My name is Jack Griffin. My wife, Linda, and I have been members of the List for many years. While we both enjoy reading many of the messages, we rarely submit a contribution. Some of the long time List members may recall our quest to adopt Sam, a rescue pup who was brought to our attention by Margie Simon and fostered by Cindy Muir.

Just an aside but in my humble opinion, all rescue workers are angels who deserve great praise each day.

An Act of Love

Several years ago in an act of therapy, I wrote an essay on the passing of our first Griff. Sadly, I find myself in the same position today. One of our original Griffs was helped on her way last Friday. Her passing bears mention for several reasons. She was our first rescue. She was a surprise. And after 17 years she has left a mark on our lives unlike any of our other dogs.

About 14 years ago, Linda and I had two Griffs. One was Griffy. He was our first pet as a couple, a spunky little red-rough boy who could brighten the dullest day. The other was Cal, a tiny smooth boy who was the runt of the litter but had the heart of a giant. Our family was to grow and we had no idea it was about to happen.

I was working in Toronto during the week and commuting back and forth to Montreal on the weekends. This was a temporary work assignment that was to last nine months. Linda stayed at home with our two boys and grew quite close to Suzanne Greene, the local breeder from whom we adopted Griffy and Cal. On one occasion, Linda traveled to Toronto for the weekend, rather than have me come back to Montreal. Our boys bunked in with Suzanne and her dogs. It was like a mini vacation and I had all sorts of fun and romantic plans for the two of us.

Linda arrived at the Toronto International Airport with her overnight bag in tow and a secret just bursting to get out. After greeting me her first words were "I have something to tell you". I said "me too, but first I want to take you dinner at this great little Italian restaurant". My news concerned all of the plans for us for the weekend. Linda's news was to be more profound than either of us could know.

The dinner was at a delightful place called Madam Rosa's. The food and the atmosphere could not have been more perfect. Through dinner I prattled on about the wonderful things I had planned for Saturday and Sunday. But Linda was distracted. Then I remembered what she had said at the airport. "So what's your news, sweetie?" I asked. Linda looked me in the eye and said "How would you like another dog". She was positively thrumming with excitement.

"Another dog? What dog? Where? How?" Linda told me her story. Suzanne, the breeder, had a dog that was the littermate to our own little Cal. The littermate was a female smoothie who, up until the previous week, was with a family that turned out to be abusive and neglectful. As soon as Suzanne learned of the abuse she pulled the poor little girl out and took her back home. Unfortunately Suzanne's health was not the best and she was ill equipped to care for this poor dog. When Linda brought our boys over to Suzanne for the weekend, she heard the whole story along with a plea to help find a home for this sorry little girl.

However, when Linda and Cal's littermate laid eyes on each other it was love at first sight. Linda said, "Aren't you a pretty little thing" and the puppy (they are always puppies) threw herself out prone at Linda's feet as if to say, "Yes I am, and you're pretty nice too"! Linda said we would take care of the little girl, but she needed to check with me to see if I was agreeable. There was an instant bond between human and animal, but Suzanne was concerned.

Suzanne felt that with two dogs, caring for this rescue would be too much for us. Linda blew away her objections by claiming that two dogs were no more trouble than one and three would be no more trouble than two. Suzanne was still unsure, but decided to reserve judgment.

Finally, Linda had completed her tale. She sat quivering in anticipation. Uncertain of how I would react, she almost flinched when I asked my first of only two questions. I asked, "Do you want this dog?". "Yes, oh yes, oh yes, yes, yes" was her immediate answer. Then I asked my last question, "What's her name"?

"She is called Rosa", Linda said.

I knew right then and there that we would have this dog. I asked Linda if she remembered the name of the restaurant we were in this night. She did not. I told her, "Linda, we're in Madam Rosa's and we are meant to have this dog, do what you need to do to bring her home". Linda's jaw dropped, just for a second, as she realized that we were about to adopt Rosa into our family.

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur. I doubt if either Linda or I could remember what we did those two days. Sunday night came and I saw Linda off at the airport. She was a woman on a mission. Little did we know that in less than 24 hours our hopes of rescuing Rosa would be dealt a severe blow.

As Linda was telling me Rosa's story, Suzanne had received a call from a man who was looking for a pet for his wife. They were an older couple with no children who were looking for a pet to love. Suzanne told Linda that she had arranged to meet the couple on Monday night to see how they interacted with Rosa. Linda was heartbroken. She asked Suzanne if she could be present when the prospective couple met Rosa. Suzanne agreed.

The couple arrived soon after Linda. Suzanne had been telling Linda how they sounded like the perfect family for little Rosa. Linda kept up a brave front as she had decided to trust the outcome to fate. After all, there was Madame Rosa's to consider.

Rosa took to the gentleman right away. She has always been a softie for the men. But the woman was a different story. Even though the woman was obviously taken with Rosa, our little girl felt just the opposite. She struggled in her arms and tried to push away. When the woman put Rosa on the floor, Rosa ducked under a chair and would not come back out. Suzanne asked the woman to step out of the apartment for a moment. The instant she was gone, Rosa poked her head out to see if the coast was clear and then ran into Linda's arms. Suzanne had to tell the couple that she was very sorry but Rosa was not for them. No amount of money or pleading would change Suzanne's mind. The couple left to look for another pet. Suzanne gave Linda her blessing. Rosa officially became a member of the family.

Before we could take Rosa home, we would have to have her spayed as a condition of the adoption. We readily agreed as both of our male Griffs were intact and we wished to avoid complications. We are just pet owners, not breeders. Rosa had the procedure. After a successful recovery, Linda and I brought her to the last home she would have for the rest of her long life.

My time in Toronto was at an end. So I had the fun and pleasure of watching Rosa integrate into our pack. Griffy was the Alpha male. Cal was a submissive sweetheart. Rosa was a force of nature. There was a brief power struggle between Griffy and Rosa, which worked out in a few days. In the end, Linda & I were pack leaders, Griffy remained the Alpha male canine, Rosa was the Alpha bitch and Cal was happy to follow wherever we would lead.

Our three Griffs became close. Cal was especially fond of Rosa. I suspect there is a bond among smooth coats and rough coats. Cal and Rosa became twined. Griffy was the benevolent dictator. There was harmony. There was never an empty lap. The same could not be said for the food bowls.

Whether it was due to the neglect, suffered during her early years, or due to her love for all things edible, Rosa never met a food bowl she didn't like. Two things soon occurred. Rosa got bigger and the ever-submissive Cal began to loose weight. This was not a good thing. Cal was small to begin with and Rosa was becoming decidedly round. She earned the nickname "Pork Chop". We had to hand feed Cal to ensure he had enough to eat. After much trial and error the weight situation stabilized, to a certain extent. Cal was still quite small, but getting no smaller and Rosa had a fair size belly. But the rapid weight gain had finally ceased.

For many years we were a solid little group. Seasons passed as Griffy, Cal and Rosa all aged. By the time Griffy was 13, Cal and Rosa had reached the ripe old age of 12. Cal contracted a rare form of canine skin cancer. One month after the final diagnosis Cal led the way to doggie heaven, where Griffy and Rosa would one day follow. It was during that painful time that we noticed that Rosa had difficulty with stairs. She could get her round little belly up the steps without much difficulty, but she balked at going down.

A trip to the vet revealed cataracts were rapidly developing on our Rosa's eyes. Because of her age and weight, the vet was reluctant to perform the necessary surgery to restore her vision.

Over the next months Rosa's vision dimmed to the point of total blindness. Griffy, now frail, became her Seeing Eye dog and constant companion. Linda & I worried that one of our two elderly dogs would soon follow Cal. We wanted to avoid a sole survivor situation. Thus began our search for another Griff.

Suzanne's health worsened to the point where she could not breed. Brussels Griffon breeders in Canada are scarcer than fleas on a bowling ball. So in our search we turned to the Internet. After a few leads and false starts we found our way to the Griffy List. Time, we felt, was passing all too quickly. Both of our remaining dogs were old and getting older. Griffy, while still a happy dog, was increasingly unsteady on his legs. Rosa was completely blind and was becoming more lethargic with each passing day. We honestly did not know how much time either Griff had left.

Through the Griffy List we learned of Brussels Griffon Rescue. From there we found our way to Marjorie Simon and Cindy Muir and Sam. In September I flew from Montreal to Atlanta and back with Sam the rescue pup. Sam was a one and a half to two year old smooth coat male. He was and still is a sturdy bundle of energy. Once again, Linda and I were faced with the prospect of incorporating a new dog into our now elderly pack.

Griffy reluctantly relinquished the Alpha male position in all but name. Sam was too strong and too healthy to be dominated by our old man. To his credit, Sam was always gentle and kind to Griffy. He never overtly dominated the older male, but remained clearly in charge of the four-legged members of our pack. Rosa's relationship with Sam was nothing short of miraculous.

Sam was a tonic for Rosa. As with Cal, a special bond formed with the two smooth coats. In this case, the much younger Sam revitalized Rosa. Many months of inactivity gave way in the face of Sam's whirling dervish antics. Sam had no idea Rosa couldn't see him. So he didn't know he couldn't play with her. Rosa, who hadn't played in many years, soon found herself trying to chase the elusive puppy with only his scent as a guide. Rosa became quite adept at Snuffer Radar. She could track Sam down and loved to steal his chew toys. Sam was tolerant of Rosa's larcenous ways, as we made sure there were plenty of toys to go around.

With Sam firmly in place, Griffy backed off more and more. Sam and Rosa were joined at the hip and Griffy, now an outsider, slid deeper into infirmity. Eventually Griffy told us it was time for him to join Cal. We sent him on his way with our tears, love and tenderness.

Rosa slimmed down. The Sam and Rosie Show took to the center stage in our family drama. Rosa, now Rosie due to her second lease on life and new attitude, came to be known by many names. Sometimes she was Digger on account of her new habit of pawing the carpet. Rosie would start by circling a choice location, then she would scratch until she found a good spot, then she would plunk her snout into the carpet pile, snuffle and then paw furiously first with one paw and then with both. She would hunker down and dig, dig, dig to China. Once satisfied that she had unearthed whatever was hiding below, she would circle once more and throw herself down for a power nap.

Sometimes she was known as Bumper Dog. This was usually after one of Sam's hit and run attacks. Rosie would loose her bearings and ricochet off walls, counters and furniture till she situated herself again. We never failed to wince when Bumper Dog would crash into a wall, bounce back and charge again with similar results. At first we were concerned Rosie would injure herself, but after the first couple episodes of Griffy pinball we relaxed. Rosie never showed any sign of discomfort and she had an innate sense that prevented excessive acceleration prior to impact. Also, she had a hard head.

But mostly Rosie was Snuggle Bunny. She loved to curl up to a warm body. Sam was her favorite snuggle partner, although she was not opposed to Linda or I if the occasion presented itself. She was a cuddly cutie. It was her most favorite pass time.

Less than a year had gone since Sam joined our family and Griffy had left, when we went to the vet for the annual check-up and heartworm tests. The vet was astounded at Rosie's transformation. He pronounced her fit and healthy, aside from a minor heart murmur common to most elderly dogs. Linda asked about Rosie's eyes. The vet said that now that she was in such great shape he saw no reason why the cataracts couldn't be removed. We were stunned. It had always been our wish to return Rosie's sight, especially now that she had a companion such as Sam. Without hesitation we made an appointment with an eye specialist.

The specialist examined Rosie. Her cataracts were hyper mature, but operable. The procedure would be expensive and there was a concern over her age. Rosie was now 14 and heading towards 15. Anesthesia could be dangerous. However there was a new compound, usually used on humans that would pose less of a risk. The catch was that is was new and very expensive. Linda and I were torn. Rosie was an old dog. The procedure was expensive and there was risk. But there was a chance for Rosie to see again. We thought about it, debated and searched our souls. Then we took a chance.

Rosie's cataracts were removed. There were complications during the surgery. One eye was perfect. The other had problems. The best way to describe the problem in layman terms was the eye sprung a leak during the procedure. Rosie recovered from the anesthesia but now required a regime of drugs to combat possible infection, eye pressure and irritation. We were told that she could regain as much as 80% of her vision if all went well in the next weeks.

This began what we refer to as the Eye period. For the next six months we administered ¼ pills, ½ pills, whole pills and eye drops on a daily schedule that would have made NASA proud. We also had weekly visits to the specialist who closely followed Rosie's progress. Rosie was a trooper. She endured the medications and drops with a quiet grace. The specialist became quite fond of Rosie during this period. But most importantly, for the first time in years, Rosie could see!!!

Rosie looked right at us when we called her name. She would navigate the kitchen, dining room and living room without a single Bumper Dog episode. And she would start interacting with Sam as the instigator. It was a wonderful time. The risk had been worth it. Our Rosie could play.

Disaster struck 6 months after the first procedure. The pressure in the problem eye was increasing to painful levels. The specialist asked for and received our permission to remove the problem eye. Rosie would retain much of her regained vision and her medication could be reduced by more than half. The eye was removed and Rosie nearly died during the operation. The anesthesia reaction we worried about had occurred. Rosie went into shock. Thankfully she was revived, but her recovery was much more labored. More medication, and drops were required.

The second shoe dropped about a week after Rosie was released. Linda and I had just finished dinner. We were casually watching Sam and Rosie when we noticed something unusual about Rosie's behavior. She was standing stock still in the middle of the kitchen, looking lost, frightened and confused. She refused to move, even when called. Even Sam could not get a reaction out of her.

We rushed Rosie into the vets. The specialist was on duty that night. She examined Rosie and discovered that the retina had detached in her remaining eye. While we were watching Rosie in the kitchen the sight that was recently returned had been snatched away in an instant. Rosie was blind again. This time she was blind for keeps. Linda and I were devastated. After all this poor little dog had been through she was back in the dark. But this time her sight did not gradually diminish, it was snapped off like a light. Rosie was scared. She was disoriented. All we could do was reassure her and love her and take her back home.

Rosie was not beaten. Incredibly, after only two days, Rosie was back to normal. All of the skills she had learned during her first bout of blindness returned. The Snuffer Radar was still working just fine. Bumper Dog was back. Rosie continued to enjoy her thrice-daily walks with Sam; she still snatched chew toys and occasionally bounced off the walls. Rosie endured her blindness without loosing any of her love of life. She earned a new nickname. Rosie was now known as Rosie the One-Eyed Wonder Dog.

Time continued to pass, as time is wont to do. Rosie blew past her fifteenth and sixteenth birthdays without much comment. It seemed that in spite of her various afflictions Rosie would last forever. Alas, age will not be denied. Rosie was quite gray. One day Rosie was off her food. She had diarrhea and she was vomiting. We had seen similar cases of doggie flu with our other dogs. Rosie herself has had a few bouts of it over the years. Usually it was a day or two of mess and after some boiled white rice all would be well. Not this time. Rosie could not keep anything down. Her vomit was yellow with bile. Her diarrhea became watery and there was some blood.

Rosie stayed at the vets for a week this time. She was on an I.V. with lots of vitamins and antibiotics. We nearly lost her again. Evidently she had not been eating enough, often enough. Her stomach produced an abundance of bile, which triggered the vomiting and diarrhea. She had become dehydrated and almost bought the farm. Rosie the One-Eyed Wonder Dog gave us the worst scare yet, but she bounced back yet again. After 7 days she was back to her old self.

Rosie had slowed down somewhat and had developed some old-age warts. One of these warts quite literally grew to be a problem. Soon after Rosie had turned 16, Linda noticed a bump on her forehead. It was nothing really, just a bump that was pushing through her fur. The vet confirmed it was just a little wart, nothing to worry about. Right. The wart grew into a flesh colored pimple the size of a small pea. It was smack in the center of Rosie's forehead. It was ugly. It continued to grow. Still it was nothing to be concerned about, aside from the aesthetics. It grew some more, now it was the size of a dime. Rosie's sense of direction was getting worse as well. When she made contact with a wall or a chair leg the wart took the brunt of the impact.

The damn wart would not stop growing. Not only was it ugly, really ugly, it started to bleed as well. Rosie would bang it; it would bleed, scab over and crust up. The vet would not touch it. He said Rosie would not likely survive a general anesthesia and he could not remove the wart with just a local. He suggested Compound-W. The wart liked it. It continued to grow. Our once pretty little girl was a mess. The wart was a bloody mass. We were washing the walls to remove the Rosie spots (blood prints). Now the wart was the size of a mushroom. It bled constantly, soaking the surrounding fur and smelled like spoiled pork. Then we noticed that Rosie was scratching at it. She would scrape her paw across the wart then lick her paw and repeat. Endlessly. Now her breath stank.

All of our dogs sleep with us. Always have, always will. Rosie's spot was between my pillow and Linda's. Thanks to the wart from hell, Rosie reeked like a dead thing. We still loved her. You can learn to ignore smell. After a while we could look into her face and pretend we didn't see the sodden mess between her eyes, (well between her eye sockets). But we were still concerned over the blood she was ingesting. We solicited second and third opinions from the vets at the animal clinic where we have been going for all these years. One vet agreed to try to remove the wart while using minimal anesthesia.

That was two months ago. Once again Rosie came through with flying colors. Her forehead was clear. The blood and the smell and the bad breath had been excised along with the mutant flesh. Our little girl was pretty once again. More importantly, she was healthy. Or so we thought.

Two weeks ago Rosie went off her food again. By now Linda and I had a bag of tricks to tempt a fussy dog. Each meal was a loosing contest. Rosie had no interest in food. She ate less and less each day. The vomiting and diarrhea started again. She became extremely lethargic, sleeping most of the day and all of the night. We noticed her breathing was labored as well. So we got back in the car to visit the vet. By now we knew Rosie needed help. We were told to keep her eating and drinking. We were told that her liver was not functioning well. Food and fluids would help, we were told.

A week went by. Rosie did not improve. Our walks were slower and much shorter. On Friday the thirteenth of last week, Rosie passed out during the walk. She just collapsed. After about 15 seconds she regained consciousness but was clearly in distress. Linda rushed her to the vet for the last time. I stayed at home with Sam as we were expecting out of town guests that evening. Sam knew something was up. Dogs are spooky that way. An hour later Linda called. Rosie was suffering from congestive heart failure. The fluids in her body were slowly drowning her. Her time had finally come. A tear-choked voice asked me if we should let her go. I thought to myself that Griffy and Cal had been waiting a long time for her to join them. I told Linda what she already knew. "Kiss her good-bye for me and come home, I love you."

That night we left Sam alone. Our out of town guests had arrived and we were celebrating a birthday. Linda and I put our grief in a box. And played host to our guests. They were saddened by the news of Rosie's passing. She had been part of our family for close to 15 years and everybody loved her. I'm writing this on Sunday. I started after our guests returned home. There is a sense of emptiness in our house tonight. The emptiness cannot be easily dismissed. It is not because we had a house full of guests now gone. How did a seven-pound dog manage to take up so much space?

As I write this and look back on our life with Rosie, I wonder if we did right by her? Did we put her through too much with her ill-fated eye surgery, did we keep her too long, and could we have saved her just one more time? I'd like to believe we were good for Rosie. The title of this piece is An Act of Love. It was meant to be about our love for a little dog that was abused and neglected. But as I wrote, the title came to mean more. It's about the love our Griff had for us and for her life long pack, Griffy, Cal and Sam. Despite all she has endured and through all the years she loved us as only a dog can truly love. Her life was an act of love and we are better for it.

Good night old girl, we love you.