A force, a fighter, a magical unicorn—and forever my Bear.
In April 2010, a plea went out from South Central Animal Shelter in Los Angeles for a 10-week-old puppy who couldn’t use his rear legs.
The moment I saw the plea, I knew I had to go get him.
My sister and I drove to Los Angeles and pulled this fuzzy little puppy who was somehow still absolutely full of energy. The moment I saw him, I knew his name.
“You are Fozzie Bear.”
And Fozzie he became.
We had no idea what was wrong with him. The shelter had taken X-rays of his rear legs, but nothing obvious explained why this little puppy couldn’t walk. I hoped with everything I had that it wasn’t something serious.
An MRI gave us the answer we didn’t want.
Fozzie had a badly damaged vertebra near his shoulder blades that was compressing his spinal cord. His spinal cord wasn’t severed, but it had suffered significant compression and damage.
At only about 12 weeks old, Fozzie underwent major spinal surgery—a dorsal decompression laminectomy—to relieve the pressure on his spinal cord.
Afterward, my little Bear was miserable.
He couldn’t walk. He couldn’t move the way a puppy should. And for perhaps the only time in his life, Fozzie seemed defeated.
Watching his spirit disappear broke my heart.
But it didn’t last.
He Had Work to Do
Over the next year, Fozzie and I learned an entirely new way of life.
There was physical therapy. Swimming. Laser therapy. Massage. Range-of-motion exercises. Controlled walking. And endless hours of helping his body and brain relearn how to work together.
Fozzie worked incredibly hard.
Slowly, he began to stand.
Then he began to move.
His right rear leg would cross over the other one and trip him. Sometimes his legs seemed to go every direction except the one he intended.
He would fall.
And then he’d get back up.
Again.
And again.
You could almost see his brain working to make those legs move.
And move he did.
There were people who helped tremendously during those early months, and Fozzie had a village around him. Two of the people who helped with his rehabilitation believed he might be better off with someone who had more time and financial resources than I did. I even let one of them keep him for several days at a time because I wanted Fozzie to have every possible chance.
For a while, I wondered whether loving him meant I should let him go.
But every time Fozzie saw me, I saw the answer.
I was his person, and he was my Bear.
I might not have had everything someone else could offer him, but there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to give him the life he deserved.
I made him a promise.
I would never give him up, and I would never give up on him.
And I didn’t.
Then Fozzie Became Fozzie
Fozzie didn’t simply learn to walk.
Fozzie learned to LIVE.
He was tenacious. Happy. Goofy. Bossy. Stubborn. Naughty. And completely spoiled rotten.
He wanted to be top dog, and somehow all the other dogs seemed to agree that this slightly wobbly little dictator could have the job.
The legs we’d once prayed he would be able to use became one of his favorite ways to express his displeasure.
If Fozzie wasn’t getting his way?
STOMP.
If he’d decided he’d done quite enough swimming during physical therapy?
STOMP. STOMP.
Apparently, after working that hard to make his legs function, Fozzie felt entitled to use them to lodge formal complaints.
And while he learned to walk again, perfectly straight lines were never really Fozzie’s thing.
When he got really excited, he’d start moving sideways. Sometimes he’d get SO excited that he’d also start spontaneously peeing—while still moving sideways—which meant the pee went flying everywhere.
At the time, I would get so frustrated with him for doing it all over the house.
Today?
I’d give almost anything to have him do it one more time.
That was Fozzie.
My spoiled rotten lil Bear.
A Life He Fought For
Fozzie loved car rides, walks, romps, and trips to the beach.
He tolerated swimming—which was understandable considering how much of it he’d been forced to do for rehabilitation. 😂
Massage and laser therapy were much more to his liking.
And he loved Maya, his physical therapist.
Fozzie continued seeing Maya on and off throughout his life because keeping that body moving required work. He never stopped working at it.
He also had Donnie.
Donnie and Fozzie were puppies together. While Fozzie was fighting to walk again, Donnie was fighting his own battle with distemper. Somehow those two little survivors found themselves growing up side by side.
Fozzie’s physical challenges never defined his life.
If anything, they seemed to make him more determined to squeeze every possible bit of fun out of it.
Nothing got him down for long. There was always somewhere to go, something to investigate, somebody to boss around—or possibly some cream cheese to acquire.
Fozzie was a force.
And somehow, at the same time, he was my magical unicorn.
The Little Bear Who Started Something Bigger
Fozzie changed more than my life.
Fozzie was the beginning of Labradors and Friends’ Paw Up! Fund for medical dogs.
His journey showed us what could happen when a dog with a complicated and expensive medical condition was given the resources, time, treatment, and people needed to fight alongside him.
People helped Fozzie get back on his feet.
And because of Fozzie, we created a way to help the next medical dog who needed someone to believe they could get back on theirs.
Over the years, Paw Up! would help LAF say yes to dogs who needed surgeries, specialists, rehabilitation, and medical care they might otherwise never have received.
My little Bear’s fight became part of something much bigger than either of us could have imagined when I drove to South Central to pick up a fuzzy 10-week-old puppy who couldn’t walk.
That is Fozzie’s legacy.
One Fight We Couldn’t Win
During COVID, one night Fozzie was lying in his bed looking at me.
Just staring.
I knew something wasn’t right.
I hadn’t seen that look since he was a baby after his spinal surgery, when he had been so miserable and defeated.
I gave him some love and told him it was time for bed.
The next morning, Fozzie wouldn’t eat breakfast.
As I was getting dressed to take him to the veterinarian, he collapsed.
We rushed to the emergency hospital, where they discovered a bleeding mass on his spleen.
Before anyone even told me what it meant, I knew.
After everything Fozzie and I had fought together, my fighter finally had something we couldn’t fight.
Because it was during COVID, I couldn’t even say goodbye to him inside the hospital.
We were under a white tent with the sound of cars and road noise around us. It wasn’t how I would ever have chosen to say goodbye to my Bear, but the veterinary team did everything they could to make an impossible moment gentle.
Fozzie looked at me.
And just as I had known all those years earlier that he belonged with me, I knew what he was telling me now.
It was time.
I held him.
I told him I loved him.
And I told him it would be okay—just as I had done so many times throughout his life.
Except this time, it was the last time.
And my heart has never been quite the same.
Forever My Bear
There are still moments when I walk into a room and think I see him.
Sometimes I can almost see him playing.
For a split second, my Bear is there.
Then I realize it’s a memory.
But what memories he left me.
It wasn’t a perfect life. But it was a good life, and it was a loved life.
I have never known another dog with Fozzie’s will, spirit, and absolute zest for life. He taught me more than I could ever have taught him.
He taught me how to be strong.
He taught me how to overcome.
He taught me to find joy even when life is hard.
And perhaps most importantly, Fozzie taught me that no matter what life throws at you, you should always stay just a little bit naughty—in a good way.
He was a 10-week-old puppy who couldn’t walk.
He became a dog who helped inspire a medical fund that would give other dogs their chance.
But to me, he was simply Fozzie.
Foz the Bear.
My tenacious little Foz.
My spoiled rotten lil Bear.
There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have done for him, except give him up or give up on him.
And I never did.
If love could have kept him alive forever, he would still be here.
❤️🐻🐾
