This dog. This dog is breaking my heart.

We picked Sophie up from the kennel on Thursday and it was puppyville for a day. She went a little nuts coming home—which was fun. I seriously think she didn’t stop licking and nose-butting and pouncing on everyone for at least 20 minutes. Poor IZ nearly had his arm pulled out of the socket trying to get everything out of the car while Sophie clearly wanted nothing but to come inside!

We’ve jokingly called her our “door stop dog” for so long, because she really is a low energy pup. These long winters take a toll on her. She’s solar powered, like the rest of this family, but with an edge; she gets to hibernate! And hibernate she does, typically on the edge of the couch. If she moves, it’s to find a sunspot on the carpet. Having her frisk around like a puppy was such a change in her energy, we were a bit taken aback to find her sick 12 short hours later.

Thursday quickly melded into Friday and it all went down hill from there. I’ll spare you the bodily fluid descriptions, but last night found me in tears. I lost a dog to Parvo when I was Boy Wonder’s age and that experience has never left me. And I guess I go to that place when Sophie is this sick. She’s such a sweet dog, I can’t help but mourn with her when she’s ill. She looks at you with such pain in her eyes and I melt. She’s a tender soul, she’s embarrassed and shamed to be sick. So, there you are, cleaning up messes and she’s too sick to find a place to hide, but she’s looking at you with a million apologies. And all you want to do is scoop her up and hold her, except she winces in pain when you touch her. It makes you want to weep!

While we were certain she didn’t have Parvo due to her age and inoculations; her symptoms just couldn’t be ignored, which precipitated an early run to the vet this morning for fluids and medication. She’s home for now while we wait and see. We’ve been cautioned that she may need to come in for IV fluids tomorrow if the meds can’t stop the vomiting. Clearly, we’d like to avoid that.

So, this is where I find myself this morning. I’d had every intention of sharing with you my thoughts on compassion while the experiences from last week were still fresh. As you can imagine, after last week, I have quite a bit to say about that! But it will hold for Monday. Right now, this dog, this dog is breaking my heart.

UPDATE: Thank you, all, for your comments. IZ and I so appreciate them. It’s Sunday afternoon and while Sophie is still wonky on the medication, she’s showing signs of rapid recovery. I think she’ll be back to herself in a few days.

Snickers doesn’t get much face time on this blog. Mostly, because she’s IZ’s cat and torments my dog enough to keep me in an almost perpetual state of peeved. It’s an unfair relationship, really. Because if Sophie responds we have no choice but to crack down on her. She’s a terrier and her instincts are intact; she’s genetically predisposed to hunt and kill vermin. Snickers certainly behaves like a weasel, but up against the snapping jaws of an enraged dog, she doesn’t stand a chance. You’d think that be enough to stop her wily ways.

I like this about my dog. I am a city girl through and through, but I harbor delusions of living “out” and having a whole pack of terriers to call my own. Like my dog’s instincts, my fantasy life is intact; I have visions of plaid riding jackets and leather knee-high boots (What?! By now you people should know my fantasies come with wardrobe options.) and five or six lovely, black and tan Welshies jumping at my feet. We spend countless hours roaming the vast expanse of our country estate nosing out assorted vermin. We come home, hot and sweaty and tired and triumphant, having once again cleared our fair land of weasels. (Hey, if you’re reading metaphor here, good for you.)

A Welsh Terrier is no slouch when it comes to nosing out a vermin. Just ask my Miss Sophie. There’s not a garbage can or telephone pole she doesn’t growl at when we’re out walking. Never mind our neighbor cat out for a midnight stroll. No, she has bigger prey in mind; namely her own shadow! Clearly, I’m not the only one with a rich fantasy life.

Now, I don’t believe in letting a person, or dog, dream alone. So, I can’t resist whispering, “Kill it, Sophie. Kill it!” even though it’s perfectly obvious that the only vermin in her life is the cat. Vermin she can’t kill. Vermin she must tolerate.

Which brings us back to Snickers. Lord only knows what goes on in her fantasy life.

Mary asked that my next post be CHEERFUL and SHALLOW, and you know I’d be only too happy to oblige if I could. Clearly, churning water and my angst wasn’t doing the job. Perhaps a photo of my supermodel dog will do the trick? What’s not cheerful about a dog in a pink shirt?

You might not want to read further.

You can see from this photo her eyes are leaving us. Lest any one think I’m being “Cheerful and Shallow” about that, I’m not. I’ve just accepted that she will probably go blind, sooner than later. She doesn’t seem to care or to be in any pain—the only deficit we notice is her constant growling at her own shadow on our midnight strolls. Other than that, she’s adapting to “seeing” the world with her nose. Trust me, she has NO problem in that department. This dog can smell a “TREAT” in a deep sleep.

However, while I’m still floundering around with eye drops several times a day, she’s become far more adept at passive resistance. Instead of avoiding me, she now comes when called. Only, as she jumps onto the couch to sit she purposefully faces away from me. You can make me come, but you can’t make me like it. It’s the canine version of “Talk to the hand.” Heh. Clever dog. Of course, this means I have to wrangle her to face me, and she uses the moment to clamp her eyelids firmly shut.

They tried to give me medication, I said, “No, no, no.”

So, there I am, one hand on her snout, the other hand trying to pry open her eye all the while, I’m sitting there wondering exactly what hand I’m supposed to use for the eye drops. She’s smart, I’ll give you that. I’m smarter, tho. Eventually, I call in reinforcements; her beloved IZ gets involved.

Does that mean I’m any less reviled by this dog, now that I have a co-conspirator? Uh, no.

What can you do? I mean well but from this dog’s perspective I’m a walking torture device. She decided before she ever entered our home that she adored IZ best. He can do no wrong. Nothing he does will change her love for him—or her perspective that I’m the anti-christ of eye-drops.

Of course, it probably doesn’t help that I dress her in pink polo shirts either.

*Cheerful and Shallow

This weather is glorious! I had a chance to get out in it yesterday and found myself wandering into LaDeDog… oh. my. Heaven.

Yes, yes, I have serious problems. For starters, I adore a dog who barely tolerates me. But I can’t help it… she’s my supermodel dog. She’s BE-YOO-T-FULL! And she knows it.

Anyone living in Astoria knows that Couture can be hard to come by—so, hard, it requires a trip into the big city. But if you’re a pooch, you’re in luck! LaDeDog can set you up in style without sending your owner’s pocket-book into shock. That’s what the vet bill is for after all!!

Do I look like the kind of girl who would dress up my badger-hunting terrier in darling pea-coats?

   

(I swear, her tail wags every time she sees me coming with the coat. Yes, it’s bribery, but I think we’ve established that I have issues.)

My job is to stand here and look beautiful. It’s harder than you think.

We call Sophie our Supermodel dog. The dog thinks her only job is to look beautiful. Lately, she’s been having issues even accomplishing that much! Work? What’s that? And at the risk of stereotyping, like most Supermodels Sophie also abuses prescribed medication. Hey, at least it’s not crack.

Last night Sophie began limping and refusing to put any weight on her right hind foot. Her eyes are still opaque, although much improved, and she was in need of a Parvo shot so off to her pusher the vet we went.

We spent the better part of an hour waiting our turn to see the vet. Sophie did her part and looked intimidating. Looking fierce is a supermodel thing. Like most Terriers, Sophie has never met a fight she wouldn’t start—so, it was no surprise when, with just one look, she sent a sweet Doberman named Riley scurrying behind her owner’s legs. Riley spent the whole time with her nose buried in her owner’s lap, casting spurious glances our direction until Sophie was called into the exam room.

Evidently, Ms. Thing has an infected toe due to all the gnawing she does. Not only is my dog an addict, she has a few anxiety issues to boot! Add that to her poor social skills and you begin to see why our dog has more in common with Naomi Campbell than the average canine. We won’t even discuss her obsession with haute couture.

Of course an infected toe means more script. Drugs, drugs, give us the good drugs! I don’t think my addict dog would know what to do if she actually left the vet without a discreet brown bag. These monthly vet visits give new meaning to the phrase, “left holding the bag” as it’s me footing the bill and toting around her stash! Her little addiction to script is EXPENSIVE. Which, I suppose, goes with the territory. Beauty isn’t cheap.

It does appear that the primary infection in her eyes has passed and as long as we keep her on medicated eye drops for the rest of her life, surgery isn’t necessary for now. The toe is a different story. If she’s still feeling pain in three weeks it’s likely that the toe will need to be amputated.

We’ve assured her that she will still look beautiful with a gimpy foot. Besides, all heroine addicted supermodels walk funny. Although, most of them don’t poop in their kennels. At least, if they do, that doesn’t seem to make the papers!

Meanwhile, she’s still hiding every time I come calling. Her job is to look beautiful. My job is to administer eye drops. Division of labor is overrated.

Thank you all for your lovely comments regarding our Sophie—I’m still working on getting to them all. As of this morning, she’s doing great on the medication. She seems to be tolerating it well, just a bit sleepier than usual. Which, isn’t saying something since she sleeps all day anyhow! However, she feels well enough to run and hide when she sees me coming with eye drops, so it can’t be that bad!

She will be on the meds for 2 weeks. The hope is the medication will clear her infection and we’ll then be able to make a decision about our next step. Apparently, her eyes are losing mass and that creates space for infection to set in. There is surgery that can help with the condition, but it’s too soon to be making decisions about that. I think everyone involved would feel better about making a decision if we understood the underlying condition causing all this havoc. At the moment, we’re in the dark so we will just have to wait and see.

Again, I do appreciate all the well wishes and prayers. We’re taking it day-by-day. If anything changes I’ll be sure to update you! In the meantime, there is something to be said for living in the moment. I hope you all can find a way to do that today!

Our sweet Sophie is ill. And it took 3 vets to come to that conclusion today. What is wrong, exactly, we don’t know. Neither do the experts.  We just know that it isn’t good and in a weird coincidence of numbers, she’s now on 3 new medications that may or may not make matters better.

What I do know, is that I’ve become the person she hates. Despite the fact that IZ took her to the vet(s) (where they did unspeakable things to her!), I’ve been the girl administering meds. Specifically the eye medication that she hates! Not that I like it either, I’m completely eye phobic. However, she sees me coming and immediately runs and hides under IZ’s desk. Or perhaps, it’s because I’ve given her two baths in as many days. Either way, I’m not exactly popular.

I’ll spare you the details, because I doubt anyone other than the vet is interested in my dog’s fluids and symptoms. Let’s just say we woke up to a very ill dog this morning and THANK GOD for my husband whose sense of smell is not mine. I wretched just giving her a bath, I can’t imagine how he got through the rest. This is all to say, it’s been a LONG day, full of no answers and a great deal of worry on our part.

Anyhow, this is an old photo of our darling. I’m projecting like mad here, but I don’t think she’d especially appreciate a photo of her looking like hell. And like hell is how I describe her at the moment. I can’t imagine how she must be feeling. She’s a wreck, who adores my husband and will still wag her tail when he comes into the room. Otherwise, she’s passed out in an over-heated lump. And, when she is deep in sleep, I sneak up and kiss her on her lovely terrier face that I adore more than I have words for. . . and then I put more meds in her eyes. Because hate me she will, but love her I do and this, this is the hard price of love. Sometimes, we just don’t get to be popular. Not even with the dog.

Sometimes we have to do the hard stuff and be worried.

Because my dog needs more bling.

(more…)

Ms. Sophie rocking Ms. Kathleen’s Tiara. Thanks for the photo, Kat! ~W