This Old Dog

This week brought a new trial to the Miller household. Our black Labrador, Bear, who has been completely healthy for thirteen years, started bleeding from her paws. I originally thought she had broken off her claws and wrapped them up, thinking they would heal on their own. When the bleeding failed to improve, I brought her in to a veterinarian. I was in for a big shock.

Bear hasn’t left home in years, and she was shaking from the time I carried her out to the car to the time I lifted her onto the table.

I started by apologizing that she hadn’t been bathed recently; I hadn’t wanted to aggravate the bleeding and she has been spending her days outside. I also felt the need to explain why her claws hadn’t been trimmed recently. The assistant was very understanding. Again I felt apologetic as I removed her bandaging and she started bleeding all over the table.

“She has tumors in her paws,” the lady vet with the kind eyes told me.

My mind flashed back to my childhood dog, Alamo, a lively golden retriever whose life ended at the age of fourteen after we found tumors on her head. It was the first time I ever saw my dad cry; the second time was when his own father died.

Was she going to tell me to put her down? My eyes filled with tears.

I saw the doctor’s nose redden in response to my own show of emotion. “We can try an antibiotic for ten days,” she explained, “After that the only option would be surgery, which I wouldn’t suggest for a dog her age. Please call me by the end of the week and tell me how she is doing.”

I went home crying. I had to tell the kids what was going on with their beloved pet. As the days go on, they watch as I change her bandages. She doesn’t want to get up, so they have been bringing her food and water. She stopped eating hard dog food, so we bought her canned food. She even turns away from that now, and I have to force her to eat her pills, wrapped within deli meats. It feels odd now that I don’t have to watch the table to make sure she doesn’t jump up and eat my husband’s dinner.

Four days into the ten days of antibiotics prescribed, I wonder if she will improve; if she will pass peacefully; or if I will have to make a decision to euthanize my loyal friend.

Oreo the Cat: A Guest Post by Bear

My people have been watching a cat for our neighbor for several days now. Her name is Oreo. I used to really dislike this cat intensely but we have gotten used to each other now, and I guess she is okay.

When we first met, I used to bark at her all the time. When her family went away for Thanksgiving that first year before our littlest person was born, she came over here and ate my dog food. I tried to say hello and she scratched me. Then my mom got mad at her and chased her away. But her family is really nice and they have turned her into a friendly cat.

Oreo was not supposed to be living over here. The biggest girl is supposed to bring the food and water over to Oreo’s house. But she misses her family and comes over looking for company. It has taken to sleeping on a chair on my deck.

The littlest girl really loves Oreo. She chases it saying, “Kitty Cat! Come here!” Oreo seems to really like all the attention and will go to anyone for petting. When my mom tried to take this picture, she kept jumping off the chair and coming over to my mom and rubbing against her legs.

“Please Oreo, you know I like you but I’m allergic to you,” my mom said. Her eyes have been watering and she has been sneezing quite a bit lately.

I don’t really mind sharing the attention with Oreo. We get along pretty well now. I don’t like it when they follow her into the front yard though because I can’t go. Oreo can squeeze under a broken picket in our fence. When I was a puppy I was able to do this, but now I am way too big. It’s just not fair.

I wonder if she is here to stay or if she will ever go home? I hope she comes back to visit but I think I would prefer if she didn’t stay forever.

Sincerely,
Bear Midnight Miller

A Guest Post by Bear Midnight Miller

Today was a horrible, terrible, no-good, hot dog day afternoon. The worst possible thing that ever happens to me, happened. My people caught me, hosed me down with cold water, scrubbed me with baby shampoo, and then tied me up on the deck so I couldn’t go roll in the dirt. My mom didn’t participate in it but she was complicit to some degree. She felt sorry for me and tried to give me a treat but I was so upset I wouldn’t take it. I knew there was no sense in crying to the others so every time I saw her look at me I cried. I knew she wanted to untie me. I smelled a really good chicken smell coming out of the house and had to sit outside while all my people ate. Then my mom brought me out some really good fatty skin and I ate it. Then the really little girl brought me some treats and kept me company for a while. Finally the biggest girl came out and untied me. When it was all over all the kids ran around with me outside for a while and I forgave them, but I can’t forget. The good news is this probably won’t happen again for a really long time, but I will be on my guard whenever the hose comes near.

This picture is from August 2006. The children built a Little People town around Bear while she was sleeping. When she woke up they pretended she was a monster in the middle of their town.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Bear Midnight Miller

After having introduced the rest of the family to the blogosphere, I would be remiss in not mentioning our most loyal pet of ten years.

When my first daughter was two months old, I took her for a ride to a dog shelter and adopted a Black Labrador puppy, also two months old. She had a bit of Golden Retriever mixed in too. (My childhood dog, Alamo, was a Golden Retriever.) My husband was surprised when he got home, but he let us keep it. He had the honor of naming her.

“Bear”, he declared.

I laughed. I imagined a Kindergarten teacher calling me in for a conference because my daughter could not differentiate between dogs and bears.

“Won’t our daughter be a little confused if we call her dog Bear?”

Apparently my husband’s college friend had a cat named “The BBOC” – The Big Bear on Campus. This was a great joke among his friends and he just loved the name Bear. I added Midnight (for her color) as a middle name.

We celebrate Bear’s birthday on my daughter’s birthday. The kids take care of her food, water, and baths. I think sometimes we take her a bit too much for granted. I realize this more as I see the greys increase in her coat.

The baby and the dog have become great friends. While reading on the floor one day, our black Labrador entered the living room. My baby’s attention diverted, she threw the book aside to chase after the dog. I made her a little rhyme:

Doggy-Woggy,

Big black doggy,

Let us go for a ride.

Doggy-Woggy,

Big black doggy,

You could be my guide.

Bear is gentle, loyal, sensitive, intuitive, and kind. She is a truly valued member of our family.