— By Dr. Henri Bianucci, Board-Certified Veterinary Surgeon
Susan, my (Henri Bianucci) wife, was driving in downtown Charleston when something caught her eye.
On the corner was a young woman, holding a puppy. It looked like a pot-bellied rabbit, and she felt compelled to stop.
“So cute!” She exclaimed, “What kind is she?”
The woman answered that it was half pit bull and half greyhound.
Concerned about the puppy’s appearance, Susan asked about her diet. The reply was “apple sauce, just apple sauce.” She asked if she had ever been to the vet, and the answer was no. She added that the little dog’s name was Trixie.
It became clear that this person had neither knowledge about the needs of a puppy nor the means to provide them. True to form, Susan arranged to meet her in the same spot on the following day for a trip to the vet.
That evening, to my chagrin, I found our kitchen table awash with bags of premium dog food and toys that Susan had purchased for the dog. We became Trixie’s sponsors. Susan had volunteered me to spay her and pledged that I would do anything that Trixie ever needed in terms of medical care.
I thought, “Where does this end?” Then one evening I came home and got my answer. Trixie was not allowed in the apartment complex, and we were now her “temporary” fosters.
Days turned to weeks, with no word from the owner. Meanwhile, my family was getting attached to Trixie. Her erect ears that bent at the tips gave the impression of a rabbit. Her brindled, white fur revealed pit bull roots, but she had a long body and short legs like a Corgi. The net effect put a smile on the face of anyone who saw her.
It became clear that Trixie’s owner would not be taking her back, so one of my technicians adopted her. When she called to tell me how well things were going, a commotion broke out in the background. Turned out Trixie didn’t much like the technician’s other dog. Trixie was back with us in less than 48 hours.
Then Trixie became severely ill. She could barely raise her head, and her sparkling eyes were dull and dry. Next, came the bloody diarrhea with the unmistakable smell of parvo, a potentially fatal gastrointestinal virus.
She was miserable but responded to treatment. While still sick, but improving, I took her for a brief walk. She reluctantly walked down the block. On the way back, when she reached our sidewalk, without a prompt, she turned towards the house. I looked at her and said, “Yes, Trixie, this is your home.”
Trixie was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of dog. Her unique personality, love, loyalty, intelligence and quiet dignity set her apart from the others. She joined our family when it was just beginning. The memories we were creating would be the ones we hold most dear.
She became a very colorful addition to our story. When we were at a party for the parents of my daughter’s class, we received a frantic phone call from the babysitter, Amanda. She was about 13, and it was her first babysitting job. We had two pet chickens, Alfred and Gloria, and the kids were frantic because Gloria was missing. Poor Amanda was trying to find her when our kids began screaming from the bedroom. Trixie resolved the mystery by vomiting Gloria parts onto one of the beds. Amanda never babysat for us again.
There was also the time that the egg-toss turned into a horror show. Our friend’s son, Christian, dropped the egg on the last toss of the day and Trixie and Lotus, our pug, both went for it. It cost Lotus her eye. All of the kids, none more than Christian, turned an unusual shade of pale green.
On one occasion Trixie disappeared. It was late at night and pouring rain. and I was desperate to find her. I got on my bike and rode all around our neighborhood yelling “Trixie! Trixie!” The next day my neighbor told me that her 6-year-old son told her that a crazy man was riding his bike around in the rain yelling for a taxi.
Trixie made me a better veterinarian. When I sit in a room with a client, who goes on about how worried the is about his dog, or how he really doesn’t want it to suffer, and then he looks at me and says, “You must think I’m crazy.” I think of my dogs, I think of Trixie, and I can assure them that I understand completely.
Last week, after 17 years, we said goodbye to Trixie. Like many of my dogs, the beginning was meant to be transitory. But fate had other plans and, we were all left better off as a result. That’s what happens when you let a dog into your life, or when one lets you into theirs.
