Bruno, Greta (our dog) and I got a good night's sleep in the living room last night. I didn't give him any morphine but this morning Jay pointed out that the drugs were for pain as well as to calm him down, and Dr. Clary verified this when I called her to ask about his refusal to take a leak. I was concerned because he had not "voided" since we picked him up at 6 pm last night. This morning when I put Bruno on his lead and took him out to the backyard, every time he approached his favorite tree, his cone collided with it and scared him off.
"Go ahead and take off the cone," Dr. Clary said. "You'll get it back on him. Just put him in a corner where he can't back off . Be firm."
Yeah, right. But he had to pee so I took off the cone and took him back out. It worked. And so did my efforts to replace the cone. I administered his eyedrops, eardrops, morphine and treats and pretty soon he was napping nicely.
We took a walk later in the day sans cone and he is noticing everything. It's like he has peripheral vision for the first time in his life and every little thing startles him.
Tonight he met Cody again, Jay's 14 year-old son. The first time, he was confined to his crate and he growled and barked. This time we all acted excited to see Cody and Bruno sort of got caught up in the excitement. Then there was a moment when it seemed he remembered Cody and growled uncertainly. I stepped in, nudged Bruno aside and gave Cody a hug. Then Cody fed him his favorite dog food treats and Cody is now Bruno's friend for life, death and the hereafter. During dinner, Bruno sat at Cody's side with his best "I'm such a good dog" expression and his tail wagging.
He's still groggy and subject to sudden freakouts when his cone collides with something and makes a lot of noise, but he's a trooper. And he's lost none of his bulldog strength.
Years ago when my 35 pound, short-legged, long-bodied mutt Kareem went through various surgeries--knee surgery, two cancers--he spent quite a lot of time in a cone. But he was so small relative to Bruno that it feels like I did my canine nursing training in miniature. With Bruno, I can put my full weight into him trying to nudge him around and if he is unwilling, that's pretty much that. But that's part of his appeal, his stoic charm. Even as Greta nips about his neck trying to get a game started, he barely notices her through the milky plastic of his "Elizabethan collar." (Thank you Jay for reminding me of its proper name). We're a pretty high strung bunch around here but very little seems to phase Bruno. Except sharp noises amplified by his cone-shaped collar.
I had forgotten how all-consuming nursing an ailing dog can be. As with any nursing, the day is measured by small successes: I got him to eat from my hand, he has peed on a tree, he let me force the cone over his head, I only have one more dose of eyedrops to do today, and so on. But how like life, we'll add up these little moments and one day there will be a handsome healthy dog with great eyes. Whereever he is, whether we still spend time with him or not, we'll look back on this week of medicine and delicate negotiation and sleepless nights with fondness.
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