For the Love of a Dog

About a year and a half ago, my husband told me of a dog a friend of his had rescued and that he, my husband, wanted us to adopt. I vehemently opposed. I am not, have never been and will never be a dog person.

After much cajoling on my husband's part, I finally agreed to at least meet the dog, thinking there was no way a dog would ever break my steely resolve to not bring a dog into our home.

And then, WHAM! I took one look at this face and was undone.

I, of course, agreed that this dog could come live with us but only if:

1. She was an outdoor dog only - had to live outside OR if she did live inside she would not be allowed on the furniture

You can see how well that worked out for me. The dog, now named Bristol, walked into our house and pretty much made it hers. She's been here just over a year, and all my "rules and conditions" of her coming to live here flew out the window the moment she walked through the door.

This week, we had to hospitalize this sweet baby girl. For the last few months, on and off, she'd been vomiting, seemed dehydrated and lethargic, was disinterested in eating, and was having "accidents" almost daily. This was not normal for her, and even after treating her for what we believed was a gastric virus, her symptoms persisted. Most perplexing was that one day she'd seem fine, and then the next day she was sick again. I could no longer stand to see her so miserable.

For the second time in two weeks, we found ourselves at the vet, describing symptoms that had persisted with our furry little princess, on and off, for several months.

The vet took X-rays and performed some quick tests, only to tell us she couldn't find anything. We knew there was something wrong with this precious pup, so we asked what our options were. The vet told us she recommended exploratory surgery on her abdomen to inspect, biopsy and determine what the root of the evil plaguing our girl might be. Or, they might not find anything.

I was undone at the thought of them cutting into my baby girl. I was terrified of what they might find, or that they might not find anything. Reluctantly, we agreed to the surgery. I cried. And cried. And then, I sobbed.

With nothing left to do, we went home, where I proceeded to cry some more. An hour later, we got a call from the vet. They'd decided against the surgery, for now, as Bristol's pre-op blood work exhibited indicators of Addison's disease, an adrenal gland malfunction. The vet explained she would keep Bristol overnight and on an IV to get her electrolyte levels stabilized, then they'd draw more blood to test for Addison's disease specifically.

I immediately did some research and found that all the symptoms of Addison's disease were those my sweet girl had exhibited. I learned that it's manageable and treatable, if not curable. And it meant no surgery for our adorable fur baby.

Relieved, I was finally able to relax a bit. I looked forward to spending time with a healthy baby Bris, taking her for long runs, snuggling with her while we watched TV, having her sit for portraits, hopefully with a big Boxer grin on her face.

She's home today, and I am cooking her some boiled chicken and rice for dinner. Her spirits are restored and she is full of energy, the light back in her eyes again.

As I look over the top of my Macbook screen at her, I remind myself that I am not now, never have been, never will be, a dog person.

Yeah right.

Here's to getting my sweet precious baby girl, Bris, healthy!

Share