For the Love of Dog

 

When my mother was still somewhat coherent, but clearly in mental and physical decline, she became very emotionally fragile. Each time I made the trip to Medford–once or twice a month–she spent much of our brief weekend visit recalling past hurts, bemoaning how seldom her children called or came to see her, expressing her sadness and loneliness. It made me feel awful. I knew that she actually did get calls from my siblings, and I tried to stay connected as much as possible. My father doted on her. But her experience was painful and, to her, real. What if she had a dog? What if I could find her a little, non-shedding, hypoallergenic, even-tempered dog to love?

I believe in dogs, and have had one almost constantly since Coco (technically my brother Bill’s, but actually my sidekick and soulmate) joined our family when I was 7. I even tried to smuggle a stray into my dorm room as a freshman at San Diego State. Each has enriched my life, and I wanted that to happen for my poor mother. So I set about a quest for the perfect pooch. And I found him: Chip. Before Chip I would have never dreamed of getting a dog from a breeder, and I, myself, never went in for little lap-style dogs. But for my mom, all the right boxes had to be checked, and this adorable little butterball Cockapoo checked them. I took him to basic obedience classes, got all of his vaccinations and neutering taken care of, and presented him to my mother, who seemed genuinely happy to have him.

But Chip’s care fell to my father, who found the daily walks and poop clean-up and whatnot just too much. And my mother, struggling to hold onto her connection to reality, couldn’t really bond with a puppy. So, as I had said I would if he didn’t work out, after a few months I reclaimed this funny, sweet, happy little guy. We’ve shared lots, Chip and I, traveling to Chicago and California (many times), running along Oregon beaches, staying in fancy hotels or in the back of my CRV for quick getaways. Since his diagnosis of Addison’s Disease, Chip has come close to death three times after eating chocolate (the only pup in our obedience classes not motivated by treats having become insatiably driven to eat everything–a side effect of the steroids he needs to keep him alive), and just before we left on the October Adventure, he was hospitalized again with an Addisonian crisis. I worried a little about how he would manage a month-long camping-heavy trip, but convinced myself he’d be all right.

And he was–at first. His happy wiggle lasted through all our Yellowstone experiences, but on our drive out of the park, he suddenly became distressed, and by the time we got to Billings, he was really struggling. Luckily, I found a 24-hour veterinary clinic, where, after a blood test revealed that he was heading into another Addison’s crisis, he spent the night with IV’s and meds to bring him back around. The Billings vet confirmed my fear that the stress of travel–especially extended travel–is just too much for a 13-year-old Addison’s pooch. So, the decision to abort my trip for Chip’s sake was easy to make.

We’re snuggled down now in a Missoula hotel, retracing our steps back home, and I do feel some sadness to not be completing the odyssey I envisioned, but that sadness is nothing compared to the relief and gratitude I feel to have my good Chip back beside me. As Laura Clark (who knows a thing or two) reminded me, this was never really about the destination. And I am still experiencing and enjoying the journey. Deo gratias.