Things I've Learned From My One-Eyed Dog

I have only one eye.  Can you even tell?

As I discussed in my last post, my dog had to have his eye removed a few weeks ago.  This surgery was unexpected and left us, his people, pretty sad and distraught.   But Teddy, well, he took it all in stride.   Here are some things I have learned in the last few weeks from my one-eyed dog:

1.   You can wake up to a totally different reality.  Go with it.

Teddy basically went to sleep with two eyes and woke up with one.  The vet said he was almost completely blind in the bad eye so we don't even know if he noticed it was gone.  In any case, he woke up and was like, "huh, okay, I guess this is how it is now."   I mean, Teddy can't verbally complain, so we don't know if he was upset about this new reality but he also didn't crawl under the covers and eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry's either so there's that.

or is he?

2.   Don't get hung up on what you don't have, be grateful for what you've got.

Again, Teddy can't talk so we don't know what's really going on in his head but we have reason to believe he is grateful.   When my husband picked him up just hours after surgery, Teddy ran to him with a frantically wagging tail.    We wouldn't have blamed him if his coned head had been hanging in shame and his tail was down with the thought bubble hovering over his head said something like, "Don't look at me!  I'm hideous!"  But, nope, he wagged his tail and the thought bubble clearly said, "You're here!  I'm here!  I still have one eye!  This is all fabulous!"

3.  Old dogs can learn new tricks.

Teddy had a cone on his head.  This was probably the thing that annoyed him the most about losing an eye.   It meant that eating, drinking and finding a proper place to "do his business" were all more difficult.   We taught him how to approach his food bowl in a new way so that the cone wouldn't act like a shovel and leave scattered kibble all over the kitchen.  It took him several failed attempts to learn, and many turned over bowls of kibble and water.  It might have been easier to just spoon feed and bottle feed him, but by learning a new way he could eat and drink when he wanted and didn't have to rely on us. I think this was a good motivator for him.   It might have been even more difficult to find a place to "do his business" outside since at the time we had lots of snow and his cone acted like a shovel that would quickly fill with snow as he sniffed.  Then he'd shake his head to get rid of the snow and just end up with a sad face full of snow.   His solution to this problem was to abandon all sniffing and just pee as soon as he was placed on the ground.   This brings me to the next point:

4.  Shit happens.

Figuratively and literally.   When Teddy had back surgery six years ago, I was worried about his ability to, for lack of another way to put it, poop.   The vet assured me that poop will eventually come out whether he "tries" or not.   "It will just come out" he said, "Maybe not at the best time or place, but that's the way it works".   I won't indulge you with details, but the vet was right.

In a more figurative sense, we had gone to the vet thinking Teddy was having back problems again and ended up with a one eyed dog.
If I had a dime for every time that happened!  JK
But, I do know that sometimes one problem leads to another, potentially bigger problem, and we can't make problems, or shit, go away by ignoring it.
Just as the vet said, "Shit happens."

5.  Being here with one eye is better than not being here at all.

We had about five minutes to decide if he was going to have surgery.   The choice was clear, "Take out his eye, or take him out altogether."  It was a pretty clear choice.

I think sometimes when I'm making a tough decision I should consider that whatever I'm doing, and no matter how difficult it may be, it is better to be here with one eye or (fill in the blank) than not here at all.  Always choose here.

6.  Always shower and get a hair cut before any major surgery.

Okay this is a silly one but still important.  Teddy needed to be groomed BEFORE his surgery and we just didn't have the time to factor that in before his very necessary surgery.  Now, he can't have a bath or a haircut for weeks, and to be quite honest, he stinks.

Never underestimate the importance of good grooming before surgery.  Smell good.

7.  Every day you are here is special

When Teddy went into surgery there was a chance he would not survive and my husband and I had made the difficult decision to sign a DNR (see number 8) because life saving measures can be traumatic to an almost twelve year old dog.   As I drove home in an empty car I thought about how everything had happened so quickly we didn't have a chance to do some of his favorite things with him, such as a romp in his favorite park, share a burger with him, or have a snuggle on the couch.  I found myself wishing that we had snuck him a McDonalds hamburger before his surgery, so if he didn't make it, he would at least die with a happy belly (I know, McDonalds rarely leads to a happy belly, but still).    I was worried we would never get the chance to spoil him again.   When he came home, we all instinctively doted on him.   He had lots of snuggles and lots of treats.  And now I carry a hamburger with me in my purse at all times in case of another emergency, possibly deadly surgery.  You just never know.   Every day that you are here is special, treat it as such.

8.   Don't ever sign a DNR with your child in the room.  It doesn't matter how old they are.

If your pet was the childhood pet of your children it's probably best to not have them in the room when, and if, you sign your pet's DNR, it doesn't matter how old they are at the current moment.  After all, this could be the pet who was dressed in tutus for their family living room ballet performances, or put in a cape for daring feats, this could be the pet that listened to the latest drama in their social circle and ALWAYS sided with your child, this could be the pet was their friend when they felt very lonely.   It's a very sad thing that childhood pets can not stay with us throughout are entire lives.  So, perhaps when a vet starts talking about a DNR while your twenty year old is in the room it might be best to say,  "Wouldn't you like to get a snack from the vending machine?"   Or, like us, you could just let your child remain and let them leave the room sobbing with the words, "I don't think I should be here for this!!" trailing after them.

  

Later, after we got the call that Teddy had survived the surgery my husband and I both expressed relief that the DNR didn't have to be used.   Our daughter yelled at us, "You mean you signed it?!?!?!"
"Um.  Yes.  He's almost twelve and recuscitation could be very hard on his old body." we said.
"I had assumed this whole time that you would tell the vet that we aren't those kind of people, that we want him saved no matter what!  I can't believe you signed it!  You are horrible people" she screamed and with that she stormed out of the room.

Perhaps now is not the time to tell her that Grandma has a DNR too?

9.  Every challenge life gives us is an opportunity for a new wardrobe.

Pirate costume.  Need I say more?

10.  Ever challenge life gives us is an opportunity for a new career.

Pirate.  Enough said.

11.   Survival instinct is real.

Teddy has had two surgeries in his life.  When he was six he had major back surgery and now, at almost twelve, he had an eye removed.   I'm sure that Teddy knows that we will take care of him but his instincts tell him something else.   Hours after surgery he pulled himself up to standing position so he could go eat, drink, and pee.   We could help him I suppose but we know it's better for him to do these things himself, because ultimately, all any of us can truly rely on is ourselves.
I suppose if Teddy had the option to lay in a hospital bed with a catheter and someone delivering him steak, chicken and burgers on a cafeteria tray while watching the Mandalorian he might not be so inclined to get himself moving.   Perhaps it is better that he does not know that is an option.

Mandalorian?  Is that Baby Yoda on the TV?

12.  Don't plan too much for an unknown future.

My husband and I agreed long ago that we would not pay any more big hospital bills for our elderly dog.   And yet, the decision was easy for both of us when push came to shove.  Rationality doesn't come into play when a beloved pet is involved.  Or a grandma I suppose 😜


Also, who knows what the future holds for any of us?   As stated earlier, eat the steak, go for the romp in the woods, snuggle.

13.   Don't fret so much about how you look.  The ones who truly love you see beyond the surface, and they are the only ones that matter.

First post-surgery pic

If I'm being honest, Teddy is not the best looking dog at this point.    He is quite overweight - okay he's fat - and he limps when he walks, he has one eye, and as I've pointed out earlier he needs a good grooming.   Yup.  He's that smelly kid that no one wants to sit next to on the bus.   But, it really doesn't matter to any of us, his people, because he is still absolutely 100% our beloved Teddy.  That's all he'll ever be.

I will end this blog with this very fitting quote by Margery Williams from the Velveteen Rabbit.  I used to believe that this quote only applied to stuffed animals and other inanimate, but beloved, objects but now I know better.

"You become.  It takes a long time.  That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.  Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby.  Bet these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

Who's a good boy?

A One-Eyed Dog and a Three Legged Pig

I took my dog to the Vet thinking that he was experiencing issues with his chronically bad back.  He didn't want to walk or eat which, with him,  was usually indicative of back pain.   So, we went off to the vet for what I thought would be a quick visit, and that we would leave with a prescription for steroids in hand, and after that he would improve quickly.

That's not quite how it went.

The vet was giving him a quick once over and seemed quite concerned about his eye.  It was a milky blue color, and to be honest, I hadn't really noticed the color change.  She took out some tools and was intently investigating every aspect of his eye.  In my head I'm thinking, "But, it's his back that is the problem."   She wasn't even looking at his back.   Then she said, "He seems to have a mass in his eye, and I think he needs to see an ophthalmologist to decide if the eye needs to be removed."   And I'm thinking, "Silly Vet, it's not his eye, it's his back."

Did she just say Mass?   Did she just say Ophthalmologist?   What was happening here?

I don't know why, but as she was talking to me about my dog's eye, a story about a three-legged pig that was my grandfather's favorite joke started to run on repeat in my head.   My grandfather died when I was twelve and he never had the chance to give me sage advice as a grown up, but he did tell me this joke:

A Man is driving by a farm and sees a three legged pig with a wooden leg walking through the fields. He finds this sight curious and stops to ask this farmer about his pig. The farmer tells him, "Well, you see, this here pig is a good pig. Just last spring he found me bucket loads of truffles in yonder woods. Made me a small fortune."

The man said, "That is a wonderful story, but it doesn't explain the wooden leg."

The Vet tells me that I need to take my dog to a nearby veterinary hospital as she doesn't have the necessary tools.  So, I drive the 45 minutes to the hospital where they tell me I am going to have to wait until the busy ophthalmologist can squeeze us in.   I call my husband and daughter to tell them where I am and what is going on to which they reply, "Wait. I thought it was his back?"   Then they both tell me that they are dropping everything and coming to the hospital.

The farmer tells the man "This here pig is a good pig.   This pig curls up every night with my little girl who is scared of the dark.   This here pig just snuggles right up with her and the two of them sleep soundly until the sun rises."

The man scratches his head.   "That is so sweet to hear.  But, it still doesn't explain the wooden leg."

We are in the waiting room for a good three or four hours.   In that time we realize just how much people love their pets.   People don't come to this hospital for routine check ups and immunizations.  They are here because their pet is either really hurt, or really ill.  We see a 150 lb man carrying in his 100 lb dog.  Holding him like a baby.  They both look so distressed.   A tech greets him and immediately starts petting the dog and talking in a soothing tone to them both.  You can see them both relax.   I comment to my husband that the people who work there are so kind and clearly love animals.  It is a much kinder place than a people hospital.   Clearly animals are easier to love than most people.   I mean they don't talk back, they can't be as demanding and they respond really well to a simple pat and a "Who's a good boy/girl?"    There is a mother/daughter pair who have brought in a very ill cat.  The cat seems like he's not going to last long.   The daughter is an adult but has Down syndrome and is very worried about the cat.   The mother looks at the cat in the cage who is struggling to breathe and knows that this isn't going to end well.   When the daughter leaves to go to the bathroom the mother whispers to me, "I don't know how she's going to deal with this.   She loves that cat."  My heart breaks for the mother, the daughter and the cat.    We see a couple leaving who have just put their dog down.   The man is big, bald and burly and has tattoos coming up his neck.  He is sobbing.   The sight of this man crying makes my daughter and I cry but we try not to let them see.   They can barely bring themselves to leave the hospital without their beloved dog.   My daughter hugs our dog more tightly.

The farmer tells the man, "This here is a good pig.  This pig always knows the best place in my fields to plant my crops.  Every year he just goes out there and and scratches where I should plant and I haven't had a failed crop yet.  Not since this here pig has been around."

At this point the man is getting kind of irritated.   "Well, sir, these are all wonderful stories and great examples of why your pig is such a good pig but it still doesn't tell me why he has a wooden leg."

"Well," says the farmer....

After a few hours, they finally take our dog to be examined by the ophthalmologist.    He's gone for a while.  I keep thinking about the tumor in his eye and the couple that just left without their dog.  Our dog is twelve years old.  He is not the healthiest dog.    He had surgery on his back six years ago that he almost didn't survive.   My husband and I agreed at that time that we wouldn't spend a lot more money on this dog.   He has had a good life, but it's one thing to spend money on a 6 year old dog, and another thing to spend a lot of money on a 12 year old dog.    Right?   Eventually, the ophthalmologist calls us in and explains that our dog's eye definitely needs to come out.  But, first we need to do extensive tests to see if the cancer has spread throughout the body.   If the cancer was everywhere, taking his eye out would not do him much good, and we would have to ponder a much more difficult decision.   Tears fill all our eyes.  We understand what he means.  They outline all the associated costs for us, the tests, the anesthesia, the medicines and the eye removal itself.  It is definitely over the budget of this 12 year old dog's life.   We stare at the screen.   The choice is clear.  We have a one-eyed dog or no dog at all.   But, first we need to find out if it's just the eye.

My husband and I don't even exchange words.   We tell the doctor to go ahead, "do all the tests", and we metaphorically hand him our credit card.    

"This here is a good pig.  He made me buckets of money finding truffles, he helps my daughter sleep every night, and he tells me where to plant my crops.  This here is a great pig!"

And then the farmer says, 

"You don't eat a pig like him all at once!"

Our dog endured many tests to see what the inside of his body looked like.  It wasn't perfect, but he was deemed healthy enough to have and endure the surgery.  We gave the doctors the green light, and his diseased eye was removed.   Luckily, they told us, it hadn't metastasized and he should have some good time left with us.  

Whew!  

After all, he's a very good dog.  He saved our daughter from a terrible fear of all animals.  He saved our other daughter when enduring an extremely difficult time in her life.   He gives us all love every day, whether we deserve it or not.  That there is a great dog.   You don't get rid of a dog like him all at once.

Thanks for the sage advice Grandpa, even if it was a joke.

Now excuse me while I go eat some bacon and pet my one eyed dog.

The Circle of Life, the Unicorn addition

My husband and I sit in the garage wondering what we will find when we go inside.
"Do you think they tried to cook?"  I ask with great trepidation in my voice.
"Do you think they tried to go upstairs?" he asks with a look of fear.
Then we both say, "Do you think anyone got hurt??!?!"

No.  We are not talking about young children or teenagers.
We are discussing our parents who have been visiting for the holiday week.

It's amazing how quickly life turns topsy-turvy.   Not too long ago our parents would join us for the holidays and help by entertaining the kids, or with the cooking and cleaning.   Now our children are in their early twenties and suddenly they are the ones with the extra hands who swing in to lend a helping hand.

I watch as my daughter ties my father's shoes because his bad knees prevent him from doing the job.  I see her making bunny ears with the laces just like he taught her to and the irony isn't loss on me.  "Is that tight enough?" she asks, echoing a question that was asked of her just twenty short years ago.
My kids fetch them drinks (scotch instead of apple juice) and snacks, even sneaking chocolate into their hands right before dinner with a smile and a wink.

"Did you just give her chocolate?!" I scream from the kitchen.
"No" my daughter replies.
"You're going to ruin her dinner you know" I shout.

While my children seem to enjoy returning every sweet gesture that their grandparents ever bestowed on them 20 some years ago, my husband and I feel like we are in a house run amok by geriatric toddlers.

"When was the last time they ate?" we ask each other.  "How much did she eat?" "Is she drinking enough water?"  We are on tag team duty trying to not leave them on their own for too long.  My mother will try to do too much.  My mother in law will not eat or drink without being reminded.   My father will force every one in the house to watch hours of football on volume 100.

Before I go to the grocery store I ask everyone if they want anything, "No!" they collectively say, "I'm sure we'll be fine with what you have here."  Sure.  Okay.

I get home and have just finished unloading the groceries when my mother asks if we have soup.  "Um," I think, "I'm not sure."   I want to remind her that I just asked a half an hour ago if she wanted anything from the store and that she had not requested anything.   Instead I dig through the pantry in search of soup.  I find a can of Campbell's chicken noodle soup - the "Frozen" edition - with princess noodles.   "How about this?" I ask.  She sneers at the can. "I don't like that kind."   I half expect her to lay on the floor and have a full blown tantrum.  "Well, it's all I've got" I say and she whimpers. "Fine.  I guess I'll have it then."   Not long after I warm up the soup my father comes in to ask if I have chips.  "Did you ask me to get chips at the store?" I ask, my patience waning.  "I just thought you'd already have them." he says.  "Well I don't" I say and toss him a bag of salty almonds. "These will have to do the trick."    He mumbles something and takes the nuts.  

Taking them anywhere is tricky.   I remember when my kids were little my friend and I would talk at the end of the day and discuss our days in terms of how many "ins" and "outs" of the cars we had to manage.   We would kind of brag and at the same time lament any day that involved getting in and out of the car more that five times.  "Today I had to go the pediatrician with a sick kid, then to CVS, then to Blockbuster (yeah, remember that), then to the grocery store and then another kid spiked a fever so it was back to the doctor and then back to CVS."   And, of course when your kids are little and you are the only one home, you have to schlepp all the kids everywhere.  Luckily, geriatric toddlers can be left in the car alone for short periods of time, or home alone.   But there is some risk involved.   A geriatric toddler who has been living in Florida for an extended period of time cannot survive in temps lower than 60 degrees for more than 15 minutes apparently.  Kind of a problem in New England in November.  So you either have to leave the car idling which is frowned upon in these global warming times, or you have to bring them into the store with you where, like their younger toddler counterparts, they will start asking for things. "Ohhhh.  Is that chocolate?  Can we get ice cream?"   Or, maybe, they will have to say hello to everyone in the store and giggle at their Boston accents, out loud.  "Did he just say Mahk?  HeeHee"   "Yes.  He did.  Mark is the other employee's name."  "But he said Mahk" (followed by lots of giggling).

Geriatric toddlers are not an easy bunch but there were some moments that gave us satisfaction.  Like telling them all that they had to get in their pajamas before they could have ice-cream.   Off they ran! Well, actually, they kind of slowly rolled through the halls with their walkers but you get what I'm saying.   Then, one of them came downstairs and after already spending two nights here shamefully admitted, "I forgot to bring my pajamas."
This caused my husband and I some concern, "You forgot your pajamas?  What have you been sleeping in then?"    The defendant shrugged her shoulders.    I looked at one of my daughters. "Go find your grandmother some pajamas to wear."   She ran upstairs and came down with a pair of flannel pjs with a juvenile print that she had long outgrown.   They fit the ever shrinking grandmother perfectly who then sat and watched "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving" while contently eating her peppermint stick ice-cream.  Meanwhile, my daughter sat in another chair, not paying much attention to the TV because she was using her phone to send e-mails to people at school about an event that would be coming up after break.

It's funny how familiar everything seems.   The cozy pajamas, the Peanuts, the peppermint ice-cream, the distracted adult, it's a scene that's been played out probably hundreds of times in our family.   But the roles played by the resident players have decidedly changed, with my husband and I firmly sandwiched in the middle as our children become adults, and our parents become, well, the people in unicorn pajamas.

But I know that even my time in this place, the cream of the Oreo, the bologna in the sandwich, the pearl in the oyster is limited.   It's all so very limited.   Soon my tenure in the middle place will be over.    So, I will remember to take great care when tying my yet-to-be-born grandchildren's shoes, and will be sure to slip them some chocolate when no one is looking.     I understand now.

Because someday I'm sure I'll drive my own children crazy as I settle into my own unique version of geriatric toddlerhood.   And, I'll need someone to run upstairs and fetch me those unicorn pajamas.