Category: The things we truly love in life

Over two years have passed since I lost my mother. Soon after her passing my little dog Bailey and I moved out of the only place at that time I can actually say I ever called home. I had bought a beautiful little townhouse in a quiet community at the end of a wooded road, where the familiar sound of the computer train hummed its way to and from the Ipswich Train Depot. It warmed my soul to bring a childhood memory, one which I was so fond of, with me to my new home.  The sounds of the moving train became a comforting lullaby in my youth, and as I grew older. I dare say if the train had taken an occasion to play hooky, I might surely have felt something was amiss, just from the absence of sound.  Yes, I was glad to have brought the Boston and Maine with me to Ipswich, because there was so much I feared, going forward, as I left behind everything I had held on so tightly to for so many years. Those kind of memories one cannot pack up tightly into  boxes and bring along with you. Those memories are already packed tightly inside our hearts, where if they are meant to be, will stay forever.  The “STUFF” which we so carefully put in boxes, well they are the disposable memories. Those feelings attached to them are the golden nuggets.

Unfortunately, I brought with me far too much of the disposable kind of memories, packed in boxes.  And they are still packed in the same boxes, stacked on my new walnut writing desk, piled so high you can’t even see its finish. In fact, honestly, I don’t even know how many memories are in these boxes, but I have become paralyzed and consumed, admittedly, by an unrestrained fear, that inhibits me from going near these boxes, never mind opening one to sort through them and just give something away or, bite my lip, actually finish moving into the place which I now consider home. Unfortunately this means I must ultimately, DEAL WITH THIS STUFF! This would mean, so long, good-bye, see ya later. No longer will I have possession of said, “memories.” No longer will I be the keeper of the key. Just saying the words good bye to these would be a huge relief which one might not thoroughly appreciate. Yet, understand, to be at the center of “THINGS,” they do begin to suffocate, and impede your freedom, your movement, literally.

Ahhhhh. The sweet smell of open floor space, the top of my walnut desk, endust, a new recliner, box-free. I could make rug angels in the middle of my living room. It all sounds so delicious. And after contemplating this subject for this short time, that impending doom has escaped me a bit where I may even be able to face a few of these boxes and trash some of those disposable memories, because I may not remember what is in those boxes, but I do remember who is in my heart. Ö

I have a little dog. His name is Bailey. He is small in stature but he is bursting with a desire for companionship and has the ability, because of the wag of his tail, to crack a smile across the face the crankiest curmudgeon. He’s been the light that has gotten me through the darkest of days and is my stabilizing force when I need a reminder why I can’t quit. I know he would suffer. He needs me to take care of him. He leans on me and depends on me for his survival, for our survival as we are a team. And that’s how it is. We are a team.

Bailey is a Beagle/Dachshund mix. He is long and rugged with short little legs like Fred Basset. Just the recipe for back problems. Hence, spinal degeneration at the age of two. He is now eleven. In fact he just had a birthday. By the way, I’ll never forget this particular birthday. This year he lost his ability to walk and stand on his hind legs.

In a matter of thirty hours Bailey had gone from lunging after birds on his leash and insistently dragging me to neighbor’s doorsteps for goodies, to visiting his personal Vet and through her recommending a neurologist who made it very clear in my mind, that Bailey was in trouble. At that moment he had sensation in his hind legs. Given time, he could lose that sensation and a successful surgery decreased 75%. If he had surgery now, he had a 95% to 100% chance of a full recovery. The neurologist was pretty confident he had a ruptured disc but it could also be an infection or the worst case scenario, a spinal tumor. In the latter case they would not operate. The surgery was expensive. Very expensive. I could try steroids but the thought  that he could lose that sensation terrified me. I cleared the table of all other options and went for the surgery pending the outcome of the MRI.

7:30 came early the next morning as my friend, Julie, Bailey and I sat at Mass Vet Referral waiting for Bailey to be admitted. Bailey would soon have his MRI and if there was a ruptured disc he would be wheel into surgery immediately. The front desk took full payment for the pending procedures and soon the neurological technicians came to rake Bailey from me. We left him looking puzzled as he was carried off. I went home and anxiously awaited the post MRI call. When the call came in from doctor Silver, she was direct, feeling that in no uncertain terms Bailey needed surgery. The rupture seemed to affect 70% of the greater lumbar portion of his back. She was confident that he would make a full recovery. But, the question was, would I?

Another waiting game. Talking with my sister helped the time pass more pleasantly while waiting for news of Baileys surgery. When the phone rang two hours later it was Dr. Silver. Bailey was out of surgery, doing fine. He was awake. They were going to keep him quiet for the night and get him up walking in the morning. Unless something unforeseen happened he should be able to come home on Friday. A relief washed through me like a tidal flow and I could finally breath easy again.

And the wave rushed in as I wondered if I would be able to care for him well enough. I was so afraid of breaking him again. I knew I had to power wash that thought out of my head and just concentrate on the best space in the house for him to recover.  And I thought I had the ideal set up. I was off to work to prepare for his arrival home. The Doctors would be calling later that day to follow up on bailey’s progress.

He was going to need strict bed rest. That meant a crate, at least in the initial phase of his recovery. Off to PETCO. Forty minutes later I was the owner of one new collapsable crate, an Orthopidic crate pad, a water dish and some very special treats for my very special guy. I headed home, deciding there was no better time than now to set up the crate and tidy up the living room. I had plenty of time before I went to Curves. Then whammy!! Like a ton of brick it hit me. I had a portable wheel chair ramp which we used for my mom. I could set it up out side the sliding doors off the living room and Bailey could just mosey right out the door. It could stay there all the time while he was recovering. Yes! He was going to have a hospital room with a view and with all the amenities you could ask for. I was excited to get started on OUR space. Yes, I did say, “our.” I too, would be shacking up on the love seat while the little Smoochie Poochie convalesced. This could prove to be painfully interesting.

Friday came in one sense quickly,  but in a moment to moment sense, it went by gruelingly slow. I was just glad someone would be walking through the doors with my little buddy in a matter of minutes. I had already seen one of the doctors. Not his surgeon, but I would be meeting with her later. The technician gave me full instructions on meds and proper care for when I brought him home. Now all I needed was the actual dog. I heard muffled voices, then the jangle of a loose door knob. I turned towards the sound and Jayden walked through the door with a bundle of dog in his arms. Bailey to be more accurate. He placed him on the floor in front of me and he waggled his tail. A good sign that he was glad to see me, and that he was feeling okay. His eyes were a bit weepy, but they tend to get that way. I wiped them clean, gave him a kiss on his nose and directed my attention back to Jayden. He offered to carry Bailey out to the car as my hands were now full with the paperwork they had given me to take home. I appropriately accepted his offer, and soon Bailey and I were off and running. Well, not quite running, but we would be soon enough.

Bailey soon adopted the name “Wobbles.” Yeah, he didn’t have a lot of control in his hind end when he got home I had to support him with a makeshift sling. He also didn’t pee for 48 hours but I won’t even go there. That’s another story altogether. Let me put it this way, if you want your dog to pee, drive forty minute to the Vet and damn straight, your little four footed fur ball  will pee as soon as you put them on the floor of the exam room. That’s my little trooper. He just likes to keep me on my toes. Sorry, I got a little side tracked. Where was I? I guess I wasn’t anywhere that special.

Mr. Wobbles amazed me. Sunday he was more like Mr. Teeter. He swayed more now than wobbled, and his progress was much the same throughout the week. Each day his legs became stronger and stronger. He had even gotten a little bit too frisky in he cool weather we had been having. He had been kicking his legs out after he did his business, which of course I put a stop to immediately. He tried to run after a squirrel the other day. So he is feeling better. So much better.

It has been ten days since his surgery. He slept outside of the crate for the first time last night. He seemed to enjoy that. Of course he made it rather difficult for me to get him into the crate. My Mr. Velcro dog. I don’t know how he does it, but he manages to stay affixed to that floor pretty darn well.

I’m so glad Bailey is still with me and I was able to give him this second chance. He’s my best friend. And friends make sacrifices for their friends. So Bailey, this it to you. Wag on, wag well, big guy!