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.

He Didn't Stop and He Went Blind

Turns out the notion if you don't stop you'll go blind is true.

Well...maybe.

My evidence regarding this claim is sketchy at best. Plus it's only based on one example, so reliability might be lacking. But still, the hypothesis is compelling and since I base this claim on the life of a cat, I'm thinking this probably adds to my credibility. 

A few weeks ago we added another name to our family's dead cat roster. To be clear, we don't acquire cats in order to add them to the list, it just sort of comes with the whole cat ownership thing. Willie was our latest fatality. When we took him in we named him William Alexander Jenkins the Third. I have no idea if there ever was a William Alexander Jenkins the First. Or Second. It just seemed a rather regal name for a cat. But old William had a...behavior quirk...we hadn't encountered in a cat before. In fact, I didn't even know a cat could do that. It sort of took away from the regality if you ask me. As it was, the shortened version of his name was rather apt.

Giving Willie a home wasn't my idea. As all of our cats have been, Willie was a shelter cat in need of a loving place to belong. He was old and sickly and had very little to offer as a pet. Anna had been taken in by his only real selling point; engaging, emerald green eyes set against a deep gray furry backdrop. She claimed he needed a home. I claimed he needed a different home than ours. She felt a deep conviction that we were his only hope. I maintained three cats were plenty. Steve remained quiet on the subject for a while. Eventually, though, Old Softy got involved in the conversation by stating that we already had three cats anyway, what was one more? It was two against one. I lost.

Several things became apparent as soon as Willie came home with us. One, Willie was old. Two, Willie was sick. Three, Willie only ate human food. Four, Willie hated other cats. Five, Willie had an awkward addiction.

It took a bit for us to catch on to what Willie was doing. Or maybe nobody wanted to admit they thought Willie was doing what it seemed Willie was doing. We'd never had a cat who did this before. At first there were uncomfortable moments when one of us would recognize what was happening and glance around the room to see if anyone else noticed. It was actually a little embarrassing. Eventually, though, we collectively concluded that yes, Willie was doing what we thought Willie was doing. We just had no idea what to do about what Willie was doing.

We tried distracting him mid-socially unacceptable behavior, but this only served to make him agitated and surly. Everyone in the family agreed they could understand Willie's response. But still, letting it just happen seemed weird. We couldn't figure out how to communicate to Willie that he should really only do that in private. Cats aren't the best about following social conventions. This had the potential to make things quite awkward when we had guests.

We discovered a few patterns that helped discourage Willie's activities a little. Nice soft blankets seemed to enhance the experience so we removed comfy throws from public living areas. Reducing Willie's stress seemed to help a bit as well. As for guests, we decided to be open about Willie when company was around, "Oops, Willie forgets his manners, let me just take him into another room." It was unusual to be sure, but what else could we do with our cat's unconventional proclivities?

Over time Willie seemed to moderate his own behavior a little. Either that or he just got too old and sick to do it as often. Either way he cut back to only several times per day. We started noticing a pretty rapid decline in his health in early spring and one day we saw him walk right into a table leg. His failing eyesight had been obvious for some time, but now it seemed Willie couldn't see a thing. He hadn't stopped and sure enough...he'd gone blind.

As time went on Willie lost weight and agility and except for a few sessions of personal satisfaction every day, his quality of life seemed to be slipping away. On Willie's last day we held him, told him we loved him, and then put him on a soft blanket and let him have some time alone. We figured it was the second most compassionate thing we could do that day. It was his obsession up until the very end.

I've never had a cat like Willie before. I'd be okay if I never do again. We gave him a good and loving home and more than once we looked away and just pretended not to notice. If Cat Heaven is the compassionate and understanding place I think it is William Alexander Jenkins the Third is there now with a nice soft blanket, a room of his own, and emerald green eyes that will never again fail.