Life isn’t always sunshine and roses and I was reminded of that 10 days ago. It all started about 3 weeks prior when I pulled a couple of pups from the Bakersfield Animal Shelter. Their predicament was typical: stray, no parents, flea infested, hungry and very scared. They would not have lasted long had we not pulled them.
We named them Foley and Thomas after our two favorite newscasters, Kim Foley and Kelsey Thomas. Kim and Kelsey have jumped at every opportunity to cover The Mutts and it was time we honored them by naming a couple of dogs for them.

Foley was significantly smaller than her brother which we attributed to her being the runt or possibly having a different dad (liters can have multiple fathers). About a week after rescue, our pups became ill (most shelter dogs are exposed to illnesses and disease) and we had to take Foley to the Tehachapi Vet Hospital. She
spent the night but came home the next day in much better shape. She was fighting a respiratory infection that would require simple antibiotics. Thomas continued to grow and was adopted to a terrific family. Foley, on the other hand, continued to eat but wouldn’t gain weight (steady at just 5 lbs) and just seemed a little
“off.” She continued to take her medication and was not showing signs or symptoms of respiratory issues.

On Saturday, April 7th, we had a bunch of folks up to the rescue to meet and greet with the dogs. Foley was doing just fine and seemed excited to welcome each new family as they came in and out. Just as the last family was leaving, our little girl had what appeared to be a short seizure. In a matter of 3 or 4 seconds she
went limp, her eyes rolled back in her head and her gums and tongue went pale. I recognized that she was not breathing and began to search for an obstruction in her airway, but I couldn’t find anything.

By that point her heart had stopped beating and she was completely unresponsive–she was in full cardiac arrest. I have witnessed dogs die before and that is exactly what was happening. I began to administer rescue breathing and CPR. I am a certified Pet Tech CPR/Rescue breathing instructor and my training completely took over. I knew exactly what to do. I made an air tight seal around her mouth with my hand
and proceeded to blow air into her lungs through her nose, being careful not to overinflate the lungs as they could easily burst. I followed up with rapid, timed chest compressions with her lying on her side, being extremely cautious with the pressure because too much could easily crack her sternum and break ribs.

After 2 rounds of 15 compressions, with breaths in between, she began to move lightlyand I could feel a heartbeat. At first I thought the heartbeat was my own pulse, but after more movement it was obvious that it was her courageous little heart. I continued to help her breath by timing her breaths with mine. She reacted very well to this and within a couple minutes was standing on her own.

By then, my neighbor, Rhonda Hughes, had rushed down from her place and started preparing to move Foley to the hospital in my truck (thank God for awesome neighbors). We didn’t want to move her until she was stable and breathing on her own. About 20 minutes after she crashed, I left for the Tehachapi Vet Hospital. The ride down was encouraging; she was alert and even tried to sit in my lap as we drove. I thought to myself “We did it, little girl,” “We made it and you’re gonna be just fine.”

By the time we arrived I thought that we were out of the woods–sadly, this was not the case. The staff, which I have grown to love very much, drew blood and began to administer oxygen. The tests came back and revealed that Foley’s kidneys had completely shut down and that her body was being overrun with toxins. She was in a lot of pain and there was nothing we could do but ease her pain and put her to sleep. I said goodbye and kissed her on the forehead. I was grateful that I was given the opportunity to do that.

Hi Zach,

It is with a very heavy heart that I must tell you that Cole had to be put down today. Over the weekend, he started yelping all night while he was trying to sleep.  A trip Bakersfield to the Emergency Care facility gave him a pre-diagnosis of distemper. What started innocently enough developed into full blown Grand Mal seizures and foaming at the mouth. After a full day at the Tehachapi Vet clinic and Dr. Freng monitoring him, it was determined that Cole’s best life was clearly now behind him and the painful decision had to be made to keep him from suffering any further. I know that our decision to adopt Cole was meant to be.  He was an old soul who did not have long to be on Earth. But during the last two weeks he got to run and play until his heart was content.  He loved playing with his new brother Jack, and they slept together every night. He was the smartest most loving dog that we could have asked for and we will miss him dearly.

We may again in the future look to find another dog but this coming just one-short-month from losing our last dog will hurt for some time to come.

Thank you so so very much for the opportunity to be Cole’s family. We are forever grateful.

-Daren & Aileen Weller

Today I had to put my friend Austin down.  Although he was a million years old (probably 16+), could not hear anything, was suffering from bone cancer in his shoulder, could barely raise himself up to walk and had refused to eat anything for the previous 3 days, it was still very, very hard to let him go.

Austin came to live with me only 2 years ago.  His owner had been arrested by the Bear Valley PD and when the tow truck came to haul away his small pickup, they found Austin curled up in the small space behind the driver’s seat, lying on a pile of tools.  The BV PD called Marley’s Mutts to see if we could keep Austin, and Zach and I immediately agreed. A few days later, when Austin’s owner was released from jail, he said he did not want Austin back.  Because of Austin’s advanced age, Zach and I knew that it would be almost impossible to get him adopted, so I decided that he would be my dog.  It was an easy decision because Austin had obviously become very attached to me in just a few days.

I got attached to Austin very quickly, too.  Even though he was already very old (he had a grey beard, very badly stained teeth and could only hear sharp sounds like a loud clap), he was surprisingly healthy and strong.

I soon found out that we shared a love for baseball.  Although he obviously couldn’t bat very well (my attempt at a joke), he would chase a thrown baseball for hours on end and bring it back to me every time.  Zach and I were convinced that if we kept throwing the baseball, he would chase it until he collapsed from exhaustion.

Plus, Austin was a good swimmer.  First time Zach took him to Cub Lake he took one look at the ducks in the water and jumped right in.  Within seconds, he was 40 yards away from the shore.  Zach tried calling him (forgetting for a second that he was deaf), but that did no good.  He was afraid he was going to have to jump in to save him but, before too long, Austin swam to shore.

Austin was a loyal dog with no bad habits and only a couple of unique characteristics.  When I would take him on walks (which I wish I had done way more often), Austin insisted on holding his own lease in his mouth as he walked beside me.  Austin also loved to ride in trucks.  Every time he saw one, he expected someone to open a door so he could jump in.

The main thing I want people to know about Austin is how genuinely good he was.  I am very lucky to have known him.

The last 3 months of Austin’s life were very difficult for him as his body began to let him down and took away the things that made him happy, one-by-one.  Throughout all of his pain, he always tried to be a good dog.  For my part, I tried my best to give Austin the support and care he needed –I hope I did a good job.

Good bye, my friend.

Andrew Skow

Snowman was a gorgeous, giant, lover-boy whose time was unfortunately numbered before he ever reached the comfort of our rescue.  Despite his quick demise, we are very grateful for the time we got to spend with our Snowman. 

This is Snowman’s story.

It was December 21st, 2010, and we were two days into a vicious storm that would not stop dumping rain.  I got a call that morning from a local Pastor’s wife.  She told me that, late the night before, two huge dogs showed up on her front porch.  The dogs’ physical appearance seemed to match the weather that they had been surviving in–just plain nasty. They were soaking wet (obviously), smelled awful, were filthy as pigs, and appeared as though they hadn’t eaten properly for many months.  Everything about their appearance was pitiful, but because they are Great Pyrenees, you could see their inherent  majesty lurking beneath all of the grime.

I drove down to pick them up and we headed to the vet.  Frosty rode with me and Snowman rode with the Pastor and his wife.  Frosty tried to drive the entire way to the vet and he was noticeably affected by being split up from his buddy, Snowman.  I kept Frosty off my lap long enough to get to the vet only to have him jump out of the truck when we got there and start doing cartwheels in the parking lot.  I chased him around, looking like a moron, until Frosty saw his buddy Snowman and went up to say hi.  We got a leash on him and brought him in for evaluation.

Both Frosty and Snowman were extremely underweight. Frosty came in at 73, and Snowman at 78; each of them should weigh well over 100 lbs.  The boys spent the night there, for observation, and came home the next day.  Though they had come home, they were both under the weather and would need some considerable TLC and careful evaluation to determine where they stood physically.  Both dogs had weak appetites, which shouldn’t have been the case considering how skinny they were.   We gave them some deworming medication and started cooking them chicken to mix in with their wet food.  This paid off and over the next few days, they started to get their appetites back.  They were worked in to the pack at the rescue and seemed to really settle down.  

Frosty and Snowman spent the next several days enjoying rescue life.  Snowman, like a true Pyrenees, fell right into the role of rescue guardian.  He patrolled the fence-line and would bark to alert us of any company.  Frosty, who is not much of a barker, was content to folic around with the other boys and just be a life-lovin’ dog.  When they weren’t in the yard, they were working on the computer with my dad–Frosty’s head on one side of his lap, and Snowman’s on the
other.

Frosty and Snowman had balanced out emotionally so we figured it was time get them groomed and looking good on the outside as well.  Because their physical well being was still uncertain and because they are so big, a grooming would also provide a more thorough assessment of their condition.  A good grooming would reveal any ticks, bumps, lacerations or anything else that we may have missed in their initial evaluation.  I dropped them both off at the Pet Lodge to get beautified. 

Not long thereafter, I received a call from the Pet Lodge  saying that Snowman had had some kind of a seizure and that they had taken him to the Vet.  This was not good.  I rushed to the Vet and found Snowman stable but obviously very traumatized.  He could barely stand on his own and his equilibrium was shot.  The doctor ran blood tests that showed it was probably not a seizure, but that his liver was noticeably damaged and there were a couple other anomalies that weren’t good.  Snowman was very skinny, but had a belly like a cow–swollen and distended.  So the next test was X-ray.

The X-ray painted grim picture; there was so much liquid in his belly/abdomen that the imaging couldn’t even make out his large vital organs (liver, kidneys).  The liquid was either water-like fluid that was being created by pressure on his internal organs or tumorous fluid from something that had burst.  Either way, the prognosis was not good.  Frosty either had a large inoperable mass in his stomach or the mass had already burst.  At this point there was nothing we could do to save him.  We could only tap his abdomen with a needle to see what was killing him.  I helped the vet techs shave my big man’s belly (to prep him for the tap) and then I had some time to say goodbye.  When I was in the kennel with Snowman he leaned on me with all his weight and looked up with half scared, half conceding eyes.  I wished there was more I could do to comfort him at that moment, but isn’t that always the case.  I hugged him, told him that he was a good dog and that I loved him; and then I took his tag.  In point of fact, there was nothing more that we could have done for  Snowman–his fate had been sealed by the tragically irresponsible owners that had let them loose.  

The ground was frozen at the time, so I had to wait a couple weeks to put Snowman to rest.  He’s got a big, beautiful, white grave marker and he’s resting comfortably next to Lefty, Frankie, Bo Jangles, and Draper’s front right leg.

I don’t regret for a moment the time that we got to spend with that big ole’ polar bear.  He was a truly majestic , gentle soul and I will cherish the time that Snowman was one of Marley’s Mutts.

Frankie was a great little dog.  His sickness and ensuing death taught me agonizing lessons in faith, loss, and friendship. This is his story.

One mid-December morning I received a call from Officer Sugg, a friend and great ally of Marley’s Mutts.  She informed me about a couple of dogs that were at the Mojave Animal Shelter whom she thought needed to be brought to Marley’s Mutts.  Officer Sugg often alerts me to certain dogs that needed rescuing–dogs that may not have a future if they were to stay at the shelter.  Out at the shelter we were greeted by the usual cacophony of barking dogs and were introduced to our two new boys, Frankie and Satchel. 

Frankie and Satchel were 3-month-old, adorable, terrier mutts. They had soft, curly fur and a certain stuffed animal quality about them that was undeniable.  We put them into the back seat of the truck and off we went, back to the rescue.

At that time we had quite a few tenants boarding up at Marley’s Mutts, both human and canine.  In addition to the nine doggies, my best friend was staying with us as well.  He had hit a rough patch in his life and needed a place to stay for the holidays.  I was stoked to have Aaron with me and excited to show him what it is I do as the operator of Marley’s Mutts Dog Rescue.   Frankie and Satchel were warmly accepted by the other doggies and we began running them through the normal protocols.  We walked them, temperament-tested them, and made them feel at home. 

A couple of days in to their stay, Aaron and I took several of the doggies on a 3-4 mile hike.   Snow was still on the ground, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky; it was a great opportunity for my buddy and I to catch up, talk about life, and enjoy the company of our four-legged companions.  We took tons of pictures on that hike, several of which were perfect for Frankie’s and Satchel’s adoption posters and website listing.   The next morning, we headed out for another group walk with about six of the doggies.  About a half a mile out, Frankie, who had already learned to walk off-leash, fell behind and appeared sluggish and disinterested.  There was reason for concern because Frankie hadn’t eaten that morning and I’m all too familiar with how vulnerable shelter rescues are to disease.*

We isolated Frankie and kept a close eye on him for the rest of that day.  Late that night, or early that morning, I went to check on Frankie and found several bloody bowels movements.  He was also making a hiccup/cough noise that rescuers hate to hear.  That noise and the bloody diahrea are unmistakable symptoms of Parvo (canine parvovirus), a terrible disease that is fatal a great majority of the time.   Dogs that do not receive intense treatment for Parvo almost always perish, so we needed to get Frankie to the Vet as soon as possible.  There was one serious problem though–it was now Christmas morning and none of the nearby Veterinary offices were open.  We scrambled for a plan and found an Animal Emergency Hospital in Lancaster that could see Frankie.  We brought him there Christmas morning and they began to hit him with everything they had.  His blood work was not too bad and the doctors thought that he had a great shot at pulling through.  We left Frankie, in serious but stable condition, and drove to the South Bay to have Christmas dinner with my family.

It was impossible to embrace the Christmas spirit that day because we were all thinking about Frankie.  We called the hospital just about every hour, which probably annoyed them a great deal, but they were very accommodating.  We stopped at the Animal ER on our way home that night (they are open 24 hours) and they made it clear that Frankie would have to stay there for a few more days.  We went back to see him and he appeared hydrated, bright-eyed, alert and seemed to be responding well to the meds.  We hated leaving him there on Christmas night but we were very optimistic that he was going to pull through.

Late morning on the 26th we got a call from the doctor when we were driving.   My Dad, and Aaron waited anxiously as I listened to the doctors update on Frankie.  I hung up and jubilantly announced “Doc said he’s gonna make it!”  The inside of my truck reverberated with shouts of “All right, Frankie” and “Atta Boy!”  We went home to go about business as usual and focus on some of the other dogs; as far as we were concerned, Frankie was out of the woods. 

Three hours later, at about 2 pm, I got a call from the receptionist at the Animal ER.  I expected the focus of the conversation to be on when we could expect to pick Frankie up–that was not the case.  She told me that Frankie had crashed, seemingly out of nowhere and that there was nothing they could do to revive him.  I actually thought she had called the wrong patient’s owners and that she was definitely mistaken.  Well, it was true.  Frankie had started to literally leak blood from both ends, and he crashed and died soon thereafter. 

It was devastating.  Devastating to have resigned my brain to the idea that he was already okay and devastating that I didn’t do more to diagnose his condition more quickly.  Frankie was supposed to be our Christmas miracle, not nightmare. 

After we got the news, Aaron and I drove to Lancaster and picked up his body.  We talked a lot about  our own lives and how much we appreciated each other’s friendship.  We made a headstone and buried Frankie that night.   I think we were meant to go through that experience together and I’m grateful for what it taught us both.  Aaron is still my best friend and we continue to trudge this road of happy destiny as brothers.

*Dogs that come from shelters are often exposed to disease while at the shelter but, to due the incubation period, signs and symptoms don’t show up for up to two weeks.

Lefty’s Story by Zach Skow

Lefty had a generous capacity for love that made him one of our most cherished rescues. His life and his tragic death taught me invaluable lessons that have made me a more capable rescuer and more mindful dog-lover.  There will never be another Lefty, but because of him, I will love all of my future doggies to the extent of my capability.

In the spring of 2009, I got a phone call from a fellow who was camping with his youth church group up at Mountain Park. It seemed that a camper from a near-bye site had left his dog behind. The dog, a beautiful Australian Cattle Dog, had decided to latch on to the church group as if his attitude were “I didn’t much like the guy that used to care for me, do you folks mind if I pal-up with you?”  They didn’t mind and he became their camp-dog for the duration of their stay at Mountain Park. When it came time to pack up and come down the Mountain, they called me and asked if could help find a home for their new buddy. I agreed to help and we met-up at the Tehachapi Vet Hospital. The dog jumped out of their truck, content as can be, acting as if he had been their dog for a life time. The dog ran right up to me and started licking my face. He reeked of campfire and had a considerable limp on his right side. I asked the group if they had named him. They said no, because they hadn’t wanted to get attached–instead they just called him “doggy.” “Doggy” is no kind of a name for a doggy, so, at that point, considering he was probably left-handed due to his damaged right-front leg, I named him “Lefty.”

We brought Lefty into the hospital for an exam and it was revealed that his limp was caused by a poorly healed break. He had most likely broken his leg as a pup and due to inadequate care, or non-care, the break had healed a little catawampus. The limp didn’t seem to cause any pain; in fact, he could run like Forrest Gump, so Lefty was given a clean bill of health and sent home to become one of Marley’s Mutts.

Lefty arrived at our rescue with little fanfare and was welcomed by the pack graciously. Many new arrivals require a carefully supervised introduction that can take hours and often involves my intervention and assertion in order to maintain harmony. Left fell in place like a bird to a flock in formation. Pledge accepted, card punched–he was one of The Mutts. New arrivals go through a series of protocols in order to be evaluated for temperament, abilities, upsides and downsides. We take this evaluation and do an honest assessment of what needs to be worked on in order to make them better suited for adoption. Do they respond well on a leash? Are they comfortable with children? Do they ride well in a vehicle? Are they good with other dogs? The goal is to work with the dog so that we can answer in the positively affirmative to as many of those questions as possible. I would like to take credit for Lefty’s temperament, abilities and over-all balance, but the truth is that he showed up pretty much perfect. The law requires that dogs be held for two weeks before they can be adopted. This gives the potential owner a chance to come forward and claim his/her dog if they are even looking. So, for the meantime we posted Lefty for adoption and waited for responses from potential new adopters.

Lefty gave me his full allegiance right off the bat and followed me everywhere. Dogs like Lefty end up serving like capable employees; their balance and demeanor rubs off of less stable dogs. Essentially their positive energy is contagious.

One night (about two weeks into his stay) I woke up to unmistakable sounds of labored breathing. I found Lefty under the bed, clearly experiencing breathing difficulties. Lefty slept in my room every night since his arrival, but never had he retreated under the bed:  that gesture (of sequestering) led me to believe he was injured.  I gave him a snout-to-tail assessment, which revealed he had very serious swelling of the tongue and neck. Severe swelling and windpipe blockage is a very serious situation, so we took Lefty in to the Vet first thing Saturday morning.  The Vet immediately took him in for an x-ray to see if he had ingested anything or if there was some sort of a blockage.  The imaging revealed no obstructions, just severe swelling. Next, they shaved the swollen area to look for evidence of a bite (snake, centipede and spider bites can all cause swelling and, in some cases, death) .  Shaving Lefty’s neck, throat and chin didn’t expose any punctures but it did make the severity of the swelling very obvious. At this point Lefty is still breathing on his own and capable of walking, but it did seem like he was getting worse. The Vet sent us home with a thorough supply of steroids and antibiotics, the hope being that the drugs would greatly reduce the swelling at that the antibiotics would fight whatever infection was occurring. For a while there, the swelling seemed to go down or at least stop advancing, but Lefty was still not very active and his breathing was still very loud. We went to bed that night hoping to wake the following morning to a much improved Lefty.

At about 4:00am I woke up to check on Lefty and found him lying motionless on his side with his eyes rolled back. He was unresponsive and not breathing. At that point in my career I had never given CPR or rescue breathing to a dog, but what else were we to do? I started huffing and puffing and trying to force air down Lefty’s windpipe. The problem was that his tongue was too swollen to make an airtight seal between my mouth and his snout. A bit of air would get in but most would just escape from the side of his mouth while making a futile kind of ‘fart’ noise. No matter how hard we tried to force air into his windpipe, it wouldn’t work; his tongue and throat had swollen shut. At that point, definitely panicking, my Dad put his whole mouth over Lefty’s snout, essentially enveloping it, and began to blow as hard as he could. One breath, two breaths, three full breaths and VOILA!!! We had life!! Enough air was getting into his lungs through his nose to jump-start our boy back to life. After the initial kick, we had to try and time our rescue breathing with his natural breaths. After a little while, Lefty got his timing down and was able to breathe on his own, however shallowly.

It was Sunday so we couldn’t just take him to the Vet. We called a couple Vet’s on the phone and they basically told us that because the capillary refill to his gums was so bad and because his breathing was so shallow, he was already dead. This was an insufficient answer for us, so we tried to keep Lefty comfortable and stabilize him so that we could get him to the Emergency Veterinary Hospital in Bakersfield, which was an hour and a half away. Lefty seemed to most comfortable, and most capable of breathing, when he was standing on all fours, with his head reaching forward. Lefty nearly crashed on us a few more times when he would try to walk or lie down. Those movements caused him to seize up and tighten all of his muscles. His eyes would also lurch forward out of his head like a dog that was, well, about to die. Each time he would stabilize and calm down after a while. We kept him in that head forward position for another hour and a half, at which point we got ready load up Lefty and take him to get help. Lefty wasn’t exactly “ready to move,” but at that point we knew we couldn’t just wait it out, we had to get him the care he needed and hopefully a fair shot at living.

My Dad started driving as quickly as was still safe, while I sat in the back with Lefty. The trip started out well enough and we got all the way to the freeway without incident. About 45 minutes into the trip Lefty started to panic and then crashed. His eyes bugged out, his muscles tightened and he began to lose his bowels. I hurriedly tried to force air into his lungs while keeping him in a standup position. After struggling for about 10 seconds, his very tense body went limp. At that point, I tried not to panic and recommitted myself the rescue breathing. I began blowing air into his lifeless body through his nose, while also trying to depress his tongue to see if I could get air passed his swollen tongue. After about a minute… OUCH!!!, he snapped to, literally. Lefty had come back again and, while doing so, chomped down on my thumb and pointer finger. Moments after coming back, Lefty vomited a tremendous amount of blood (what I know now is that his lung had most likely popped from being overinflated, a result of me not being properly trained in CPR). The vomiting seemed to relieve some pressure for Lefty–odd as that sounds. He started breathing somewhat rhythmically again, although it was still very shallow. We screeched to a halt in front of the Vet Hospital and rushed Lefty in, thinking to ourselves, “we did it,” “he’s gonna be okay.” I carried him in and the awaiting staff went to work.

We paced in the waiting room, covered in blood, but nonetheless very confident that our resilient boy was going to make it. I kept asking the receptionist if he was breathing back there, but she just kept saying that they were working on him. About 15 minutes into our agonizing wait, the Dr. came out told us that he was gone. She said that he didn’t stay breathing long enough for them to get a tube down his throat. She also told us that the blood work showed his blood to be terribly thin and that he had definitely suffered a Rattle Snake bite, most likely to the tongue. She asked us if we wanted to see him, my Dad said no, but once I said yes he agreed and followed me in. We got to touch our courageous cattle dog for one last time, and then we said goodbye. We left that place (hopefully never to return) and went home to bury our boy.

On the way home we cried, not the whole time but enough. I told my Dad that I loved him very much and he told me the same. He told me that he was very proud of the way I handled the situation and how I did my best help our boy, and I told him that the only reason I could was because he was there with me. It had been a rough 2 days that involved an immense combination of emotions, but we couldn’t give him away until we buried him. We buried our boy next to glorious Pine Tree with a spectacular view of the valley. We said a few words about Lefty and we embraced. No other moment in my life has come close to revealing to me what that moment did about my love for my Father.