Information

Caiman has a minion!

Dixie the Puddles

Caiman
Legacy Name: Caiman

The

Arid Montre
Owner:

Dill

Age: 13 years, 1 month, 4 days

Born: March 31st, 2011

Adopted: 13 years, 1 month, 4 days ago

Adopted: March 31st, 2011

Pet Spotlight Winner
November 1st, 2017

Statistics

Level: 354
Strength: 885
Defense: 885
Speed: 883
Health: 886
HP: 182/886
Intelligence: 21
Books Read: 21
Food Eaten: 6
Job: Unemployed

The Story:
I was born to be a star. Ha! I am a funny boy, and I will thump my tail. Now let me tell you my story. Bear with me; I am old, so it is long, and my memory is a little spotty at times. Be patient with these tired bones.

My real parents never knew each other. My bio-mom was a young hunter, and my bio-dad was some sort of show-ring hotshot. He was just a "donor," if you know what I mean. Like any litter, mine was a mix of future show dogs and household pets. I was considered exceptionally fine, and marked as a future show dog. There was a whole waiting list of people who wanted me. I was very loved, and couldn't wait

That is, until the test.

The test. That's all it was. The Man took me to a scary place and hooked me up to some machine. Unilaterally deaf was the term I heard muttered with disappointment. Well, we won't breed those two together again, The Man told the doctors. He had been so bewildered. He did his homework. He checked the lines. It shouldn't have happened, but it did. It wasn't uncommon in my breed, I guess, but The Man had tried to hard to avoid it. I felt bad for him. The Man was nice.

The waiting list disappeared. My brothers and sisters did, too, with time, save for two: a brother, also deaf, who had been slotted to be a pet, anyway; and a sister, who was to be kept by The Man. I was sent to live with my bio-dad's family while The Man tried to find a home for me. It was not easy. I was getting older, and that made it even harder.

One day, bio-dad's family put me into a big plastic box. They put the box in a car, and we drove far away. Then my box was put on a conveyor, and loaded into something called an "airplane," and I was on it for what seemed like a lifetime. I spilled my ice cubes. I peed a little. I was let out sometimes to do my business, but sometimes the wait was very long, and I was so very, very frightened. Then it was over as soon as it began -- my box was wheeled out to a young couple who was ecstatic to see me. I liked them right away. They put me in another car, and we drove far away for a second time.

This young couple became my new mom and dad. They raised me, and loved me even though I was deaf. I got very sick once and had to spend over a week in the hospital. The doctors there told my mom and dad that I was going to die, but I loved them so much that I held on and got better. I had to be treated very specially for a while after that, but I pulled through. I grew up. I became a great big boy, and I went everywhere with them and a cat named Toady who had been with Mom for years before I came into the family.

Toady was my best friend. Sometimes he was mean to me, but I was patient with him, and we got along great. One night, though, he was playing, and he tripped. The people in the house were very upset and Mom said that something bad happened. Toady cried a lot. He didn't know I was there when I tried to comfort him. He went away, and he never came back. I waited for him in his favorite spot, and looked for him, and ran every time I heard a meow, but I never saw him again. I miss him.

When I was 4 years old, we moved again, and this time, a little bulldog joined the family. Her name was Dixie. She peed a lot because of her surgery. But she eventually got better. She is pushy and rude, and she snores, but she is one of us, so I love her, too. She hears for me, and now I don't feel lonely when I am home without my people.

The man was not a good man, but I won't get into that. I gave up on loving him long before Mom did. But that's okay. He went away. But not until after I got sick. It started out with a couple of lumps. They needed to be cut off, but the doctors said the outlook was good. It hurt, and the medicine afterwards made me confused and scared. But I was supposed to be better.

I was supposed to get better.

I didn't. More lumps appeared. Mom had them cut off. Then more came. Mom had those cut off, too. The doctors said it spread inside me. They weren't sure how long I had, they told her. There wasn't much point in continuing with the surgeries. But I love her, so I kept fighting. I'm a good boy.

Mom brought home a new man. New Man became New Dad. I like him, too. He buys me treats. I don't play much anymore, but I still appreciate tasty things. He helps give me my medicine, too, and keeps the fire burning in the wintertime so that I don't get cold. He sometimes buys me sweaters and coats. He goes with Mom to my appointments, and hugs her when she cries in the exam room. That happens a lot. I pretend not to notice. She cries harder if she knows I am sad. I don't want to make her sad, too.

They made a little person together. The little person has a lot of energy, but he sneaks me snacks sometimes. I think he will grow up to be good.

So here I am now. I've had this "cancer" stuff for six years now, and I've passed the expected life span for my breed. I am pretty proud of myself. I've earned this spot by the fire. My eyesight is beginning to go, and my good ear is all but deaf now, too, but life is okay. I hurt, but Mom and New Dad make sure I stay comfortable. Sometimes they whisper and cry about trying to figure out "when it's time," and I am not sure what that means. I think it means that I will see Toady again. I think it also means that I won't get to see the little person grow old. That makes me sad. But it will be good to see Toady and play. I like the thought of that.

Anyway, I am very tired now. I think I am going to go cuddle up with Dixie and take a nap. It was nice to see you. Thank you for visiting and petting me. I like you. I hope you come back soon.

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