bee_pipes
09-10-2008, 03:10 PM
Last Sunday night, about 10 PM, Buddy went into a seizure. We have grown to expect them about every three to six months. Karen said if they ever got more frequent there was medication, but that would leave him dopey so we saved that as a contingency. There isn’t much you can do when a dog has a seizure – try to hold them down so they don’t hurt themselves, comfort them as you can, and clean up the mess. He got through the seizure, and the usual disorientation followed. We talked to him, comforted him, and did the usual things we do after one of those episodes. I have been through a number of them – Karen has experienced dozens of them. When all was quiet, we recorded the event on the calendar and returned to bed for the night. Around 3 AM we were awakened by another one. We came out and again followed our procedure. This was something new. Starting with the first seizure at 10 PM, Buddy had a total of 8 seizures before a vet was able to stop them. These incidents are physically taxing on Buddy, but being a healthy dog, he recovers in short order. But the constant cycle had taken its toll on the poor fellow.
Buddy and Karen met quite by accident. A breeder of blonde labs worked at Karen’s plant, and had somehow gotten her name from mutual acquaintances. Buddy was born blind and was going to be put down by the breeder. Nobody wanted a blind dog – they aren’t good for anything. He can’t even catch a frisbee (ha! Karen would say). Karen went to the breeder’s house to see Buddy, and it was love at first site. He was the biggest pup in the litter. She has AKC papers and everything – he’s an honest to goodness purebred with a lineage. There were some difficulties in getting adjusted to each other and coming to some mutual agreement on living. The first obstacle was housebreaking – not unusual with a new puppy. The unusual wrinkles were things we take for granted – stairs, trees, and other obstacles that present unique challenges for a blind dog. Ascending and descending stairs are two separate feats that must be tackled independently. Climbing stairs is something that can be quickly mastered, but stepping off into space to go down a staircase is an act of faith. Running in your backyard is not something most of us would think of as a difficult proposition, but the blind dog is constantly having to improve on the mental map of trees, leaf piles, doghouses and moveable objects. Even finding a favorite toy presents a challenge. Nature short-changed Buddy on his basic complement of senses, but bolstered the remaining ones. His sense of hearing was extremely sharp – his sense of smell likewise keen. When he detected the sound of food hitting the floor (even the merest crumb) his nose would take over with the efficiency of a Hoover, often finding the morsel before our dog with perfect eyesight could find it.
Buddy had thrived under Karen’s care. At one time he tipped the scales at 120 LB. He had a regal appearance, and could have moonlighted as a library lion. He was also a creature of routine – he had certain times he wanted to eat, go out, and sleep. He had a few vices – he preferred water fresh from the tap to water in a bowl, and would insist on the bowl being filled promptly when it’s shelf life expired (some 15 minutes or so). He loved walks, and anything out of the yard was an adventure. When he heard the leashes being fetched he got excited. And when he got in the car for a trip to the park, he whined like a puppy. His preferred spot, when relaxing, was on the couch close enough to someone to allow the use of their leg as a pillow. At times he would roll on his back and wriggle with his legs up in the air like a puppy. There was a special spot on his back that would cause him to dance if scratched in just the right way. He hated loud noises like gun shots and firecrackers. Prolonged noises like the vacuum or lawnmower were the same as solitary confinement – they cut him off from the world and the rest of us.
Karen and Buddy had been together for two years before we met. In the last six months before we met, Karen took in another unwanted creature – Zak. Zak was abandoned with his mother and a sibling. Mom disappeared, the sibling didn’t make it, and Zak was serving as a short order diner for all the ticks and fleas in Maury county. Zak and Buddy were constant companions. Being a young pup, Zak would aggravate Buddy to the point of fighting – just to reestablish that blind does not make an exception to size or seniority. Zak was the only one I’ve seen that could get under Buddy’s skin enough to make him growl or bite. A lot of it was playing; some of it was the formalities of the pecking order of the pack. For the last two years I have been a member of this pack. We all know who’s in charge, and we eat, play and sleep at her pleasure.
We rushed Buddy to the vet as soon as we could get in. No small feat for a 100 LB dog that couldn’t walk. The vet had some experience and a wealth of knowledge with this sort of situation. Buddy was given phenobarbital to still the seizures and valium to knock him out and let him rest. He regained consciousness later that day, but the part that was Buddy had fled the body. What remained was an animated body that was no longer able to hear or smell, and would growl and bite if handled. We had hopes that is was fear of waking in a strange place with nothing familiar – none of the constants of life. But additional days did not change anything. He was no longer able to recognize Karen, me, or Karen’s son Jason. He didn’t respond to familiar touches, and had to be in a muzzle to prevent him from hurting anyone. We are not afraid of a struggle, and the price of an old friend is sometimes paid in extra care or additional considerations. But the fact was that our old friend had left us and all that remained was the husk, incapable of enjoying even the most humble of comforts life can offer. After some soul searching and discussion, we had the vet put Buddy out of his misery.
If our lives are a continuous cycle, like the lives of everything around us in this universe, I have a secret hope that Buddy will return to this world in a happier state than the one he left in. Some people believe our souls are connected by bonds we can’t see, and we all eventually return in groups, playing different roles in each other’s lives while this pageant plays on. Like a never-ending progression of classes in school, when the year ends we part and go our separate ways to enjoy the summer, only to gather together at summer’s end for another year of learning and shared experiences. Who knows, maybe next time around Buddy will be the human and I’ll be the dog.
This may sound silly, and you can object with observations that there are a lot of people in this world in need, and that Buddy was, after all, just an animal. That’s one point of view. I also see it as creatures in our lives, human or not, are to be cared for and treated with dignity and respect. Perhaps the purpose of animals are to give us a chance to practice decency and kindness, the better to apply these virtues to one-another when we meet. Being invited into somebody’s life, whether by choice or just by circumstance, is a responsibility and carries with it certain obligations. None of us are perfect, but these responsibilities help us strive for that perfection, and provide opportunities for us to grow into the beings we always wanted to be, instead of settling for only what we have become.
Good-bye Buddy, you are as sorely missed as those loved ones that have gone before you.
Father, Thank-You for what you have given us, for what you have taken away, and for what we have left.
Regards,
Pat
Buddy and Karen met quite by accident. A breeder of blonde labs worked at Karen’s plant, and had somehow gotten her name from mutual acquaintances. Buddy was born blind and was going to be put down by the breeder. Nobody wanted a blind dog – they aren’t good for anything. He can’t even catch a frisbee (ha! Karen would say). Karen went to the breeder’s house to see Buddy, and it was love at first site. He was the biggest pup in the litter. She has AKC papers and everything – he’s an honest to goodness purebred with a lineage. There were some difficulties in getting adjusted to each other and coming to some mutual agreement on living. The first obstacle was housebreaking – not unusual with a new puppy. The unusual wrinkles were things we take for granted – stairs, trees, and other obstacles that present unique challenges for a blind dog. Ascending and descending stairs are two separate feats that must be tackled independently. Climbing stairs is something that can be quickly mastered, but stepping off into space to go down a staircase is an act of faith. Running in your backyard is not something most of us would think of as a difficult proposition, but the blind dog is constantly having to improve on the mental map of trees, leaf piles, doghouses and moveable objects. Even finding a favorite toy presents a challenge. Nature short-changed Buddy on his basic complement of senses, but bolstered the remaining ones. His sense of hearing was extremely sharp – his sense of smell likewise keen. When he detected the sound of food hitting the floor (even the merest crumb) his nose would take over with the efficiency of a Hoover, often finding the morsel before our dog with perfect eyesight could find it.
Buddy had thrived under Karen’s care. At one time he tipped the scales at 120 LB. He had a regal appearance, and could have moonlighted as a library lion. He was also a creature of routine – he had certain times he wanted to eat, go out, and sleep. He had a few vices – he preferred water fresh from the tap to water in a bowl, and would insist on the bowl being filled promptly when it’s shelf life expired (some 15 minutes or so). He loved walks, and anything out of the yard was an adventure. When he heard the leashes being fetched he got excited. And when he got in the car for a trip to the park, he whined like a puppy. His preferred spot, when relaxing, was on the couch close enough to someone to allow the use of their leg as a pillow. At times he would roll on his back and wriggle with his legs up in the air like a puppy. There was a special spot on his back that would cause him to dance if scratched in just the right way. He hated loud noises like gun shots and firecrackers. Prolonged noises like the vacuum or lawnmower were the same as solitary confinement – they cut him off from the world and the rest of us.
Karen and Buddy had been together for two years before we met. In the last six months before we met, Karen took in another unwanted creature – Zak. Zak was abandoned with his mother and a sibling. Mom disappeared, the sibling didn’t make it, and Zak was serving as a short order diner for all the ticks and fleas in Maury county. Zak and Buddy were constant companions. Being a young pup, Zak would aggravate Buddy to the point of fighting – just to reestablish that blind does not make an exception to size or seniority. Zak was the only one I’ve seen that could get under Buddy’s skin enough to make him growl or bite. A lot of it was playing; some of it was the formalities of the pecking order of the pack. For the last two years I have been a member of this pack. We all know who’s in charge, and we eat, play and sleep at her pleasure.
We rushed Buddy to the vet as soon as we could get in. No small feat for a 100 LB dog that couldn’t walk. The vet had some experience and a wealth of knowledge with this sort of situation. Buddy was given phenobarbital to still the seizures and valium to knock him out and let him rest. He regained consciousness later that day, but the part that was Buddy had fled the body. What remained was an animated body that was no longer able to hear or smell, and would growl and bite if handled. We had hopes that is was fear of waking in a strange place with nothing familiar – none of the constants of life. But additional days did not change anything. He was no longer able to recognize Karen, me, or Karen’s son Jason. He didn’t respond to familiar touches, and had to be in a muzzle to prevent him from hurting anyone. We are not afraid of a struggle, and the price of an old friend is sometimes paid in extra care or additional considerations. But the fact was that our old friend had left us and all that remained was the husk, incapable of enjoying even the most humble of comforts life can offer. After some soul searching and discussion, we had the vet put Buddy out of his misery.
If our lives are a continuous cycle, like the lives of everything around us in this universe, I have a secret hope that Buddy will return to this world in a happier state than the one he left in. Some people believe our souls are connected by bonds we can’t see, and we all eventually return in groups, playing different roles in each other’s lives while this pageant plays on. Like a never-ending progression of classes in school, when the year ends we part and go our separate ways to enjoy the summer, only to gather together at summer’s end for another year of learning and shared experiences. Who knows, maybe next time around Buddy will be the human and I’ll be the dog.
This may sound silly, and you can object with observations that there are a lot of people in this world in need, and that Buddy was, after all, just an animal. That’s one point of view. I also see it as creatures in our lives, human or not, are to be cared for and treated with dignity and respect. Perhaps the purpose of animals are to give us a chance to practice decency and kindness, the better to apply these virtues to one-another when we meet. Being invited into somebody’s life, whether by choice or just by circumstance, is a responsibility and carries with it certain obligations. None of us are perfect, but these responsibilities help us strive for that perfection, and provide opportunities for us to grow into the beings we always wanted to be, instead of settling for only what we have become.
Good-bye Buddy, you are as sorely missed as those loved ones that have gone before you.
Father, Thank-You for what you have given us, for what you have taken away, and for what we have left.
Regards,
Pat