We had a terrible scare over the weekend with our 13 (plus or minus) year old golden, Roxie. We rescued her 11 years ago, and have loved her and helped her overcome some serious emotional issues stemming from one abusive home and a second neglectful home. She finally learned to trust us and could not be a more loyal or loving companion. Her blog picture was taken a few years ago at Lake Pleasant, where she thrived swimming all day, every day.
On Saturday evening when she didn’t come to the door after her potty break, I had an intuitive sense all was not well. I found her floundering in the pool, disoriented and unable to get out. I jumped in and pulled her to safety. She was shaking and wobbly, like a drunken soldier. On Sunday she seemed okay in the morning, but by mid-afternoon she was again unable to walk or even stand.
I got to the vet at the crack of dawn Monday, trying to prepare myself for what seemed to be the inevitable. She has been suffering from degenerative arthritis and hip dysplasia for years, but we’ve managed her conditions quite well with meds. So long as she’s pain free and happy, so are we. Quality of life is all we wish for her.
So, back to my drama. I cried a river and mourned her loss before I even knew if the worst had come to our doorstep. Our local vet took one look at Roxie and sent us directly to a pet neurological center with talk of an MRI, a spinal tap, surgery and who knows what else. They were not willing/able to make a definitve call. I wasn’t sure where this road was leading, but again, I assumed the worst and wanted what was best for Roxie.
The folks at the neurological center were beyond amazing, compassionate, professional and skilled with Roxie. More tears from me, waiting for the unthinkable time I would have to make the unthinkable decision. The vet techs were young and drop dead gorgeous (I know, who would notice such a thing at such a time?!) and sensitive to the point of making my tears flow yet again. Out they came to the car with a doggie gurney (another first) and gently, ever so sweetly rolled her inside. The vet was a wonderful woman, and after spoon feeding Roxie on the floor and conducting her exam, her news was earth-shattering. No more tests, no more meds. She is suffering from some temporary, totally self-curing disease called geriatric vestibular something-or-other. Take her home, baby her, pick her up with a special harness until she walks again in a week. Say what?!?!
So now to the lesson part of this story with a happy ending. In my grief and rush to judgment, I failed to live in the present moment and be in my grace. Shame on me, in hindsight, but what a valuable lesson I have learned, for real instead of in theory. While I hand feed Roxie boiled chicken and give her lots of hugs and love, I feel so blessed and grateful to have her in our lives for however long it will be. Namaste :))
Love and light to all.
Jul. 21, 2015
Judy Richter 