LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
CAMPOUT - A Rehoboth Journal A Girl and her Dog |
by Fay Jacobs |
W.C. Fields warned us never to work with kids or animals. I guess he was afraid wed learn something.
Last year I wrote about our Schnauzer, Max, diagnosed with cancer in November 96. After two surgeries, a course of chemo, and paying off the vets mortgage, he was pretty much his old self againand spoiled beyond reason. Now, as Max approaches his 14th birthday, our family is dealing with geriatric dog issues we never thought wed have a chance to experience. And I remind myself how lucky we are to have this extra time with Max, even if hes driving us nuts. First off, weve got the worlds only two-seater station wagon. After a short stop sent Max sliding off the back seat, Bonnie took a thick slab of foam rubber and lodged it from the back of the front seat to the front of the backseatso Max can travel like Cleopatra on a barge. Not even frantic braking through Greenwood or Ellendale can send him flying. Of course, if we have to take an extra passenger I become a fifth wheelstuffed in back with the spare tire. As if his travel accommodations arent special enough, we also cut a hole in the dog barge and flush-mounted a water bowl so Max can drink and drive. The first dish was too shallow and we had flooding. A deeper, narrow bowl stemmed the tsunami but Max got his head stuck and almost needed CPR. A wide-mouthed potato salad tub is now open for happy hour. So we got the traveling down, but the staying home was problematic. Max, who barked to go out with such regularity scientists used him to set Greenwich mean time, now makes us guess when he needs relief. Since hes hard of hearing, we figure he thinks nobody can hear so why bark? If we dont guess YES by a certain time, pass the rug shampoo. So now we just toss him out the door every four hours, overnight included. It brings new meaning to the term wee hours. But now, things have gotten even more complicated as Maxs vision has deteriorated. I know. Weve been crying for weeks, asking ourselves if it was, euphemistically, "time." But both the vet and Max say, "No." After all, the dog still eats like a goat, wags his tail once he notices were there, snuggles up to "watch" TV and can sniff Thrashers fries at 50 yards. Last week at Critter Beach he managed to shoplift two biscuits and a jerkey chew. But we do have our hands full keeping him from hurting himself. Since he navigates by caroming off the wallswe call it Schnauzer Hockeywe recently went to K-Mart to pick out a playpen for Max to occupy when we go out. We heard lots of advice from local moms who saw us shopping for Fisher Price and suspected the "gaby" boom was about to strike again. We didnt have the heart to tell them our little one wears a flea collar. Most recently, Ive been sleeping in gym shorts and a t-shirt so I can accompany the dog into the moonlight for his 3 a.m. pee breaka move made necessary after he couldnt find the back door and forced me to scoot around the yard barefoot and indecently dressed to fetch him. Now that was a full moon. And while were all trying to adapt with our sense of humor intact, the truth is, hes just not the same dog. We really miss his mischief, bounding energy and effusive unconditional love. But just when we were assessing his quality of life (forget about ours), he surprised us. Friends visited the beach recently with their adorable 4 year old. Not only did little Katy love animals, but this toddler was way past cartoons and into photography books filled with terrifying close-ups of hippos, tarantulas, and snakes. Since Im reptilephobic, I spent most of the weekend avoiding show and tell, praying the 4-year-old herpetologist wouldnt notice I was acting her age. After the Rehoboth Chocolate Festival, Katy (and half of Rehoboth) had a sugar high, which manifested itself by sending her into a Penny Lane toy store to scoop up fistfuls of rubber snakes. I was not amused. Oddly, though, this childs fearlessness disappeared when it came to dogs. At first, Katy shied away from Max, with her Dad telling us an encounter with a big dog left her wary. Seeing how calm Max had become, Katys Mom said, "This will be great. Weve been wanting to get a pet and Max will help Katy get over her fear." Mom and Dad explained to Katy that Max was very old and couldnt see, so she should be careful not to move fast and scare him. Well, thats all it took. Katy instantly signed on as his practical nurse. With admirable gentleness, this kind 4 year old guided Max around the condo, fed him as many treats as wed allow and made sure he could find his wa-waAnne Bancroft to his Patty Duke. On Saturday night Katy clutched Max like Tickle Me Elmo until she fell asleep. He returned the love and attention with nuzzles, little kisses and the unmistakable message that, while hes not the same energetic Max, hes still a really good guy. By Sunday afternoon, Max was the only dog with a seeing-eye kid. In a charming corollary to her canine care giving, Katy whispered to Dad, "Did Aunt Bonnie and Aunt Fays husbands die?" When Dad told her we didnt have husbands, she answered with concern, "But who takes care of them?" Say what you will about the message society is still sending our kids, this 4 year old was bright enough to sense we had an alternative household. "They take care of each other," said Dad, which seemed to make perfect sense to Katy as she quickly returned to her full-time job as Maxs personal assistant. Have your people call my people and well do kibble. By the time Katy packed up her disgusting snake photos, kissed Max and waved goodbye on Sunday, her parents were betting shed ask for a dog by the time they hit Route 1. As Bonnie, Max and I collapsed on the sofa, we considered our vets philosophy: eating and drinking isnt quality of life. When Maxs existence is reduced to just those activities, it might be time to... Well, the kid and the dog showed us that Max is still very much here. Not only did the weekend erase Katys fears and cultivate a next generation Schnauzer lover, it proved to us that our old man still has a few surprises left on his agenda. And while were waiting to enjoy whats next, lets pray Katy gets a Schnauzer instead of a pet python. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 8, No. 3, April 10, 1998. |