Archive for the ‘It’s a Dog’s Life’ Category
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.
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.Â 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.
Our dog, Sophie, suffers from systemic yeast and is allergic to everything under the sun. I do not exaggerate here! A friend visited recently and offered her a wee bit of cheese. Before I could say no, Sophie being no fool, inhaled it. The next day her poor eyes puffed up so badly she could barely see out of them! So, last weekend I sent her to the kennel with a bag and strict instructions that she could eat nothing if it wasn’t in the bag. In fact, it was a little sad, really, all my obsessing. I packaged and labeled every item in a ziplock baggie—every meal, every medication had my panicky notes written in permanent marker. The underlying message being: I don’t care how cute she is—don’t you dare give her a treat! I’ll know if you do.
While I’m not one of those dog owners who dresses her pup up in matching clothes (ok, I would be, but she rolls her eyes at me when I try and then I feel foolish!), I have cause to worry about her health. All weekend long I worried. Every dog I saw made me stop and wonder how my over-indulged pooch was fairing. The yeast is being treated, but we’re a long way from being cured. And the last thing I needed was for Sophie to have a set-back in the kennel because someone gave her a tabu food. It’s bad enough that she tears her skin to pieces when she’s anxious!
Turns out, I needn’t have worried. Hammond Kennels is more like a Puppy Spa! She got lots of attention and had her own little space. I suspect she spent the whole time we were away barking and running, because she was exhausted when she came home. Sophie got quite accustomed to having the equivalency of a doggie door—she roamed at will. Four days of spa vacation and she’s a bit spoiled. Which means that she’s spent the past few days at home doing this delightful little dance and howling routine whenever she feels the urge to go outside and play. At first, I thought it was a potty run, so I indulged it—only to discover that in reality, she just wanted outside. You know, to sniff grass and chomp at flying bugs and then to curl up in her enormous bed on our tangy porch.
If she can’t talk me into letting her outside, she immediately moves on to other targets who usually relent. Lord help us when she gets to spend 12 days at her spa in September. There will be no living with her then.