Send questions and comments
to Tavi@bcrescue.org.Born March 16, 1984 in Waterville, Maine. Died November 27, 1996 of cancer at the Cornell Animal Hospital in Ithaca, New York.
I first met Tavi on my first date with Beth back in January 1986. Beth and I would become highschool sweathearts, that is, given the approval of "Tavi the protector." We sat with the Goelzer family in the livingroom, watching television from the couch. No sooner had I sat down next to Beth than Tavi ran up and began a fierce licking of my hand--so hard he pushed my hand and arm away from Beth. And then he bonked his nose to move my leg. Mixed with the licks were gentle nips--kind of like brushing my hand for a split second with his teeth but with no pressure. Tavi and Beth had a deep and profound bond, and Tavi actively guarded her. In those early days, Tavi was always between Beth and I, keeping us physically apart. We affectionately called him the "worm" as he'd bonk, lick, wiggle, and do just about anything to get to a place, get someone's attention, or keep Beth and I a few inches divided.
The other dogs--shelties and goldens--played and chased one another about. When the noise level or the rucous got above a certain level, Tavi would let out a single bark and the dogs would quiet down.
Tavi was classic Border Collie, but we were ignorant about the breed. We lived in Atkinson, New Hampshire, in the southeastern part of the state. Janet Larson's "The Versatile Border Collie" wasn't published until 1986. Over the years, everyone in the family learned a great deal about Border Collies first hand. Tavi was with us through dramatic periods of personal growth in highschool, college, and beyond. He was a constant companion, and many of our pictures from trips and travels have him center stage.
I do not recall exactly when Tavi adopted me as it was a gradual process. Perhaps he just gave in after we started living together in December 1991. Tavi was our first child, and when we married in the picturesque gorge in August 1991, he was a member of the small wedding party.
Our apartment is eerily quiet. My feet are cold as I type, Tavi no longer snakes around them, keeping them warm. He loved to be close, though on his terms. No one keeps an eye on me, stirs when I change positions or get up. I never imagined the lack of a stare to be unsettling and haunting.
Tavi not only helped me learn about Border Collies and become involved in rescue, he taught me invaluable lessons about life. One of the few role models I had in my youth, he constantly reminded me to be positive and go about things enthusiastically. Boundless energy and enthusiasm. Happy-go-lucky, bouncy. Tavi overcame an early accident with a car before I knew him in which he lost he lost some toes on a back leg. The VW bug was the first and last car he ever showed interest in. Tavi often limped, but he treated his life as though nothing was ever wrong.
For example, Car rides were a constant source of joy, however long they lasted. He'd watch out the windows with constant attention. He would sit for hours, never resting. Twice we went south on 10+ hour journies, and he stayed awake and alert the entire trip. We tried in vain to get him to rest. In Virginia, he learned to spot cows miles away in the fields, followed them and letting out a bark as we drove by in the mountainous countryside.
Tavi knew nothing about subtelty. For him, extremes were the norm. I'm grateful he could always tell us what he wanted, but knowing things were wrong took great attention to very small hints--usually not from him. He was either 100% or, on a couple of occassions, nearly lifeless. He was diagnosed with thrombocytopenia and auto immune hemolitic anemia in spring 1993. The wonderful team of doctors at the Cornell Animal Hospital brought him back to life after several days as we learned the ins and outs of intensive care unit and tested Tavi's will to survive. He returned to us beautifully and we regularly checked his blood counts. There were ups and downs and he went back to ICU once, but he always pulled through. What were normal numbers for Tavi would have had many other dogs feeling out of it, but we were thankfully able to maintain him and on the outside we couldn't tell the difference.
On Wednesday night after a normal routine, we took Tavi and Zak out for their final walk of the night. Tavi collapsed and wouldn't get up. With his bad leg, he would sometimes slip on ice and snow and have difficulty getting back up. This time though, something was different. We spent the next hour monitoring him, taking his pulse and tempature, checking his gums and other signs that had become halmarks of trouble. Everything appeared normal for Tavi, and Beth woke up periodically during the night to monitor his conditions. The next morning, he closed off and was unresponsive to squeaky toys and Zak's play. We were quickly off to the emergency room.
The holiday period started on Wednesday and they were only admitting emergencies. We were very lucky to have Tavi's original doctor who diagnosed and followed his illness, available that morning. We quickly received good news, that it wasn't his blood--the levels were normal for him. What followed though (my hands are shaking, eyes full of years) was that the doctor tapped Tavi's abdomen and found blood. An ultrasound soon revealed what the doctor suspected--cancer in the spleen and liver. A vessel in the spleen had burst.
The doctor explained the severity of the illness and the options. Surgery and cemotherapy would buy him 6-8 months. A less invasive approach would give him 6-8 weeks. Beth and I both have living wills for ourselves with a quality-of-life clause, and we knew Tavi would either be 100% or 0% and that he doesn't know imbetween. He had been through so much already in his life, the cancer appeared to be in multiple organs, his body was weak, and the surgery was a long shot. We just wanted him returned to normal for a few days or weeks so we could say goodbye. The doctors thought they could stabalize him and do that, so they began a tranfusion. He immune system makes that very difficult, but they managed. We waited a couple of hours and then went to see him in ICU. He wagged and wagged--something he hadn't been able to do just hours before. He licked. The doctors said he had tried to jump from the table. He was improving quickly and dramatically.
We went home for a few hours, with the hopes of bringing him home in a couple of days. Beth spent time on the phone with her sister Heather whose dog died last year of cancer. She was comforting and helped us prepare for the possibilities and eventualty. Then the call came from the doctor. We expected to get one, a status report on his condition. Sadly, he had just collapsed again and his was abdomen greatly distented. They urged us to come back right away. We spent a few moments in tears trying to decide what we knew needed to be done. The unthinkable.
Tavi was again out of it and his condition was significantly worse. Surgery was less likely to be successful, and the doctor concurred with us that euthenasia was the best option. She knew Tavi's history well for the past three years, and she was of comfort. We elected lethal injection and to be present. Some words are deeply haunting, like the doctor saying before they left the room the first time, "Let us know when you're ready." I wanted to scream out "I'm never going to be ready!" As we talked to him, hugged, petted, and cried a river of tears, we said our goodbyes. In a way, he was already gone, and we did eventually managed to call in the doctor.
Minutes later, his breathing and heart stopped, and the doctors left. I collapsed on top of him sobbing (much like I am now). So empty.
We are so thankful we took a long vacation this summer with him. He canoed with us in the Adirondacks. Camped and tented with us. He......
I cannot.... I have to go. This is just too hard.
We didn't go home for the holidays and we'll be spending the next few days writing about our good memories and the times we shared. Twelve years is a long time.
With deep and profound sadness,
Chuck Goelzer Lyons, cgl1@cornell.edu, Ithaca, NY
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