Dog Days

The cutie at the right is Bailey. Or Boodle. Or Schnoodle. She'll acknowledge any of them; acknowledge, but not actually come running. Unless there's turkey or a veggie chunk offered as a treat.

Obedience isn't a strong point, but unconditional puppy hugs and kisses are abundant. She's 11 now--past mid-life, but as a small mixed breed, ideally has a few or more good years left according to her friends the Drs. McBride.

That's a good thing, since I can't quite imagine my home without her. She's been scaring me this summer though. Not quite as fleet, though still a flight risk off lead, she occasionally seems lost in her own little world. And the seizure disorder she's had since age 4, if not longer, seems to be causing more frequent seizures. That scares her mama.

I'm trying to stay calm, track the seizures as directed by the vet, etc. But the documented occurence of three in the past couple of months has me concerned. I'll be calling the vet first thing tomorrow to report last night's seizure and discuss starting medication, scheduling a follow up appointment to last month's complete work up.

I hate to resort to drugs, but it's getting hard to watch her little eyes grow glazed and limbs seize up; I wonder if it hurts? Does she know? Is she scared? Fighting back the tears, resisting the anger that builds in me when I see her like that -- as if I or any other person in or now out of her life could change it.

All I can do is cherish the sight of her at the top of the stairs when I come in the door from work. Make room to cuddle her close at night. Play a good game of squirrel toss or rabbit retrieval when she asks. And keep looking the other way when her aunts, friends and grandparents doctor her kibble with yummy bits of people food.

Unconditional love goes both ways.