26^th January 2007

I had to put a dog to sleep today. His name for the past 3 weeks has been Vito. Before that, who knows? Did he even have a name? Did any human, even when he was a pup, ever hold him in enough regard to bestow a moniker on him?

Vito, as I said, had only been with us at HHDRC for 3 weeks when he died. He came from Cha am. Cheryl, who has one of the café/bars reported him to us. We arrived at her café and she took us to meet him on the roadside where he resided. My first comments were not complimentary. I made some remark about him being an alien, not a dog. You might forgive me for that remark, had you seen him. No hair, covered in scabs & dry scales, one ear swollen with haemotoma, unable to stand properly through malnutrition and a problem with his hind leg, gummy, rheumy eyes and the mouth of a denture wearer sans dentures. And thin, so thin you could see every bone and overstretched tendon.

In the process of catching him, I got my first glimpse of Vito’s personality. He wasn’t able physically to escape us, in fact he didn’t really try. He did, however, bite me (not as bad as it sounds, remember he was sans dentures, but did have gums of steel) and protest the indignity of being lifted bodily and bundled into a car, most vociferously. Joy, the volunteer who aided in Vito’s capture or rescue (depending if you see it from his point of view or ours) gave him his name. Vito means “life”. Even for such an old dog, it was truly an apt name. I have never seen such life or spark in such a dilapidated shell.

After a visit to the vets where he was looked at, blood was taken to test for heartworm, fleas & lice were nuked (not quick enough – they had a field day on me and gave me a rash on my torso for a week), his ear was bandaged and he was treated for mange, he came to his new home – a cage in my garden. This may sound torture for a free-spirited soi dog like Vito, but it was the one thing he seemed truly happy about. He didn’t need to move too much, he lay on soft, warm quilts, he got meals twice a day, water just by standing and turning his head and he got out to the toilet morning and night. He also got medication that started to cure his mange, treat his gummy eyes and generally deal with some of his problems.

Two weeks passed, where Vito and I came to an understanding. This was simple, as soon as I learnt it. He didn’t object to the food, or the water. He was quite happy with the comfy quilts, changed once a day, or more if he had an accident. He would happily take the medicine, if hidden in a lump of dog meat. He would submit to having his eyes cleaned and medicated. He was partial to his nightly dog chews. The one thing that he would not tolerate was being taken out of his cage for his twice daily toileting. This was an indignity that a dog of his stature should not have to endure. And he chastised me for it. Many times, my nose got caught in a gummy “embrace”. I eventually learnt – how slow witted we humans are – to hold him in a way that his gaping maw could not connect with any part of my body. And, to simplify matters, I learnt that if I left his cage door open after I had remade his bed, he would hoist himself into it as soon as his bladder and bowels were empty. No toddle round the garden for him!

On Monday, he had trouble standing to eat and toilet himself and seemed uncomfortable, so I subjected him to another vet visit. By the time he reached the vet’s, his legs were in spasm. He was inspected and more blood drawn. It didn’t look good. That night, he had his first seizure. From that time, he never stood or went out of his cage again.

Lab results the next day proved he had renal failure, as well as a problem with his platelets and anaemia. The vet asked me what I wanted to do. Between us we decided on a plan of trying to treat him for 5 days, and if that didn’t work, putting him to sleep. Caring for him became a little more difficult. Food needed to be held under his mouth, water syringed into it. He needed to be rolled off his bedding when wet and rolled back on to clean dry bedding. He tolerated this with more good grace than he had many previous experiences. His leg muscles were constantly in spasm and he must have been in pain, but he rarely grumbled.

He was, however, going downhill fast. By Thursday, when the vet visited on an unrelated matter, we agreed that the time had come to let Vito go. The vet made an appointment to come the next morning and I spent the rest of the day knowing it was Vito’s last. His last dog chew, his last evening meal, his last syringe of water, his last bedding change, his last breakfast.

The actual act was more traumatic than any similar act I have witnessed. Firstly, a vein could not be found. He was in such a bad state that his veins had collapsed. Then, he refused to go. He didn’t struggle outwardly, but he held on for about five minutes. I’ve never seen that before. Vito had such a monumental will and spirit that he held out against the euthanizing drug for 5 minutes. Of course, finally, he succumbed.

So why a tribute to an ugly, bad-tempered old soi dog that I only knew for 3 weeks? A dog that never showed me the first sign of gratitude for taking care of him? No pacifist, Vito, no licker of hands or wagger of tail, he! Why am I crying, yet again, while writing this? Tears obscuring my vision and dropping onto my keyboard? For two reasons, both intertwined:

Vito, to me, was the personification of a Thai soi dog. Not pretty, tough, physical problems, but independent, with a spirit that would fight on and on. A dog that would definitely bite the hand that fed if that hand tried to force him into an action he didn’t want to do.

Vito also to paraphrase Dylan Thomas did “not go gentle into that good night”. He “rage(d), rage(d) against the dying of the light.” Vito, you were a true character. Rest in peace, old man, you deserve it. And, let me tell you, you earned the undying respect of one farang woman. Goodbye.

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