Hoping everyone had a safe Fourth of July! The older Divas are okay for the most part with just about anything, and Allie did well, considering. She had an acupressure session to relieve fear and anxiety around 7, so the rest of the evening went well for her. Talk about a relaxed dog!
Today, we're glad the rain has arrived, bringing much needed coolness and the water the crops need so badly.
And now, back to Allie's story. . .
Today, we're glad the rain has arrived, bringing much needed coolness and the water the crops need so badly.
And now, back to Allie's story. . .
July 6, 2011
Yesterday, I called and set up an appointment with our vets, the Painters (otherwise known as Dr. Mickey and Dr. Mary Sue). The shelter vet didn't have time to check Allie out before I came to pick her up, so I want to find out if she suffers any of the aliments common to her breed. I've already decided that if her teeth aren't broken and her knees aren't too bad, I'm going to go ahead and adopt Allie.
The decision to adopt Allie is not an easy one. I already have 2 senior dogs, one with a heart murmur. But there's always room for one more. Besides that, Allie's wiggled her way into my heart, and I also feel that I can offer her a quiet home with lots of extra care. I'm also worried that in her state, she wouldn't do well at all with another huge change, like moving to another city or state.
Today I load both Allie and Dulcie into the car. Dulcie is going to go along as moral support for Allie during the ride. Once in the vet's office, I'm not so sure about how helpful Dulcie will be, but you never know.
Dulcie was about 12 weeks old when I took her for her first visit with Dr. Mickey. It went well until it was shot time. Dr. Mickey is of the school that the owner stands well away from their dog while the staff administers shots, etc. so the dog doesn't think Mama has anything to do with the poking and prodding.
The last of the shots was particularly painful for Dulcie, and as soon as she was released she shot across the exam table and into my arms to hide her face in my neck. "It's okay, sweetie." I said. "Look, Dr. Mickey has a treat for you!" She turned her head to glare at Dr. Mickey, then whipped it back into the safety of my neck. It was such a toddler move that we all ended up laughing, but while Dulcie has been compliant on vet visits, to this day she will not willingly go to say hello to Dr. Mickey.
Dulcie is excited to be going on a trip. She's bouncing all over the front seat, while Allie has ducked into the floorboard, panting and wide-eyed with terror. (Yes. I know. Not the safest way to travel. Allie now has a crate in the car for her twice weekly trips to the nursing center, and I've dug Dulcie's seat belt harness out to be used on trips.) She crouches there until we get to the vet clinic. When I pick her up, her heart is pounding so hard I'm wondering if she's having a coronary. I wrap her in her towel and rock her in my arms as we wait for the vet.
I'd found that Allie did better if wrapped in a t-shirt or tea towel when I held her. Swaying also seemed to help, so we spent part of each day doing the "Swaddle and Sway." Again, later I will find that I've intuitively done the right thing to stimulate the vestibular/vagus nerve connection to help Allie learn how to relax. It didn't hurt me any, either, so we usually enjoyed our S&S sessions right before bedtime.
Slowly, her heart rate slows down, but she still stares off into the distance. She makes no attempt to check out her surroundings, refusing even to acknowledge our favorite vet tech Mary's attempt to say hello. I'm hoping that Allie will at least be calmer during the exam, having Dulcie in the room. Turns out I didn't need to worry--Allie was fine when we finally got in the exam room. Dulcie, on the other hand, was a wreck. She preferred to wait for us under the chair.
Allie weighed in at 12 pounds, which is 2 lbs more than the maximum weight for a male. (Another reason she was mistaken for a male. She's huge compared to most other female Papillons.) However, she wasn't overweight for her height, which was good.
The news about her teeth was bittersweet. The canines, which I feared were broken and could possibly have exposed nerves, were simply worn down by chewing. Chewing metal. For most of her estimated 3-4 years. Which suggested that Allie had been a puppy mill dog all her life. Although Dr. Mickey could see no signs of her having had puppies or a spay scar, we think she may have ended up in the shelter because she didn't produce any litters. No pay, no stay. (Never, ever buy a dog from a pet store. Find a reputable breeder. . .oh, wait, that post is coming soon!)
I was always careful to pick Allie up by supporting her chest and rear, but I still heard and felt her knees snap. This condition, known as patellar luxation, is a problem with many toy breeds. Dr. Mickey felt that Allie was in stage three of four, meaning that her knees were popping out easily and she probably had some arthritis and pain with them. We discussed what would happen when she moved into stage four. She would probably still be able to stand and take a few steps, but not go for walks.
Surgery was one option, but not the only one. Dr. Mickey pointed out that if she could be kept comfortable with medications, it would surely be no problem for me to tote 10-12 pounds of dog out to the yard to do her business. Or I could resort to pee pads. I decided I could handle that when and if the time came. In my research, I'd found many examples of puppy mill/crated dogs who'd come to their adoptive homes nearly crippled and very ill. But this hardy little breed thrived on their caretakers' love and attention and in many cases, recovered very well. I vowed that Allie would be one of them. (Note: She is, I'm happy to report. It's rare for a joint to pop these days and she gallops around the yard with Dulcie all the time.)
Dr. Mickey is amazed at how well she is behaving, though he tells her she is the "most serious little dog" he'd ever met. And she is, gazing regally at a spot over his shoulder with her kohl lined eyes. No happy panting either, though her lips and mouth are less rigid than when I started massaging her lips and gums a few days ago.
After Allie's exam is over and her health pronounced to be generally good, Dr. Mickey hands me Allie and coaxes Dulcie from under the chair. Our little family heads to the car, ready to get home, call the shelter, and tell them to take Allie off the "available animals" list. She's found her forever home.
Yesterday, I called and set up an appointment with our vets, the Painters (otherwise known as Dr. Mickey and Dr. Mary Sue). The shelter vet didn't have time to check Allie out before I came to pick her up, so I want to find out if she suffers any of the aliments common to her breed. I've already decided that if her teeth aren't broken and her knees aren't too bad, I'm going to go ahead and adopt Allie.
The decision to adopt Allie is not an easy one. I already have 2 senior dogs, one with a heart murmur. But there's always room for one more. Besides that, Allie's wiggled her way into my heart, and I also feel that I can offer her a quiet home with lots of extra care. I'm also worried that in her state, she wouldn't do well at all with another huge change, like moving to another city or state.
Today I load both Allie and Dulcie into the car. Dulcie is going to go along as moral support for Allie during the ride. Once in the vet's office, I'm not so sure about how helpful Dulcie will be, but you never know.
Dulcie was about 12 weeks old when I took her for her first visit with Dr. Mickey. It went well until it was shot time. Dr. Mickey is of the school that the owner stands well away from their dog while the staff administers shots, etc. so the dog doesn't think Mama has anything to do with the poking and prodding.
The last of the shots was particularly painful for Dulcie, and as soon as she was released she shot across the exam table and into my arms to hide her face in my neck. "It's okay, sweetie." I said. "Look, Dr. Mickey has a treat for you!" She turned her head to glare at Dr. Mickey, then whipped it back into the safety of my neck. It was such a toddler move that we all ended up laughing, but while Dulcie has been compliant on vet visits, to this day she will not willingly go to say hello to Dr. Mickey.
Dulcie is excited to be going on a trip. She's bouncing all over the front seat, while Allie has ducked into the floorboard, panting and wide-eyed with terror. (Yes. I know. Not the safest way to travel. Allie now has a crate in the car for her twice weekly trips to the nursing center, and I've dug Dulcie's seat belt harness out to be used on trips.) She crouches there until we get to the vet clinic. When I pick her up, her heart is pounding so hard I'm wondering if she's having a coronary. I wrap her in her towel and rock her in my arms as we wait for the vet.
I'd found that Allie did better if wrapped in a t-shirt or tea towel when I held her. Swaying also seemed to help, so we spent part of each day doing the "Swaddle and Sway." Again, later I will find that I've intuitively done the right thing to stimulate the vestibular/vagus nerve connection to help Allie learn how to relax. It didn't hurt me any, either, so we usually enjoyed our S&S sessions right before bedtime.
Slowly, her heart rate slows down, but she still stares off into the distance. She makes no attempt to check out her surroundings, refusing even to acknowledge our favorite vet tech Mary's attempt to say hello. I'm hoping that Allie will at least be calmer during the exam, having Dulcie in the room. Turns out I didn't need to worry--Allie was fine when we finally got in the exam room. Dulcie, on the other hand, was a wreck. She preferred to wait for us under the chair.
Allie weighed in at 12 pounds, which is 2 lbs more than the maximum weight for a male. (Another reason she was mistaken for a male. She's huge compared to most other female Papillons.) However, she wasn't overweight for her height, which was good.
The news about her teeth was bittersweet. The canines, which I feared were broken and could possibly have exposed nerves, were simply worn down by chewing. Chewing metal. For most of her estimated 3-4 years. Which suggested that Allie had been a puppy mill dog all her life. Although Dr. Mickey could see no signs of her having had puppies or a spay scar, we think she may have ended up in the shelter because she didn't produce any litters. No pay, no stay. (Never, ever buy a dog from a pet store. Find a reputable breeder. . .oh, wait, that post is coming soon!)
I was always careful to pick Allie up by supporting her chest and rear, but I still heard and felt her knees snap. This condition, known as patellar luxation, is a problem with many toy breeds. Dr. Mickey felt that Allie was in stage three of four, meaning that her knees were popping out easily and she probably had some arthritis and pain with them. We discussed what would happen when she moved into stage four. She would probably still be able to stand and take a few steps, but not go for walks.
Surgery was one option, but not the only one. Dr. Mickey pointed out that if she could be kept comfortable with medications, it would surely be no problem for me to tote 10-12 pounds of dog out to the yard to do her business. Or I could resort to pee pads. I decided I could handle that when and if the time came. In my research, I'd found many examples of puppy mill/crated dogs who'd come to their adoptive homes nearly crippled and very ill. But this hardy little breed thrived on their caretakers' love and attention and in many cases, recovered very well. I vowed that Allie would be one of them. (Note: She is, I'm happy to report. It's rare for a joint to pop these days and she gallops around the yard with Dulcie all the time.)
Dr. Mickey is amazed at how well she is behaving, though he tells her she is the "most serious little dog" he'd ever met. And she is, gazing regally at a spot over his shoulder with her kohl lined eyes. No happy panting either, though her lips and mouth are less rigid than when I started massaging her lips and gums a few days ago.
After Allie's exam is over and her health pronounced to be generally good, Dr. Mickey hands me Allie and coaxes Dulcie from under the chair. Our little family heads to the car, ready to get home, call the shelter, and tell them to take Allie off the "available animals" list. She's found her forever home.
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