My dog, Spencer, had surgery yesterday. Poor little guy. He had three suspicious cysts removed from his body. I was told that he would be noodle-like when I got him home. Instead, I got erratic, uneven breathing, eyes rolling backward into his head, and he was completely unresponsive to his favourite words... walkies, cookie, Fenway (his friend next door), Oakville, grandma, grandpa and car. Nothing, not even clapping my hands or lifting him up by the collar could wake him up.
As I held his head on my lap in the backseat of my car on the way to the animal hospital, all I could do was talk to him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. I couldn't lose him, I wouldn't lose him in the backseat of my car.
All of my memories with him came flooding back to me on the 20 minute drive. The day I brought him home from the SPCA. I had gone in to adopt a different dog, saw him, and took him right on the spot instead. I remembered all of the times of disobedience. I remembered all the moments of scolding him for stealing food on the table. I swear, sometimes I think he just licks the top of whatever is on the table so that I would HAVE to give it to him. I remembered all the animal trainers and the two behaviourists that were enlisted to try to make him a friendlier dog (didn't really work). I love him just the way he is, and in the backseat all I could think was, "dear God, please don't take my dog, please don't take my friend."
I carried my limp dog into the animal hospital and the reaction I got was NOT what I was expecting. He bolted for the door and tried to escape. Like a drunkard, he wobbled to and fro, his legs were crossing each other as he tried to push himself through walls and smashed his nose into the door in order to save himself. No. My dog was not going to die. Clearly the animal hospital is Spencer's smelling salt.
It turns out that he is just incredibly sensitive to sedation. The vet wanted him to stay in and recover but seeing as I was told that he was absolutely fine, I opted to take him home for his recovery. I figured if this was the reaction I was getting from what I thought was a dead dog, this was not the place for him to peacefully recover.
He slept in the car all the way home. He slept most of the night. He slept all afternoon today. He now wears a navy blue Gap t-shirt in order to prevent him from scratching the surgical areas. I took pictures...yes, it is humiliating for a dog to wear a t-shirt and I am pretty sure he hates it.
I cried all night. It was such an emotionally draining day. He is my first dog and I just cannot imagine how it would feel to lose him. I know he's not immortal and one day he will have to go, but yesterday was not that day. We get so attached to our pets. They are family to us. They are an integral part of our lives and occupy a deep place in our hearts.
I got a small taste of what it might be like when the day comes for me to have to say goodbye to Spencer. I didn't like it one bit.
I may be covered in fur today, but it is absolutely worth it and I am completely happy.
