Ching, The Big Tiny Dog. (Part One)

Ching was such a tiny Pomeranian, two and a half pounds of love, with a huge heart and personality. She made everyone smile who saw her!
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Ching the Big Tiny Dog! (R.I.P.)1/3/05 (Part One)

(Never to be forgotten.)
Born 22nd February 1991 UK - Went to sleep 3rd January 2005 Chicago, US. Weighing only 2lbs.

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I became Ching's Mum approximately ten weeks after I had a near fatal car crash, on Feb 25th 1991. (Ching had been born on February 22nd of that same year, just three days earlier.) Ten weeks later, I was still recuperating from the accident. I had to use a walking stick on and off for two more years. I greatly despaired over the loss of my fabulous silver-grey Datsun 280 ZX Targa Turbo Coupe with burgundy interior and fixed telephone inside. Also still grieving over my mother's death, of a year earlier.

It was during this time that I looked through a classified magazine, specifically at the 'pets' column. I was amazed to see an advert for a Pomeranian. For many years I had been looking with no luck. A friend of mine took me to look at the puppies, and that is when I found 'Ching.' She was expensive, but I used some of the insurance money from the loss of my favourite car which had been destroyed, to purchase her. This made finding Ching so much more special. It felt as though I had sacrificed the car spiritually, suffering my injuries, so that I could be allowed such a wonderful replacement. It was well worth it.

It was one of the luckiest days of my life to find, or, to be led to my wonderful Ching. She was to give me many years of love, pure joy and the chance to have a baby (albeit hairy) I could fuss over. The only living thing that would ever love me so much and for so long. It only took two months until she was housetrained to a tray with kitchen roll in it. When she first tried to climb the sides to get in, she got stuck on the top and I had to help her in. Ching's legs were shorter than the sides. Getting out was just as difficult, but she continued until she learned to hop in and out.

Each time before going out, I held the handbag open in front of me and Ching would stand up pawing the air with her tiny front paws. Then, just as I put the handbag on the floor, she became so excited that sometimes her jump was mistimed. She would sail over the bag and land on her head, only to pick herself right back up in order to preserve her dignity, climbing into the bag as if nothing had happened. It had everyone in stitches!

On the rare occasions she could not come out with me, I told her, “I won’t be long.” If she had managed to get in the bag, Ching would climb back out and return to her bed, with no fuss whatsoever. She must have felt really disappointed, but she never demanded anything. However, I used to see the sad expression cross her face each time. This was not my imagination, as she had an animated look normally.

Ching became excited when she was hungry. She had a special routine where she would dance around on her back legs and rapidly stick out her tongue. Sticking out her tongue like this, when I asked her a question, also meant 'yes.'

There was even a time when I taught her to say a form of the word ‘YES,’ before I put her food down for her. It was a kind of bark with the same sounding syllable. She never managed to eat that much, only about half a saucer full, as her stomach must have been only about four inches in diameter! I could place my index fingers around her tummy, and the fingers would overlap.

Ching never sat in my lap very much, so was not what could be called a 'lap-dog.' Sadly, that was mostly my fault, due to my never sitting still long enough. I was either writing stories, songs or playing guitar. When I first had this little bundle of fur, at ten weeks of age, she fit into the palm of my hand. I was able to sit her on the body of my guitar as I played it and she was quite happy sitting there.

As Ching grew it became difficult for her to fit there any more, so she sat in my lap underneath my guitar, as I played. Sometimes she preferred to sit in my handbag which I kept on my shoulder, so that she could be near me.

When I wanted to cuddle her, I put her against my face. It was so difficult to stroke Ching if she was standing, as she would fall over. She was so tiny that she used to trip over when she walked or ran on the carpet, even though it was not that thick. I used to howl with laughter, and she would give me a dirty look as she picked herself up! Ching was so good at giving dirty looks and could put on such an air of nonchalance.

My little female Pomeranian, Ching, had been my constant companion, and was healthy at two and a half pounds in weight.

She never really slowed down much until her hip was accidentally dislocated when she was twelve years, by my now, ex-husband, Paul Bruce, in 2003, while I still lived in the UK. He was drying her one evening after her bath and applied too much force when she tried to wiggle out of the towel. It was the first time I let anyone give Ching a bath, and I lived to regret it.

Until that fateful day, she always bounded about and jumped high, full of energy. I made sure not to let her jump down off anything that was too high, as she was fearless and could have hurt herself. She loved to jump onto the settee, for instance, just to be with me. After the accident, I had to help her, but at least she was always by my side.

It would be impossible to forget that terrible day when I heard her yelping. I ran up the stairs to take her from Paul and find out what was wrong. Immediately, I saw the problem and knew it was a dislocated hip. We held her the best we could without causing her extra pain, but it was heartbreaking to hear her cries of distress. She yelped every few seconds, and it was difficult to place her in a comfortable position. Fortunately, within the hour, we were able to get an emergency appointment with Ching’s vet, David Harvey. He had known her since giving her the first inoculations at twelve weeks old.

Upon examination, David thought it best to give her an anaesthetic and then manipulate her thigh back into her hip. He wanted us to leave her there for a while to let her calm down. Then, he would allow the surgeon to get on with the procedure. David said Ching might have to stay overnight.

I had my reservations because it would be the first time she had been left alone at night, and I was distraught. Not only because I did not want to leave her alone with strangers. But, because she was in so much pain, I thought it could possibly be the last time I would see her. Ching had developed a heart murmur when she was ten years old, and now she was twelve, I was so worried about the extra stress put on her. We had the foresight to take her bed with us, (a kitten’s domed-shaped bed) and Ching settled into it. As we walked away, she just stared at me but did not move. She was probably afraid the pain would return.

When we arrived home, I was in a terrible state. I could not get on with anything, except wait for the phone to ring. The surgeon (I cannot recall her name) told me that she would let me know as soon as Ching came around from the anaesthetic. Eventually the phone rang. The surgeon told me that Ching was all right, but a bit groggy and would be kept in overnight. Her thigh bone had gone back in and was strapped up. That was good news, but I still wanted Ching with me, so I could look after her properly.


It distressed me so much to be away from Ching, that I proceeded to make a nuisance of myself by asking to sleep on the floor next to her, in a makeshift bed of sorts. I had seen where she would be left, and it alarmed me. The room was very basic with many iron cages, one on top of another. Ching would be placed in one, but in her own bed, inside of the cage. There were no other animal neighbours. The staff were going off duty for awhile, but I was advised that Ching was in no danger and could be left alone to sleep. She had an intravenous drip in her tiny leg strapped to her skin, so she could not have pulled that out.


I tried my hardest to convince the surgeon it would be best if I stayed overnight with Ching. Initially, my attempts were flatly over-ruled. I persisted and told the surgeon that I had been a nurse (the truth) and could keep an eye on Ching the entire time. That way she would not have to be alone, even for the few hours when the staff would be absent for the night. The surgeon said she would give it some thought and allowed me to come in and see Ching. Although it was meant to be a quick visit, I persuaded the surgeon to let me bring Ching back home with me. Ching was groggy as she tried to focus on me, but she managed to wag her tail a few times.

She was a mess and looked like a slipper, with half of the fur missing! One side of her body had been trimmed off for the surgery. Her tiny thigh was bandaged, (with the elastic stick-on type) close to her body. Her foot had also been bandaged and placed in a sling close to the top of her back. That way she would not catch it on anything. Since she went to toilet in a cat’s tray on paper towels, it would be no problem to lift her in and out.

The time was now about 3 am, and Paul had already gone off to his bedroom to sleep. Ching kept overbalancing, as she was not used to walking on three legs. I must admit laughing quite a bit at her antics. There was a look of surprise on her face, if one can imagine such a thing on something so hairy. I carried Ching upstairs to my bedroom and settled her into her bed. I placed her right next to mine, by the nightstand. I also placed a cushion in front to seal her exit, in case she tried to get out by herself and go to her tray. I had already placed her smaller tray in the room with us, so I did not have to carry her downstairs to her usual larger one.

I fell asleep, but suddenly awoke and immediately put my hand into her bed. I expected to feel what fur had been left on her but I felt nothing! Ching was gone! I was now wide awake and shot out of bed. I looked madly around everywhere. Once I had exhausted all the places upstairs to look, I ran downstairs to search for her.

There she was! Sitting on the hall carpet. Somehow, miraculously, she had managed to get into her larger litter tray which I kept under the stairs for her. Even more amazing, she had managed to get herself out of it again. That was hard enough to believe, as the sides of the tray are as high as her legs! As I went to Ching, I saw that she was all tangled up in her sling. There was no way she could have put her leg down, so she must have rolled all the way down the stairs. The sling was twisted, and the elastic adhesive bandage had moved way down her tiny body. Her leg with the bad hip was free, and she held it up in the air.

I cried so hard as I gently picked up her little body. All I could think was that she must have permanently injured herself. David, the vet, had told me that I was to ensure the leg stayed in place, or she would be prone to many dislocations! I picked her up and held her thigh against her body, making sure as much as I could tell, that her leg was still in its socket. I only had one free hand to cut the bits of bandage off to re-do the dressing. I desperately needed my glasses, but my main concern was to keep the hip in place, so I had to secure that immediately. I held her thigh against her body whilst carrying her. Ching seemed unperturbed by all the fuss.

Before I could do anything else, I had to cut bits of her long hair that were attached to the adhesive bandages that had slipped down. Since I could not see properly due to the tears streaming down my face, I accidentally cut her skin. The cut was deep enough to bleed, but Ching did not even react, except to shoot me a glance. Instead, it was me who howled hysterically. I really could have done with some help, but Paul heard nothing as he was still fast asleep in his room. He slept soundly, so there was no point in my calling out to him.

I managed to cover the wound with gauze and a small band aid then re-did the whole dressing. I used the spare ones provided by the surgeon and put the sling back in place. All the while Ching tried to crawl up onto my shoulder making this all even more difficult.

I took her back up to bed, but this time placed her in mine, surrounded by pillows. That way if she did get out, she would have to walk over my head if she planned to go anywhere. Fortunately, she did sleep this time, although I found it impossible to do so. I kept tapping her gently like a baby, to keep her asleep. The next morning she did not seem to be in any pain, but she still fell over every time she tried to walk. She would give me a look as if to say, “What have you done to me?”

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Two days later Paul and I took Ching back to David, as he had requested. He wanted to examine her leg to ensure it was still in the right place. I was horrified that he might see the cut I had accidentally made on her. He could not tell with the bandages on, but if he started to cut them all off to check, he would see what had happened. I had already told him about her literal ‘trip’ down the stairs, but omitted my dastardly part in the whole event. However, my fears were soon realized when my mistake was revealed.

The cut turned out to be deeper than I originally thought, and the edges of the skin had not gone back together! I started to cry again at how much it must have hurt her. I admitted to David what had happened, but he was preoccupied with other problems. When he pulled the bandages off from Ching’s shaved skin, (done by the surgeon for her surgery, not by me!) her top layer of skin came off too! She must have had an allergic reaction. Ching’s exposed skin became bright red, dotted with speckles of blood.

Then, as David pulled off a particular bit of the bandage, it pulled off skin that went down into her flesh enough to become a wound. As if she did not have enough to contend with. First, there was my carelessness, and now the extra pain due to her skin ripping off, though through no fault of David's. The skin was raw all around her tummy and thigh, due to a bad reaction to the adhesive bandages. Ching looked like a part of freshly killed chicken leg about to be cooked with beads of blood all over it! Yuck! It was horrendous to see.

David said he would have to staple the wounds together before he put the dressings back onto her. He had the added job of keeping her thigh close to her body at the same time. I knew the pain that would come with this procedure. It was too much for me. In floods of tears I fled, leaving her in Paul’s care whilst I waited outside until it was finished. I could not believe it! I heard Ching's screams, even from outside the building through the open front door! Strangers who walked past must have thought the worst. I did not care that they saw me sob. The whole thing had been my fault. If only I had bathed her as I usually did, none of this would have happened to my faithful little friend.

Eventually, it was all over and she was newly bandaged. This time, there was no elastic stuck on her skin. The dressing was tightly wrapped with the sling on, and she was comfortable again, showing no sign of the trauma she had just been through. We returned home and gave her some tasty meat, as a treat and change from her Eukanuba dry pellet food that Ching normally ate. After this she attempted to walk. We were in absolute fits of laughter. She was constantly off-balance and continued to roll over, but she kept trying. At least she was not in any pain.

After a few days she got the hang of it and walked all over the place quite proudly. She could even hop up the stairs again with the use of just three legs! Gradually, she started to walk around normally. The hopping was hardly noticeable.

{Continued with Part Two....}