We did it!

The other day my dad got up early. He went running and I kept on sleeping. Then he came home and had some breakfast. Then he came and got me, “Joey, let’s go”, and took me out for my morning walk. We walked for a while.  Suddenly he sped up – and I sped up. And he sped up some more – and I sped up some more. And I was running!

It didn’t last long, maybe half a block, but it really happened.

That was it. All that day, he and my mom were looking at me walk to make sure I wasn’t limping.

Then my parents spoke to Dr. Cara. “How will we know that it’s okay to take Joey running?” they asked. Dr. Cara answered that it was time for me to start again: It had been 12 weeks since my surgery. She said to keep an eye on me and if my parents noticed anything unusual, to rest me for a day then try again.

The next morning, my Dad got up as usual and took his morning run – without me. I kept on sleeping. Then he came home, had his breakfast, and came and got me, “Joey, let’s go”, and got me for our walk. We walked until I was all warmed up. I get warmed up pretty quickly, though. Then suddenly he sped up, and I sped up. We ran for about one whole block. Then he slowed down and  I slowed down and we walked together for about one more block. Then he sped up and I sped up, and together we were running again! This continued for about one block.

Then he noticed it. I was hopping on three legs.

He again slowed down so that we were just walking. And we walked and walked – our way home.

Again all day my parents were looking at me. Was I using all four legs? Was I limping? Honestly my muscles were a little sore but I felt great. I slept a lot during the day.

It takes practice to do what comes naturally.

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I have one birthday every year at which time my parents usually give me a special treat such as potatoes or potato chips or something that I love. They also sing me this song; tonight they sang me a song with a really joyous melody that made me really happy. At the end of the song they said “Joey” then “Yay!” and that made me really happy.  Then they sang it again and then once more.  I love my parents. They teach me new words so I feel smart and smarter.  They try to understand me even when we have trouble communicating.  I have friends who let me jump up and kiss them, even when my parents say “Joey, off”.  I have doctors and technicians who are kind who let me kiss them and who really care about me and about dogs.  I have everything!

here's a picture of me on my 10th birthday. if you look carefully, you can see the full moon and the crescent moon in my eye.

I pose for my birthday photo in a moment of peace the garden

We're never going to tell you if it hurts or where it hurts.

A dog who gets hit by a car isn’t going to tell you if he is in pain.  And if he is in pain, he certainly is not going to tell you where it hurts.

At the fence that morning after I was hit by the car, my mom saw blood and open wounds but she had no idea how seriously I had been hurt.  Because of my silence, it had never occurred to her that I was so deeply wounded.  I didn’t tell my mom and I didn’t complain, not a whimper. I didn’t lie down; I stayed sitting up and erect.  I did everything she told me to do and I stayed where she told me to stay.  My eyes were wide open the whole time and I followed my mom’s every move. Even when she had driven the car to the back of our home and was opening the back door to the car to let me in, I tried to jump in until she said “Joey, NO” and she put the blanket around me and lifted me in and onto the car seat.

The hardest part for my parents was when the first doctor said, “He could die if you don’t get him to Angell right away.”

Since then my parents have been learning a lot about how we dogs are different from humans.  For example, today my mom found me licking my splint again.  She knows that something is irritating my foot and that this means another trip to the hospital tomorrow to try to determine the source of my irritation – and that in the meanwhile she has to put the sock back on my foot and the cone if my licking my foot continues. She knows that I’m never going to tell her that my foot is being irritated or where it’s irritated. I’m not going to complain.  She knows that I’m just going to try to get some relief in the only way I can, which is to lick my foot. And maybe try to chew at the splint.

That’s just my way. That’s our – a dog’s – way.

Ask any dog and he or she will tell you the same.

So my mom and dad are going to keep looking at me and looking at me to see what I’m up to every day, every waking hour. And they’re going to keep the phone number of the animal hospital close at hand.

The next thing I know, Dad was saying, “Joey, come” and he walked downstairs, and I followed him, showing my downward mobility, and he put the lead on me. This was really great!  Another surprise!  I got to take a car ride with my dad very early.  He drove to the big 24-hour animal hospital and parked, and we walked in together.  Even at 6:30 in the morning it was filled with wonderful smells and signs of canine life and activity!  The last time I was here and Jane and I were in the waiting room, there was another little dog there who was very very nervous.  Her dad was holding her in his lap and said that she was always nervous when she was taken to the animal hospital.  Later, Dr. M’s assistant said that some dogs are nervous when they go to the animal hospital but that most dogs were very happy to be there and be around other dogs.  I’m in this group.

Soon, somebody came and got me, and we went off together to the back.  I remained there with new people and new animal friends.

Then my dad left.

Soon, Dr. M came and brought me to another part of the hospital.

Jane tells Dr. Kiko that I have taken all the antibiotics she was initially given for me, and wants to know if I need to continue to take them; she wants to know how often my bandages have to be changed, if I am permitted to be free to walk around the house yet, if I have to continue to have the cream put on my belly. She wants to know something about my food, such as if she should put fish oil on my food, and other things.

I’m not paying any attention to her and Dr. Kiko.  I hope they keep on talking and talking because the longer they talk, the longer I can look be enchanted by the sounds and scents of the other dogs that are walking in and out of the hospital, with their owners in tow.   Dogs other than me are marking their territory and indicating their pleasure with being in this social place.  I really love this hospital!

Today is going to be a great day for me. I have an appointment with my doctor, Dr. B, one of my best friends. The “Instructions” said to bring me there within 7 to 10 days of my going home, and this is Day 9. Perfect.

I don’t really care why I have to go there; for me it is a wonderful thing because I get to go outside for a little bit. I also don’t have to wear the collar while I am in the car. Maybe Jane will open the car window while she’s driving and I’ll feel the fresh air blow on my face and be able to sniff at all the lovely scents of animal life that are in the air.

My parents are saying something about taking out the stitches and staples that are in my belly. I wonder if that means that I will not have to wear the cone any longer. While I am there, Dr. B is going to look at my leg and tell me if he thinks it’s getting better. Then he is going to put on new bandages.

***

At the hospital, Dr. B lets me walk longer distances, which is a lot of fun, though I’m still on the leash. There are so many other dogs and cats there; I am unaware of who is big and who is little; I am aware of males and females. Some dogs are on leads like I am, some are in carriers.  There is one dog who has three legs and he is hopping around, as happy as he can be.  I find the whole experience of being in the hospital wonderful. All of these dogs could be my friend!  My nose and eyes and ears are always busy! My tail is wagging continuously and my ears are alert.  Lots of dogs, including me, are marking the walls and posts in order to say, to each other, in our own language,”I am here!”

Each time that I go to the hospital, the doctors want to know how much I weigh, whether I’ve gained or lost weight. Dr. B needs to know so he can figure out how much medicine I should be taking. I’ve lost some weight since I was wounded.  Before I was hit by the car, I was a strong 80 pounds. Here in this weighing in I’m down to 74 pounds.  Jane says that that’s because I am not running, and Dr. B agrees with her:  Phil and I have not gone jogging together for two weeks now.   I really don’t care about my weight, but I do care that my ankle and toes heal correctly and that I will be able to run again.

Here’s our morning routine: Every morning, Phil comes and wakes me up, but we no longer jog. Now we just take a short walk which, to me, is heavenly. As soon as I do my thing, we go back home. We walk slowly. When Jane comes downstairs, she gets me breakfast and makes sure that I eat it. She tries to make my breakfast interesting for me by adding some chicken soup to it. The idea is that in order for me to take my medicine, I have to have eaten first. Sometimes I refuse to eat it.  I stand there, sniff around, look around, look at her, face my food but roll my eyes toward her to see if she’s looking at me, stretch, sniff around again, do anything but eat, and then she says, “Joey, eat your breakfast.” Some people think that dogs don’t speak English, but I understand exactly what she wants from me. She wants me to eat my breakfast.

We have the same routine in the evening, starting with the evening walk with Phil. Either before the walk or after it, Jane feeds me my dinner and tries to make it interesting by pouring some chicken soup into it. If I don’t eat it, she says “Joey, eat. Eat your dinner.” She wants me to eat because I cannot take my medicine on an empty stomach. Some people say that dogs don’t speak English but I understand exactly what she wants from me. She wants me to eat my dinner.

A few days ago the FedEx truck pulled up to our home and the man delivered a large carton to my owners. I love when we receive package deliveries, because the delivery men can become my friends, too. But this delivery was different.

First, I wasn’t allowed out of the living room to greet or even see the delivery man. This was a huge frustration to me.

Then, Jane brought the large carton into our home and took out out something made of wood. Next,  she got a screw driver and started working. And working. I wanted to play with her, but she kept working. In addition, I thought she had bought me a new toy, and I let her know that by wagging my tail. But this wasn’t a toy for me.

About one hour later, there was a little wooden gate set up in the doorway to the living room that was too high for me to jump over. I couldn’t push it away, or figure out a way to open its little door. This was a huge frustration for me. I think this time they were too smart for me.

Spending all this time in the living room has, I think, something to do with following “the doctor’s orders”. This spacial limitation is the hardest part about recuperating.

The hospital even had visiting hours! There were afternoon visiting hours (11 a.m. – 12 p.m.) , and evening visiting hours (5:30 p.m. – 6:30 p.m.). Some people worry if their pets are in the hospital and they can’t visit them every day.  I think we pets are just fine with that.  There were some days when Jane and Phil couldn’t get to the hospital but that was fine because my doctor kept them informed about how I was doing, and also because I just needed a lot of rest.  Of course when Jane and Phil came, I felt great, even though I was pretty tired and out of it.  Jane even came right into my pen and sat down with me!  It took a lot of effort because I was so groggy but I did manage to wag my tail now and then, which was my favorite way of saying that I was happy to see them.

I noticed and remember when Jane said, “Look! He’s wagging his tail!” and I could hear the excitement in her voice.  I noticed that she had noticed and was glad.