“Daisy:
‘Grateful Thanks’; ‘Test Results’; ‘Medication Follies’; ‘The Truly
Inexplicable’, And ; ‘How Many Dogs Am I?’”
09/26/12
To my very, very dearest friends, and ever-loyal,
caring readers,
I cannot in near-full measure ever thank you enough
for all the wonderfully kind and sympathetic comments, ‘hugs’, PMs, cards, and
telephone calls, inquiring about both my Daisy’s health and progress…and mine;
your prayers, wishes, suggestions, fond hopes, and your continued caring brings
both tears to the eyes, and a gladness to my heart!
I really do not know how I would be able to cope
during this most difficult time without you; you have—as you always have—been ever
‘there’ for me, and now for little Daisy.
And I am, moreover, most grateful for your continued
encouragement and support during these difficult times.
For I know that so many of you—my dearest friends—are
(or have)—experienced the same things that I and Daisy are going-though now.
And yet…never have you made me to feel stupid or
maudlin, or overly possessive; and your thoughtfulness gives me strength and a
genuine comfort that helps guide and direct me, and, your concern, thoughts, and
prayers for Daisy prove to be a most effective anodyne against uncertainty,
impending sense of loss, and to help guide Daisy and I at this immutable time
of depression, sadness, and feelings of helplessness.
‘Daisy’s
lab work results, and Dr. Weston’s evaluation of Daisy’s current health’:
When Dr. Weston telephoned me late the other night
with the results of Daisy’s lab work, the second I heard the good doctor’s
voice, I went—immediately—into a panic attack, in anticipation of the worst.
And, as might be expected, some of the values were abnormally
high, or low. Daisy’s liver enzymes were
quite high; but Dr. Weston said that there was no need to panic—yet—as her
liver enzymes were probably elevated owing to age, the pain, and arthritis
medications Daisy is on.
Her potassium level was a little high, so the Dr.
decided to have me give Daisy her potassium pill every other day, instead of
every day.
Her thyroid value was only very slightly elevated,
which Dr. Weston attributed to Daisy’s age, and not something to worry about
just yet.
Everything else was yawningly normal! And I had anticipated the, ‘comprehensive
metabolic panel’, that had been ordered would show that all or most of the
values to be horribly askew, and typical of an ailing dog who was possibly soon
to perish!
In fact, Dr. Weston told me that when I had
telephoned her to come out to see Daisy, she was fully prepared to initiate the
process of having Daisy put to sleep.
However, after a good two-hour visit, and
evaluation, Dr. Weston told me that Daisy seemed to be reacting well to her
medications, and—in fact—looked more spry that when she was seen on the last
visit.
Realistically—though—that is not to say that because
of Daisy’s age might also, and with little or no warning, succumb to a heart
attack, cancer, or from a stroke.
I cannot help but feel guardedly relieved for now,
anyway, though I want to spend as much ‘quality’ time with Daisy as I can, and
to continue to give her her medications, as they do seem to be helping.
‘Medication
Follies’:
Dr. Weston suggested that she schedule a partial lab
work redraw in three months, just to make sure the medications are working
well.
What probably should not surprise me is just how
expensive ‘pet’ medicine can be! Daisy’s medication tab—monthly—is at least
$160.00, or more. A month’s supply of
Tramadol (which I give Daisy to help relieve her pain) just cost me $75.00. And the Cyproheptadine (which—for me—is an
anti-histamine I take once a day, at night, to help me breath better, and for
Daisy—who takes it twice a day—is used to stimulate her appetite), just cost me
$37.50. Whereas my prescription for the
same drug is only $6.00!
So…when I was visited—today—by my Primary (who still
makes ‘house calls’), I asked her if she would kindly consider changing MY
prescription from one, once a day, to three, daily; that way, I can still take
my one at bedtime, and Daisy can have her two.
That change—alone—will save me $31.50 a month.
‘Even in a ‘down-turned, lousy economy’, I firmly
believe that Veterinarians and their Clinics will always manage quite nicely;
for one, their prices are NOT cheap, and secondly, even poor people will
continue to spend money on their pets, even if they have to do without
elsewhere. And I understand, and accept
that.
Would you
allow an innocent child to suffer? While the two are completely different,
those of us who have no children—but who DO have pets—often very much feel the
same way.
After all, this November 17th. Is Daisy’s
arbitrary birthday; by that time, she will have been with me for thirteen
years! Thirteen years of unquestioning love, protection, and companionship.
Made even more special as Daisy—in escaping from a
horribly abusive situation—decided that she would trust my late mother and me,
and find, here, a sense of peace…and love…ever and always free from the specter
of abuse or pain.
When she adopted us, the vet said that she might
have already been 1.5 to 2.5 years old.
Dogs will very rarely voluntarily leave a situation. So, it is both difficult and heart-rending to
imagine how very great the abuse was, to drive her away from her owner, to stay
with us.
When she first came to us, Daisy had obviously been
on the ‘run’ for some time. She had lost
huge patched of fur; her tail looked thin and ratty, as did her ears.
Someone…taken a bat to her, and had knocked out all
her upper and lower front teeth. And she
was SO thin. You could see her ribs, and
the ‘bumps’ that outlined her spine. She
was jaundiced, starving (having had to prowl-through garbage cans for food),
and she was unbelievable filthy, alive with fleas, and covered with sores.
She was very wary of me, even as I fed her, although
I must say that she almost immediately took to my late mother (who was
eighty-two at the time). It was my mom who gave Daisy her name, and, sometime
before she bonded with me, Daisy was as a lap dog to my mother, and would
follow mom everywhere, never letting mom out of her sight.
Even before Daisy was—at last—returned to a state of
good health, proper care, and proper nutrition, we began to let Daisy stay in
the house at night, when the winter’s wind turned colder.
I well-remember when mom would sit in her recliner
to watch television, Daisy would crawl under the lamp table to be near her; mom
would reach down through the arm of the chair to pet Daisy, and would often
croon to her, calling Daisy little pet names such as, ‘My little pussycat’, or,
‘My little pussy willow’, or mom would sing little songs to her; Daisy would
just eat that shit up.
And when my mother would go to bed at night, Daisy
was right beside her, sleeping on the rug next to mom’s bed.
In those days with Daisy, me, she tolerated as I was
the bringer of food; it was mom whom she adored.
But with my mother’s passing in 2008, Daisy knew our
little ‘pack’ had been seriously reduced, and for weeks, she would run from
place to place in the house, or, out in the yard, looking for my mom.
Of course, during, and after that time, my own
health has seriously declined. And now,
it is Daisy who ‘takes care’ of me!
Every time I get up and move, Daisy is right there; should I be in the
bathroom, Daisy will walk back and forth by the open door to look in on me; on
many an occasion, she has come into the bathroom to lie down by the sink. And for a long time—now—whenever I do go to
bed, Daisy is right there, curled up on the rug besides my bed.
Of course, now, I call her my own pet names, which
she does seem to enjoy, and I do think that dogs can be happy, and that they
can smile; and it lights-up my heart to see her smile!
‘The
truly inexplicable’:
This is very strange, my dearest, patient and
wonderful friends, and something for which I have no ready answer, and which—in
hindsight—just baffles me.
When Daisy adopted us, I knew that she had to have
had a previous owner, although—in my heart—to see Daisy in such a neglected,
and horrible condition, I cursed whoever had done this to her, causing her to
leave her situation, or—as also might have been the case—to have merely been ‘dropped
off’, taken for a ride into the countryside, and there pushed out to have to
fend for herself.
While either scenario was sickeningly unacceptable, still,
I did feel obliged to place ads should the true owner be looking for her.
What I got were strange telephone calls, sullen,
angry calls, and a few responses that were just demanding and/or weird. In a short while I gave up, in part because I
did not want to return Daisy to such a potentially abusive situation, and, also
because she had already found a place within our hearts.
Now, every year—in THIS County, anyway, whenever
dogs (or cats, too, I guess) get their rabies shots, they are given a special
tag to wear on their collars, that lists an assigned number to the pet, and
also included the telephone number to the County’s Animal Control Department.
This accomplishes two things:
1)
The tag (marked with the current year)
shows that the animal has received the most recent rabies injection; the tag is
a different color, every year.
2)
That anyone—upon finding a stray animal—can
telephone the County’s Animal Control, who can look up, and notify an owner
where their dog is, and from whom it may be picked up.
About two years ago—now—I
happened to be thinking about how grateful we were that Daisy found us to
adopt.
But here’s the weird
part. Suddenly, I remembered that when
Daisy first came to stay with us, she DID happen to be wearing a collar, with
just such a I.D. tag on it.
Frankly, I could have
just telephoned Animal Control, and they would have located Daisy’s prior
owner, who then could have come to the house and just taken her away with them
again.
I must have seen that tag
a hundred times, my dearest friends, but not once did it ever occur to me that
it would have located Daisy’s previous owner.
The thought never, ever occurred to me.
So why was I so blinded
and stupid? I generally pay more
attention to detail than that.
I decided that such
knowledge was hidden from me on purpose, or—more probably—that deep within my
heart (which almost always overrules the mind!), I did not want to return Daisy
to an abuser. And…that my mom and I
wanted her to stay with us!
Otherwise, I have NO
explanation for my not having taken any action, regarding her return. Perhaps you—my dearest friends—will be able
to solve an almost eleven year old mystery!
‘How
many dogs am I?’:
My dearest friends, and
loyal readers, should you visit my ‘Profile’ here at MDJunction, and
scroll-down to the photographic gallery, below, you will see two pictures of
Daisy, “The best dog on the planet!”.
After looking at her
pictures, would you not—perhaps—think of her to be a ‘Border Collie/Mix’? That is truly what I had thought for a
decade, at least.
But, about two years—ago,
when I happened to have more money that ever I do now!—I paid about $57.00,
along with two cheek swabs to a lab to assay Daisy’s D.N.A., and thus, reveal
her breed(s).
The results listed, in
order of percentage, up to four, different breeds, listing them as: 1) 40% or
more of D.N.A.; 30% or more of D.N.A.; 20% or more; and then 10% or less of
D.N.A.
The results, dear
friends, were not even remotely what I might have suspected, and—frankly—dumbfounded
me, with surprise, and laughter. Believe
it or not…here they are:
1)
40% of D.N.A…..Shar Pei
2)
30%
“ Chow
3)
20%
“ German Shepherd
4)
10%
“ Poodle
Only by looking very closely at the shape of her
mouth, can I detect any Chow in her.
And, now that she has been shaved severely to allow
me to better treat her dry and itchy, allergic skin, do—at last—I detect the
wrinkles on her forehead, and on the back of her neck evident of any Shar Pei
in her.
And…maybe her shanks do slightly resemble those of
the Shepperd.
Most recently, I happened—in passing—to mention this
to the good Dr. Weston. And what she
told me absolutely astounded me.
To wit, that the Poodle is the longest lived animal,
in general; apparently, the other, three breeds have life spans that range—usually—only
from around eight to eleven years.
The startling implication was that if Daisy is—in truth—actually
14.5 to 15.5 (this Nov. 17th), then she is indeed fortunate to have
inherited her longevity from the Poodle D.N.A. in her. Otherwise—and quite naturally so—she might
have died some six or seven years ago…something I never knew before, and would
never have considered!
So…in addition to love, care, and the will of our
Savior!, I have the 10% of Poodle D.N.A. to thank for Daisy surviving all these
extra years!
I feel that that has already given me an extra six
or more years with my dearest, canine companion, Daisy!
And in my secret heart of hearts, dearest friends,
what I now choose to believe is that Daisy was allowed to live during and past
the time when my wonderful mother became ill, and died on February 8, 2008, to
protect me, and keep me safe, and to stay with me so I won’t feel so alone.
Oh, I know that the end will come when it is
supposed to. And that—along the way—there
will be bumps and shocks, and a hundred scares.
But as long as Daisy continues to eat well, and
drink well, responses well to her medications, and does not seem to be in
intractable, prolonged pain, and…as long as she can still ‘arf’ at me, and wag
her tail, rolling over to be scratched, staying with me in my Study even as I
write these diary entries, and as she sleeps on the rug beside my bed each
night, and appears to be in no distress…I will always love her, and continue as
best I can to make her happy, well-fed, and comfortable and well taken care of,
enjoying every, blessed moment I still have with her!
My very, very dearest and kind friends, I think of
you so often, and wish for you no pain, or much, much lessened pain, and no
distress or despair.
I wish wonderful days for you, in-full surrounded by
love, care, and attention. I wish for
you plenty, without need or want.
And, I wish you balmy nights of blissful sleep,
safe, and secure. And watched over by
gentle angels.
And,
please, please always know I love you dearly!
‘Zahc’/Charles
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