All About Andee

Four years ago, a routine stop at a pet adoption day led to our adoption of a sweet-tempered, gentle puppy, named "Andee" by animal welfare volunteers (after the lawyer who rescued her from an interstate ramp where she had been dumped at under 6 weeks old). Having a puppy around brought out the puppy in our ten-year-old mixed breed, Happy, and they quickly became devoted to one another and to the human members of their pack.

Andee has grown to be a beauty--people stop us in the street to ask what breed she is. Her rich, reddish-brown coat, noble profile, silky button ears and feathered, upward-curving tail make a striking impression. She's just big enough to be intimidating to strangers who hear her bark through our fence, but small enough to be controlled on a leash by ten-year-old Charlie. A few frightening seizure episodes led to a diagnosis of epilepsy after she was about a year old, but the seizures were quickly controlled with phenobarbital. She was a happy and healthy pet until we realized she could not get herself up to a standing position on Sunday, September 28, 2008.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Reality begins to rear its ugly head

The reality of caring for a paraplegic dog is hitting home. Her kennel is too big for our kitchen, but we really have no other place to put it. This morning, she had a bowel movement (which is good), but while she was still in her kennel (not good). The feces got all through her tail and upper hind quarter. We could wipe much of it off, but we couldn't get it all. So Kathy gave her a bath to try and wash out what was left. No easy task, particularly carrying her into the bathroom.

We're all getting better at expressing her urine without getting it on ourselves. And Andee is starting to associate the cart with a walk, which makes her a little hard to handle getting her into the cart. But she was tired most of the day, so she stayed settled in her kennel.

What is hardest right now is that this may well be as good as she gets. It is likely that this will be the minimum level of care we need to give her on a day-to-day basis. And unlike a puppy, this level of care won't diminish. This awareness hit the kids hard last night. There was not much we could do or say, except to give them both a big hug.

Reality sucks.
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