Bringing Furby Home

I have a more "pioneer" way of looking at animals whether they are in the wild or pets at home. To my way of thinking pets are animals and have already survived thousands to millions of years or more being completely left alone by humans for the most part and they are still here. This says something important about their persistence of still being here no matter what just like it says it of any human still alive and all the people strong enough and tough enough to help them grow up for thousands to millions of years.

So, my point of view is that my dog has probably been one of my best friends for almost ten years or more already and every time my son comes home from college the last two years he tells me he doesn't really expect to see Furby alive when he comes back home the next time. Furby stopped fetching stick or balls or anything about 2 years ago now and spends most of his time when out on trails or at the beach smelling things. He always seems just so blissed out about all the things he smells everywhere and whenever we are on a trail or at the beach there is always a smile on his face. My daughter has a now 5 year old female Corgi that now does all the fetching of balls and sticks etc. that Furby trained now long ago to fetch.

So recently Furby had a tumor and it seemed like the right thing to do to have it removed even though he's old. He's been such a good friend and family member that it seemed like we owed him this at least. However, my wife is a three degree very detail oriented person who has a completely different agreement with life than I do. So, often I have to defer to her so she can cope with the result of whatever happens. However, my "fly by the seat of your pants as spontaneously as possible" and her "everything is planned in detail for weeks" conflicted because I suddenly realized intuitively that I had to bring my dog home at about 9pm last night. I was having this telepathic conversation with him that went something like this: "Furby? Are you going to be all right?" Furby:"I don't know if I"m going to live through the night or not. I want to come home. I don't like it here in the Animal Hospital." Something inside me snapped and I knew it was time for him to come home no matter what my wife thought about the subject.  So I asked her for the number of the hospital, called it, and a veterinary nurse answered and said, "Yes. He can come home." I said, "I'll be there in about 20 minutes." But then I got off the phone and found that my wife was upset with me. I realized later she just couldn't cope with a sick dog on top of everything else this week. But I said, "I don't care what you think right now. If my dog dies tonight I want him to be with family if it happens so he doesn't feel alone." So, I went to get Furby and he was home by 10pm and peeing in his own back yard even though he had a cone on his head so he wouldn't infect or pull out the stitches on his abdomen.

So, this is how Furby came home and is still alive and kicking(and even smiling sometimes) when he isn't too whacked out from pain killers and antibiotics. Anyway, it feels much better to have him home and my daughter's Corgi has started to eat again now that he's back.