Hemi

Several months ago, someone broke into our house while my toddler and I were home alone.  Jake and Kellin didn't even twitch, they were both so deaf.  It scared me badly enough that we adopted Hemi.

Hemi's previous owners were very sad to let him go, but they had a cruel neighbor that was constantly harassing Hemi.  He weighed 125 pounds and was a big boy.

Only a few days after we brought Hemi home, he went stir crazy so I let him into the front yard.  He was running laps, full tilt, when my daughter stepped out in front of him.  He bowled over her, knocking her end over end across our sidewalk and lawn.  It was a horrifying thing to watch.  We were nervous about keeping him, after that, but we are so glad we did.

Hemi was the biggest softy you could ever hope to meet, but he looked terrifying.  One day, a mom, grandma, and grandson were walking past our house.  Hemi jumped up on our fence; his weight jarred the latch on the gate open, so Hemi ran out of the yard to go and tell them, "Hi."  The grandma started beating the crap out of him--he was running in circles, she was chasing him, and I was barreling out of the house.  By the time I got my doors unlocked, he had escaped into the yard and the three people were literally running down the street.  Hemi was on the ground, shaking, and he peed everywhere.  I yelled, "Sorry!" after the people, but I really wanted to yell, "Quit beating on my poor rottweiler, you jerk!"  I called Steve at work and warned him that someone would probably call the sheriff's office and report a vicious dog; they never did, thankfully.  I would have ripped their heads off.

We only had Hemi six months when, one Sunday, he started whining and not wanting to get off the couch.  We put a heat pad on his back, assuming he had slipped on the ice in our front yard and pulled a muscle.  The next morning, he wouldn't get off the dog bed in our bedroom.  I threaded a towel under his waist and lifted his back end, thinking it just hurt too much for him to stand; his legs just dangled beneath him.  I took him in to the vet later that day, thinking still that he'd hurt his back; we'd put him on Rimadyl and give him cortisone shots for the rest of his life--expensive, but nothing new in our world.  Our vet informed us that he had slipped a disc in his spine and damage his spinal cord, paralyzing himself.  She would pinch his back feet, and he couldn't feel anything; she called this having no withdrawal and informed us that, even with intensive surgery, there was no hope of him ever walking again.  We had to put him to sleep.

I still vacillate between anger and disbelief that this all happened.  Really?  He paralyzed himself?  I still wonder why God told us to get Hemi when we only got him for six months; I'll probably never understand.  I'm still glad we had him, in spite of the pain.