Another Amazing Tripawds Three Legged Dog Blog
The idea is that Cora will be able to get more places if she can ride in style. That it will be less stress for her and I. I’m not sure it’s going to work like I hoped but I guess we will see.
PS- Cora now has her own faebook page. The cats are jealous. Floyd says he doesn’t want a stupid facebook page.
Not all stories have happy endings. I’m having troubles moving past this beginning, but there is more to say. Years ago, when I realized how severe Schmoozer’s epilepsy was and how poorly he tolerated his medications, I tried to make peace with fighting a battle we couldn’t win. I tried to give him the best possible life he could have. It was hard 4.5 year journey and I don’t regret it. Now, I’m afraid I’m starting a similar journey.
I received Cora’s early medical records a few days after adopting her and there was this sentence that I couldn’t ignore “multiple congenital defects”. I mentally filed that phrase away. It did no good to worry about it, so I figured I would deal with it if and when it mattered. A few weeks ago, it began to matter. Her walking wasn’t improving much and there were so many things she struggled with. When stressed, her ability to cope with anything decreased dramatically. She can become a snarling, snapping dog, unable to move.
When I was trying to decide what my next step would be, I debated between going to a neurologist or a physical therapist. Neurology is hard to fix (and expensive), so I took her to a canine rehabilitation specialist with a mix of dread and hope. He said he’d never seen a dog quite like Cora and asked if he could observe her for a few hours and consult with the orthopedic veterinarian. I didn’t like leaving there, but I said yes. When they called me to pick her up, they said the vet wanted to talk to me and I knew.
He spent a lot of time saying “To be blunt…” and then telling me just how impaired and hopeless she is. He told me I had to make my own decisions but mentioned euthanasia multiple times. I understand that he saw her at her worst and wanted to prepare me for the worst. Cora and I went home and she was defensive and unhappy that night. I was too. The visit was traumatic for both of us.
By the next day she had recovered. She spent time playing in the yard and insisted on taking a bath with me. She loved it. To be blunt, I think the vet was a bit of an ass. Telling me she had severe mental deficits was the responsible thing to do, but after that he was out of his area of expertise. He made a judgement on her quality of life, without knowing her. I am not giving up on my determined Cora.
I’ve done my research and it scares me. Bind, 3-legged and brain damaged is a lot for her and I to deal with. I suspect she has hydrocephalus and fear her time will be very short. I know that’s grim, but I need to think in those terms. I need to be ready to let her go, when it’s time. I can, and will, still hope though. Wouldn’t it be great if 5 years from now Cora and I paid a visit to that vet? There is treatment for hydrocephalus. It’s not a cure, but it can help. Next week, I see my regular veterinarian, and we will explore the possibilities. I’m going to nurture Cora as if she doesn’t have a lot of time left, but her life is full of potential. It’s a hard balance, but I have done it before. I will give her every opportunity for growth possible and she will give me the gift of sharing time with her strong spirit.
Life with Cora is interesting. A few nights ago, all the critters were telling me it had been at least a month since I fed them. Even the fish get into that act, banging against the surface of the water until they’ve been fed. Sometimes they trick me into feeding them twice. Yes, I’m admitting to getting outsmarted by goldfish. I am a forgetful and distracted human and most animals are capable of more than we expect.
Cora often proves this in odd ways. It was just not a good night for her. She didn’t seem to be getting around well. She was frustrated. She is a vocal girl and was voicing her angst. I tried to do a bit of training with her, but didn’t get far so we switched to playing until Floyd took over. While I was playing with Floyd, Cora thwumped down the hall way and forced herself past the vacuum and baby gate and got into the cat room. She navigated the obstacles in there, complaining the whole time that they were in her way, and arrived at one of dogs’ forbidden pleasures –the litter box. She was not happy when I pulled her away. It’s amazing how determined a blind, tripawed puppy can be when kitty-Roca awaits.
As I’m pulling her away, I realize that Floyd has joined us in the cat room. There is a reason I call it the cat room. Access is not granted to litter-box eating dogs. Or cat herding dogs. Or cat food stealing dogs. In my experience, this means that *no* dogs are welcome. I attempt to explain this as I urge Floyd towards the door and drag the resisting Cora (gently) by her halter. The cats were highly entertained.
Floyd has succeeded in breaking into the cat-room many times before. He has torn down baby gates, climbed through small holes. He has jumped over, pulled open and pushed through various earlier obstructions. I now know any method of preventing Floyd admittance into the fantastic, feline space is only temporary. But this time, the situation was about to get serious, in Floyd’s opinion. As we all enter the hallway, Floyd bumps the dreaded and dangerous vacuum. I had placed the vacuum there a week or so ago, because it was close at hand and I needed something to bra
ce the baby gate. Floyd, smart and determined, is terrified of the vacuum. I didn’t think about this when I placed it by the cat room, but I had soon realized I had posted a very effective keep out sign.
Blind Cora, had not see the sign, which created the party in the cat room. Floyd may have braved the vacuum on the way in to join the fun, but our bumbling in the hallway caused a crisis. The vacuum had moved. Unfortunately on of Floyd’s primary strategies when frightened is to attack and he launched an assault on my vacuum. He’s destroyed a vacuum in the past. I know, I need to work on this vacuum prejudice, but there have always been bigger Floyd issues to deal with. I had released Cora and come to the rescue of my stalwart vacuum and I got Floyd in the living room. I then realize Cora is back in the cat room. I reversed direction to get Cora, walking past Floyd’s enemy. He once again launches an attack on the beleaguered vacuum. I had used up my distraction treats and my patience so I ushered Floyd outside. As I got Cora out, Floyd began to bark hysterically at the door. I hurriedly set up the baby gate so it’s fully blocking the door to the cat room and rush to get Floyd in, so he wouldn’t disturb the neighbors. Cora began to push with all her might against the secured baby gate. Her feet slipped wildly on the floor as Floyd makes a final charge at the vacuum. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Soon they were both sound asleep. The commotion of a few minutes ago had been replaced by snores. The truth is I wanted to cry. I wondered, again, if I could actually cope with all the addition of Cora brings. All that happened, but then the whole thing began to seem rather comical. I chose to share my life with these creatures deemed “unadoptable”. That means it’s going to be a hard journey, but it certainly won’t be boring.
I wrote this earlier this week and wasn’t able to post it (silly computer). It’s been a hard few days here and I’ll write more about that later. But for now, I will say it was good to reflect on that moment, where I was able to see the absurdity and find some peace.
Cora and I are both learning about balance. One of the tricky things we are learning is how far we can go. Cora gets tired and overwhelmed and actually, so do I. When the animal behaviorist talked about the puppy socialization period, it felt urgent to get her out into the world. Getting into the car, we’d go out and explore for a few days. Going to work, play time, the pet store – there were just so many experiences to have. Then Cora’s Jekyll would appear. Snarling, snapping, refusing to walk, Cora would make it clear she had had ENOUGH. I may not know how to listen, to myself, but Cora’s message as loud and clear.
Truth is, my own life has had way too much going on. Here I am trying to force Cora forward in life and I felt like snarling and snapping myself. A very wise woman keeps reminding me that most things aren’t emergencies. It’s taken me a bit to understand the wisdom of this. Cora may help me, because she makes it very clear when it’s time to slow down.
I don’t think it was wrong to pack a lot of socialization into a short time period. The change in Cora is wonderful. She’s learning to handle herself in a lot of situations. She doesn’t respond with panic and anger when she goes some place new. We’ve taken some metaphorical spills and learned about pacing.
This week, Cora has stayed home. She’s still learning and exploring. We may have missed some important opportunities to meet dogs and people during the socialization stage. We may have also gained some valuable time. Time for her and I to bond. In this world we all rush out to do things. I’m especially amazed at today’s children, with all their activities. I know there’s value in that, but I have always believe unstructured moments can be gifts. 
Sitting on the floor with Cora and playing has been amazing. I know her so much better now. I know when she’s snarling and fierce sounding and it’s all in play and when she’s letting me and Floyd know to back off. I know she loves the shower and she doesn’t like tug-of-war.
Today, Floyd, Cora and I headed out to play. It was a good day and full of that valuable socialization. It was clear, that the break from interacting with others had done Cora no harm. I’ll write more about that, with lots of pictures, soon. But for now, I’m going to take the time to enjoy the stability of where I am right now: home with the critters I love.
Yesterday was a month since Cora’s amputation and she has now lived with me for 3 weeks. A lot has happened in the last week and I will soon write more, but for now you can just enjoy the sweetness…
Today it was actually sunny, so of course time was spent outside. Floyd (and I) enjoyed a good morning walk. Mr Energy showed what a good boy he can be. He found a herd of elk and dashed after them, but he stopped and came when I called. We were both rather pleased with the day. With the fun done it was time to get serious and tackle CCP.
Before we could undertake phase 1, Cora got to practice walking down the temporary ramp and then was allowed to explore the yard (more about that in a bit). She covered more ground than I expected!
I don’t have to worry about her falling under the railings or off the unrailed side. It’s quite a drop.
A gate!
Finally, Cora finds someone who stays still long enough, that she can fight it.
Alas, even though her foe was a fern, Cora loses the battle. Tumbling away from her enemy she lives to fight another day.
Everyone who knew him thought Schmoozer was special. Schmoo battled very severe epilepsy for most of his short life. I was blessed to have that time with him. He just had this gift for charming people. He was gentle, silly, mellow and affectionate and even non-dog people were charmed by him.
I brought Schmoo home from the rescue group when he was just a pup. I actually felt a bit guilty getting a pup when there are so many older dogs needing homes. Several of my furry companions had recently crossed the rainbow bridge and Fancy-cat was getting old and developing health issues. I wanted someone who would be healthy and would share my life for a long time.
His first seizure came at seven months and it was a violent, long grand mal. Life isn’t a made for TV movie, where it all seems right in the end. Schmoo’s epilepsy just got worse over time and side-effects of the meds were almost as bad. There is a sort of magic that can come from adversity. When Coal (Schmoo’s predecessor) died, I didn’t think I could ever love a dog more deeply. Perhaps that’s true, but there’s a special intimacy shared between caretaker and survivor.
Schmoozer had chronic coordination problems known as ataxia. He fell a lot and struggled to do what other dogs could. My heart ached and I wanted to protect him. He didn’t want to be protected though. He wanted to play at the dog park, swim, hike and make new friends. It’s funny how when we know time may be short we become very conscious of using it well. I wanted Schmoo’s quality of life to be as good as possible and that meant I had to let him live on his own terms.
I remember the day I really understood what Schmoo was teaching me. He’d found a playmate who was quick and agile. Schmoozer couldn’t keep up and then he fell and I felt that pit in my stomach. My thoughts churned as I imagined a dark future, when happy barks pulled me out of my reverie. While I had been down in the dumps, Schmoo had picked himself up and flung his wobbly self into the game.
Schmoo had a big heart and he knew how to live life and find enjoyment. One winter we got hit by a major storm and everything was ice. Since Schmoo couldn’t walk on the ice he first made a game of sliding across the ice. Finally even that got to be too much and he thwumped down on the ground. His eyes looked up and brightened as he watched a big pileated woodpecker tear apart a tree.
Schmoo gave me so much and now it’s my turn to share with Cora. I’m watching Cora learn to walk as a tripod and find her way in a world she can’t see. I know she is going to struggle and fall. I also know she has a life of opportunity ahead of her.