Schmooze – Special Dogs with Big Hearts

The Vet Again- Hope and Sadness

Today, Cora had an appointment with our normal vet, Dr Rice to talk about brain damage. After last week’s meeting with the orthopedic vet, I knew this would be a hard visit. It was hard, but it was also a very difference experience. I got to spend time with a couple amazing ladies (one human and one canine) and I’m sad, touched and grateful.

The beginning was not auspicious. Cora does not like to be rushed. Unfortunately, we had to leave for the vet shortly after I got home from work. Cora had a temper tantrum, barking and laying down and refusing to walk. I finally got her to walk down her new ramp and I loaded her in the car. That’s when I began to realize how far Cora has come.

Unlike previous car trips Cora was mostly quiet. She did, sharply, let me know when I drove over bumps in the road but mostly she just settled in. When we arrived, I opened the crate and had to quickly get hold of her as she was crawling out and ready to go. She was so curious in the parking lot; it was hard to get her in the office. The puppy who could not manage the slippery floors and was frightened and barking non-stop, had been replaced by an inquisitive and calmer Cora. Well, except for getting weighed, but there are lots of us who don’t like that.

I was really glad that Cora was doing so well. A part of me wanted to try and convince everyone around she wasn’t hopeless. I still felt the impact of those words at the other vet. I was so happy to be seeing Dr. Rice. She had cared for Schmoozer through his battle of epilepsy and I knew she’d take the time to know Cora. As often happened in the past, Dr. Rice and I were sitting on the floor with the dog. I then told Dr. Rice my concerns about brain damage.

Cora had been calm in the waiting room but now her stress level was up. She was noisy and rather floppy, as we tried to maneuver her. I think Cora was practicing a new form of passive resistance. After her reflexes had been checked I settled her in my lap and she calmed some. Dr. Rice told me her reflexes on the left side (front and back leg) were not there, but that her back right leg was ok.

I mentioned hydrocephalus. What she said, in her thoughtful, gentle way is that it doesn’t matter what the exact diagnosis is. Cora isn’t going to get better. But here is what makes Dr. Rice special, that was really just the beginning of our conversation. She asked how I was doing and what I thought. By this time Cora had wiggled out of my lap and Dr. Rice took her into her own lap. I suspect that Cora behaved in similar ways with the orthopedic vet. She was loud and doing a bit of snapping, but without me saying a thing, Dr. Rice understood that this was Cora’s communication and nothing to be afraid of. She laughed at Cora’s stubborn desire to do things herself. I then watched as she held and comforted Cora.

She showed me how pressing on Cora’s head makes Cora calmer. I knew Cora liked to have her head rubbed but I’d never tried pressure. She said that Cora probably is getting headaches and that could explain some of the irritability. Then she said she was doing a bit of Reiki. I don’t disbelieve but generally I find myself skeptical. But it really seemed like something magical was happening in that room and I could try for hours and never find the right words. I just know that Dr. Rice made connection with my difficult and independent girl who often doesn’t want to be touched at all.

I am touched by the beauty of those moments, but I ache inside. “Cora is living on borrowed time.” Those words are hard, but I understand the odds are against her. There is something really wrong inside that stubborn head of hers. She has such a strong spirit, that she may surprise everyone. Cora is physically healthy. If it is hydrocephalus she will get worse for a time and then stabilize. I’m supposed to watch for stroke like symptoms. I’m supposed to challenge her so she can keep making those neural connections that will help her to live as much life as possible.

For myself, I have to acknowledge that her life will probably be pretty short. I will fill that life with love and enjoy each day. Today, Cora let Dr. Rice handle her and cuddle and she definitely charmed her. Then walked out of the exam and as I was trying to pay, she was pulling on the leash. She was wanting to go out into the world, just like any other dog.

Lessons from Schmoozer the Wondermutt

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.

“I Can Do It Myself!”

Since I’m not going to have any human children, the parents curse has come in the form of a cute, black tripod puppy. A couple decades after I left childhood behind, my parents would still get an exasperated tone in their voice when they talked about my “I can do it myself!” proclamation. Apparently, I learned those words early and used them often. Now, little Miss Cora scolds me with the same sentiment..

Last night, she slid across the kitchen floor barking angrily, hunched and with her back leg thumping wildly. It looked awful and my first thought was “Seizure!” I couldn’t help it, my brain had jumped back to Schmoozer the Wondermutt and all the seizures he had. Schmoozer lost his battled with epilepsy a few years ago, but I guess those thought patterns are still there. While there was plenty of drama going on, it was a much simpler sort. Cora had an itch.

Trying to reach that irritated ear with her back right leg meant she just had her left legs to balance on and it just wasn’t working. I tried to reach over to scratch her but she barked and got thoroughly ticked off. She had worked her way into a major tizzy. So, I was forced to watch her as she slid across the entire kitchen floor, trying vainly to get that paw to ear. Finally, when she’d slid into the wall, she let me rub her ear. It obviously felt oh so good and I felt my parents’ exasperation. Did it really need to be that hard?

She’s been here a week now and when she first came home she wouldn’t let me help her with anything. If I tried, she’d bark and snap at me. I get it. This little girl has had to fight her way through life. She survived, blind and hobbled, competing against her healthy litter mates. She dealt with trauma of the shelter and the surgery. She learned to do it on her own because she had to and she knows vulnerability is dangerous. Those very real lessons are hard to forget, especially when you’ve never known anything else. Today Cora began learning something new. We practiced walking up and down the ramp. She’s wobbly on her tripod puppy legs, she can’t see where she’s going, and she simply can’t do it alone. This time, she let me support and guide her (with just a bit of grumpiness) on these early steps of her new life.