It’s been an expensive year as far as vet bills are concerned, we’ve just passed the low five figure mark as Maybe’s gone and busted the remaining hip.  When her right hip was dislocated, I had no idea. I saw the weakness but she is also positive for Cushing’s and muscle weakness is a symptom of the disease.  When I took her in for her follow up, to see if the Cushing’s has progressed to the point of medication, they did the scan – I believe to look for tumors – and returned with the shocking news.  My feelings of utter failure were only slightly lessened when the surgeon said, based on his initial physical exam, he didn’t know either.  This dog is stoic, doesn’t show pain, note my giggle when I say she is “feral.” I’m almost certain I know when and how it happened, and if I’m correct, she was walking around on that dislocated hip for four months.

Her first surgery was mid-July, on drop off they told me she would be fitted with a sling and I was to ‘carry her ass’ the first two weeks of recovery.  While she was under the surgeon also cut open her left elbow to scrape off the.. arthritis?  I don’t know what exactly, but he said it would improve her mobility. She’s been getting UTI’s more frequently so he said they could do the episioplasty at the same time. (don’t google that, layman’s terms; they removed the excess skin around her lady bits where bacteria were trapped and partying) My poor old girl had three separate surgeries at once so I was surprised it was only a sling and not a full-on wagon.  Even more surprising was when I went to pick her up and they walked her out on the leash she’d walked in on. No sling, she was too strong, or perhaps too stubborn?  Whatever, she had no use for help!  I followed her recovery instructions to the ‘s’ because it’s a level above ‘t’ Everything was on leash, she wasn’t allowed near furniture, the house was covered in runners so she couldn’t slip – there was no way I was gonna mess this up! Not even with Maybe fighting me every ice pack of the way!

Last weekend she was standing in the doorway watching a squirrel.  My girl’s a thinker; she watches the squirrel to see where he’s going, what’s he doing, what is the distance, if she shoots out now, can he make a tree before she snatches him?  My boy, well he’s the reason China shops don’t allow bulls.  I had just opened the door, I was standing right there, I saw the whole thing happen and yet, if you asked me to describe it?  There aren’t enough keys on my keyboard, but the result was Maybe’s surgery today.

Maybe has always been so independent, I admire it, even when it frustrates me.  She hates to be relocated on anything but her own feet. Doesn’t want to be picked up – ever! Absolutely hates car rides – unless they end at an amazing park with miles of trails and a river she can splash around in. For the last week her mobility has come and gone.  If the head of the femur moves ‘just enough’ she’s ok to limp around the house.  If the femur moves too far from the socket, she simply cannot. I assume it’s more a mechanical obstruction than what would be unbearable pain to mere mortals.

I’ve put beds in every room of the house, giving her the freedom to move about but have a comfortable place to fall and nap, as she’s done quite a lot of that the last week. I realized yesterday, my stubborn independent girl may finally have a use for me after all. Using the sling borrowed from the hospital, I helped her make her morning rounds. I don’t think she “needed” the assistance but appreciated that, should that hip lock up, I’d be there to keep her from hitting the dirt.  She motored around on her front end as I obediently dragged her hind end. We concluded our lap in the center of the patio and she stopped.  I obnoxiously swung the handles of the sling and told her to “giddyap” but she stood staring into space ignoring my efforts urging her back in the house.  I said words like “treat” and “snack” and “swear words” but she simply stood there, entirely unresponsive, as if I didn’t exist.

“Oh, I’m sorry!  You’re looking for a place to land, I’ll be right back” I said before dropping the sling and rushing into the house. I scurried room to room looking.. during the first recovery I’d had one of her more luxurious princess beds on the patio, but now it was the tv bed, and with the seasons beginning their change, I don’t want it outside overnight.  Right! I have that crate mat with edges, I thought it’d be perfect, enough padding to keep her off the cold concrete, but the lip would give her something to brace against when she wanted to get up. I rushed it outside and lined it up with the step, thinking it’d give her more support.

She gave me a look that could be interpretated as the disgust of royalty when the servants fail to perform.  She looked to the fuzzy gray mat I’d set before her, took a few wobbly steps, positioned herself in the center of the mat and clumsily sat down.  Her butt didn’t have time to warm even a single fuzz before she’d pulled herself back to her feet. She removed herself from the mat completely, stepped back onto the patio and once again stared into the distance as if she was imagining better performance from the servants at her summer home.

Knowing I’d failed, knowing I’d disappointed her, I rushed back in the house and ran to the office.  There was a plain square mat in one of the desk holes, it didn’t have an edge, but it was thicker.  I ran back to the patio and set it next to the first.

Maybe turned toward me with a face that said “we never should have discontinued the guillotine” and reluctantly stepped onto the brown mat.  She paused for a moment, gave me a long blink before dropping like a sack of potatoes. She lay there for over an hour just observing her domain while Boyfriend and I ate breakfast at the table just inside the door.  She never looked in our direction, didn’t demand my eggs as she would have done before her injury.  She was content to soak up the fresh air, until she was done.

I know she was done because she hobbled to the door, extended one paw inside and stared at me until I rushed to her aide, lifting her into the house where she was free to shuffle to her afternoon bed for her second nap.

It amuses me that she makes so little effort to communicate, she’s not a talker, and yet i somehow always figure it out. Even if it takes two tries.