Warning: don't read if you are squeamish about the topic of dog poop.
If you could see my blog dashboard, you'd know I've started about 10 Gabby updates over the last two months, but one of three things always happens.
1. I start it late at night, and I'm so exhausted, it starts to not make sense, and I just go to bed.
2. I start to do it, and I'm in a bad mood, so it comes across as the whinest thing I've ever written.
or
3. Gabby poops.
I've always taken great pride in the fact that Gabby wasn't very needy when it comes to bathroom breaks. The occasional upset stomach aside, she has always held it for as long as necessary. She never has accidents in the house, and I can sleep as late as I want to without getting up to let her out. And when the doctor told me this accident might affect her bladder, I was prepared to buy stock in paper towels. Well, her bladder is mostly fine, but her bowels...not so much.
Let me start from the beginning. It's been exactly two months since my darling little dog of ten years got run over by an entire train. I was faced with euthanizing her or a long and extensive rehab. I chose the latter. I will whine and complain during this post, so don't mistake that for regretting my choice. I don't, not at all.
During the first few weeks, I did nothing but sit on a mattress for 23 to 24 hours a day. I gave up my swimming regimen, suffered through some setbacks with my own health, stopped working, stopped writing my book, etc. (To recap, I moved in with my parents about a week or two before all this happened so I could focus on finishing my book and building up my freelance writing business.) But it was worth it. I expressed her bladder, treated her bladder infection, sponge-bathed her daily, kept her immobilized, gave her a gazillion medications, carried her back and forth to the doctor - that was my main purpose in life for those weeks. That and trying not to be a burden on my parents who were obviously annoyed that their living room had been taken over by the doggie hospital.
At some point during those weeks, after a few convos with the vet (who has been amazing, by the way), I was given the go ahead to start towel walking her. If you've never towel walked a dog, you're missing out on the best exercise you can get. When I first got Gabby, she looked like she might have some St. Bernard in her. I've always been kind of sad that she didn't, but now, not so much. On the other hand, my triceps are ridiculous.
Anyway, around the month mark, after another visit and talk with the doctor, I was given the okay to let her be mobile, so I did - mainly just in the living room and in a little patch of grass just outside the door. After a while, she started scooting around and that's where we're at now. She crawl-walks on the tops of feet and knees, and I have to put special shoes on her so she doesn't scrape them up too badly.
She's still partially paralyzed - she can't wag her tail, and she can't move her legs forward to walk or scratch her head.
She also can't hold in her poop.
There have been days during the last two months when I have wanted to put a cork in that dog. There have been days when it's just one big constant flow. There have been days when she's stepped it, smeared it all over everything in sight, ate it (I know)... I've cleaned it off walls, beds, her, Sadie, my computer (I have stock in Lysol and Clorox now). I just don't know how my dog who never pooped much has become such a pooping machine. Honestly, I taught myself how to express her anal glands just to, hopefully, get some relief from this. She mostly does it while she's sleeping, so she still sleeps on her bed, and I still sleep on the mattress in the floor, but goooood grief!
I can't even leave the house without taking Gabby with me, because of this issue and the fact that we're not in our own home, so I can't just keep her confined to one area that is easily cleaned. Honestly, the only places I've gone in the last two months are the grocery store, Chick-fil-A, the bank and to swim or walk when I get the chance. And before anyone mentions doggie diapers, let me just tell you that they are something like $12 for a pack of 15. Plus, because of the really bad bladder infections he developed, the doctor said he would prefer if she didn't wear them often.
So, you'd think with two months spent in parents' living room floor, I'd get a lot done. You'd be wrong. See the aforementioned poop problem, add in a couple of roommates who seem to think any spare moment I get should be spent doing things for them, and I have been pretty darn miserable lately.
I do see a light at the end of the tunnel, though. If you've my been following my saga, you know that Gabby LOVES to swim. I have never seen a dog so attracted to water. Any lake, river, creek or swimming pool she sees must be swam in immediately. (Granted, she hates bath and won't go out in the rain...hmm.)
Anyway, one of my goals has always been to take her to the beach, but I've never had the time or money or gone with people who would allow me to bring her along. That Friday morning when she was hit, when I was standing in the room, waiting for the doctor to x-ray her, I was thinking over our time together. We've been on some crazy adventures, we've lived alone together in a few different houses, and she really helped me through some tough things. I don't have too many regrets aside from not ever taking her to the beach. So, in that moment, I made up my mind that I would get her there before the end of the year if she survived.
Well, this dog is alive and well.
If you know Gabby at all, you know she has a little bit of an attitude. She's always required special treatment compared to my parents' dog or Sadie. And she's stubborn as hell. She expects to be waited on hand and foot. My parents say "like owner, like dog." Whatever. My point is that when we first brought her home, she cried and moped and moaned and I wondered if I'd made the right decision for several days. But I guess I'd cry and mope and moan if I was run over by a train, too. Her personality is back in a big way. The steroids she took for the hip fracture actually helped cure some of her other issues, and she's acting years younger than she is. She looks years younger than she did, too.
Anyway, I wanted to wait until she could walk again, but after two months of being inside, I'm dying to get out of town. I'm dying to see her scoot around in the sand and play in the water. So, if all goes accordingly, next Sunday (one week from tomorrow), me, the Gabs, and my mom are heading to Charleston. We're just going for the day (it's a 3 to 5 hour drive, depending on how many bathroom breaks I have to take between the two passengers and how many times we have to stop to clean up poop - I had to drive into Atlanta the other day, and I had to stop five times within one hour - don't worry, I put towels under her - lots of towels).
I am so excited, but I'm also so afraid that something will go wrong - mainly that I am not going to be able to afford it. I've got to come up with a few hundred dollars this week to make it happen (I have to get new tires, blah), but I've been picking up some decent freelance jobs lately, and I even signed on to work for a political website that I totally disagree with. I knew those acting classes would come in handy one day!
Anyway, this update is kind of all over the place and not very witty, but I've been trying to get something down for the few people who keep asking and for my own sake. Honestly, the last couple of months have been a blur. It's been really hard and frustrating for many different reason, and it's been stressful on everyone involved. It's also been expensive. My parents and grandfather have helped me pay for most of it, but not being able to work much has really put a damper on my life.
But it's been worth it. Gabby has always been there for me, so I couldn't let her down. During our last trip to the doctor, one of the girls wanted to take her outside to get a bladder sample. They failed to mention that they would do this when I made the appointment, so I had tried to walk her in the grass by the parking lot before going inside, and I ended up chasing her across the grocery store parking lot, but that's neither here nor there (yes, the dog can't walk, but she is still faster than me). The point is, they had stick a needle in her stomach to get some urine, so the girl called another one in to help her.
But at some point, they started handling her, and I said "Be careful, she has a broken hip" because they didn't seem to realize she was there for more than just a bladder infection re-check.
"How did that happen?" the girl asked.
"She got run over by a train," I responded.
"Oh, is she the one? The miracle dog?" Apparently, she's developed quite a reputation.
But really, I was watching a train go by the other day, and I thought of my poor baby under there for three or four whole minutes, and I'm thinking, who survives that? My dad, who saw the whole thing, retells the story with a bit of terror in his voice that I've never heard before. He says he started to scream at her, but he was afraid she'd move, and it'd knock her head off or something, so he hid behind a tree until it was over, and then he ran and scooped her up (and getting to the railroad tracks is not an easy task). I guess it kind of is a miracle.
Okay, enough rambling. I need to get busy so we can go to Charleston next weekend (I will be working 24/7 doing crap work in hopes that it works out if you need me)! You folks have no idea how excited I am to get out of town, even for just a day. And I can't wait to see my Gabs at the beach.
If you could see my blog dashboard, you'd know I've started about 10 Gabby updates over the last two months, but one of three things always happens.
1. I start it late at night, and I'm so exhausted, it starts to not make sense, and I just go to bed.
2. I start to do it, and I'm in a bad mood, so it comes across as the whinest thing I've ever written.
or
3. Gabby poops.
I've always taken great pride in the fact that Gabby wasn't very needy when it comes to bathroom breaks. The occasional upset stomach aside, she has always held it for as long as necessary. She never has accidents in the house, and I can sleep as late as I want to without getting up to let her out. And when the doctor told me this accident might affect her bladder, I was prepared to buy stock in paper towels. Well, her bladder is mostly fine, but her bowels...not so much.
Let me start from the beginning. It's been exactly two months since my darling little dog of ten years got run over by an entire train. I was faced with euthanizing her or a long and extensive rehab. I chose the latter. I will whine and complain during this post, so don't mistake that for regretting my choice. I don't, not at all.
During the first few weeks, I did nothing but sit on a mattress for 23 to 24 hours a day. I gave up my swimming regimen, suffered through some setbacks with my own health, stopped working, stopped writing my book, etc. (To recap, I moved in with my parents about a week or two before all this happened so I could focus on finishing my book and building up my freelance writing business.) But it was worth it. I expressed her bladder, treated her bladder infection, sponge-bathed her daily, kept her immobilized, gave her a gazillion medications, carried her back and forth to the doctor - that was my main purpose in life for those weeks. That and trying not to be a burden on my parents who were obviously annoyed that their living room had been taken over by the doggie hospital.
At some point during those weeks, after a few convos with the vet (who has been amazing, by the way), I was given the go ahead to start towel walking her. If you've never towel walked a dog, you're missing out on the best exercise you can get. When I first got Gabby, she looked like she might have some St. Bernard in her. I've always been kind of sad that she didn't, but now, not so much. On the other hand, my triceps are ridiculous.
Anyway, around the month mark, after another visit and talk with the doctor, I was given the okay to let her be mobile, so I did - mainly just in the living room and in a little patch of grass just outside the door. After a while, she started scooting around and that's where we're at now. She crawl-walks on the tops of feet and knees, and I have to put special shoes on her so she doesn't scrape them up too badly.
She's still partially paralyzed - she can't wag her tail, and she can't move her legs forward to walk or scratch her head.
She also can't hold in her poop.
There have been days during the last two months when I have wanted to put a cork in that dog. There have been days when it's just one big constant flow. There have been days when she's stepped it, smeared it all over everything in sight, ate it (I know)... I've cleaned it off walls, beds, her, Sadie, my computer (I have stock in Lysol and Clorox now). I just don't know how my dog who never pooped much has become such a pooping machine. Honestly, I taught myself how to express her anal glands just to, hopefully, get some relief from this. She mostly does it while she's sleeping, so she still sleeps on her bed, and I still sleep on the mattress in the floor, but goooood grief!
I can't even leave the house without taking Gabby with me, because of this issue and the fact that we're not in our own home, so I can't just keep her confined to one area that is easily cleaned. Honestly, the only places I've gone in the last two months are the grocery store, Chick-fil-A, the bank and to swim or walk when I get the chance. And before anyone mentions doggie diapers, let me just tell you that they are something like $12 for a pack of 15. Plus, because of the really bad bladder infections he developed, the doctor said he would prefer if she didn't wear them often.
So, you'd think with two months spent in parents' living room floor, I'd get a lot done. You'd be wrong. See the aforementioned poop problem, add in a couple of roommates who seem to think any spare moment I get should be spent doing things for them, and I have been pretty darn miserable lately.
I do see a light at the end of the tunnel, though. If you've my been following my saga, you know that Gabby LOVES to swim. I have never seen a dog so attracted to water. Any lake, river, creek or swimming pool she sees must be swam in immediately. (Granted, she hates bath and won't go out in the rain...hmm.)
Anyway, one of my goals has always been to take her to the beach, but I've never had the time or money or gone with people who would allow me to bring her along. That Friday morning when she was hit, when I was standing in the room, waiting for the doctor to x-ray her, I was thinking over our time together. We've been on some crazy adventures, we've lived alone together in a few different houses, and she really helped me through some tough things. I don't have too many regrets aside from not ever taking her to the beach. So, in that moment, I made up my mind that I would get her there before the end of the year if she survived.
Well, this dog is alive and well.
If you know Gabby at all, you know she has a little bit of an attitude. She's always required special treatment compared to my parents' dog or Sadie. And she's stubborn as hell. She expects to be waited on hand and foot. My parents say "like owner, like dog." Whatever. My point is that when we first brought her home, she cried and moped and moaned and I wondered if I'd made the right decision for several days. But I guess I'd cry and mope and moan if I was run over by a train, too. Her personality is back in a big way. The steroids she took for the hip fracture actually helped cure some of her other issues, and she's acting years younger than she is. She looks years younger than she did, too.
Anyway, I wanted to wait until she could walk again, but after two months of being inside, I'm dying to get out of town. I'm dying to see her scoot around in the sand and play in the water. So, if all goes accordingly, next Sunday (one week from tomorrow), me, the Gabs, and my mom are heading to Charleston. We're just going for the day (it's a 3 to 5 hour drive, depending on how many bathroom breaks I have to take between the two passengers and how many times we have to stop to clean up poop - I had to drive into Atlanta the other day, and I had to stop five times within one hour - don't worry, I put towels under her - lots of towels).
I am so excited, but I'm also so afraid that something will go wrong - mainly that I am not going to be able to afford it. I've got to come up with a few hundred dollars this week to make it happen (I have to get new tires, blah), but I've been picking up some decent freelance jobs lately, and I even signed on to work for a political website that I totally disagree with. I knew those acting classes would come in handy one day!
Anyway, this update is kind of all over the place and not very witty, but I've been trying to get something down for the few people who keep asking and for my own sake. Honestly, the last couple of months have been a blur. It's been really hard and frustrating for many different reason, and it's been stressful on everyone involved. It's also been expensive. My parents and grandfather have helped me pay for most of it, but not being able to work much has really put a damper on my life.
But it's been worth it. Gabby has always been there for me, so I couldn't let her down. During our last trip to the doctor, one of the girls wanted to take her outside to get a bladder sample. They failed to mention that they would do this when I made the appointment, so I had tried to walk her in the grass by the parking lot before going inside, and I ended up chasing her across the grocery store parking lot, but that's neither here nor there (yes, the dog can't walk, but she is still faster than me). The point is, they had stick a needle in her stomach to get some urine, so the girl called another one in to help her.
But at some point, they started handling her, and I said "Be careful, she has a broken hip" because they didn't seem to realize she was there for more than just a bladder infection re-check.
"How did that happen?" the girl asked.
"She got run over by a train," I responded.
"Oh, is she the one? The miracle dog?" Apparently, she's developed quite a reputation.
But really, I was watching a train go by the other day, and I thought of my poor baby under there for three or four whole minutes, and I'm thinking, who survives that? My dad, who saw the whole thing, retells the story with a bit of terror in his voice that I've never heard before. He says he started to scream at her, but he was afraid she'd move, and it'd knock her head off or something, so he hid behind a tree until it was over, and then he ran and scooped her up (and getting to the railroad tracks is not an easy task). I guess it kind of is a miracle.
Okay, enough rambling. I need to get busy so we can go to Charleston next weekend (I will be working 24/7 doing crap work in hopes that it works out if you need me)! You folks have no idea how excited I am to get out of town, even for just a day. And I can't wait to see my Gabs at the beach.
2 comments:
I love this dog! You need a tip jar.
I couldn't do that! And thanks, I do too!
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