Okay. I chose the totally pathetic picture on purpose. I've been had. I've been had by my dog -- who turned me into his hook up (or his pusher, depending on your point of view). He had me flying to the hospital and badgering his doctors for new drugs, better drugs, drugs to stop the horrible, horrible pain. We had Tramadol, we had Neurontin, we had Codeine, we had Robaxin, we had ... you get the point. If three hours went by without something coated in peanut butter being served up to my desperately pained greyhound, it was that I accidentally fell asleep.
Right up until the minute I found out I'd been had. Now, don't get me wrong. It never occured to me that my slightly Munchausen prone dog was winding me up. After all, poor little baby had his leg hacked off and had chemicals pumped into him the next day -- but was bravely walking within hours of his surgery! He couldn't -- he wouldn't. (He did, and he was).
Now, I probably never would have discovered this. I would still be in the other room, where I've been most hours of most days holding his paw and cuddling him through painful screams as he cried and screamed until Mommy's full body massage made the pain go away (see where we're going here?)
But Mommy had not been sleeping very well (or, not to put too fine a point on it ... at all!). Being imperfect on her best day, ten days or so without more than about 3 hours sleep and Mommy ... well, Mommy snapped. The percipitating incident was after he'd demanded to be taken out no less than six times in the previous 20 minutes. I finally was able to serve him dinner and while I was doing that, I just put my hand on his head; you know, a nice, friendly scratch -- and he screamed blood murder. Seriously.
I lost it. Totally blithering idiot, walking the plank screaming lost it. I howled and screamed and cried ... until I noticed something ... he's stopped screaming and was watching me (the death threat uttered half way through my tirade seemed to shock him a bit). He very meekly walked over, ate his dinner like a lamb, then went to the bed he hand't been willing even to get up on because it didn't suit him, laid down and looked up at me with ... that look. You all know the one I mean. The one where you'd rather cut your heart out with a spork that deny him anything. And it was silent. Totally, utterly quiet. No whining, no screaming, nothing. Not for the next three hours (a world record). We went out for a walk without being begged and coaxed; we did our business in a minute; we took our pills without a bit of fuss. Finaly I realized -- I got it. I'd been had. Totally, completely, thoroughly had.
Not that he hasn't backslid. Pushing the limits, testing the waters. There's the odd scream in the middle of the night. The occasional whimper with pills or getting up after a nap ... and he's managed to make sure he still has his meals hand fed to him in bed (don't ask). But when the screaming whimpering whining performance doesn't ellicit an instant response, we give it over and turn back into a lamb. (Cora's going to kill me; he even refused during all this to walk on a leash for a day or so ... PUSHOVER). I've finally been able to do as the vets had insisted (why didn't they just TELL me I was being had??) and started weaning him off the pain medication. I've steadliy reduced his pain meds each day and AND the number of "incidents" (and their duration) has diminshed. I'm -- well, if I was delusional about having a modicum of intelligence, I've been disabused of the notion.
With the reduction in the pain meds he's more engaged and energetic. (Yes, he's trying a whole new book of tricks, but I've got my brain engaged before I react).
So, the next time someone tells you greyhounds are stupid --- they aren't. In fact, I'm pretty sure between him and Mo -- I'm the dim bulb in the room.
Our next chemo is Tuesday week. I'm hoping to have him off all the pain medications as soon as possible to ease the stress on his liver and kidneys -- I think the Robaxin is key; while I don't believe he's in acute postoperative pain, I'm pretty sure he is experiencing severe muscle spasms (I can feel those) from the drastic change in the muscles he's using. Frankly, this all started because every time he cried out he got a full body massage ... cause ... effect. I need a masseuse for him and a shrink for both of us -- how about couples therapy for a master and his human?
Did I flunk the chapter on Pavlov's dogs?
Yeah. The word sucker comes to mind.
What we do for love.
And I'd do it all over again.
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