Stout.

On Monday morning between peanut butter toast and my second cup of coffee I got a call from my sister in law saying that our dog had been hit by a car. They had been graciously taking care of him during our move and transition.

In the course of a few hours we came to find out that our beloved large breed had a broken femur and pelvis. Unfortunately, the vet would not be able to set the leg. The best she could do was amputate. The only other option would be to send him to the University of Minnesota for surgery to repair the break, followed by months of rehabilitative care. The starting price for the second option, $3,000.

Mark and I were on the phone all morning. I was a wreck and often had to get off the phone because I was too upset to talk. The children didn't understand, and at one point Luke handed me a Crucifix and said that Jesus would give Stout a new leg. It was awful.

All day we weighed our options, and very heavily. At one point I gave up the reigns and left it in Mark hands, unable emotionally to make a wise choice. As we called Stout's breeder, sent his X-rays for a second opinion, and sought the advice of others, we very much wanted to do the right thing and to keep our emotions in check with reality.

After all, Stout is a dog. A great dog, but a dog nonetheless. For a very long time this afternoon we contemplated putting him down. Earlier in the day it wasn't a thought I could bring myself to, but as reality sunk in, the option was on the table.

As time went on and we spoke more with the vet and breeder, we were both left with one heavy thought: we could put him down, but in this instance there wasn't a good enough reason to. We tried as quickly as we could to educate ourselves on leg amputation, and were reassured repeatedly that our dog would fare just fine, adapt, and live a life just as full and as happy as he had with four legs. Amputating the leg will cost money, but it will be a sum that we can actually work with as opposed to the staggering cost to reset the leg, or to buy another Newfoundland.

I cried harder yesterday than I have in a long time. Until now I never understood how people become so attached to their animals. Stout has really been my first dog, and this is the first time I've ever gone through the heartbreak of making such a difficult decision for an animal that means so much to our family.

Trying to look on the bright side of the situation, I'm thanking God for three things.

1.) For Mark's sister and brother and law who have been taking care of Stout while we were adjusting here. Asking someone to care for a dog his size is a BIG favor, and we were so thankful. For the past month Stout has been living the life, surrounded by lakes and trees, children, and two other dogs. Our plan was to bring Stout home after Thanksgiving, only a few days aways, as, ironically, we wanted him to be safe from the highway here before bringing him to stay.

2.) I'm thankful that Stout's injury was on his back leg, not the front. If his front leg had been broken, the probability of an active life would have greatly diminished. A dog carries 70% of their weight on their front legs. For a dog of Stout's size, with his massive head, a front leg injury would have meant that we wouldn't be taking him home with us. Also, for such a bad break, he had no internal bleeding, and the breaks were "beautiful," meaning that nothing was crushed or shattered. Again, this would have drastically changed the outcome.

3.) Stout had followed children out to the bus stop this morning when he was hit. With conditions as icy as they were, I am so thankful that it wasn't a child who was hit by a car yesterday morning.

I'll be leaving our great white north shortly to drive "back home" to prepare to bring our dog home. As difficult as the last 24 hours have been for us as a family, I am at peace with our decision and am looking forward to having our dog back with us soon.