pet connection

The therapeutic benefits of pets have been documented by physicians, and scientists, including our own Dr. Becker, who wrote the book on The Healing Power of Pets: Harnessing the Amazing Ability of Make and Keep People Happy and Healthy.  They can act as therapists, fitness trainers, and heart warmers. They lower our blood pressure, remind us to live in the moment, and keep us warm at night.

And sometimes, pets grace us with simply extraordinary moments – I call those moments of magic. To qualify as a moment of magic, it has to be something that doesn’t happen every day. I’m not talking about the joy we feel when our pets greet us at the end of a long day, or the exhilaration we feel when we watch them play. I’m talking about those truly special, rare and, well, magic moments.

I had one of those magic moments the other day. I was working at my desk. Ruby was on my lap, Allegra on the desk in front of the computer, just about sitting on the keyboard. (Working with two feline assistants isn’t always the most productive way to get things done.). Allegra touched her nose to Ruby (a sign of affection between cats), and Ruby gave her a slow blink in return (a cat’s way of saying “I love you.”) My heart melted.

Now mind you, those two get along beautifully in general. They play hang out together. They frequently touch noses throughout the day. But I’d never seen them exchange the slow blink until that day. That’s what made the moment magical.

What magic moments have your pets given you?

Photo of  Allegra (top) and Ruby (bottom), hanging out

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My approach to helping pet owners make decisions about their pet’s care can be summed up in one word: options.

Depending on the situation at hand, I try to provide as many options as I can, and give owners the information (and time, if I can) to make an informed decision that they will feel comfortable about when all is said and done. In some cases, the options may realistically be limited to two, or perhaps three if we get creative and start bending the rules.  In others, I can sometimes come up with five or six pretty realistic paths we can toss around.

I try to come up with options that will meet with most budgets (from the near-destitute to the wealthy) and most views on pet ownership. Like it or not, we see people who don’t value their pets as much as I do, and I have to serve the owner’s as well as the pet’s interests.  There’s no point in my demanding an MRI for someone who either can’t pay for it or thinks it’s a crazy thing to do. I still discuss it, but I don’t hold their feet to the fire.

Along with the options, I will usually offer up a recommendation for what I see as the best course of action. Sometimes, all the options are equally good, or equally crappy, and sometimes the one I see as best also has the biggest price tag (but not always). I have found that this combo of delivering options with a recommendation thrown in the mix seems to hit the right note of satisfying my conscience that I am doing right by the pet and the owners.

Human and veterinary medicine used to ascribe to a more paternalistic way of doing things; the doctor was always right, the doctor told you what to do, and the doctor usually drove the bus, wore the bossypants and made the decisions. No so anymore.

For human and animal patients alike, the age of the empowered patient and owner is here. People are educated about their health and the health of their pets, and rightly want to be a part of the decision-making process. I celebrate this, and find that discussions with educated and smart people are one of the joys of practice. We develop a plan together, and we all take pride in it if it works and we all take the lumps if it doesn’t. I get to bask in a little bit of the glow when things come out well, and I have a partner in crime if they don’t.

My options/recommendation scenario doesn’t always work, though. In order for it to work, the people on the other side of the exam table have to be able to actually make a decision when the time comes.  There is a segment of the pet-owning public that gets stuck in an endless Möbius strip of uncertainty, obsession about blame or flat-out fear, and is unable to give me a go/no-go on any decision.  I am not sure if this is the same contingent that really does want the decision pre-formed and handed to them, a lá 1950s-era Marcus Welby-style medicine or not.

In these cases, we may spend time in the exam room coming up with our two or ten options, but be met with blank stares and silence when it comes down to picking one. When I gently try and get an opinion from them about which direction they feel is right, in some cases nothing comes of it.  Prodding or being insistent is not my style, and I think rarely bears fruit; the discussion usually just degenerates at that point and we don’t get anywhere.

I am sometimes met with angst (“I don’t know what to do!”), anger (“You’re the doctor; which is the best?”) or, more often than not, just crickets.  We just sit there staring at each other.

I will usually give the family some time alone to discuss things, and then come back to answer questions and see if we can pick a path forward. Sometimes a little gentle power-of-suggestion stuff will work wonders, as in “I’ll give you some time to talk this over, and then when I come back you can let me know which way to proceed.”

What’s your take on this? Are there times when you just wish the doctor would make the call for you? Are there times when none of the options are attractive to you, and all the options suck? Have there been times when you felt a doctor did not give you all the options and merely made the decisions for you?

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I’m going through a rite of passage, of sorts. Or it might be two, depending on how things go. I’m looking for the breeder of my next dog.

You might think I’ve been through this before, but I haven’t, really. I’ve written about it lots, but I’ve never had to go through the process from the beginning. Savanna came from a Greyhound rescue group. We visited the kennel where she was being kept, picked her out (she stuck by us while the other ones ran off) and drove home with her. We received a follow-up visit from two people from the organization to make sure she was settling in and answer any questions we had, such as “How do you get them to sit?”

When Savanna died and I decided we needed a smaller dog for our condo, I got introductions to several Cavalier breeders from my colleague Allan Reznik, who’d had Cavaliers himself. I also joined a Cavalier mailing list (this was in the pre-Facebook and blog era…also known as the Dark Ages) and got to know the people on it. Joanne Nash was one of those people, as well as someone recommended by Allan, and she lived only a few hours away. When she heard about our losing Savanna and that we were looking for an adult Cavalier, she got in touch with us. Long story short, we drove up to meet the Nashes and their dogs, passed their test of not panicking when they let a gang of Dalmatians and Cavaliers mob us, and drove home with Bella. I met Darcy’s Irish (not puppymill) breeder on the same email list, got Twyla from Cavalier rescue, and bought Harper from Bella’s breeder.

But this time I’d like to try my hand at a different breed. I’m interested in a smooth-faced Pyrenean Shepherd. I like the size, I like the look, and the temperament does not appear to be all that different from Twyla’s (extremely smart, not interested in outsiders, funny and loving with family and a very few friends). I’m okay with the potential health issues. I think I am capable of keeping up with the activity level. My plan is to get a Springer for my bike, as well as to re-find all the dog-friendly hiking areas in Orange County. I’m not interested in agility (no sense of direction) but I’m willing to give flyball, nosework and rally a try, and opportunities to learn herding exist within an hour’s drive. We’d do puppy classes and obedience with Liz, natch. Who better to teach me how to navigate life with a herding dog?

So far I’ve contacted several breeders with a little about us and what we’re looking for in a Pyr Shep (smooth face, don’t care about color or gender, not crazy high drive). I haven’t heard back from the grande dame of the breed. She probably thinks I am the world’s worst potential Pyr Shep owner. One advised me that Pyr Sheps weren’t much like Cavaliers. The other didn’t have any smooth puppies and didn’t expect to any time soon. I think maybe there’s one other person who hasn’t responded yet. Luckily, I’m not in any hurry. I fully expect this to take a year or more, and I have no illusions that being a dog writer will help speed the process. Besides, I have concerns that Harper and Twyla’s noses will be out of joint, so there’s that to consider.

I’m debating whether to contact French breeders in advance of our trip to France next month. It would be a bad idea to bring a puppy home from that trip if one were even available, but it couldn’t hurt to get to know some people. And I need to put a dog show on my calendar after we get back so I can see if I can meet some Pyr Shep people there. I’ve only seen the dogs at the Eukanuba Meet the Breed booth or in the agility ring, so I’d like to meet some in a home setting if possible. I also have a couple of backup breeds in mind if we get to know the Pyr Sheps better and decide they’re not right for us.

I said earlier that we might experience a different rite of passage. If it looks like a Pyr Shep won’t work out or won’t be available for quite awhile, I may be keeping an eye out for a dog at our local shelter. I’ve had dogs from breed-rescue groups–and I may go that route again–but I’ve never adopted one from a shelter.

Whichever way it goes, wish me luck!

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Earlier this month my dog Archie turned thirteen. He’s always been in great health, and easily fools people who think he’s younger. Even veterinarians have accused me of giving them the wrong birthdate.

About a year ago I took him to a specialist for something that, thankfully, turned out to be nothing. When she first saw him, she did a double take and said the chart had the wrong birthdate. When I told her it was right, she was amazed and couldn’t stop talking about how much younger he looked. I absolutely love it when we get that reaction.

Archie’s officially been a senior dog for a few years now, but I haven’t thought of him as senior. Over the past six to eight months, though, I’ve been seeing some things that are forcing me to think of him as an older dog. He still looks great and can bark and run like nobody’s business, but his age is definitely starting to show. He’s not hearing as well, can’t see like he used to, is slower to get up, and is just generally slowing down.

I want life to be as easy as possible for my aging guy, so I’m starting to make some adjustments that I hope will make life easier for him. Here’s what I’ve done so far:

Slip Sliding Away
Some of the rooms in my house have stained concrete or tile. I’ve seen him lose his footing and have trouble getting up now and then. So, in addition to the various dog beds throughout the house, I now have throw rugs lying in strategic places. I also have blankets in some of his favorite places so he doesn’t have to lie on the hard floors. He still does sometimes, but most of the time he opts for the softer spots. It’s helping. I’ve seen an improvement in how his old bones work. He has a much easier time getting up after laying on something softer than the floor.

Come and Get It
It used to be that Archie & Lydia would both come running when I started getting their meals ready. Lydia still does, but not Archie. As his hearing started to go, I’d call out for him and he’d come trotting into the kitchen ready to eat. He doesn’t even hear me when I call anymore though, so I actually go find him and pet him gently until he wakes up. Then, a little hand signal, and “let’s eat” gets him going. I also have a raised dish for his water & food. He seems to enjoy meal time a little more since he doesn’t have to lean over so far to get to his food.

Open Sesame
A couple months ago I opened the door to let Archie out and he just stood there. He kept staring at the door waiting for it to open. Once I realized he thought the door was still open, I stepped out to let him know he could go too. Since then, I make it a habit of doing just that every time he wants out. Touching him very gently on the back seems to help too. We do pretty much the same routine when he wants back inside.

Take me Riding in the Car
Archie loves riding in the car, but it’s not as easy as it once was. Archie’s hind legs don’t have the strength they used to, so he needs help getting in. At 40 pounds, he’s not huge, but he’s not little either. And since I have had some back issues in the past, lifting can be a bit troublesome for me. I have a sling that I sometimes use for him, but even that requires lifting. We tried a ramp, but the darn thing was just as heavy as Archie. So for now, I’m just being very careful when I lift him up. If anyone has any solutions for this, I’m all ears. He loves going in the car and I’m not about to take that away from him just because I’m a weakling!

Nothing I’ve done so far has taken much effort on my part, but the changes are making a huge difference for Archie. I’m keeping my eye out for whatever it is that he might be having difficulty with and then making minor adjustments to make life easier for him. It’s not rocket science, but does take a little observation to see what’s not working and how I might be able to fix it. Even then, there’s a little little trial and error involved to figure out exactly what’s going to work best. And although something may work great today, tomorrow may be another story.

As time goes on I realize things will change and I may need to make more involved changes. Right now though, we’re just riding the wave and easing into Archie’s old age.

Photo credit: Archie and his favorite fluffy. Yes, it’s pink, and he loves it!

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I am generally opposed to to forwarding or otherwise disseminating things I receive in emails (GrOw yOuR p3ni5! lo5e w319ht! l34rn hOw tO ty93 u51n6 0n1y num6er5!), but there are some that sneak through my filter and rise to such a level of usefulness that I feel the need to introduce them to an unsuspecting world.

I r3ceiv36..sorry, I received one such email today from a family member in the Middle West, and I present it here in its entirety.

The subject line read simply “The dead cow lecture.” That alone was worth the price of admission and grabbed my attention straight away. I have no idea if this really happened at my esteemed institution of higher learning or if it’s completely apocryphal, but I glowed with pride when I read it.

I can only hope that the information I pass on to my students is as practical, profound and utterly gross as the information that this professor passes on to his.

THE DEAD COW LECTURE
This is the best lesson in the importance of paying attention that I have ever heard. First-year students at the Purdue Veterinary School were attending their first anatomy class with a real dead cow. They all gathered around the surgery table, with the body covered by a white sheet. The professor started the class by telling them, “In veterinary medicine it is necessary to have two important qualities as a doctor. The first is that you not be disgusted by anything involving the animal’s body.” For an example, the professor pulled back the sheet, stuck his finger in the butt of the cow, withdrew it, and stuck his finger in his mouth. “Go ahead and do the same thing,” he told his students.

The students freaked out, hesitated for several minutes, but eventually took turns sticking a finger in the butt of the dead cow and sucking on it.
When everyone finished, the Professor looked at them and said, “The second most important quality is being observant. I stuck my middle finger in, but sucked on my index finger. Now learn to pay attention. Life’s tough but it’s even tougher if you’re stupid.”

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