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Knowing when to say goodbye to good friend
Even after losing sight, little terrier finds a way to go on

Eileen Mitchell
Saturday, April 10, 2004

How much would you be willing to sacrifice for your pet? Kim Felch found out
the day a car hit her beloved Boston terrier, Kacey.

It was a blustery June day in 1989 and the South Bay resident was preparing to
celebrate her dog's 13th birthday. More than 30 guests were expected to the
festivities, complete with two birthday cakes: one in the shape of a dog bone
for the humans and another one just for the birthday girl, made of, what else,
dog food.

But everything changed when a gust of wind slammed the back door shut, and the
startled dog bolted out the front door. Felch, then 23, searched the
neighborhood. Her worst fears were confirmed after she saw a car stopped in the
middle of the street. The driver had hit her black and white dog, he confessed,
carefully blocking the panicked guardian's view. Kacey didn't appear to have
any broken bones, but, the stranger emphasized carefully, she was injured.
Felch remembers the man struggling to find the words.

"He told me that her eyes had popped out of her head. I almost fainted. And
then I starting crying and screaming."

The man drove Felch and her injured dog to an emergency clinic, where they were
met by Felch's stepfather, a veterinarian. "He said Kacey was in shock. There
were no other injuries except for her eyes. All the nerves had been damaged.
And then my heart broke even more when he suggested that Kacey might not want
to live like this."

But the anguished young woman couldn't euthanize her dog. Not yet. "Kacey had
to make that decision, not me." Her stepfather was hesitant, but he agreed
after Felch promised to put the dog down if she didn't show a will to live
within 30 days.

So Kacey, with her eyeballs removed and lids sewn shut, came home the next day.
Her world had become a dark, scary place, confined to a kitchen corner where
she tucked herself and wouldn't move.

"She was petrified," Felch remembers. "The poor thing didn't even know how to
get up. She just lay there day after day, trembling. She would pee and defecate
all over herself. Every night I slept on the floor by her side so she wouldn't
be alone when she awakened. Every day I talked to her. I bathed her, cleaned
her eye sockets, fed her by hand, and held her."

And prayed.

On the 28th day Kacey still hadn't budged. With dread, Felch remembered her
promise. The 30 days were almost up. "My roommate and I both started crying,"
she recalls. "We were hugging each other and sobbing when all of a sudden we
heard this 'tick, tick, tick.' " The tearful women were stunned to see the
blind dog walking hesitantly across the kitchen linoleum. "She heard our voices
and was trying to find us. We started crying again, but now we were laughing
too. We were ecstatic!"

From that day forward Kacey was ready to resume living, and Felch was more than
happy to oblige. Eager to retain her dog's quality of life, the active young
woman reshuffled her priorities to accommodate her adored companion. Evening
and weekend activities became practically nonexistent. Lunch hours were spent
rushing home to check on the dog. After-work drinks or dinners were declined so
she could be with Kacey. "My social life came to a grinding halt," she admits,
"but I didn't care."

Once the sightless dog was able to navigate her surroundings, furniture was
never again rearranged. Nothing could be out of place. No shoes on the floor.
No packages, umbrellas, even newspapers. Felch cited how the little dog,
weighing just 18 pounds, once tripped over a purse left on the floor. "We had
to keep the house spotless."

For two years Kacey was surprisingly well adjusted, romping around the house
with her favorite toy, a tennis ball, or snuggling with her guardian on the
couch. A Good Samaritan, aware of Kacey's plight, made a device with a sound
audible only to dogs. "We plugged it in the living room so she'd know where she
was. He also gave us a fish tank generator that hummed and vibrated. He
suggested plugging it in near her food and water bowls so she could find her
way toward them," Felch recalls. "She did remarkably well."

Then one day Felch noticed a change in the now 15-year-old dog.

"For hours she was sitting in one spot with her head hung low. She seemed
depressed." Felch's voice quivers as she remembers what followed: "I kneeled
and looked at her beautiful little face tucked in my hands. Even though she had
no eyes it was like she was looking right back at me, saying, 'I'm ready, it's
time.' " And Felch knew what had to be done. This time, however, she was at
peace with her decision "because Kacey let me know she was ready."

Despite the many sacrifices made during Kacey's final two years, Felch doesn't
regret one single minute. She echoes, instead, a sentiment intrinsic in those
who love their pets. "I never considered putting her down just because she
became an inconvenience. She became my child."


E-mail freelance writer Eileen Mitchell at: