Old dogs, Living with a senior dog has its challenges. Max, who at one time could hear a cheese wrapper crinkling at 100 yards, can no longer hear the calling his name. His bark is now worse than his bite as rotted teeth were extracted on three different occasions. I thank God each time he came out of the anesthesia okay. When he began biting at his rear end and crying it was determined his anal glands were infected and we had to, well that's all I am going to say about that. During long geocaching walks, I rode on my electric power chair and Max sat on my lap as arthritis had invaded his once agile legs. Although I don't have direct proof, I know his eyesight is fading slightly. About 50-70% of his day is spent in peaceful slumber and I'll admit I bend down close to hesitantly check for his breathing. Yet through it all, my anxiety ridden pal stays upbeat. He adapts. He perseveres. He moves on. Owning a dog in some ways is like owning a car. After a while you know every noise, every hiccup, every smell. When Max began swatting repeatedly at his right eye I immediately knew something was amiss. Secretly, I wonder if my vet clinic thinks I am a paranoid hypochondriac. Heck, the entire practice may not know my name, but they know Max's name. Fortunately, they take my words seriously. Examining Max's eye gently and carefully, they discover an ulcer. They explain somehow his eye was scratched or poked and this became an ulcer. Office visit, antibiotic and eye drops. Cha-ching! It really didn't matter the cost as I would probably take out a second mortgage on my house for my friend. However, the worst was yet to come. The Cone of Shame. Oh, how Max initially hated wearing this evil torture device! But over time, he adapted. He persevered. He moved on. Door frames, furniture, and the small permanent Christmas tree in our entranceway did not adapt or persevere. They slowly succumbed to the Will of the Cone of Shame. What really caught me by surprise was the outpouring of sympathy from the general public upon seeing Max dressed in the Cone of Shame. "Ahhh," exclaimed one stranger. "I hope he gets better." Friends slip him treats and tell him he is a good boy. My sister tells him she is so sorry and it hurts her to see him this way (compassion fatigue). My wife now ends her sentences to him with the word, "buddy." Even the plumber inquired about condition. Maaybe this plumber was thinking Max needed an adjust to his water works. The vet told him today his ulcer was getting better and she prescribed an anti-inflammatory to ease the itching (cha-ching!). He'll still need to wear the Cone of Shame for several more weeks and revisit each week (cha-ching!). I believe he should hang a cardboard sign around his neck saying "Need YOUR help" and stand at a busy street corner with a cardboard box at his feet. Knowing humor nature, he would soon be awash in treats, steaks and ice cream. Just in case you are interested, his favorite is Cookies and Cream. Let me know if you need his home address. 4/11/23 |
