Larry

Some years ago the town council of Fort Macleod , an unlikable lot at the best of times, had a policy in their pound of destroying all dogs caught after three days. No attempt was made to find the owner, or to publicize in the paper that a dog had been caught. And that even though they routinely bought half a page in the local newspaper at any rate, and any such effort would not have cost them a dime. I made an unholy row about it, and eventually that policy was changed. But before it was, I adopted as many dogs out of the pound as I could when their grace period of three days was up.

While I was checking the pound daily, waiting for the three day period to be up, for me to adopt a beautiful long-haired German Shepherd cross, a tiny little black dog appeared in the cage beside her. He had the long body and the short legs of a Dachshund, but that's where the similarity ended. 'Dachshund' means badger hound, and badgers are large, powerful animals. In order to fight a badger, a Dachshund has to be a strong animal on short legs so he can follow a badger into his burrow, but otherwise, be a very powerful dog. This little black guy in the pound was none of these. He had a short nose with unimpressive teeth and stood on short but spindly legs.

now what to do!

It is not in my nature to look at two dogs, help one, and tell the other, "Sorry, but you'll just have to die." When I took the beautiful dog home, the waiting period for the little black had not run out. But, I was told, his owners had been found. Just to make sure everything was going right, I checked again the next day. It turned out the animal controller had phoned the owner to remind him that this was the day the little black would have to be bailed out or put down. At that time he received this response,

"Gee, it's today? Ah, gee, we're just so busy today... Oh, you better put him down then."

Such callous disregard for life infuriates me. And it had me thinking what kind of 'care' he would have had living with people who were so ready to let him die. I took him home, of course, and was determined to make up for whatever miseries he had endured in his short life so far.

looking around

My two evacuees lived together in my largest enclosure, about an acre and a half with dozens of trees, for the first few days. They were an odd couple, where they sat in front of their little dog house built for two. Minnie is a strikingly handsome dog with long hair. And then there was Larry. They became acquainted with the rest of the mob in the main yard through the fence, and when there were no signs of animosity, after a few days I opened the gate for them to intermingle. Dogs at my place have a choice of where they want to live. Minnie, although she had that opportunity, never set foot in the house. Larry, on the other hand, immediately decided he was going to be a house dog. Not only that, for much of the time he was not only an in-house dog, but an in-bed dog. He would bound up and settle down across my chest on his back so that I could rub his chest and belly, his eyes rolling in ecstasy and his little legs randomly kicking at the ceiling.

He not only enjoyed living in the house, but became part of the regular traveling crew. Five or six dogs can come with me wherever I go because I know I can leave them in the truck, by themselves, out of sight, and be assured that there will not be a knot of furiously fighting animals trying to do each other in, when I return. That was six years ago, and on the whole I believe I was true to my pledge to make up for any misery he might have endured in his life before he came to me.

Then, one morning, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that he was dragging his hind end across the floor, as dogs sometimes do.

"Oh, come on Larry, you don't need to do that in here." I said, " The back door is wide open."

That bringing no response whatsoever, I took a closer look. One of Larry's legs was folded underneath him, the other was dragging behind, and neither one was moving. Larry was paralyzed.

Anti-inflammatory injections improved matters to the point where after a day he was able to move his legs, and after a second day, he even was able to walk on them. Not very steadily, mind you, but at least he was back on his feet. He looked very much like a puppy, trundling along on unsteady legs, now and then falling down but undeterred, getting up again and going on. One positive aspect of this was that at no time had he lost control of his bodily functions. Oral doses of the same anti-inflammatory medicine improved things furthur, and I was quite pleased with the thought that all would be well after all. Then, a nasty setback. After about a week of steady improvement, here was Larry looking down at the mouth, tail down, and refusing to eat. I carefully looked and felt him over. His belly was swollen, and tight as a drum. He had lost the ability to pass water.

It was a potentially life-threatening situation. If he had lost control in the opposite direction, that is, if he had started to dribble, I could have dealt with it. His inability to urinate was much more serious. He would have to be artificially drained, and that over a period of time, could not continue. Not only would it be unpleasant for him, but it would, sooner or later, cause such serious infection that he would probably suffer far too much to go on.

Back to the hospital he went to attempt, with injections, to control the interference of the spinal cord. Charlie, the vet, and I talked every day. Day by day, Larry's legs became stronger. He was almost back to normal, and still the water problem persisted. Charlie, (I could tell by his language), was every bit as frustrated as I was.

After about a week of this, I had an idea. Blind young mammals, being cared for by their mothers, cannot perform their bodily functions without outside stimulation. Mother's moist warm tongue licking their bellies makes them go.

"Why don't we try something, Charlie?", I said, "I'll take him home, and I will use a warm, moist towel, rubbing his belly, seeing if that can start by reflex the reaction which he must have had when he was a blind little pup."

"Great idea!" said Charlie, "Let's try that."

All that week that Larry was in the hospital I had felt terribly guilty. I had had this vision of this poor little dog being cooped up in a tiny cage in a windowless room except when he was being artificially drained. Only the thought that we might be saving his life had kept me going. That, it turned out, was an utterly needless concern. In the back of the animal hospital there is a huge room designed for treating large farm animals. That is where Larry was living, walking around freely. And not only that, whenever the door was left open, he might be wandering down the hallway, visiting offices here and there with everyone happy to see him.

He was drained once more, and home we went.

pleased to meet you

He ate and drank as usual that day and in the evening, it was time to try my experiment with the wet towel. He was used to lying on his back with me rubbing his belly, of course, and thought that the addition of a warm, wet towel was a nice touch. Just one problem - it didn't have the hoped for result. Not one drop. He was in no distress, so I waited until the next morning to see what would happen. Once outside, he lifted his leg here and there, but there was always a bit of snow, or wet straw, or something in the way. I couldn't tell if he achieved anything. He might just be hopefully lifting his leg and being disappointed himself everytime. But he was still a cheerful, happy little dog, tail up and wagging so there was no need for serious concern. Finally, around noon, he marched over to a wooden fence, lifted his leg, and I could see it clearly in silhouette against the wood. A small stream of silvery piddle. It wasn't much, but it was there, and he had controlled it.

I have since weaned him off his medication, and he is doing fine on his own. In fact, he is back to normal in almost all respects, except when he wants to jump up onto the bed. His legs are almost strong enough for it, but just not quite. So the little black head will pop up over the side, and I put my hand behind his neck. With that as a brace and support, he can heave himself up and then hurry across to stretch out across my chest. He has full control of his legs, but it takes a bit more concentration to operate them now. There is purpose in his step as he bravely soldiers on into the future.

Victory can come in strange disguises, even as the quiet tinkle of a non-descript little black dog.

P.S. He has conquered the last hurdle, or rather the bed. He can now make it up on his own.