Almost Oakie’s Last Days

It was a typical Sunday morning. We’d just returned from church and I was already mentally tasting the breakfast tacos we’ve become addicted to since moving to San Antonio. Our two rescue mutts, Sadie and Oakie, met us at the front door in usual doggie style, acting as if they hadn’t seen us in months.  I walked the two most energetic pooches to the back door to release into our relatively large back yard, one that’s completely fenced. I had no idea we were about to experience many days of deep grief until what seemed like a miracle occurred.

After changing clothes to my regular t-shirt and jeans uniform, I heard a loud series of yelps any long time dog owner knows signals an animal in pain. I shot out the back door and found both dogs sitting comfortably under our big pecan tree, apparently quite content in the shade, so I assumed the cries came from next door where our neighbor keeps 1,236 dogs and cats they’ve rescued all over town. Yes, I’m exaggerating, but completely accurate in saying our neighbor is the only person I know even more attuned to the plight of abandoned animals than my wife. If it were up to Mary, we’d have 1,237 rescue animals in our yard. I’ve drawn the line at two, but know this could change quickly if I let down my guard.

I returned with a bag of chorizo and egg tacos and Mary simply said, “Oakie can’t walk.” My heart fell even deeper when I saw Oakie, his left rear leg totally lifeless and hanging like a limp sausage; his right leg apparently not fully functional either. I didn’t know it at the time, but even his tail refused to work.

Being Sunday our usual vet was closed, so I went to the emergency pet hospital. Some two hours and $700 later I was informed the x-rays showed no damage. The vet said there were a number of possibilities, one was damage to Oakie’s spine that would take a $2500 MRI to possibly locate and then a $5,000 operation to correct. Even with all of that, the vet said there was no guarantee the problem could be corrected. The second possibility was some sort of blood clot on the spine that “might” clear up on it’s own in a week or two. The “might” was expressed, at least in my assessment, as a remote chance thrown out just to provide a small glimmer of hope.

On the way back home I started to tear up, absolutely convinced I’d soon be forced to “put down” my little buddy who looks at me as if I’m God, and in a way in his universe I am, excepting, of course, a complete inability to compel miraculous healing. I began sending that message up to the real God. I also had another big problem. I knew Mary would be absolutely opposed to euthanasia if there were any other options available, a $7500 bill far from out of the question.

I’m still not sure what might have happened if Oakie remained paralyzed and also most incontinent. We brought Oakie to our regular vet Monday and essentially received the same report, except our vet was a bit more optimistic of the possibility of recovery.

Over the course of a few more days, I devised a sling with handles to support Oakie’s rear end and also attached him to his lead. The result was close to walking a one handled wheelbarrow with a jittery front wheel, but I was able to get Oakie to do his business outside instead of inside the house, and with this process could see nursing him for a spell to see if he could get better. Meanwhile, Mary ordered a bunch of pills supposedly for healing injuries like his while she also located and then advocated a wheeled cart if things didn’t improve, which I was almost certain would be the case.

Growing up in farm country as I did, I knew what often happened with an injury like Oakie’s, and that’s a trip to the back of the barn with the dog under one arm and a 30-30 under the other. Please understand, I’m not criticizing this as it’s often the most humane thing to do. Further, I have long operated under the notion that’s it’s best to get unpleasant things out of the way as soon as possible instead of delaying the inevitable. Quite frankly, I wanted to end what I saw as a death watch and just pass through the agony as quickly as possible to begin healing emotionally, instead of looking at the poor creature while fighting back tears all day. I’m not sure how it happens, but we sure do get emotionally involved with our dogs, losing one is always super traumatic.

And then it happened. I began to notice a slight bit of movement in Oakie’s completely useless leg and his other injured one began to get progressively stronger. I tried walking him without the support sling and found he could walk and stand on his own but was still far from his old self. I began calling him “tripod” as he continued to get stronger.

It is now week four. While he still has a noticeable limp, Oakie can really run fast and at speed there is no indication of any disability. Only at a walk can we still see a limp that does not seem to bother Oakie in the slightest. He’s back to chasing squirrels and the big lizards we have down here in Texas. He wasn’t fast enough before his injury to catch his frequent targets, so a few steps slower will have no impact on his enjoyment.

Me? I’m thrilled.