In Search of the Champagne Life
by Jennifer Barnick

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Happy Birthday Fricka!

          Just a couple of days ago my beloved dog, Fricka, turned thirteen. The humans celebrated with some crisp Cava and for food we all had Fricka’s favorite: popcorn. My other dog Arthur partied a little too hard and by later that evening threw-up all of his popcorn. It was a great time had by all, and I must admit that when the glasses were raised to my old girl I become more than just a little misty. You see the celebration of her thirteenth birthday was more than just happiness that I still had her…and more than a little sadness knowing that thirteen meant she was thoroughly in the Winter of her life, what made the evening more poignant was the absolute miracle that she was still alive. As far as survivors go few ever come near to the bizarre and painful life my Fricka has lived. When I tell her story to new friends (and vets) alike they are always amazed by my dog’s medical and perhaps fated history. Today I would like to share with you Fricka’s long adventure of nearly dying and coming up from behind. For I have found no other living creature with more tenacity towards living than my popcorn loving Weimaraner.

         I didn’t really want or plan on buying a Weimaraner, but upon driving my friend to Cortland (I was living in Ithaca, NY at the time) in order to get one I found myself with checkbook out and puppy in hand. Fricka was the most clingy and affectionate dogs I had ever encountered: two traits Weimaraners are famous for. By the third day I had her she stopped eating and began throwing up. I took her to Cornell’s vet clinic and they tried everything they could to help her but the prognosis was not good particularly considering her size. After a brief hospital stay she was returned to me with the understanding that she would most likely die. She ended up surviving though not before becoming a little puppy skeleton. By six months one of Fricka’s ears swelled up like a baseball and it was found that she had a massive ear infection. Throughout her life her ears would menace her—though not from infection—rather the blood vessels in her floppy, grape leaf shaped ears would burst and they would swell with blood. Fricka has received many surgeries in each ear and now has stitches and tubes sewn up and down her ears to keep this from happening.

         When she was just a year old, again she was throwing up and experiencing what could only be described as violent diarrhea. She was rushed to her vet. On the day he deemed her “recovered” he saw in her X-rays that she had swallowed a bottle cap and would need immediate surgery…I still have the X-ray. When she was nearly two years old again Fricka was struck by her mysterious enteritis and once again she would not eat and began throwing up and having massive diarrhea. We took her this time to one of the more prestigious vets in the region: the vets all came from Cornell and their patients flew in from all over the world. The took every test imaginable on Fricka and throughout the process she was hospitalized several times—many of those times were me rushing her over in the middle of the night because she had a high fever and was unresponsive. Around two thousand dollars later and three weeks of agony they asked if I wanted to bring her home or have her put down…there was nothing they could do. I opted to bring her home. It was the strangest sight. She was absolutely a skeleton and was utterly unresponsive. She no longer ate or drank and her vital signs were barely apparent. Oddly, I had to go to a wedding in Indiana. I could not leave her to die without me, so I decided to throw her in the back of the car with the idea that when she died I would find a local vet and drop her remains off there. We left at midnight because my car did not have air-conditioning and it was in the middle of a very hot summer. Needless to say throughout the trip Fricka slowly recovered…and by the time we returned she was absolutely normal…you would have never believed she was so near death. Throughout her life this condition would plague her and many times over she would be signed off as dead.

         However, sadly for Fricka that condition would not be her only rough hand. When Fricka was six she ran out in the road as I was loading her in my car and was ran over…not just hit but fully ran over. I was only a few yards away. It was a brutal accident. Three of her paws, her leg, and several teeth including one of her front fangs (I still have that fang it was recovered in my friend’s blood-soaked pants) were torn off. However, after emergency surgery and then several reconstructive surgeries she was pretty much put back together…pretty much. Slowly though the leg began to pain her greatly—it appeared the injury sight had become massively arthritic—it would need surgery. In the mean time I had noticed a grapefruit sized lump on the back of her neck. On the day of the surgery I pointed the lump out and the doctors became very concerned and decided that the lump needed to be the priority. The aftermath was two doctors in awe by what they pulled out: one of the more massive tumors they had seen and what can only be described as a “Frankendog”. Fricka’s back was shaved with a foot-long crusty track of stitches. Yellowish tubes dotted the wound sight so the fluids could drain…when Fricka got excited her tubes would begin to spurt blood and “other fluid”. My visitors were not amused…particularly when they were dressed up…remember too that Fricka had a cast on her leg and her paws were, due to the accident, sprouting claws everywhere (the nail beds had been damaged).

         By nine I had spent nearly ten thousand dollars on keeping Fricka alive. At that point while her ears and the occasional enteritis would flare up for the most part Fricka appeared to be entering healthier pastures. However, by ten her car accident returned with a vengeance and Fricka struggled greatly with arthritis. Overnight she slowed and began to walk with a convincing limp. But she was happy…supremely happy…and the vets told me to walk and play with her regardless: that those were the things that would keep her going. There were and still are nights that she trembles in pain. I do have medication to help her, but it is hard on her liver and stomach and can only be used when she really is lame.

         At ten Fricka once again, had a massive tumor, this time on her side. At first the doctors told me it was utterly benign and that I only have to have it removed if I thought it looked bad. So I put it off but then I got the feeling that it must go. I was right, and in the middle of surgery they found that underneath the harmless large tumor was an enormous deadly cancerous tumor. Due to her age and the amount of time she was under while Fricka did get saved from cancer she incurred some permanent nerve damage in her eyes. Her eyes are now droopy and a little weird…they are open and closed at weird times…like open when sleeping and closed when she is trying to walk around.

         After that Fricka really turned down her lights and I really thought her days were numbered…until little Arthur…my Rat Terrier came into her life. Within just a few weeks with Arthur around my Fricka was back bugging me, begging, barking, wagging her tail, and pulling me on her lead when I take her out. He saved her life. They adore each other.

         Now my Fricka is thirteen and happens to be at my side as I write this. She is woefully incontinent, arthritic, and a little eccentric but she is also happy. She lives for popcorn and going for walks (even with the pain). She loves sleeping on her blankets and still tries to be as clinging as she was…though she sleeps a great deal more and loses track of me. I am truly shocked she is still alive. Countless times she was left for dead and each time under nothing more than my love did she come back. I will never know what it is that makes her able to fight through so much pain and illness, and yet I am still inspired by her stubborn spirit. Happy Birthday Fricka.