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My Magnificent Monty
This is Monty.
Sometimes known as Monty-butt, Monty Man-Man, or Montravious Montaigne Montague Montgomery. Other times known as Monster or Gremlin.
Monty came into our lives as a random, surprise favor to another nurse. He had been the much loved companion to an older woman who had received in-home nursing care for many years. His owner passed away recently and he was bequeathed to the home health nurse that had loved him so much during those years caring for his owner.
She was touched that he had been entrusted to her, but things being what they are in California, she lived in a small apartment. Even though he was a small dog, her apartment did not allow pets and she could not take him. She had found a family in Riverside that had other dogs and that assured her that they would take great care of him. He would be surrounded by other dogs and a loving family.
A few months later, the nurse checked in with the family (who was resistant to her communications) to find that he was not well taken care of and was not doing well being surrounded by other larger dogs. She was going to have her son drive her the 1 hour out to Riverside to rescue him.
But then she had nowhere to keep him.
This is where my family joined the story. My daughter was a part of a theater program with the nurse’s son. They kept in touch, as theater people often do, and he asked if she knew anyone who might be willing to do them a favor. I was setting up my condo with our various boxed belongings when she asked if I might please please look at this photo. He was small, she said. He wouldn’t take up much room, she said.
The dog in question, pre haircut, post-bath. Very fluffy.
It would be helping to take care of an elderly dog and give him the best years of his life, she said.
It would be giving an old woman her dying wish while also helping a nurse, she said.
Reluctantly, I drove out to Fullerton to meet this lady and to see what the situation really was. We had coffee. We chatted. We laughed. We talked about our patients and life and what happens when we leave our loved ones behind.
At that moment, over Starbucks, I agreed.
A week or so later, we were to have this Monty delivered to us with his belongings and food and his medical file. I was surprised when they came early. She couldn’t stand to have him there any longer. I received a text while at work that Monty had already arrived to his new home.
Monty after a medically necessary trim.
This was how this cantankerous, bitey, always-shedding, somehow really bouncy elderly dog came into our lives. We kept in touch with the nurse and offered visits.
This Christmas, we did a DNA test. We found out that this “wire-haired Jack Russel” was actually more Maltese than Jack Russel (by 0.4%) and was part Poodle to boot. This explained how his hair was so soft, yet oddly frizzy, and not at all wiry. This explained how he was sassy, but also much more affectionate than the typical JR. It explained a lot about his mannerisms and his tendencies. Unfortunately, it didn’t explain anything about why he would randomly bite us (mostly at night and mostly just me). I figured he had doggie dementia and since he didn’t break the skin, I tended to just pay more attention to the things that seemed to trigger him the most.
After six months, we were all finally settling into something of a routine. We kept our bedroom doors open at night so he could wander between the rooms taking turns sleeping with my daughter and sleeping at my side of the bed. We would take him for brief walks during the day. We would make sure to follow him out so that he didn’t mark the patio or take the most expedient route(which was directly in front of the door) when needing the facilities. I put his dog bed next to me when I was at the computer and no one else was home so that he could be close and rest his old bones in his soft bed.
Perched in his favorite spot: watching the door.
He began perching on the back of the couch at night so that he was in the midst of everything and could watch the comings and goings of the family. It was very cat-like, but he was amazingly spry: he just about hovered mid-air with some of his jumps and I was amazed he wasn’t injured with his acrobatics.
The other night, he threw up. My daughter grumbled while cleaning it up and we tried to figure out what was upsetting his stomach this time. He was notoriously sensitive to foods and stress and it all presented itself in various bodily effusions. We thought about it and I cooked dinner. When I sat down to eat, I did not think much of it, but he was not snerfing around for food as he usually did. He wasn’t directly under my husband’s plate attempting to lick part of it or snatch a bit of food. I looked down and he was laying on the rug directly at my feet.
He never, ever lays directly at my feet like that.
I touched him and he was trembling. A wheeze or whine escaped with each breath. Something was very, very wrong with Monty. My daughter gathered him up in his blanket and we raced to the veterinary emergency room. It was 8 pm.
By midnight the vet had done all of the relevant testing. His labs were alright. Nothing too remarkable. A slightly elevated bilirubin. A slightly low white blood cell count. Nothing that would be a red flag. Nothing notable. Nothing that would explain anything. But as we had agreed, she had performed his abdominal ultrasound after giving him a hefty dose of pain medicine and found fluid in his abdomen.
She started to explain what it meant when I told her that I was a nurse, I understood the basics. She said there was enough to sample and that it was consistent with his blood test. It started to add up in my mind. Free fluid in the abdomen. “As you know, blood in the abdomen is never normal.” I said that I understood that and asked where it was coming from, did she know, could she see?
“I am not a radiologist. That is not my specialty. They could probably see more. His liver is enlarged and irregular… I can’t say anything for sure. But his liver is irregular and that is not normal.”
I told her to go ahead and do the chest x-ray and see if they could see anything else. If it was cancer, there might be tumors. It might explain something.
It explained nothing.
“Blood in the abdomen is a medical emergency. He would require surgery. We might find the cause of the bleeding. If it is what I suspect it is, he might re-bleed.”
And then I started to understand that this was not something that Monty was going to survive. Dr. Google knows all and when she mentioned that he likely had hemangiosarcoma, I began doing my homework. My daughter and I got back into the car (Covid protocols indicated that we couldn’t be in-office, so there was no point sitting in the parking lot for hours) and drove to the dog ER. We sat directly outside waiting for any further results, any more information. The information we did get confirmed our worst fears. Monty would not survive this.
After a stomach-wrenching conversation with the vet, she agreed that euthanasia was probably the best option. Given his age, given his chances of re-bleed, given his life expectancy even with surgery (3-6 months), it was the kindest thing to do for our little Monty.
My daughter texted the nurse at 11pm to update her about Monty. The vets let us know that he was stable enough and was medicated enough that he was in good spirits and we could visit with him (outside, obviously). The nurse and her son drove faster than was prudent and arrived before our shared dog even was brought out. She was sobbing through her mask. We had been sobbing ourselves and my daughter had the forethought to bring a box of tissues and a bag to hold the used ones. We stood there saying our hellos in between choked sobs. Nurses hate crying, so we tried to compose ourselves multiple times, failing each time we made the lame attempt.
Monty in better days, curled up on my down comforter (that he later marked).
Monty was brought out on a leash. Walking! Walking toward us and wagging his tail slightly. When he saw his nurse, his tail raised higher in recognition of his old friend and she cooed at him and took pictures with him. We all sat on the cold asphalt of the parking lot together as a street sweeper and a man with a leaf blower interrupted our last visit. It took everything in me not to run up to them and scream, “Have some decency! You can see something emotional is happening! Have some g-d sense and decency!” But I was too busy trying to get in a few last moments of love with this little terrierist who I tolerated, who I acquiesced to let into my life but now couldn’t seem to imagine doing without.
He was obviously still in pain. As the time went on, the medication was wearing off and he stepped more carefully, his tail wagging less energetically. He came to me a few times in the circle of loved ones, but he seemed to know that I was the one making the decision and acted accordingly.
I had irrational moments thinking he looked so good. He could be fine, couldn’t he? He could get through this. We could just take him home.
But I knew it was just an appearance tricking my heart into doing what it wanted rather than what was right.
When the time came, they took us in through a back door into a single room tented off from the rest of the practice. The vet came in and brought our Monty back to us for our last goodbye. He stood anxiously for a few moments as the vet quietly shut the door and reminded us to take as much time as we needed.
He began leaning into my daughter, then slid into a sit, finally into laying down, his weight pressing on her. We just sat and pet him and told him how much we loved him. We told him all the things he already knew but we needed to say for ourselves. We scritched his head and tenderly pet him in ways that he would previously never allow (another sign he was seriously unwell). I held his little paws which were cold. His energetic little body was finally failing him and the blood was shunting to his core to keep his heart beating. We called for the vet and she came in, explaining the process. I mentioned how cold his feet were and she nodded appropriately, confirming what I already suspected. Clinicians talking together, I composed myself for a moment as she waited for the signal.
We held him close and in a moment, just a moment, he was gone.
So quickly, his little life had left his frail body. Just like that, it was over. He would have no more pain.
For us, though, the pain was just starting. My magnificent older gentleman Monty, the dog who couldn’t be left to his own devices, the dog who wouldn’t stop peeing on my rug in the same stupid spot just the day before would not come home with us.
While it is so fresh and raw, I am struck by how much he touched our lives.
My magnificent Monty was with us for 7 months but I have cried over him as much (possibly more) than any other dog that I have owned for years. The time he was with us was short; much shorter than we would have liked. But our lives were changed forever due to his intuitive nature and tyrannical need to be near us in our emotional times. He knew when we needed him near and even though he did not always enjoy our touches (apparently it’s 2/3 of a pet on the back, not 1/3 more!) he tolerated them when we were distressed (which was often).
He has been my welcoming committee of one when coming home from a horrible day at work, edging out my husband’s attention to pounce and bounce and give kisses. He has been the source of comfort for my daughter when in bed, body wracked with pain.
I keep expecting to hear his nails skittering across the floor in the morning. I keep leaving the door open a crack so that he can find me in the night.
It will take time for our hearts to heal and to unlearn the various trained behaviors he instilled in us. Our time with Monty was too short but I hope we gave him the best 7 months he could have had.
I hope that someday when I pass, he will be there to greet me like he always did after a long day at work; with leaps and kisses and unrestrained joy at meeting once again.
looks a lot like ours but Maisie is about 70% Maltese. Our first one was also and we only had her for 4 years before an expanding heart did her in. You need another one.
How fortunate that his last days were so filled with care and love.
Aww! I was going to ask if he was a Malti-Poo and the you answered the question. My next-door neighbor has one and she paid $800 for him. Monty was very lucky you found him. Condolences.
I never wanted a small dog or what we call “puntables”. They’re too easily hurt, many are pretty tempermental and are breeds that I just can’t stand. I never wanted a Jack Russel. They’re known to be bitey and sassy and bossy. I never wanted a poodle (for much the same reasons). Chihuahuas are right out (cannot stand them) and anything with a smushed face I cannot abide.
I “tolerated” the suggestion of adoption because he was old and it was for another nurse. I figured, at the least, we’d have a few years with him and he appeared to be well behaved. He wasn’t super small, so maybe he wouldn’t be awful.
He was not awful at all. He was nippy for no discernable reason (a Russel trait, I’m told).
It will be a while before we get another dog.
Beautiful post. I’ve owned two rabbits who I loved, but I don’t think I can put myself through losing a pet again. Monty was a wonderful dog. I’m sorry for your loss.
understood. But when you start looking again check out the Maltese. Not snippy at all. The SPCAs we got ours from said they were the friendliest small dogs they worked with. When we went to the Palo Alto one to check on our latest, 3 came from their pens barking like crazy. Maisie came up and licked our hand. Instant adoption.
During the last year of my wife’s parents’ lives (they both died at home within a few months of each other), their live-in home care giver became quite attached to my in-laws’ miniature poodle, Joe. Joe the poodle (who always loved running around my in-laws’ large yard when he wasn’t snoozing in my father-in-law’s lap) now is living quite the life of fun running around the care giver’s family farm (near Sacramento). Although Joe is descended from show dogs, a severe jaw and teeth defect prevented him from becoming a show dog himself, but did not interfere with any aspect of living. Joe has never had a “poodle cut” styling.
We were quite relieved that the care giver wanted Joe, and that Joe was happy to go with her, as no one in our family was capable of taking on the dog, and we had no idea how one might go about finding a home for him.
Doesn’t take long to get into the heart, does it? I have had to have two friends put to sleep. (Standard long-hair dachshunds)
It is a hard thing.
A friend was emphatic he would never get another dog after losing one. He was wrong.
Me, I have two Shiba Inu, as different as they can possibly be.
Shiba Inu! Now that’s a breed. They’re known for their personalities as well.
Perhaps. But we love ’em anyhow. When we got them they were the most popular breed in Japan, at least per AKC. Big fellow we got when he was six weeks, little girl when she was 8 weeks. She rules the roost
You certainly did well by Monty. I am sure his former owner would be happy knowing that when his time came, he was among people who loved him.
I knew when I saw the opening lines that this was going to end with me crying. I said it in another post but I’ll say it again here: I believe that those who welcome an older pet into their hearts and home have a special place in Heaven. When your time comes, your special place will be with Monty the Magnificent. I am so sorry for your loss. I know life has been tough for you these days.
Condolences on your loss of Monty. All dogs are special, some more than others. You gave him a good life for the months he had remaining. It is never easy, but they add so much to our lives while they are here.
So sorry to read this . . .
An open heart is a gift we unexpectantly get repaid many, many times over.
Thank you for sharing your and Monty’s story with us. I’m sorry for your loss.
Condolences to you. Losing such a friend is a hard thing. Our Scruffy (“The Wonder Dog”) was a shelter dog who put up with us getting three deerhounds over the years. He started bigger, then they grew to the point where he could walk under them. He was the brains of the group and would always be on the go.
After one walk, he collapsed coming up the driveway. We took him to the Vet whose words were “I don’t think he is enjoying being a dog any more” which was true. Just typing this brings tears to my eyes, but it was up to us to make the decision. Our last deerhound (Belle) is now 11+, which is very old for the breed. I am dreading that day, but all of our dogs have brought us so much love. Unconditional (specially if food is involved!)
Thank you. This comment struck me as particularly true. It is the times when we are open to things and open our hearts up that we are often so rewarded; often beyond anything we would’ve imagined would be the case.
It’s taken me a moment to get to this comment because it struck me. I have told my husband and daughter many times that if I won the lottery, I wanted to run a retirement home for animals. I just wanted to adopt old dogs and old cats and old horses and give them the best retirement ever.
I figured if I did it the right way, many of them would probably make good to decent therapy animals and I could have an adult day care/memory care facility or day hospital for mental health on the (very large rural-ish) property. The caretakers could live on the property: one bunkhouse for the animal carers and one for the people carers.
And it would fill a large need in the community and it would provide rest, solace, and joy to people and animals that are often neglected as being “past their prime” and no longer useful to society.
I don’t know how my heart could take it, but it seemed like something that needed doing.
Although for kids, not adults, Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch in eastern Oregon uses old or “broken” horses to help “broken” kids in a manner similar to what you dream of. I have heard several presentations by the founder, Kim Meeder, who has some great stories of how animals and people have helped each other.
https://www.crystalpeaksyouthranch.org
If you start this, which is a great idea, let me know when you have fund raisers.
I’m choked up. Bless you, and remember the good times. I couldn’t write a post about the times I’ve had to take one of our cats for their last trip.