A Schubert Story

Most of the time, the foreshortening of my phone's camera drives me crazy, but once in awhile it renders something well, such as in this wistfully whimsical capture of Schubert:

Schubert is probably the cutest dog in the world, and exceedingly beloved.  This must be why we invest ridiculous sums of money in his veterinary care, which is endless, because he has terrible allergy issues affecting his skin and the inside of his mouth.

Schubert patiently, trustingly endures all manner of health routines.  We soak his feet in epsom salts, squirt drops into his ears, brush his teeth and rub antiseptic gel into his gums.  We lather him with allergy shampoo and make him stand, shivering, for 7 minutes before his rinse and (worst of all) blow dry.  He eats nothing but one hypoallergenic brand of dog food and his multiple medications and supplements, which he receives with much pomp and circumstance every evening in a small ball of cream cheese, his favorite.  His med-yoo-seen, we call it, and he comes running, sliding on the rug in the last lap towards my fingers extended with the smeary prize. We call this his magic carpet trick, and all of us are very proud when his form is on point.

Recently, we switched from an insanely expensive daily allergy pill to a slightly less insanely expensive monthly allergy shot.  Yesterday, he received one of these shots.  Poor guy.  He always gets into the car full of so much happy anticipation.  Then, as he realizes that the car is following the route to the vet's office, he begins to shake and tell us, "Oh no.  I have made a terrible mistake."

Shot completed, Shawn and I left him in the house and headed off to an appointment together.  We returned home at lunchtime, famished, and sat down to eat.  We were so hungry that it took us a moment to realize that no furry friend had come to greet us.  I went off and searched the house for him.  I looked in all the usual places...

He wasn't on the sunporch.

...not even hiding amongst the pillows on the daybed, as he sometimes does.

He wasn't keeping watch out the living room widow.

...not even slacking off on the job.

He wasn't cozied up on the futon in my study,

neither awake nor asleep.

I finally located him, huddled miserably on the blue chair in our bedroom.

I carefully lifted him, and he moaned miserably.  I carried him down to the kitchen, where Shawn took a look.  We were both concerned, but not knowing what exactly to do, we finished our lunch.

It was a lovely day, so after eating, we decided to take a walk.  We leashed up Schubert, and I carried him out to the boulevard across from our corner, where I set him down.  Schubert didn't cry, exactly, but he looked at us with a face full of woe, and turned back toward the house.

"Something is wrong with him," I said to Shawn.  I have a gift for stating the obvious.

We put him into the house and walked without him, a grueling walk for me, filled with worry and lupus symptoms and too much sun.

After our walk, I worked on some computer tasks, and Schubert snoozed on the futon nearby.  I googled his allergy shot, which claims to be natural and bio-friendly and free from side effects.  I called the vet's office and asked if side effects are common after this shot.  They said, "Virtually never, but if he is still feeling poorly tomorrow, you'd better bring him in so we can check for underlying issues."

Shawn told me, "Right, because we haven't spent quite enough on him yet this week."  Usually Shawn is a big softie about vet bills for this little guy, but there do come days...

Around suppertime, Schubert got really bad.  I carried him to the sunporch and laid him on the daybed, because that is one of his very most favorite places to lie, and he could be near us while we ate.  Usually he burrows amongst the pillows with wild abandon, but last night he just lay stiffly on his side across the middle of the bed, feet sticking straight out in front of him.  He was oddly still.

It gave me the creeps.  I kept going in to check on him.  He looked from a distance as though he were asleep, but close up, I could see that his eyes were wide open, and he was looking around, although holding his body stiff and still.  I touched him gently.  He flinched and moaned, but turned his head toward me and licked my hand softly, telling me, "I trust you, mom.  You are a good lady, and I know you will help me feel better."

Shawn had to leave for an overnight business trip in Kokomo, Indiana.  I'll admit, I was feeling mighty sorry for myself.  My son's apartment building burned down three days ago.  I had a significant lupus headache and aching legs.  And now my dog was going to die while my husband was in Kokomo, Indiana.  When poor little Piper died, it was February, so we could keep his body in the cold garage until his burial.  But yesterday was a warm spring day.  The bugs have been coming back.  Whatever would I do with Schubert's body if he left me while Shawn was gone?  I felt Schubert's skin, and he was burning up.

Around the time Shawn left, I got out Schubert's med-yoo-seen.  I also got out an 81 mg aspirin tablet.  Shawn has those for his heart, although he rarely takes them.  I remembered that when Piper was a wee pup, barely two pounds worth of canine matter, he had a reaction to a puppy vaccine, and the vet said he could have one half of a baby aspirin.  I figured Schubert needed something, and he seemed as likely to die without the aspirin as from it, so I tucked it into his cream cheese ball with his other meds.  Hearing me working with the cream cheese (or maybe smelling it), Schubert stumbled over to claim his treat.

Then we did TBG time for moms and dogs.  TBG time for moms and dogs is Schubert's most absolute favorite thing in all the world.  After the sun sets in the evening, Schubert spends approximately 100% of his time sitting on the brown blanket on the sectional in the living room in the dark, hoping for TBG time for moms and dogs.  Last night, he got it.  We watched an episode of Escape to the Country (a British house hunting show), and he curled up next to me.   It seemed as though the aspirin offered him some relief.

After the show, I carried him outside and set him in the grass for his last outing before bed.  He limped around pitifully, did what needed to be done, and then loped directly back inside, stumbling on the threshold. He was confused, because usually med-yoo-seen follows the last outing, but he had already had his med-yoo-seen.  I got a single morsel of hypoallergenic dogfood out of the cupboard, and lured by the promise of this reward, Schubert toiled upstairs to bed on his own four legs.

We both got ready for bed in record time.  Due to my lupus headache, I may have skipped some steps.  Schubert was curled up in his little bed under mine even before I'd finished putting on my pajamas.  Exhausted, I fell asleep immediately and slept until 4:30.

At 4:30, I awoke with my head full of thoughts about leptospirosis.  Leptospirosis is a deadly infection that dogs can get from exposure to wild animal urine.  We have foxes in our neighborhood, and last year, a neighbor's dog nearly died from leptospirosis, which he allegedly contracted by licking something upon which an infected fox had urinated.  On Saturday, Shawn had gone down to The Bottoms with his chain-saw to clear a fallen tree off a path.  I'd taken Schubert down to check on Shawn, halfway through the job, and a neighbor was there.  The three of us chatted for awhile, and then I noticed Schubert licking and eating something on the ground.  It's never good for an allergic dog to eat anything unknown, so I'd pulled him away and taken him home, but I woke up at 4:30 a.m. this morning, haunted with the idea that my dog had been licking a spot where there was residue from fox urine, and now he had leptospirosis and would soon die.

I listened for him, but there was silence under the bed.  I couldn't sleep, could barely even breathe.  I wanted to gather him in my arms and cuddle with him on the futon, but his odd quietness frightened me.  Finally, at 5:30, I collected my pillows and the cotton blanket from the back of the blue chair, and went to the futon by myself.

In the dark on the futon, I listened to the clock tick, and slowed my breathing to its rhythm.  In through the nose, smell the flowers, count of eight ticks.  Hold for eight ticks.  Exhale through the mouth, blow out the candle, count of eight ticks.  Repeat.  Focus on the ticks and the tocks.  Breathe.  Don't think words.  Count and breathe, breathe and count.  Sleep came in a wave of mercy.

I awoke to a very gentle and whiskery sniffling in my face.  He'd found me, and he was alive!  Our unspoken conversation went like this:

Schubert:  Hey mom!  I love you!  Why didn't you tell me you were here?

Me (stroking his fur softly): I wanted to, wanted so badly to, but every time I touched you, you groaned.  I was afraid I would bother you or hurt you, and actually, I was afraid you might be dead.

Schubert: I'm not dead!  I'm a happy guy!  See, I can wag my tail for you!

Me: Look at you!  You must be feeling better, sweet puppy.

Schubert (curling up next to me, making maximum contact with his furry back, crowding me deliciously): This is so nice!  I love this!  I wish you would have told me earlier that you were in here!  Let's get some good zzzzzs in before the alarm goes off!

And thus began a most joyful morning.  When we arose, Schubert barked and frolicked for his breakfast, just like usual, and although he slipped and tripped a bit due to some stiff hips, he seems to have loosened up quite nicely.  He's back on the job, barking at the birds in the front yard with exuberant gusto, and I don't care if that is redundant, because redundant joy is a great blessing.

It didn't even bother me when the garage door was broken and I couldn't get the car out to go to Bible study.




P.S. Happy May Day!