It was my intention to write letters today, and I probably will when I
finish this post, but I decided I would rather post about what was on
my mind rather than write letters about it...I sometimes think that I
like animals better than people, but as much as I love them I never
thought we would have an indoor dog. My youngest son inherited my weak
lungs and struggled terribly with asthma as a small child. We had
animals, but they didn't live indoors. Then at the age of 14, it had
been two years since he'd had any trouble with his asthma, and he had
expressed many times a desire for a dog, so we decided to get him one.
We
home schooled our kids, so this seemed like a perfect research
assignment for school. E.M. was to research which breeds of dogs met our
criteria, no dander, no shedding, not high strung or yappy. His
research found several breeds that fit the bill. The breed that
appealed the most was the West Highland Terrier. He also studied about
crate and obedience training, animal first aid, and how to teach them
tricks. So a few days before his 14th birthday, we set off to search the
pets stores to find a Westy puppy.* (I know, I know... a pet store
puppy, w
hat about the whole "puppy mill" thing? For
an answer to this question read the paragraph at the end of the post). We made a list of
the stores that had a Westy pup for sale and began our exploration.
The
store we went to had one Westy pup and someone was looking at it when we
got there, so we just cruised around looking at the other animals while
we waited for them to finish. The door to the service area of the puppy
nursery was a dutch door and the top of the door was open, so as we
walked by we caught sight of a puppy that was out on the floor getting a
bit of exercise. The woman who was watching him while he was out of his
cage was unpacking boxes and there was packing paper on the floor
around her feet. The puppy raced by her, grabbed one of the pieces of
paper and ran with it as fast as he could, until she caught up with him
and took the paper. I turned and saw stars in my son's eyes...
Oh dear,this was not the Westy puppy... it was a little buff Cocker Spaniel... Cockers shed... (the requirement for no shedding was mine,
since I knew I would end up being the one to clean up the hair, and was
the only household member who would care if the black pants they were
wearing looked like the dog slept on them, etc.)
But I knew that look... so we asked if we could see him.
The
woman opened the dutch door to let us in and the pup took the
opportunity to snag a piece of the packing paper and dash out the open
door. We turned to see the little stinker making his escape down one of
the isles, the paper blocking his view as it flapped up over his head.
E.M. took off after him, fearing that the front door of the store would
open and he would get outside. Ever tried to catch a puppy out on a
lark? It is not as easy as you think.... after a try or two at grabbing
him, he decided to try another approach, he sat down, patted the floor
in front of him and acted like he wanted to play. The pup stopped,
looked at him, dropped his paper and ran towards him at top speed. When
he got within range, the puppy bounded onto E.M.'s lap and tagged him on
the chest with both feet. He then jumped off, avoiding capture, but
stopped just out of reach, and turned to looked at him as if to say,
"Tag! you're it!" Needless to say, the Westy puppy never had a chance...
Tagg went home with us that day.
E.M.
had educated himself well on puppy training, and Tagg was a champ.
Crate training was a breeze, obedience training went well, "Sit", "Stay"
and "No" were well understood and usually complied with, there was
really only one problem... Tagg had a paper addiction, specifically
toilet paper or tissues. He never touched books or magazine, and only
chewed up the occasional school work, but he couldn't resist toilet
paper. If you left the house and forgot to put the T.P. out of reach,
you would come home to a toilet papered house. It would be everywhere,
shredded into tiny pieces. If a friend came to visit and there was a
tissue in her handbag, you would find Tagg up to his shoulders in her
bag, helping himself to her tissue. I would shout his name and his head
would snap up, one side of his lip tucked up and his mouth full of
tissue, he would give me a sheepish look and spit out the soggy wad of
kleenex. He knew he shouldn't do it but he just couldn't help himself.
Even now at the age of eleven, if someone forgets the close the bathroom
door when we leave the house, we will come home to find Tagg looking
like "the cat who ate the canary", with a piece of T.P. stuck to his
jowl and confetti trailing from the bathroom to the front door.
He
learned many tricks, that entertained us and others who came to the
house. When I was struggling with mobility issues due to a Fibromyalgia
relapse, I trained him to pick things up for me. If I dropped a piece of
clothing that I was folding he would pick it up for me. If I knocked my
reading glasses off the table, he would gently pick the up and drop
them in my lap, smudged with slobber, but at least I didn't have to pick
them up! One day long after my relapse, when I was feeling good again
and didn't need Tagg's help anymore, I was sorting pieces of fabric, a
pile to keep, a pile for Goodwill. The Goodwill pile was at my feet on
the floor. I was looking at a stack of fabric in my lap when I felt
Tagg's presence at my feet. I looked up to see what he wanted, and I saw
him standing there, wagging his tail, with the pile of "Goodwill
fabric" in his mouth. His eyes said "Here Mommy, I got these for you!"
He
won't eat store bought dog treats and looks at you like he is being
punished if you give him one. He is afraid of the Kong chew toy that I
paid $15 for, (you know the one that has the hole in the middle that you
can put peanut butter in...), and he leaves his sharp little pieces of
beef bone strategically around the house where my bare feet will find
them. He hogs the couch and snores so loud that you need to turn the
volume up on the movie you're watching. He would leave enough hair on
the floor to produce a new Cocker Spaniel every three days if I didn't
have his long beautiful coat clipped short. He had been banned from
every groomer for 20 miles, for being "difficult" about having his feet
clipped. I didn't know what I was going to do about getting him groomed,
until I met Dawn, Tagg's godmother and premier dog whisperer at "Furry
Godmother's",(Dawn is local groomer and dear friend, who has a gentle
and effective way of helping animals deal with their fears and
neurosis.) She even traveled down to Costa Rica when we lived there to
groom him, (of course that was just one of her reasons for the visit,
but bless her, she brought her clippers and she and her husband clipped
him outdoors ... I still remember the winds catching balls of his fur
and carrying them high into the rainforest...Sigh.)
 |
| Tagg is the only dog I've ever met who smells flowers |
Tagg is my protector. When my husband is off camping
and I am alone in the house, he patrols the house going from room to
room, periodically and then settles down to sleep in the doorway to my
bedroom until it is time to do the rounds again. If on the leash, he
won't let anyone within leash reach of me,
anyone, friend or
foe... No Fedex guy, phone repairman, or neighbor checking their mail
will ever go unwarned that he is on duty. He alerts me if I don't hear
the oven timer going off, if the phone rings in my purse, if the washer
is out of balance and is walking across the floor... and he has saved my
life by warning me of a gas leak in the kitchen. A kettle of water I
put on to boil sloshed over and put the flame out underneath the pot,
gas had been pouring into the house for a long time while I was in the
back room working. He ran to the family room and barked then ran away,
when I didn't follow he came back and barked again, then went to the
kitchen and barked and barked until I came and found him barking at the
stove. The smell of gas was strong, if the space heater had been on the
whole house could have gone up in flames! He is my hero...
 |
| Watching for the mail to come |
Tagg is also my comforter and councilor.
He licks away my tears and offers his upturned tummy to be rubbed when I
feel sad. He looks at me with his soft brown eyes that speak louder
than words, and tells me that he loves me no matter what and that
everything will be alright. If I leave a room, he goes with me. He keeps
my floor clean in the kitchen and has spent half of his days dusted in
flour or spotted with carrot juice, since he insists on laying at my
feet while I am working in the kitchen. He never judges me, never holds a
grudge or sees my faults...
When Tagg was 8 years old,
I started seeing some wasting around his right hip and though it didn't
seem to bother him I kept it in mind and worried that it there might be
something wrong. But he had always been barrel chested and slim hipped
so I let it go for the time being. Then one day when he and I were out
for a walk on the greenway, he took a miss-step and his hind leg slipped
off the walkway. He yelped and limped/ dragged his right leg. I checked
to see if he had an injury, but there wasn't anything visible. I
massaged his right hip and gave him a few minutes to shake it off. Then
we tried to walk back to the car, but he couldn't walk more than a step
or two without crying out, So I picked him up, which hurt too... It was
at least a 1/2 mile back to the car so it was a long walk for both of
us. It was hard for me to get my arms around him in a way that didn't
hurt his hip, and carrying 40 pounds for that distance, meant I had to
stop and put him down so that I could catch my breath. I think we were
both wishing for a wagon at that moment.
I took Tagg to
the vet, where my previous fears were confirmed. Tagg has Hip
Dysplasia. I was told there was little that could be done for him,
except for surgery, which isn't always very successful. So I went home
and did some research. I found that eating a diet of raw meat and
vegetables can help to strengthen the connective tissues and increase
synovial fluid production. So I started grinding chicken thighs up,
added blueberries, carrots and peas and fed him that twice a day. I also
found a product called
Nzymes,which
is used to improve synovial production in animals with joint issues.
After a few weeks on the raw diet and the Nzyme tablets, Tagg began to
walk normally again and showed little if any favoring of his hip unless
it was stressed or moved wrong. So Tagg'slife began to return to normal,
but in the back of my mind I knew that this wouldn't always be the
case.
It rained the other morning. Da had taken Tagg
for his morning potty break and was walking down the sidewalk with him
when he heard him yelp. Tagg was standing hold up his
left leg.
He couldn't walk much since his right hip isn't very strong. He usually
relies on his left and the right just follows suit. Our best guess is
that his feet slipped apart on the wet walk,stressing his left hip. I
made up a bed for him at my feet and spent the day trying to ease his
pain. I had to carry him out to use the bathroom and hold him up so he
could go. If he tried to walk using his right hip as his primary way to
propel himself, he can go a step or two and then he had to sit down. The
next day was a little better, but he really didn't leave his bed and he
wouldn't eat or drink unless I hand fed him and held his water dish up
to his mouth. By the third day he could use his left leg a little and
could walk to go outside, but wasn't doing much else. I have started
giving him sprouted soybeans (which do what the Enzmes do but are fresh,
living food, not in a tablet), medicating when necessary, and I am
looking to see improvement in mobility. There does seem to be some hope
that he will get better than he is, but if the right hip is any
indication, it will not be like it was before the mishap.
Tagg
has been so much a part of my life, a constant, loving and true
companion. The dog that started out as a birthday present for my son has
become like one of my kids to me. What would I do for one of my kids? I
would do anything within my power to take care of them, protect them,
love them... Their pain is my pain... If Tagg needs me to carry him, to
help him up and down, to feed him by hand, I will gladly do it. He has
always been there for me, and if it was within his power, I know that he
would do whatever I needed him to do, I will do no less. But I am now
faced with a situation that every pet owner/ animal friend dreads...
what if this hip issue doesn't get better enough to allow him a quality
life? What if the rest of his life is spent in pain, unable to play or
take a walk, having to bear the humiliation of diapers? When do I, as
the person who is responsible for his care and accountable to God for
his well being, say that it is time to end his suffering? When is his
life no longer of any good to him? I can't ask him, I can only guess
what he considers a good life, but I think he would say a good life is
to be able to love and protect his family, to be a part of our lives.
Can he do that from his bed, with us hauling him and his bed around the
house so he can be where we are? Yes, for now. I am going to buy a wagon
with high sides that I can take him around in, I am going to continue
to feed him the foods and supplements that will help him recover. I will
work with him to help him get his strength back. I will pray for
healing and for some more time... His mind is sharp, his heart is
strong, only his legs are failing him, so I am praying that God will
give him healing and and allow both of us more time to be together.
**See the
Update on Tagg's condition**
*
Why not
adopt one of the many pups who are in shelters, just waiting for a good
home? Well that would have been our preference, but with E's asthma
issues we needed a pure bred animal that had no dander so, it was going
to be a puppy from a breeder or a pet store. We did some research and
found a pet store that made available to the customers, information
about the breeders who supplied them with puppies. If we found a puppy
that we wanted, we would check out the breeder and make sure that they
were practicing responsible, humane breeding practices and that the
animals under their care were kept in clean safe conditions.
Tonight my husband and I are in the sitting room in front of a toasty, crackling fire. I can hear the wind chimes on the front porch tinkling in the chilly breeze. My dog Tagg is snoozing on his bed at my feet. I have had a very busy week and I am tired. There hasn't been much time for being in the moment and enjoying my surroundings. I have been pretty much head down, plowing through a long list of to-do's. Some weeks are like that, especially at this time of year when there is so much to do in preparation for the spring garden. But tonight, I can allow myself to be tired, to doze, to contemplate, to search my heart and find that special place where meet I with my Heavenly Father. There are not words to describe the peace.
