Dogs

I got a call at 5pm. "Is zees Mrs. Tonks?" Russian accent. Young man.
I start laughing. "Oh no!" he says "I am zo zorry, Mrs. Tonks, I mean Mrs. Patton--Tonks zat is the name of the ze dog."
The vet had called earlier in the day, to tell me things were not going so well and they weren't sure that Tonksie would walk, they had thought she was standing up, but in fact, her front legs are so strong she was just giving the impression of standing up. (How they got front and back confused makes me wonder). Why were they calling me again? Had something gone wrong?
"I am calling because, let me tell you, I am zo excited! I am out here in ze yard behind ze hospital, and who am I watching? I am watching the puppy, Mrs. Tonks. walking around and uuurinating."
"Oh, that's wonderful!" I'm so happy, I sit down.
"I just wanted to call you, Mrs. Tonks, and tell you that, since things were not so happy this morning. She is zo much better! I am zo happy!"
"Well, thank you, thank you very much."
"It's a good thing." There's a pause. "She is very cute."
"Yes, she is."
"If she had had a wheelchair, you know, she is one dog who could have done it. But it is much better she doesn't. So much spirit!"
He sounds like he's in love with her. Would that work? Not only would there be the interspecies hurdle--but the cultural differences--I don't know. She's a very engaging animal. I'll see if I can find a picture, then you can see for yourself.
"Okay, Mrs. Tonks. I just want you to know how good she is doing, I didn't want you to sleep thinking she was not better."

I repeat this to Jay at dinner. Wednesday nights the kids go to church and mom goes out to dinner. We're stuffing ourselves with masaman curry. My favorite
"I'm so glad," he says, "I was holding the dog on my lap in the car, waiting for you to get your purse and change shoes or whatever you were doing, and I thought about just quickly breaking its neck. I didn't think there was any hope for that dog at all."
"You were what?"
"Just kidding."
We just had to put Jay's dog down 3 weeks ago. She was the last of a pack of 4. Her name was Ladybug and she was 16 years old. She looked exactly like a fox. The last dog he put down, a year and a half ago created a big rift between us. His ex of 15 years came out to spend the weekend with her little girl,--the product of her new marriage to a local salsa instructor--because it was her dog, too and she wanted to be there to say goodbye. And afterwards, he broke up with me! Hmmm....you think they hooked up? I wonder...bastard. Maybe, maybe not. He sort of freaks out when anything gets too emotional. Like really freaks out. We've discussed alternatives to this: camping out, taking a break, talking about it, medication.
So I was nervous about Ladybug. It was her time. She had bedsores, which I'd ended up debriding over the summer--they'd healed up real nice, but she wasn't happy. She kept getting stuck places and she was deaf. Finally, he decided it was time to call the vet. We have this alcoholic vet in town who makes a living almost exclusively on this kind of thing. When he's not injecting dogs with barbituates he's down at the local bar, soused. He's a nice guy. Kind of ruined. Awfully young to be this screwed up. I mean, he can't possibly be done paying off his vet school loans. But the guy to call when your dog's dying.

So the night before we're going to put the bug down, we give her a steak. Which feels sort of creepy.
"Do you think we're doing the right thing?" Jay asks. "Do you think she's ready?"
"I don't know....I mean--you know her best, is she getting anything out of being alive?" I'm all for nursing dogs, and people, along. Just because something isn't perfect doesn't mean it doesn't enjoy life. I mean, when I'm creeping along, I'm sure there will be some things to stay alive for. Who can judge?
But the next morning, when I woke up, the dog was nowhere around. Jay called me, later in the morning, really shaken up. "I found her floating in the pond." he tells me. She knew. She took it into her own hands, paws "Can you come out here, please?"
When I got out there, he was packing his ice axes. He was covered with mud and his face looked terrible, all shrunken. "I'm going to climb Mt. Whitney. I don't know how long I'll be gone. Could you please feed the cats?"
So I did. There were some scary phone calls such as: "I think I may just chill out in Mexico for a month or two--I'll let you know" But he came back after 5 days.

And guess what, the vet student just called. "Mrs. Tonks! You can come get the puppy, she is doing zo well we zink she can go home."

Hooray.

That's my 1/2 hour. I'm going to go get my dog.