Our Lady of Perpetual Winking

I'm not trying to brag, but my sweet little cattle dog knows how to wink. I don't think this is a typical dog trick. I mean, I don't know that many dogs who can wink on command. I'm pretty proud of her. She's come a long way from homeless and pregnant puppy on death row, to rescue dog, to being put under house arrest, to trained winker.

Look at my cute wink!

Unless I'm lying.

Which I might be.

Okay fine. She winks. But it isn't exactly by choice.

A couple of months ago I was getting ready for work on a Friday morning and noticed that Sadie's right eye looked odd. It appeared cloudy and swollen but it was dark in the house and I just thought it was one of those weird glowing animal eye things. I wasn't concerned. A while later Anna mentioned it and after looking carefully at Sadie's eye and seeing that it was in fact cloudy and swollen, I asked Steve if he could take her to the veterinarian to get it checked. Later that day they came home with an eye infection diagnosis and some antibiotic salve. The next morning Sadie's eye looked better. I thought that was the end of it.

By Tuesday, though, her eye looked odd again and she started acting like she felt poorly. Thinking she must have a nasty eye infection, I took her back to the veterinarian expecting to get a different, more powerful antibiotic ointment. What I got, however, was a diagnosis of rapid onset glaucoma. The veterinarian declared her left eye blind and said her right eye wasn't far behind. Unbeknown to me, glaucoma is excruciatingly painful and his next statement took my breath away. The only way to eliminate her suffering was to remove her beautiful, albeit now swollen, cloudy, and blind, brown eye. 

Remove her eye? Is that called that an 'eyeectomy? My dog has to have her EYE removed??

Despite her teen pregnancy and brushes with death and the law, I do love this little dog. Nevertheless, I brokenheartedly asked the vet if it would be more merciful to put her down. I didn't want to do it, but I also didn't want her to suffer. Without hesitation he said, "Oh no, dogs have no vanity. They use their sense of smell and hearing much more than sight anyway. She'll be fine." He then instructed me to drive across town to a dog opthamologist. And to get there as soon as I could. I didn't even know such a specialty existed but apparently rapid onset glaucoma takes the rapid part of its name seriously, so I loaded my suffering dog into the car and weaved my way through rush hour traffic to the dog opthomologist. There I met a kind and gentle spirited doctor who confirmed the veterinarian's diagnosis and instructed me to have Sadie's blind eye removed as soon as possible.

The next morning I dropped my sweet little half-blind puppy off for surgery.

My poor puppy.

Unable to fathom what post-surgery would look like (pun intended, I guess) I picked her up after work with some trepidation. I was surprised, however. Except for her rather gruesome appearance and the large plastic cone around her neck, she seemed just fine. She was excited to see me, at least with her one remaining eye, and greeted me with tail wagging and excited dancing. To my amazement, her healing and recovery were swift and speedy. Sadie didn't seem to care about how she looked. I'm fairly certain if I had to have my eye removed I'd be far less gracious about the whole thing.

The opthamologist assures us that Sadie will go blind in the remaining eye, although we are hoping to avoid having to remove it. We give her eye drops twice a day to slow the progression of glaucoma. She's pretty compliant with the whole routine, knowing she gets a treat after each drop. I made up a little song and dance we perform before each treatment. It pretty much involves her jumping around the kitchen while I dance and sing. The words are:

Do the one-eyed doggy dance.
Do the one-eyed doggy dance.
Do the one-eyed doggy dance.
Do the one-eyed doggy dance.
Do the one.....

...well, you get the idea. Now that I type it, I guess it isn't the most creative thing I've ever come up with. The tune is catchy, though. You'll have to trust me.

Anyway, our one-eyed doggy doesn't seem to know she only has one eye. Life for her is just wrestling with cats, sleeping on the couch, going for walks, and getting lavished with love.

Which I guess is her purpose.

Adopting Sweet Sadie feels a lot like a marriage. For better, for worse. In sickness and health. 'Till death do us part. We had no idea what we were getting into but we are in it for the long haul.

Because she's not just our dog. She's our family.