Tag: veterinarian

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Pulling the Leash

Slowly but surely, the three of us approached the CSU veterinary school in the world’s most erratic chorus line.

At my right hand – literally – was our disabled ward Missy, angling her course periodically to point out the other dogs nearby, or to stop at the check-in desk to chat, or to steer a wandering route to the nearest restroom.

At my left hand – and my left wrist may someday forgive me – was the mound of canine muscle known as Big Blake. Amiable. Confused. And testing the strength of his leash, and of Newton’s Third Law, as every step drew us nearer to the home of “doggie doctors.”

Finally, in the exam room, Big Blake had enough.

“Why don’t we just take you right back for some tests?” the friendly and winning vet tech said – just before Blake leaned against me and dug his claws into the hardened floor, to Missy’s amusement and my knowing smile.

“OK … why doesn’t Daddy take you right back ….”

It’s hard to blame Blake. It had been a tough week for an easygoing English Lab. The immediate center of his universe – my wife Heather – had been gone for two days to help her sister through a difficult back surgery. Necessary. But uncomfortable.

So while Heather was being a source of comfort and transforming into the Amazing “Aunt Hufu” for our nieces, Blake was dealing with all sorts of schedules that were subtly off, from food to naps to food to family chores to food to errands to food. (When you’re an English Lab with a one-track mind and an iron stomach, there are certain priorities to consider.)

Mind you, it wasn’t the first time Heather had been absent for more than a few hours. It wasn’t even the longest. But it was the longest in recent canine memory, which for Blake stretches to about the previous Tuesday. Maybe.

Add in a vet visit after a long drive to Fort Collins and … well, you can understand Blake being just a little clingy. OK, a lot clingy. Like Saran Wrap made from duct tape.

Again, necessary. But uncomfortable.

To be fair, I don’t think most of us do a lot better.

Oh, we rarely get to fight back on a leash in the presence of a smiling veterinarian. But we’re all called on more than once to do the uncomfortable thing, to break the routine, to get something done that needs doing now.

And, many times, we resist.

It might be Jonah saying “Nah, you don’t need me to carry that message- hey, where’d that big fish come from?” Or Thomas Jefferson saying “Hey, Mr. Adams would be a much better writer for this Declaration thing.” Or something simpler in our own prosaic lives, whether it’s taking on a difficult task, reaching out a needed hand, or just getting that mole checked out that’s probably nothing, right?

We set up expectations for ourselves and for our lives. But life isn’t good at sticking to expectations. And rather than follow the new route, we often try to fight for the wheel like the protagonist in an action movie.

Sure, sometimes you need to stay the course as best you can. But a lot of times – whether it’s as personal as enduring back surgery or as large-scale fighting a policy that affects you and your family – you’ve got to hold on and make it through if you’re going to straighten things out. Maybe with the choice of an instant. Maybe with an effort of months.

We don’t get to choose everything that happens. Just how we deal with it. And how we help others do the same.

Blake’s home now. Heather, too. Both are happy and resting. And maybe, just maybe, our furry friend is a little readier to deal with the next time.

I hope so, anyway. My left wrist can only take so much.

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Just for Kicks

If Paul Bunyan had a dog, he would probably be a lot like Big Blake.

For those just joining us, Blake is our English Labrador of heroic proportions. Say the word “food” and he becomes an irresistible force. Say the word “vet” and he becomes an immovable object. Like a furry giraffe, he can steal leftovers straight out of the kitchen sink; like a canine billy goat, he has consumed everything from aluminum foil to baby wipes and lived to tell the tale.

And at night, it seems, he can kick with a speed and power worthy of Babe the Big Blue Ox.

My wife Heather has been the most frequent witness to these Leg Strikes of Unusual Velocity. This is due to a combination of two simple facts:

1) No matter where Blake the Mighty lies on the bed, his feet are invariably pointed in her direction.

2) I have apparently inherited from my father the ability to sleep through nearly anything, including the blows and lashings of a domesticated earthquake.

Still, I haven’t been entirely oblivious. ( A phrase that could apply to many a husband on many an issue, now that I think of it.) This has been going on for a few months and has become, as the King of Siam liked to say, a puzzlement to ourselves and our veterinarian.

We know it’s not a seizure, because we can wake him instantly from it.

It doesn’t seem to be simple doggy dreams, based on the length and the frequency.

Lab tests so far haven’t shown anything dangerous.

Medicines have slowed the episodes down – a little – without stopping them and even a surreptitious video from Heather’s phone has yielded no clues.

And of course, Blake’s wondrous gifts have yet to include the ability to speak English, so he can’t give us any direct hints as to whether this is the Labrador version of a senior moment, or a reaction to arthritis stiffness, or secret instructions from his masters on the moons of Pluto.

And so, the nightly screenings of “The Hound of the Baskervilles” meets “Chariots of Fire” continue. As do the bruises on Heather’s legs. And our general mystification.

On reflection, I suspect I’ve got a lot of company.

I don’t mean the regular bouts of Canine Kung Fu. (Though if anyone knows where I can get a cheap set of catcher’s shin guards, Heather would really appreciate it.) But the feeling of trying to understand an uncomfortable situation with few or no clues is something that most of us have experienced far too often. Especially when it involves someone we love.

It’s the feeling every parent has had when a young child is sick and can’t explain the symptoms.

It’s the feeling anyone with a nonverbal friend or relative has had when trying to figure out “What’s wrong?” from scattered clues.

It’s the feeling just about anyone has when staring at the news of an increasingly chaotic world and asking “Why?” without response.

It feels helpless. Even frightening. But in the midst of it, all of us are doing one thing right.

We’re paying attention.

Maybe we won’t solve the problem right away, or at all. But if we’re even trying to struggle or understand, then our attention is where it needs to be. On the ones we love. On the ones that hurt. On the problems that need solving and the people who need help.

We’re not turning away or making it someone else’s problem.

We’re taking it into our heart.

That’s where it starts.

And so, our own Saga of Big Blake continues. And with enough love, and attention, and bruise ointment, maybe this particular piece of the world’s problems will finally yield to us.

And that’s nothing to kick about.

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Ooh! Tasty!

When you come to know Big Blake, our muscular English Lab, you quickly learn three things.

First, that he is enthusiastic, as befits a dog who is 11 years old going on 2. He never descends stairs when he can charge them. He neve lets out one bark when 75 will do. And why simply greet someone when you can knock them right off their feet?

Second, that he is a coward about water. I don’t mean the baths that every dog dreads. I mean that he won’t go outside when rain is falling, and that even dashing through a sprinkler is a traumatic event that has to be worked up to.

Finally, and most importantly, he eats. Anything.

Big deal, I hear you see, he’s a Lab. Let me repeat: AN-Y-THING.

Entire bag of chocolate chips? Check.

Enough crayons to decorate the yard? Double-check.

So many baby wipes that he turned into a canine Kleenex box at the other end? Check and mate.

So when my wife Heather called me at work and told me that Blake might need a vet run, I was anything but surprised.

“I think he ate a bunch of aluminum foil while I was in the bathroom,” she told me.

Mind you, aluminum is not a Typical Dietary Supplement(tm) in this house, even for our canine trash compactor o’doom. But Heather had been making no-bake cookies and disposed of a fair amount of aluminum wrap afterward. When she came out of the bathroom, she saw that there was no longer any wrap in the bin … and that Blake was enthusiastically licking the last piece of thin metal on the floor until it gleamed.

And thus did Blake resume his starring role at the veterinarian, induced to bring up what had been down.

In retrospect, this should not have been a surprise. Blake smelled cookies. Blake had the physique and opportunity to pursue the wonderful smell. And given that his first impulse is to turn anything remotely edible into Blake fuel, he wasn’t going to care that the remnants of sweet-smelling goop still had thin metal attached.

At least, not until he was made to care. Rather abruptly. And then spent the afternoon woozy and sulking.

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

I don’t mean that any of us are in the habit of eating aluminum. (Though if you find the cans to be the best part of a refreshing Dr Pepper, the Weekly World News is on line two.) But as a species, we do have a habit of jumping to decisions that seem oh-so-good at the time, only to discover that there’s stuff attached that doesn’t feel so good later.

It might be the attractive face that (poorly) hides the toxic personality. The anti-terrorist laws that say “Quick, be safe! And don’t worry about that silly Fourth Amendment.” And the ever-familiar candidate who has your best interests at heart, really, and then does a mile-long swath of damage that anyone with a newspaper subscription and a fourth-grade reading ability could have anticipated.

I’m not saying that we should never compromise on anything, that nothing less than perfect is acceptable. That way lies paralysis, and possibly a career in Congress. What I am saying is that too often, many of us don’t even think about whether compromise is necessary at all or consider what’s being traded off. We simply act, and then deal with unpleasant consequences later.

And “later” has a way of arriving sooner than we think.

Forethought isn’t as fun, I know. Especially in a world where everything demands to be done now-now-now. But it’s worth taking the time to consider, to weigh, to discuss. When you articulate what you want, you force yourself to think about what you’re getting. And what comes with it. And whether it’s worth it at all.

That’s valuable, no matter what you’re doing in life.

After all, no one wants to be foiled again.