Tyson's Story - RIP to an Angel in my life

I beg forgiveness at the outset since I know this is a long post – when I came across this tributes page I wanted to pay tribute to Tyson who held me together at a time in my life when I was falling apart. I’ve always been a dog lover but Tyson gave me strength when things got rough. These days, Charger fills that role in my life along with his “BFF” “Littlefoot” the cat – both rescues. For those who indulge me and read, thank you for the time taken to appreciate an Angel on four legs that came into my life when I was up and held me strong when I was down. Herewith begins Tyson’s story.

A casual comment from my mother, something along the lines of, “If you see any adverts in the paper for staffies why don’t we go and check them out?” Gone in a shot, I raced to get all the papers of the day – Saturday’s weekend edition, the local ‘swap meet’ type publication, and anything else that was on the shelf. Trolling through the “Pets for Sale” section, I started to hedge back and forth. Growing up, the family dog had always been a Labrador and I still had a soft spot for them so I was checking out both breeds. Finding two sellers – one of each – we decided to check both out. Lab first then the Staffy since that’s the route we took and it was an “on the way” option. “I’m not going to necessarily come away with a dog this time Mum – I want to make sure I get the best out there for me.” He was already waiting.

The environment where the Labs were wasn’t the kind of environment I’d want to choose a dog from. Sadly, for the puppies that remained in the litter, we hit the road again and found our way to a young Staffy mad couple who had both the mother and father of the litter. While they had three pups, two were already promised, and so it was that the ratbag that came to be called Tyson found his way into my heart. I’ve always been an advocate of spending time with pups to watch their personalities, how they play and cuddling all and this was no exception even given there was only the one option left. Placing my handbag on the floor at my feet, I was talking to the young couple and watching the Father of the litter at the back door. As soon as we’d arrived he had all but bounced off to get his ball and was at the back door, his behind wagging (let’s face it – Staffies don’t just wag their tail, they wag their entire butt!) all but begging me to go play with him. As I looked down, I let out a laugh. “Tyson” had climbed into my handbag and was very busily sniffing out the contents and scratching around before he just sat his behind down and gave a little puppy yip. My heart was lost already – or rather, it was found, as only a Staffy can find it.

I continued to talk, and my mother picked him up for a cuddle and he nuzzled his puppy-breath snout against her neck. Within moments my mother yelped herself – the little ratbag had bitten her ear! Sign number two. I couldn’t ignore it anymore so settled the deal, paid the sellers and departed with my pup. I hadn’t even contemplated a name and on the drive home was going through options, unable to settle on anything that remotely fit. After a few hours, talking to my best friend on the phone, I told her the story about the ear biting and she laughed and said “well you know what you have to call him, don’t you?” “No, what?” I replied. “Tyson, since he likes ear biting.” It was perfect.

He grew so fast – there was puppy training, obedience training (two lots just to be sure), running in the park where I’m almost certain he goaded me with his eyes “COME ON LAZY YOU CAN RUN FASTER – KEEP UP!” I was so paranoid about everyone having a bad opinion of Staffies that I decided that he was going to be perfect – obedient, friendly, playful, protective, polite. He had it all. I would drive home from work and he would be at the side gate waiting. As soon as I was out of the car, he would bolt for the back door and sit there, his rear end wagging while he waited for me to dump my keys, handbag and everything else before going to the backdoor. On opening, he would sit, straining not to just bound inside, rear end still wagging while I’d watch before giving the quiet “ok” and hand signal he knew meant it was free reign, he could come inside. In he would bound, racing down the hall to the bedroom with a flying leap onto the bed, a 180 turn and a flop into that favourite Staffy position with back legs stretched out behind, head resting on his paws, and he would wait for me to enter the room. Ignoring each other, completely, there was a routine to go through before I would launch myself onto the bed and then it was on. Wrestle-mania had nothing on those bouts with Tys: that Staffy play-growl, the legs windmilling in the air, and finally he’d find his head pinned beneath my arm and he would freeze, the only movement was his eyes watching me as I leaned forward and whispered “I won”. Not even close! Wriggle and writhe and kick and growl he’d be up again for another round that would, ultimately, end the same way. Back and forth we went a few more times before he would do the only thing that would allow him to win. That big, slobbery lick on the side of the face and I would melt into laughter.

I took him to the vet one day as he had become lethargic, his eyes had almost grown sad and his coat started to dull and lose its shine. “It’s just kennel cough,” she said, and loaded me up with antibiotics and what not. A few weeks later, I took him back again, with the same result. I wasn’t happy. She suggested she could do all kinds of tests to determine if it was anything else but she was certain it was kennel cough, here’s some more pills, this time it should fix it. I noticed a lump under his jaw, and called another vet. This one was a mobile vet, and she came to the house. Karan was always the “go to” – other vets were fine for vaccinations and general checkups. Karan was who we called when there was something going on. She walked in, took one look at him, crouched down and felt the lump. When she looked up at me I wanted to die as she said “darling it’s lymphoma”. I filled her in on the other vet and we talked about options. She made a phone call and gave me a referral to a Vet that had set up a specialist clinic for animals with cancer, offering a range of therapies to ease the way. I was gutted. I had no idea how long I had with him. I’ve since found out from Dr Ken Wyatt that if I hadn’t taken Tyson in to him when I had, he probably would have lasted only days.

Ken suggested a wide range of treatments. It all came down to money. Doesn’t everything? He advised against multiple costly tests to verify the diagnosis. He was of the same opinion Karan was – it was cancer, end of story. The only decision left to make was whether to end it there and then or whether to attempt treatment which, given the stage it had reached, was only going to buy time, not Tyson’s life. I bought five more months with my perfect angel, and in that time he was more than my saviour, he was everything. He knew what it meant, I’m sure of it, every time we pulled into that clinic. He would race for the door, and when I opened it would enter with a bark and then just stop as if to say “I’M HERE!” The moment Ken stepped out of the treatment room to take his lead, he was pulling at the lead to go into the room for his treatment.

Life having taken a turn for the worst, he was there through it all – a relationship break up, a change of job, and several other things going on at the time. The week before, I had taken Tys in for his treatment which usually lasted four weeks before we hit the clinic for another round on week five. My brother came down to stay while he attended a course in the city. He was the one with the original Staffy in our family and whenever he was around, Tyson latched onto him, and he latched onto Tyson. I went to bed one night and frowned, the lump was back around the size of a golf ball in his lower jaw. I knew what was coming, and while he was never a cuddly dog – he tolerated it at best – that night I lay awake almost all night with him I’m sure and he just snuggled in and let me mourn and say goodbye. The next morning when I got up, the lump had jumped to around the size of a tennis ball. My heart sank. I packed myself off to work, and called Ken as soon as I got in. “You better bring him in this afternoon.” My mum met me at my house when I got home from work to pick him up, and the lump was the size of a soft small football.

Pulling myself together when Ken came out, we went into the treatment room together. As he outlined all the options – another treatment, might buy more time, a different dose of the same treatment might do the same – Tyson made an outward gesture as he had when he came into my life. I’d taken some treats for his final farewell and there he was, nose buried in my handbag snooping out the treats so he didn’t miss out! So close on the heels of the last treatment, he would be wide open to other infections and it may do more harm than good. There was no option – I knew that, Ken knew that, he just needed me to make the decision.

I didn’t want my Tyson to suffer anymore. The additional five months I’d bought was more than I’d expected, and a lot longer than Ken thought I’d get. It was at that point he told me he hadn’t expected Tyson to even last to treatment number two, let alone through 5 more of them. They took him out to prep him for the end and brought him back, placed him up on the treatment table. I drew the chair up beside it and put my arms around my angel. As they fed the anaesthetic into the IV they’d set up, he began to get woozy. As he finally settled into the induced sleep mode, his muzzle had come to rest right against my heart and I placed my own head down upon his. They gave him the final needle and left me with him. I don’t think I have ever cried as much as I did then and there when his final breath eased out of him. They gave me about 20 minutes to say my goodbyes before they returned.

About a month later, I had just pulled into the car park at work and was getting out of my car. It was a particularly bad day and I was feeling the loss of Tyson more than ever as I leaned in to get my handbag. My eyes caught something that was attached to one of the posts that holds the headrest into the car seat. There, linked around the pole, was Tyson’s dog tag he had worn on his collar. I still don’t know how, or when, it got there. One of my nieces claimed responsibility, said she had seen it and knew how much I missed him. She put it there so he would always watch over me. The tag still sits there today, and every time I see it, I smile and gaze up as if I can see him running along the rainbow that is surely always there, invisible to the human eye.

I can’t speak highly enough of the staff at that clinic, and I feel so incredibly blessed to have been able to have the extra time I did, and to have farewelled my Tyson as I was able to. I had him cremated, with a mini headstone made, and he currently has pride of place on top of the refrigerator. He gets, finally, to be in the kitchen where he was never allowed before. A place of honour, to be sure! I still miss him, and whenever I talk to someone about this story and how he departed my life I still get upset – but I also smile fondly and love that I was fortunate to have him in my life. The three months before Charger entered my life was miserable. I do have some photos somewhere and I’ll hunt them down and put them up to show him off.

RIP my Angel, Tyson: 21-Sep-03 to 18-Mar-10

Life without a Staffy now? Not likely! <3

This is a lovely story, definitely made me cry, Tyson sounds like he was an amazing part of your life, and as they all do, has greatly impacted your life, thank you for posting this RIP Tyson xx

That is a heart felt tribute to Tyson and I read with tears in my eyes.

Running free until you meet again Xx

Oh god the tears are running here, that's such a great tribute to your boy. Run free Tyson xxxx

That had me going too   

Run free at Rainbow Bridge Tyson RIP

Had me crying too lovely tribute to your boy. Run free Tyson.

I'm crying my eyes out now! But am glad I read it, what a wonderful tribute to Tyson who was obviously such a big part of your life. Sounds like he was an amazing fella, run free Tyson xxx

I'm swallowing hard on a lump in my throat and brushing tears from my eyes. What a great tribute to a wonderful dog - run free at Rainbow Bridge Tyson xxxx

What a wonderful story about a truly special friend. Thank you.

RIP Tyson - run free and play at Rainbow Bridge. 

thank you for sharing tyson's story with us,it was so moving
r.i.p tyson

Sharing your beautiful heartfelt story of Tyson was a most wonderful thing to do. As I have just lost (2months ago) my brindle staffy Chops I know just exactly how you feel. As I read your story your Tyson's beautiful habits and the way you trained him sounded just like my Chops and even the way he passed is like my story too. Amazing. I will/ would like to write on this pet memorial page but feel quite emotionally exhausted after reading your heartfelt story. But It would of been healing for you to write and it was healing for me to read it. Thank you for it. Even though I am now crying my eyes out for my staffy Chops and my heart aches with pain, it actually hurts. I still thank you.

Thank you so much. You are a wonderful writer. It is so hard to put into words the bond that develops between (wo)man and dog.