier...?". In other words, he at least didn't look like Flea at all. And he was a senior. And he was high on the euthanasia list due to no interest. And he was blind in one eye. And his tongue stuck out the side of his face. I caved. I figured the reality of letting Bug die in the shelter because I was afraid he'd make me miss Flea was MUCH sadder than risking him reminding me of Flea.

I have Bug to thank for introducing me to my friend, Diana. Once we agreed to foster Bug, Diana kindly picked up him from Henry County and brought him to me at work. It turned out he escaped euthanasia by 90 minutes, squeaking out by just a curly white whisker. I heard him before I saw him - that cough. When Diana opened the back of her car, I came face to face with the most cartoon-ish little critter I'd ever met. The tongue, the googly eyes, the ridiculous fluff...be still, my heart! He stared at me through the bars of his crate and then erupted into another coughing fit.

Bug had a terrible upper respiratory infection, as is very common for animals in or coming out of animal control facilities. No big deal, nothing a little time and medication can't fix, right? Sort of. Bug got good and sick and stayed that way for a while, but it became clear at some point that we were dealing with much more than kennel crud. There was underlying chronicity here.

Bug's coughing and wheezing persisted despite several different treatment approaches, so we decided it was time to see a specialist. Bug still needed neuter and dental, but we had to get his respiratory situation under control first. The boarded internist confirmed a two-fold diagnosis: chronic bronchitis and mainstem tracheobronchial collapse (severe collapsing trachea that occurs lower than usual and involves the bronchi). So we were facing a management game. The plan: a heavy duty sedative with good antitussive properties to suppress the cough (coughing just leads to more coughing because it perpetuates the airway irritation, so we had to break this cycle) and an inhaler containing a steroid/bronchodilator drug combination. The steroidal aspect would reduce airway inflammation and the bronchodilator would open up the airway, both working together to facilitate easier breathing. The inhaler had a special adapter for dogs (they make them for cats, too) and the aerosolized medication would be much more effective (and safer long-term) for lower airway issues as opposed to taking an oral steroid.

This multimodal plan carried some pretty hefty ramifications for Bug's adoptability. The plan was to get Bug well and send him on transport to New York for adoption. Hydrocodone is a schedule II controlled drug, which involves quite a few specific hoops to jump through in order to get it. Not to mention the logistics of sending Bug on a road trip across states lines with a bottle of hydrocodone in his tote bag presented nontrivial concerns. There would have to be very careful wording about his condition and extra caution screening adoption applications - the opioid crisis is real and the right kind of people can spot the code from a mile away ("dog with cough who needs special medications" = no brainer). It was going to be a significant balancing act

to exercise heightened scrutiny without creating additional barriers for what was already a tough sell with regard to adoptability. Beyond the controlled drugs, the inhaler medication came from a Canadian pharmacy by way of Mauritius (yes, you read that right) and wasn't cheap. Bug was pretty cooperative using the inhaler, but that would be a learning curve for an adopter as well. Let's just say, he came with strings and conditions.

Once the inhaler/opioid regimen began to make a positive difference in Bug's quality of life, it was time to pursue neuter and dental. Another curveball: he was cryptorchid and there was a high likelihood that the retained testicle was cancerous. It had to go. The internist gave him a green light for surgery, agreeing that the benefits outweighed the risks. We implemented a couple changes to his medications the night before surgery to set him up for success and went ahead with fingers crossed. I was a nervous wreck and spent the day waiting for bad news, thinking how you couldn't pay me enough to be his anesthesia tech. He did well under anesthesia during the neuter, so they continued with the dental. He went in with five teeth and came out with one. He recovered beautifully, one tough cookie.

Bug touched so many lives simply through his infectious charisma. They said he had a lively personality. They weren't kidding. Every day with him was a party! He was just SO much fun - so happy, silly, vocal, energetic, and just full of life. I had my guard up and kept my heart walled off for a while, but no one could possibly be immune to his charms. The way he'd just pop into the perfect "sit" and gaze at you with adoration in those googly eyes of his, it just melted hearts. He won me and all my coworkers over with his ridiculously animated spirit and boisterous enthusiasm for life. He went to work with me every day. I left him home one day only to show up to work and face a squad of deeply offended coworkers. They made me go home on my lunch break and bring him 

back with me. The message was clear, "If you aren't bringing bringing Bug, don't bother reporting for duty!" He even made an appearance in the marketing video for our hospital's first grand opening anniversary party. What a ham. He was like one of those old wind-up "happy hamster" toys that zip around in a frenzy of random directions. I figured he might be around 10 years old based on his energy, but who knows - he really honestly could've been a rough 8 or a spry 15. Age is just a number and since Bug couldn't count, he was blissfully unaware of any reason not to party it up 24/7.

Everyone thought we were going to keep him for ourselves, and many asked why we didn't. Remember how I mentioned Bug didn't like men? Bug HATED men. And Drew was no exception - he was so good to him and it just didn't count for anything as far as Bug was concerned. He'd just sit on Drew's lap and holler in his face. The noises he made! It was wild - funny, but not really. I'll never know if it was a lack of exposure thing, a bad experience thing, or just a strong personal preference. Everyone knows I like the spicy chis, but this was an unsustainable level of hatred that wasn't fair to Drew or to Bug long-term. It wasn't just Drew, either - Bug needed a man-free household. If he so much as caught a whiff of beard - heck, even 5 o'clock shadow - nearby, he let it fly. This behavior earned him the nickname, "Thug". Set him in the arms of a lady and he was happy as a clam. This earned him the nickname, "Smug". He was a ladies' man and there was no changing his bug-brained mind. Add that to his list of adoption contingencies. Sigh.

Everyone was invested in this little guy's future, this little guy who was simply turned into animal control over the counter. Who knows what his story was? Maybe his person passed away, or maybe they couldn't afford to figure out his health issues, or maybe a million other maybes. Shoot, maybe they brought a man home and kicked Bug to the curb. It was heartbreaking watching his amazing spirit and knowing how hard it would be to find an adopter despite how ultra worthy of love he was. He couldn't just go to anyone - his   medications were expensive and easily overwhelming, he didn't like men, he was in the winter of his life, and I needed to know he would go to someone who wouldn't let him linger if he began to suffer. Everyone loved him, but finding someone truly up for the challenge was another task entirely. Enter Judy.

A friend of mine (Sandy) convinced another friend of mine (Victoria) to Bug-sit while we went out of town to visit family for a week. Victoria fell in love with Bug and knew he would make the perfect match for a friend of hers (Judy). Judy used to live here and was deeply involved in rescue. She knows the folks at the Henry County shelter where Bug came from. She has a soft-spot for seniors. She doesn't have a husband or an adult son or any guy friends who visit! The connection was made and after an hours long phone call, we knew it was kismet. There was only one glitch: Judy lives in Maryland, which is not where Bug's rescue transport was heading.

There was clearly only one solution to this Maryland conundrum: ROAD TRIP! I hung up the phone with Judy and walked downstairs to tell Drew, "She's the one - she's perfect - but she's in Maryland". His response? "Ask her which weekend works best for her and we will bring him to her". And just like that, it was a done deal. Not to mention he got to skip the stress of transport and we got to hand off his medications directly.

So, we threw a big "Bon Voyage, Bug" party at work (complete with bug themed everything and a Polaroid photo string), packed some snacks, and hit the road to Maryland. We covered 1,400 miles (28 hours of driving, there and back), in a 36 hour window to deliver Bug to his forever. I felt nothing but joy as we handed Bug over to Judy. We found his perfect match. There is no one in this world who could have possibly been more right for Bug, and he for her. Chelsea and Henry, Judy's two dogs, and even her kitty welcomed Bug into the Simon Asylum as she lovingly refers to her abode. We spent an hour or so at Judy's 

house helping Bug get settled in, going over all of his care points together, slowly introducing Bug to the rest of the crew, and honestly just chatting like the old friends we'd already become. Yet another friendship forged over this crazy little dog.

It was amazing to see him explore his new environment, run through the giant beautiful yard full of birds to watch and squirrels to chase, and immediately fall right into place as though he'd lived there forever. The warm sunlight shone through Judy's kitchen window onto the plants she kept by the sink; she sent me home with a cutting to propagate to remind me of Bug and his new beginning. There were more dog beds and ruggables scattered about than visible floor - a senior dog's dream. It was the coziest place I could've possibly imagined for him. I just felt this tremendous sense of peace as we pulled out of the driveway and hit the road back to Atlanta. Everyone kept checking in on me, asking    how I was holding up - I didn't shed a single tear! I couldn't have possibly felt better about the way things turned out for Bug. Of course I'd miss him and all his glorious bugness, but this is why we do it. This was his journey, not mine. I was just his guide, his chaperone, his advocate, his friend. I was there for the adventure alongside him as it played out, but it was never my story. Always his.

 I knew one of these days, that story would come to a close. I

got a message from Judy on April 15 that said, "I let Bug fly today". We had kept in touch regularly and I knew that it had been a difficult couple of weeks for Bug. He had broken with pneumonia and spent a couple days hospitalized earlier in the month, then improved for a little bit before taking a sharp decline. He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't sleep comfortably, and didn't want to eat. His medications weren't doing enough for him anymore. His doctor felt it was similar to people with end-stage COPD. Judy bravely kept her word to me: she didn't let him linger. Bug can finally breathe easily now.

Bug enjoyed 1 year and 11 days of extra life outside of the shelter and man, it was the GOOD life. He didn't waste a single moment of that second chance. It was almost like he knew he was on borrowed time and chose to pack whatever time he had left full with as much life and joy as he could muster. He was a force, an absolute firecracker of spirit and energy. Bug partied it up until the bitter end. The world is definitely less bright without him and while I feel it poignantly, all I can do is smile. The part that makes me tear up is the beauty of his story, not the sadness. I will forever be more glad for his life than I am sad over his passing. I imagine if he had a funeral, he would've wanted a New Orleans style jazz parade with parasols pumping in the air. A celebration of life, a tremendous send-off.

To everyone who helped Bug along his journey, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Betsy, Bert, Diana, Drew, Sandy, Victoria, Judy, my Remedy Vet family, the team at Dogwood Vet Specialty, PPR, Patty, Conyers Animal Hospital, Kingsbrook Animal Hospital in Maryland, and all of our Atlanta bourbon friends (who did a fundraiser for him and featured his portrait on a bottle - pictured to the left), thank you. You all played a part in giving this little guy the life he deserved. I am so grateful and I know he was, too.

Most of all, I want to thank Bug. He helped my heart begin to heal after Flea. He helped me move forward so we can keep helping others in need. He made my life richer and brought so much joy to everyone he met. He was an incredible inspiration, a wonderful lesson in making the most of what you've got, and a reminder to value quality over quantity. We love you, Bugworth. I will always think of you with a smile.