Fostering Chester

Born: Tuesday, July12, 2011

Died: Thursday, July 14, 2011

Before Chester Iva delivered, Scott said, “You know we’ll lose at least one puppy, right?” I said that I did, but I thought to myself, “We don’t *know* that.” I knew it was likely. I remember our family dog having pups when I was a child. The runt of the litter died the first night, I think. And it never nursed. We tried to feed it with a syringe, and I tried to keep it extra warm in my baby carriage, complete with blankets and a heating pad.

But Chester Iva’s pups were all thriving on Wednesday. Even the runt, little Chester Patrick, eats with gusto. By Wednesday evening, though, the chubbiest girl of the litter, Chester Vaucluse (there aren’t many “V” S. Carolina names from which to choose, by the way) had started crying. Very loudly. And incessantly.

Chester I. and I did everything we could think of to soothe her. I shuffled puppies around, so that Vaucluse would have a nice nursing spot. She wasn’t interested. Then, I thought, chubby girl that she was, that she had overeaten and had a tummy ache. So, I stacked her in the middle of a pile of pups, hoping the warmth would help. Finally, Scott suggested that she was just having a 6:00 meltdown, like Jack does nearly every night. At one point, both baby boy and dog were wailing together.

Scott and I would walk by Chester I., who looked at times stricken, and at other times exasperated. She’d roll Chester V. over and examine her, try to get her to nurse, cuddle with her. Nothing helped. “We sympathize, Iva,” we’d say, pointing at Jack. “See. We have one too.”

Imagine both of our shock to be awakened by Iva at 2:00 in the morning, to find a cold and lifeless Chester V. Scott wouldn’t quite believe it. He thought she had gotten separated from the warmth of the pack, that he could rub heat and life back into her,Roger Radcliffe style in 101 Dalmations. If it worked, he said, we’d rename Chester V. “Lucky.”

Alas, it didn’t.

While Chester Iva took a bathroom break, I wrapped Chester V. in a towel and removed her from the litter for good. I tried to decide which would be worse: letting Chester I. sniff her before I removed her, so she’d know why I did it. Or, spiriting her away.

The latter concerned me, because I remember my mother telling me about a similar incident with her chihuahua, Penny. Penny had three pups, one stillborn. She knew that something was “wrong” with the third pup. She had separated it from the other two healthy pups. But when my mother removed it, Penny was distraught. She ran to my grandmother, complaining loudly, as if telling her that my mother had stolen her pup!

I thought, though, that with thirteen other pups, Chester I. may not notice. So, I took the “spiriting away” option. And either she didn’t notice, or she did but knew that it was a necessary action.

What could have happened? Scott and I wondered if Chester I. had smothered Vaucluse accidentally. But she has been so careful with the pups, and we’ve been super-vigilant, moving pups from behind her to the front of her. We wondered if she got separated from the pack, getting too cold. But we’ve been careful to monitor the temperature since the puppies were born. I covered the vent in their small room and have been setting the air conditioner on 80-85 at night, much to Scott’s chagrin.

Then, I read about “fading puppy syndrome.” Dr. John Kohnke writes, “Many of these puppies [that die from fading puppy syndrome] are vigorous and healthy at birth, but within 2-10 days lose their interest in nursing. They often ‘cry’ in a monotonous way as though they are in pain and discomfort. They lose body weight, crawl into corners away from the rest of the litter and die, despite careful nursing.”

That sounds like what we experienced with Chester V. At least, we’re going to pretend it was “fading puppy syndrome.” Somehow, the idea of her fading away is more palatable than the idea of her being cold or smothered.

Scott buried her this morning, in the flower garden. Rest in peace, sweet Chester V.

So, now we have 13 puppies, and they all seem to be thriving [knocking on wood and crossing fingers now]. We keep a careful watch over Chester P., who is nearly a full half size smaller than the other pups. See Chester P. below, with his sister Chester Ruby.

We decided to call him Patrick, after the Newark pit bull, Patrick, that survived shocking abuse. Chester P. hasn’t had as much to overcome, thankfully. — although managing to get a belly full with a dozen much larger siblings is impressive, just the same.

And, to end on a thoroughly positive note, I offer the following photos of puppies, cuddling on a warm bed of puppies.

Contentment:

This entry was posted on July 14, 2011 at 7:16 pm and is filed under Chester Jefferson-Williams: Rescued!. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.