About sixteen years ago Prince, a little golden Pomeranian x, was found wandering the streets in Kew. He was given to RSPCA Burwood and sometime during his time there he got his teeth into rat poision... which you guys took onboard, gave him treatment, cared for him, and extended his time when he'd recovered. :) Lucky you did!
I showed up with my mum, about 11 years old in 1997, and went straight for a cattle dog. Prince leapt about on his hind legs like a kangaroo and... I ignored him. Mum and the attendent thought cattle dog was too much for me (could be right) and I was pretty annoyed... and so I eyed a Lassie dog.
Prince bounced around on his hind legs like a kangaroo and fixed his eyes on us harder still. I noticed him about this time, strange little creature who had short scraggly fur, full of energy and ego. I was still pissed off but... something in me knew Prince had adopted me and that was that. So I adopted him right back.
You guys told me he was about 3 or 4. I took him home and he stood with his feet on my thighs and his paws on the dashboard inspecting the world as he escaped the RSPCA. And boy did we have issues with him. We don't have fences (something which I imagine would prevent adoption these days) so everytime the door was open... WOOSH. Out went the bizarre little creature. As fast as he could.
Luckily we caught him every single time. He even got taken to the local vet once who knew exactly who he was and what to do with him.
He got all his fur back though, became a beautiful little foxy Pomeranian x with big expressive dark eyes, perfect with disabled children. We had a little mentally disabled boy who would pick Prince up and wheel around the house in his wheelchair with Prince taking it all in his stride. Nightmare to feed though - Prince just ate what he wanted. Which wasn't a lot. He was super suspicious of everything we tried to offer him. (I figured out a trick though- I had to pretend to eat it, shove him away a lot, make it small and make it clear I wanted it ... as soon as I walked away he'd gobble it all up.)
Then he was suddenly needed for ME- Because at 16 I had my own mental breakdown and had to struggle with severe depression and suicial times. I honestly don't know where I would have been without Prince. It was a really bad time and I only really started to recover in my mid twenties when I was diagnoised with Bipolar II and BPD. Realistically speaking I could have done with a therapy dog (and probably still do need one) but I wouldn't even know where to have started asking for help.
We almost lost him last year when he started to poop blood. Spent hundreds on the vet, even on newstart, just trying to get him to eat food and the day we scheduled to have him put down...
Prince started eating of his own choice. Totally recovered within a few days. He did not want to be put down yet. We still don't know what caused it.
So here we are. 16 years later, Prince is around 19-20, and he honestly has no clue what age he is. He's gone mostly deaf (except for high noises like whistles or claps), partly blind with cataracts, bad teeth means he doesn't chew, wets the bed sometimes, gets a bit cold in winter (the frog is his hot water bottle... if the blissed out look isn't obvious) and rarely he dislocates a hip. He hasn't barked or whined for about three years now- he communicates with sneezes, stares, and his favorite game... 'I'm leading you somewhere so follow me'. We're trying to stop him eating dirt. Not sure why he's doing that.
Hopefully it will be a long time before I thank you ... and come to seek a new friend to be beside me through mental illness... a long time before I tell you of his departure from this world. A LONG time. He is very happy with us. We might not be the ideal family by the RSPCA standards these days- no fence, unemployed and pensioner, but Prince is family and he never goes without vet or comfort. (He literally has SIX different beds depending on how hot or cold it is... Not including the weird places we find him, in baskets of clothing... dirty wet or clean..., in wardrobes, on beds, curtains, front window, on shoes in summer, on bags, IN bags, on a pile of cushions on the couch, IN the cushions.... )
Thank you for letting us take him home! :) If anyone who works there was there when we adopted him... YES. He's still alive and still going strong.
