Pawcurious Vet Blog: Pet help, stories, and information with Dr. V

I appreciate all the thoughtful comments yesterday, and especially I appreciate everyone who sent me a picture of their beloved pets to be included in yesterday’s video. It was wonderful to see how many people knew what this day would mean, because you all have had this kind of day too.

Yesterday was shaping up to be the same type of day I have been (thankfully) having for quite a while lately: simple and uneventful.

And then.

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As I was driving home yesterday, I was thinking about Emmett and how much has changed in the past year. One year ago, I said goodbye. One year ago, I sat 10 feet from where I am now with my head on his neck for the last time, while he sighed into my hands, too tired to even roll over for a belly rub. It was a bad day.

I was thinking about how, after he died, our house was the cleanest it had been in years. The tumbleweeds were gone- the ever present little hair balls that found their way into corners no matter how much we brushed or vacuumed. I would look around the tidy floors, and tear up because I missed those tumbleweeds.

And now we have them again, and I have Brody and Koa. I could play the whatif game inside my head all day- whatif Emmett didn’t die? Where would Brody be today? Would Koa still be in rescue? And then I remember, what might have happened, or could have happened, is all irrelevant. All that matters is what did happen.

The tumbleweeds are back, and yes they are different, but they are here, and I am happy.

As I sat at a stoplight mulling this over, a little puff of something- I don’t know what it was exactly, a small white feather or puff of fur- blew in through the open window, and danced in front of my face for a second or two. I grabbed for it, but it had already caught the eddy of wind and blew out the other side of the car. I am probably overthinking things to say that a wayward feather blowing into the car somehow represented an extremely profound moment, but it did.

Yes, it’s going to be a hard day today, but it is OK. Things are as they are supposed to be.

A little while back, I asked on Facebook if anyone would like to contribute a photo of a pet who has passed for a little project I was doing to mark this day. This is it. I hope I have honored them well.

One year ago today, I wrote what turned out to be a rather iconic post. If you aren’t familiar with why I keep referring to my undying hatred of Kevin, that post explains it. The anniversary of Emmett’s passing is next week, and I am already dreading it.

I have lost dogs before, and will, I am sure, go through it again though I am hoping that day is far from now. Over time, the sharp pains of grief turn into more of a dull ache, which in time recedes into the corners of one’s mind and only occasionally makes itself known. Eventually, even that wears away, to be replaced by the dusty shimmer of fond remembrance.

But when you are talking about that once in a lifetime dog, the one whose heart so effortlessly grew into yours, the scars left behind when they are ripped from it take longer to heal. This week, my dear friend was in town for a visit, and hadn’t seen Brody for a while.

“Oh wow,” she said. “He looks just like Emmett.”

“He does,” I agreed sadly. “He doesn’t act anything like him, though.”

It was not my choice to end up with a dog who so closely resembled the one he succeeded. I would have preferred that not to be the case. It’s not Brody’s fault that he is not Emmett, and I wouldn’t expect him to be. Nonetheless, I still find myself slipping on occasion when I’m not paying attention and calling him the wrong name, then realizing no, that one is not here.

I received this lovely gift from Amy Valentine after Emmett passed away. I wear it regularly. It helps ward off the ache. I will have it on next week, when I find myself lost in the memories of those last few days at Dog Beach, of the stranger who approached me to take our picture, moved by some tangible expression passing between Emmett and myself our last time there, of the feel of his fur in my hands as I rested them on his still form.

Yes, this wound still hurts.

Many years ago, at my very first job, I had the good fortune to meet a technician who was also to become a wonderful friend. We were young, both new to our jobs, and flush with the excitement of entering this field. We had new pets: I had Emmett, 2 at the time, and had recently rescued Mulan as a 5 year old. Amber had just adopted an adorable orange fluffball named O’Malley.

O’Malley was many things: confident, sassy, a bit of a handful. And by “a bit” I mean “a majorly huge handful.” He’d pounce on your head while you were sitting on the couch, bite the dog on the tail and then act offended when the dog reacted, swipe you across the face just for walking by. He would wait until Amber finished cooking dinner, and then just as they were sitting down, he’d go into the litterbox and foul the air with his stinkiness. Every night.

Later in life, O’Malley moved in with another good friend who is also a technician, Libby. Libby’s task was even more challenging, since she inherited not an adorable orange fluffball but an ornery Garfield lookalike with a nasty case of asthma. She tirelessly nursed him through his wheezing, whittled his weight down to a manageable size, and loved him despite his penchant for pooping at inopportune times.

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Do you know Batman the cancer dog? I didn’t either, until today, when I read that he died. This is sad news, but also one that represents a great victory.

By Richard Sennott, Star Tribune

Batman was diagnosed with an incurable brain tumor in 2008; according to the news article, the same type as that which took Senator Ted Kennedy- a glioblastoma. Average survival time for a human: about one year. The senator survived 15 months.

Batman survived 19 months.

Needless to say, most pets with a diagnosis of cancer live for far shorter periods than their human counterparts. This is for a variety of reasons, as you can imagine. So why did Batman make it so long?

He took part in a federally funded cancer research trial in the field of comparative oncology. It’s without a doubt a win-win; Batman’s parents were spared the enormous bill they were not able to afford otherwise, and the researchers are able to move forward with much less red tape than had they been working with human participants.

There are clinical trials in veterinary medicine designed for veterinary patients, but it’s reality that research money for diseases affecting humans with always be in greater supply. While the trials are ostensibly for the benefit of us humans, who can argue with the nice side effect of maybe finding something our pets can use as well? We’ll take what we can get, right?

Without the study, Batman’s owners would probably not have sought treatment. In those cases, median survival time is about 3 months. He survived 19. That is a lot of extra trips to the park, lots of tummy rubs, lots and lots of added memories.

So yes, this is a victory, for Batman, and for all of us who may benefit from the research he took part in.

RIP little guy. You did great.

The last day of 2008 was one I’d just as soon not remember. I was mulling on this last week, trying to remember what I did and who I was with, and coming up blank. Until I remembered: Oh, that.

The latter half of 2008 had been spent, starting in June, consulting with the radiation oncologist and toting Mulan back and forth to appointments that left her exhausted, tired, and ultimately, no better. If you’re new to the blog, I wrote about Mu here. There’s a reason that post is at the top of my favorites list- I just adored that little girl.

On New Year’s Eve, one year ago today, I said goodbye.

As I drifted into a dreamless sleep that night, I hoped and prayed that the next year would be a little less sad. Well, that didn’t turn out so well, did it. So this time, I’ll repeat my request, a little louder and a bit more forcefully:

DEAR UNIVERSE: I WOULD HEREBY LIKE TO MAKE A WITHDRAWAL FROM THE BANK OF GOOD KARMA AND ASK THAT 2010 USHER IN A YEAR OF GOOD HEALTH FOR MY ENTIRE FAMILY, BOTH  2 AND 4 LEGGED. SINCERELY, ME

It wasn’t all bad, though. I mean, sure I lost Emmett after a short and vicious fight with lymphosarcoma, and Calypso disappeared into the ether leaving me to this day short of breath when someone brings in a pet who survived a coyote attack and reminds me of what probably happened, and the guinea pig keeled over for absolutely no discernible reason whatsoever, but… well, I didn’t have to go it alone. I had the good fortune to have a sympathetic group who helped me through it here on the blog I am so glad I started.

And, of course, 2009 brought Brody. How can one be angry at a year that brought me that goofball? Yin and yang, life and death, we all scurry around in the hamsterball of life bumping into each other and then the wall, trying not to roll down the stairs.

Here’s to another year of staying on the landing. Cheers.