The Story of Fuzzy Bear ("F.B.")

Stan picked F.B. out from a litter of nine puppies because he was the bold one who walked over to check us out. He was mostly black lab with some golden retriever mixed in.

He was a very roly poly puppy. We visited a small ranch near our property in southern Oregon shortly after we acquired him. Our friend, Gary, said, "He looks so fat because he's got worms. Hold him a minute while I fix that..." Gary took a plug of tobacco, about the size of his little finger, and put it down the pup's throat. F.B. ran off, shaking his head. About half an hour later, he came back, noticeably less round.

After a couple of years of raising F.B., he developed a bad case of fleas with constant scratching. We had been on a limited budget for some time and were buying the cheapest dog kibble we could find at grocery stores. The problem became so bad that his rear end looked like that of a warthog. After an expensive visit to the vet, he was given cortisone for the itching. We decided to try and feed him a better brand of dog food to see if we could prevent another vet visit.

The difference was remarkable. Over a period of three months F.B. regained his glossy black coat and stopped scratching. Fleas just weren't interested anymore.

Another thing of interest was that his stool had been almost like diarrhea for years. With the new kibble, the stool became round and firm (and much easier to scoop). Worms were a thing of the past too.

When he was 9 years old, he became about 10 pounds overweight due to some family members feeling sorry for him that he was on such an unexciting diet compared to the humans. The kitchen scraps and treats became more frequent.

He started yelping every time he'd get off his couch bed because his back legs hurt. We thought it was arthritis due to age. Then for some reason, we decided to slim him down again. Once he was back to a healthier weight, his "arthritis" was gone and remained so until he died at the age of 13.

His death was rather traumatic. For at least three months prior, F.B. had been showing increasing reluctance to walk out our front door and down the busy street to the park. He had a huge backyard to relieve himself in, and still liked to go places with us in the car, so we didn't think about the effects of diminished exercise and only slightly decreased his food ration. We were busy adjusting to Comet and his considerable needs so were not as attentive as usual.

One day, Jo and a carful of kids went to a play at the local college. F.B. went along for the ride. When they arrived home, he didn't make a move to get out. To her horror Jo found that he was blown up like a large balloon and his sides were as hard as a rock. The vet said it was bloat, that his intestines had become twisted and there had been a gas buildup. A $1,500 surgery could solve the problem temporarily but it was likely to recur. We suspect that F.B.'s decreased exercise may have caused it.

Finances were an issue with us at the time, and we didn't have dog health insurance. Since Stan was out of town, Jo made the difficult decision to put F.B. to sleep. She was comforted in that decision by the fact that F.B. had enjoyed very good health for most of his 13 years. He had started to go downhill before getting bloat and most likely would have had an increasingly lower quality of life from that point on.

Although the veterinary office offered to dispose of the body, Jo took F.B. home so that Stan and the kids could say a proper goodbye. He was buried in the backyard in a favorite spot. It was a significant loss for everyone in the family.