Tripod

That’s odd - I’m dreaming about a braying donkey.  A few moments of confusion when I came out of that deep sleep and the donkey hadn’t gone away.  Geeze, it’s my dog and that’s not a dream.  Rainey had rolled over onto the site where her leg had once been and was screaming in pain.  I got up and helped her to sit up.  She whimpered and quivered while I rubbed her head and held her.  Once calm I made sure that she laid down so that she wouldn’t roll onto the wound again.  Back in bed I wondered, ‘Did we do the right thing?’  I glanced down and she was already back to sleep and once I calmed myself down I reasoned that this is going to be one of multiple challenges for the next 10 days or so.  ‘Don’t get hasty with doubts.’

That was two nights ago.  Last night was the wife’s turn to sleep with Rainey in the downstairs room.  When I peeked in before my morning run, Rainey was half under the bed; her usual comfort zone.  Things are normalizing.  Home after the run and she hopped over to me and gave me a greeting, wagging her tail with that welcome home gaiety that I’d not seen in far too long.  As I write this and look at her she seems to be the dog we recalled from month’s back; little naps broken by curious observation – checking to make sure her human pack is behaving. 

There are going to be challenges. Getting her to eat; keeping her out of pain; making sure she doesn't try to negotiate the stairs yet; keeping the stitches dry and of course the attendant no licking rule. Somebody is going to have to be home at all times while she's healing and getting used to 3 legs. At some point she'll be okay to leave alone in the house but right now I don't want to see her get stuck or accidentally lay on that wound. Challenges.  I've said it before - she'd do the same for us.    

Picking her up on Thursday afternoon was equal parts apprehension and delight.  I've seen tripod dogs on occasion but it was never MY dog.  How would she look and how in the hell do you take care of them? The vet tech took care of the latter. She gave us 20 minutes and 3 pages of instructions; 4 jars of different pills and 1 big assurance that we’d done the right thing by our friend.  She told us that she’d just left a tail wagging happy dog.  After the instructions, the paperwork and the bill pay Rainey was brought out sporting a gray compression jacket and a nasty scar that looked like Dr. Frankenstein’s handiwork.  Well the vet did say that dogs aren’t self-conscious about this sort of thing; no canine bikini scars. 

She half hopped, half hobbled into the waiting room, tail wagging limply.  She showed muted happiness at seeing us.  She was, according to the tech, high as a kite.  With the help of the tech we negotiated our girl past those in the waiting room who looked on; some shock, some sadness, some looks of sympathy, but all looks of understanding.  The tech lifted Rainey like a lamb into the back seat of the wife’s SUV.  Yeah we’re going to have to invest in a ramp.

On the first night I gave Rainey ½ tab of Acepromazine, a sedative that had her zonked until about noon the next day.  Before I’d gone to work I literally had to lift up her muzzle to see if she was okay.  We called the vet and they suggested ¼ tab the next time and wait until the Fentanyl patch comes off.  I’m figuring that by the time this gets done I’m going to have a 3 legged junkie.  A canine Rush Limbaugh only much smarter and less hateful and obnoxious. 

The drugs are playing hell with her appetite.  She only eats a few morsels now and then. She’s turned down chicken, fruit, hot dog, tri-tip, watermelon, crackers and a taste of an orange creamcicle.  The tech said that once the Fentanyl patch comes off she should feel up to eating.  The wife worries about this – a lot.  She also protests if I give Rainey the Tramadol pain meds – bad for her kidneys.  That’s been the challenge.  The wife sees me over medicating and I see her under medicating. 

Hardwood floors are a challenge for walking but more so for just standing up. Her rear legs splay out and she gets stuck struggling to hold herself up with her one front leg.  The tech had suggested going out and getting a bunch of yoga mats.  What in the hell am I going to do with yoga mats once Rainey doesn’t need them?  Try yoga?  Yeah I’ll break something or pull something for sure.  I solved the problem with a trip to Ikea for the long discussed area rug for the high traffic area in the family room – two issues resolved. 

Every now and again Rainey pops up to do some exploring; a good thing since I imagine that she needs to get the kinks out..  We leash her up and let her hop around the yard. She’s good at it now as long as the footing is good.  At times there are warnings to “slow down girl.”  I wondered how she would handle the bathroom duties but the tech said that dogs figure that out.  And she did.  There are some things that don’t allow you a lot of time for dissection and going potty is one of them. Like my Uncle Al would say, “When your momma calls you oughta go, when nature calls you gotta go.”  

We’ve got 10 days until the checkup.  After that she starts chemo therapy which will hopefully find and finish off any lurking cancer cells.  The chemo part was what the family objected to – didn’t want to put her through the side effects.  I lobbied briefly for it but the family prevailed and that’s when I had to let go of her and make the appointment to have Rainey euthanized.  That was going to be last Thursday.  I remember sitting at work last Thursday morning and glancing down at my watch; a chill ran through me – I’d have been holding my friend for the last time.  As the reality of saying goodbye started to sink in, and after doing some research on the chemo, the wife had a change of heart and on that same night Rainey rallied, showing us a vibrancy that been missing for months.  As if to tell us that she wasn’t ready to go yet.

Look we’ve essentially rolled the dice.  I have a happy dog again – right now she’s looking at me with that inquisitive, what are you up to expression.  But I don’t know how long I’ll have a happy dog.  We might have bought up to a year or so.  We might only get a few months or even a few weeks.  But sitting at my computer, peeking over the screen and meeting eyes that say both adoration and curiosity I feel like we’ve done the right thing.  And that’s with the sober realization that at some point down an all too short road I’ll have to let go for a third and final time.