Do not attempt to adjust the parental security control on your computer. The picture to your left is not adult content, it's just Bruno (on the right), sharing a couch with his beloved, Greta (ok, maybe she's a little too relaxed.

I realize I am a bad blogger. I do not rush to my computer, logon and immediately read, write or browse blogs. I feel this will change, as so much else has since meeting Bruno. I didn't even know how to blog before Bruno. He leads me places I did not know I needed to go. I'm still impressed by the way he called attention to the gas leak in our stove a couple of weeks ago.

Sometimes, though, he is just dog. Pure, 86 pounds of essence of dog. He and Greta (about whom I've not written much here, although she is just as essential in our household as Bruno has become) can be complete pests sometimes, running around the house, getting into shoes and books and whatever. They come in from our packed dirt backyard (their landscape choice), drink water and Bruno, if he hasn't knocked over his water dish, walks away from it with slobber cascading from his lips to the floor where it mixes with the dirt on his paws so he can leave an exact footprint map of his path from the kitchen to the sunroom. Cleaning those paws with wipes, mopping the kitchen repeatedly, it doesn't really matter. He leaves tracks no matter what. And, for a breed that isn't supposed to shed much, Bruno has taken to a kind of shrapnel approach to hair dispersement. In 24 hours he gives off so much hair that tumbleweeds actually form under the dining room table.

If he doesn't have a rawhide bone to work on, he works on whatever is handy. Most recently it was a cookbook I had carelessly left out on the coffeetable. It used to be a hardback. Bruno thinks it is better as a paperback. Greta in the meantime makes it a point to work on shredding the orthopedic, $100 dog bed we foolishly bought for Bruno. Five inches thick and about 45 inches square at the time we bought it, Bruno's bed is now about half its former size and looks a bit like the state of Louisiana. This took less than two weeks to accomplish. We'll not be replacing it anytime soon. We will probably need to start buying rawhide bones by the case, though.

Mind you, as I mentioned in a previous blog, I exercise with these dogs daily. We try to do three miles in on form or another. They also get to run around the backyard. They play hard. Greta is very fierce with Bruno, grabbing his loose folds of neck skin and really pulling. He just stands there as if to say "whatever." Then he casually pulls loose and takes hold of her. He could so easily break her neck in one shake. But he doesn't. In fact, he tenderly grooms her on the rare occasions they both sit still.

This weekend, Bruno was glued to my side at all times. Glued. Like I have smears of dog nose midthigh on the jeans I was wearing. I could barely move through the house without having to get past him. If I opened the oven to check on my cake, he checked on it with me. If I opened the door to the basement, he looked down there as well. If I went to the bathroom, well, you get the picture.

One last rant: Bruno has it in for cats. This is a problem since we have a cat, Gunther, who now lives on the second floor. We do elaborate "in-out" missions everytime Gunther wants to go out or come back in. He's gotten pretty good at figuring out when it's safe to make the dash. I oiled the frontdoor hinges which helped, since Bruno is a deep sleeper. If his nose doesn't detect an open door, he will now often not even notice that Gunther has been admitted or discharged. I wish I knew what to about Bruno's cat problem. Once, on The Dog Whisperer, I watched Cesar Milan sit with an innocent bunny rabbit on his lap whille the vicious, bunny-eating dog lay by his side, but I have no idea how he acheived this miracle.

OK. That's enough.

Next week, Bruno will be going in for his third, and hopefully last surgery to correct a condition called entropion. His hairy eyelid keeps rolliing in and irritating his eye. His eye looks pretty bad at this point. I thought, in fact, that something else entirely was now wrong with it, something that resulted in irreversible blindness. But I was wrong! This last procedure (I'm an optimist at heart) should fix the part that refused to respond to the first surgery and his eye, which now looks like the glowing red eyes of some cartoon evil monster, should heal. I want nothing more for this dog than for him to be able to see out of both of his beautiful eyes.

I have been waiting to send letters of thanks to everyone out there--and there are a lot of you--until Bruno's eyes were finally fixed. We've been working on this since January 20th so you may think my manners are abominable. Actually, I've just been busy walking, running, feeding, medicating cleaning up after, and otherwise making room in our lives for Herr Bruno. I promise personal replies to everyone when I feel like I can end on a "happily ever after" note.

I shall blog again with the results of Bruno's eye surgery. Many thanks to all of you who have helped us so far. BIG thanks to Dr. Pam Clary of Kingsbury Hospital, who has managed his care so generously and attentively and given wise and loving advice. And thanks to all of you who are out there doing something similar with beloved rescue dogs and cats of your own.

No Accidents

A therapist once told me there are no accidents. She also said that we have choices in life, in fact, she said, we actually choose our parents, choose the families into which we are born. I'm sure there are some out there who will severely balk at that concept, either because it sounds like "hang two chickens in the doorway" religion or because there is no way that some of us want to feel responsible for picking the terrible cruel indifferent abusive or otherwise incompetent parents with whom we spent the first many years of our dependent lives. I was a bit depressed by the thought that I could now blame myself for everything in my life. It was a lot easier to blame others and feel justified in my paralysis of unhappiness.

But then Bruno walked into my life. Literally. I suspected at once he was an on-purpose sort of accident. After all, he had sent for me through the computer I was working on--conjuring up the book title "Big Dog" on my screen, after which I decided it was time to go upstairs to street level and run that errand I had been putting off. That's how I found Bruno, who was waiting for me outside the bookstore.

At first I thought that Bruno walked into my life only as a means to getting on with his true destiny. I was the soft heart who would make sure he didn't find his way into a gas chamber, see that he got the health care he needed, and find him a home. But it was soon apparent that he had other missions in mind.

First, he taught me to ask for help. Knowing we could not afford the health care he needed, knowing that no shelter we were then aware of would be inclined to pay for his necessary surgeries and lengthy (as it turned out) post-surgery complications, Jay and I put out an email to the Left Bank Books email list callinh for help. The overwhelming response was, well, overwhelming. I am still moved and humbled by how many folks out there have huge, generous, dog-minded hearts. Folks who are in the Left Bank Book community. This vote of confidence in the Bruno project was a vote of support for Left Bank Books, as well. The past several months have been a bit of a struggle financially, more so than usual, for the bookstore and frankly, it can get disheartening. Just knowing how many folks out there would do this for Bruno simply because we asked was an amazing boost to our spirits.

I intepreted this turn of events to mean that Bruno was a good luck charm. Not only could we pay for his medical care, but several small financial matters sorted themselves out in my personal life. Our car, which needed a $1500 repair, was repaired, mysteriously, for only $750. We found a buyer for our other car, which we could not afford to keep, and generated a bit of income to take care of some other matters. Like the vet visits for the other two animal members of our family. And repairs for our friend van, which we had borrowed over Christmas, only to have it get stolen and then recovered, but in need of several hundred dollars of repairs. The extra funds that materialized smoothed out a delicate situation. Call me supersititious, but these things seemed like a good sign.

Next, Bruno got me out the door and on the road to fitness. I have always required regular aerobic exercise for my well-being and I had not been doing anything regular in that department for, well, a really long time. Even when our other rescued dog joined us last spring, I didn't change much about my routines or lack thereof. But there was something about Bruno that inspired me to get off my butt. I have said we go for a long walk or run every morning in order to wear him out so he doesn't become bored and eat the furniture while we're at work, but really, I'm the one who needs constant exercise or I else get restive and run the risk of biting off someone's head.

Thanks to Bruno, I'm in much better shape than I've been in for a long time--dare I say I've lost a little weight?--and I feel a lot better. Mind you, Bruno seems rather indifferent about these morning jogs. In fact, he doesn't really like jogging and he drags behind me, forcing me to pull all 85 pounds of him along as I chug around the park. We only walk/run about 2 1/2 to 3 miles at most, so it's not too far. He just doesn't like all the activity. Greta, on the other hand, is ecstatic and jumps around like popcorn in front of me urging us to go faster.

Today, Bruno really didn't want to go around the park. Not only did he not break into a trot when I did, but he stopped cold when all I was doing was walking. He didn't sit. He wasn't limping. He just stood there and looked at me like this was a really bad idea. I decided, based upon his history of being right, that I would just cut it short and go home. He was most agreeable about getting home quickly. Even though I missed my workout, I figured, he knew something about what was around the corner on the jogging path that I didn't.

Later this morning, he kicked his water bowl over. As I was mopping it up, I noticed a slight odor of gas coming from the lower part of the stove. I didn't trust my nose and at first, I dismissed this as my imagination. I went to work in our home office, but everytime I went back to the kitchen, I caught a slight whiff of gas. Finally, I called the gas company. Bruno was right again. The line connecting the stove to the gas supply had deteriorated and was, in fact leaking!

The fact of the matter is, I don't feel I deserve this dog. Since my last posting, his right eye has gotten steadily worse. Finally, at a recent check-up (Dr. Clary is always calling to make sure he's getting better), it was discovered that some of his dissolvable stitches had not dissolved and the ulcer on his right eye was probably not healing because it was being created by a tiny stitch rubbing on his cornea. Stitches removed, special eye drops applied, he has still not gotten better. But last week, when I should have called right away to make an appointment with the opthamologist, I procrastinated. I was so busy at work preparing to take this week off. His eye seemed no better, no worse. Monday, at Dr. Clary's urging, I finally called and made an appointment for tomorrow, Thursday, their first emergency opening.

Today, after we got home from our un-run, I chanced to get a good look at his bad eye in the sunlight and was horrified to see that it has clouded completely over. I am certain this means I have waited too long, that it is too late to have the ulcer "debrided" so it will heal properly, that his eye is dead or has an inoperable cataract, or something I don't know that is irreversible. I have been just sick with guilt and remorse all day and if he hadn't insisted I see about that gas leak, I might be tempted to stick my head in the oven.

There are no accidents, this Bruno keeps teaching me. But I am clearly not the best person to be responsible for this dog. I have made him blind! Oh, I realize I don't really know for sure, but I feel pretty sure his eye is much worse that it was before. I don't know when it actually shifted. He keeps it a little closed all the time and I didn't want to bother him by poking at it, something he really doesn't like. Today, I entertained the idea of blaming the doctors for inattention, bad treatment, whatever, but really, I know it's me. I shouldn't have waited. I should have called, stayed on it, not let it go this long. After all, there was a little money left in the Bruno fund that we hadn't yet donated to a shelter. We didn't have to wait or agonize about affording his care.

Did Bruno choose me? Or did I choose him? And why? Why should it cost him an eye to choose me? What am I not seeing that he is trying to show me? I realize all you anthropologist/animal behaviorist types out there probably stopped reading this after the first line, but if there is one thing I have learned from Bruno, it's that the poetics of the spirit are not all that quantifiable. Just because we don't understand why something happens doesn't mean it is an accident. Still, I hope that Bruno will regain the use of this eye. He doesn't deserve to pay the price of a series of "accidents" on my part.

Reader, he married us

Wow! It has been thirteen days since my last Bruno blog. Forgive me readers. I have not kept you abreast of Bruno's progress to health or his forever home. I will say "Bruno, sit!" twenty times and make a donation to a no kill shelter.

This morning, Dr. Clary will make a drive-by stop at our house on her day off to check on Bruno's right eye, which is still healing from a shallow ulcer she spotted earlier this month. Bruno is very tired of me trying to squirt various oinments in it, but even I can see the ulcer and it bothers him. We can only speculate on its origins--whether his entropion caused it or it is a complication of the laser surgery--but it is tiresome to all. With his shaved eye area, pinky-red eyelid tissue, and tendency to wince, he looks a bit like he just recovered from a fist-fight.

Overall, Bruno is doing extremely well. No longer in constant pain, no longer on pain-killers, his ear infection cleared up, worms gone, and enjoying a steady diet of Nutro and love, he is positively a joyous puppy. He's willful and throws his weight around, but he truly wants to please.

A little over a week ago, he met the man who was interested in adopting him and it went well. We made tentative arrangements for him to meet the man's roommate and other dog, but neither side followed through that weekend. It was a long weekend for us. We were heartbroken at the thought of giving him up. I cried all the way to Kingsbury Animal Hospital that Saturday morning anticipating his departure. We never expected to get so deeply attached. We have plenty to take care of around here without him and every time he makes a mistake and say, chews the corner off the coffee table, I think "well, that's it. He needs to go to his forever home." But then I spray the room with sour apple stuff and he nuzzles into my hip for a rub and I forgive him.

Still, we thought that the problem was more ours than his. We thought he would make the transition to his forever home just fine. Who were we fooling? I knew we were in trouble when we were leaving for work one morning and just before we pulled away, I realized I had forgotten something and had to run back up to the house for it. When I got to the door I heard Bruno on the other side. Crying. Like a baby.

Another day I watched from the kitchen as Bruno and Greta played in the backyard. Usually, their games involved Greta needling Bruno constantly until he reacted, but on this day I saw that their game had evolved. Bruno was crouched in the "down dog" yoga position, "hiding" behind a red rubber ball and preparing to pounce on Greta who was supposes to be acting like she couldn't see him, but actually was standing there barking until Bruno made his move. Which he did, and they did a joyous hot lap around the yard bouncing and flinging themselves at one another. They do more than cohabitate, they have formed a bond.

As I write this, Bruno lies at my side. Jay and I know that we cannot let him go, that he found us. As the vet tech said to me, he chose us for a reason. He bonded so quickly, so deeply, that I think it would almost be cruel to place him in another home at this point. Oh sure, his new people would love him and work with him and he'd come to bond with them, but I worry that he'd always feel a stab of insecurity, that he'd develop an attachment disorder. Like any of us who've been loved and left, he'd wonder if he could ever trust anyone again. And at his size, with his jaws, his grief could be problemmatic. As it is, when he goes ballistic with energy, you best stand back. He is still shy meeting men; you can tell from his fearful approach that he expects to be hit. Past the initial meeting, he'll settle down. Is it really fair to bounce him around to another home if we have a choice?

Years ago I became a foster parent, primarily to take care of one troubled young boy who would have wound up in the system, medicated and slated for a future in prison. He was a wonderful young boy and in our short time together, I did the best I could to redirect his fate. I haven't heard from him in a few years now, but I know he's doing well. It's a long story and not one I have time to tell here, but the point is, I realized first hand what an emotional toll fostering and being fostered can exact. In the best of all situations, love underscores all interactions. Yet the knowledge that this encounter will be brief can be excruciating. At least it is for me. I never foster parented again because I knew I didn't have the emotional stamina for it. I get too attached. Why did I think it was going to be different with Bruno?

Perhaps I project my attachment disorder on the dog. Perhaps not. Maybe we really are soulmates and I put up with chewed furniture, hours of extra housekeeping, another several months of training a young dog (which we have so recently done with our Greta) for a higher spiritual reason. Perhaps there is a zen lesson in all of this seemingly menial work.

The fact is, Bruno is family now. In spite of our best intentions, we aren't ready to go through the heartbreak of losing him.

The community who has come out to support him is remarkable and I feel so lucky to have experienced the love and support for an abused and homeless dog from folks who haven't even met him. Along the way, so many of you opened your wallets and also shared stories of your own amazing rescue dogs. I was delighted to learn how many of you out there work with animal shelters. And I am also amazed to learn how many no kill shelters are out there, doing the difficult work of rescuing and nurturing homeless animals of all stripes with very little public awareness. There's a proverbial underground animal rescue network out there that is full of unsung heroes.

Yes, we are keeping Bruno. And heartfelt thanks go out to all of you who helped him through his crisis. You were so generous that we do have funds left over from his surgeries which we will be donating to Rainbow Rescue, who have been so helpful and supportive of our mini rescue effort.

I'll be posting updates--at least a few more--as I can.

Brunophile

Sorry I've been busy fitting life into my Bruno schedule and I've fallen behind in my Brunoblog.

Bruno's checkup Tuesday went well. His eyes are on the mend at last. We discovered that he had a small surface ulcer on his right eye which is probably why he bothered it to begin with. We have different eye creams to apply and are hopeful that by his Saturday checkup the ulcer will show significant improvement.

I realize from the kind words of encouragement I've received since the last blog that I was feeling a bit overwhelmed and worried about Bruno. In keeping up with his various health issues here, I've neglected to convey how truly rewarding it has been to spend time with this magnificent being. Bruno is gentle and even tempered and loving. He is even cheerful when he's not chock full of painkillers. He plays well with our beagle/pointer/hound mix Greta and would probably get along with our cat, Gunther, if he wasn't completely fried by Bruno's presence. He's merely curious when folks come to the front door, and though a bit shy of men he meets, if they are gentle in their approach, he responds in kind. He's great with my 9 year old son.

He is still learning to be housebroken, but has the basic concept. If I don't pay attention to his signals or throw off the schedule too much, he has accidents in the kitchen. But he is not marking furniture.

Bruno loves to have his head scratched and will come up and lay his head in your lap for attention. He's doing pretty well at sitting on command and comeing and going on his leash as requested. We're going to start walks again now that he's feeling better--weather permitting. Since he sees so much better, he's noticing things he never saw before. On Saturday at the vet, he notices the little iron sculptures on the wall for the first time. I am quite curious to see what walks will be like now that he can see what's going on across the street, down the block, etc.

Bruno had a visit with Patrick, who is interested in adopting him. We're going to do another visit this weekend with Patrick, his roommate, and his roommate's dog, Waylen. My major reservation is that Patrick has not yet committed to staying in St. Louis the rest of Bruno's natural life.

I am numb from exhaustion and so will end here. Again, much thanks to everyone's generous support and encouragement. And very special thanks to Kingsbury Animal Hospital where everyone has gone above and beyond the call of duty to give this incredible American bulldog a chance at a happy, long life.

I feel bad about my neck

"Can you recommend an eye cream for someone whose had surgery on their eyelids and has irriated, almost burned skin?"

I was at the Aveda store. One of the saleswomen seemed horrified and said "that person" should talk to their doctor. The other woman tried to help, talking to me about the various eye creams they carried. When I finally settled on one, I felt bad about her tactful confusion and so I confessed. "It's not for me, really. It's for a dog." I explained about Bruno, about how his corrective eye surgery has had some unwanted results--what should have been a straightforward recovery has turned in to a protracted and complicated effort to alleviate pain, keep him from rubbing his eyelids and speed the rejuvenation of the skin around his eyes, which is presently raw and oozing. An unexpected and unwelcome outcome.

The saleswoman was very compassionate--"I used to work for a veterinarian," she told me. She recommended aloe, which I had already planned to buy, and I picked out an eye cream that seemed soothing and rejuvenating, one that I could use when Bruno was through.

It has been a challenging weekend. For one thing, as soon as I finished writing this post, my computer crashed and I am now rewriting it. But more importantly, Bruno is now sporting his second Elizabethan collar because yesterday he managed to crack it into pieces bumping into one too many objects. Then, before we could react, he started pawing his bad eye--the right, brown one that had to be restitched on Thursday when he tore the first stitches pawing at it--and it looked like he had torn the stitches again.

Jay headed to the pet store for a new collar and I began to cry with frustration and a sense of failure. This poor dog's eye looked, frankly, terrible. What have we done, I thought. How can this be good? When will he ever feel better? Do I have what it takes to get him through this? Already Saturday morning I had been to the vet for special food because he had developed a case of the runs. Dr. Clary and I debated painkillers--the really intense narcotic or the less intense, standard post-op painkiller. Now it looked like things were worse.

My minor breakdown alarmed both dogs and they tried to comfort me in their canine way. This only made me started crying again, but I pulled myself together and called Dr. Clary, who told me to come right over, even though the clinic was closed and she was about to leave. The good news was that he hadn't torn his stitches. The bad news was that somehow the laser surgery had burned his eyelids and they were not healing as quickly as they were supposed to. (I remind readers that Dr. Clary did not do the eye surgery. ) She recommended eye cream of the regular over-the-counter type, nonsteroidal.

It's too soon to tell if the creams will work or predict when we can take that cone off, start finding him a home in earnest. It's really hard to think that one day he won't be here anymore, because we are both getting attached. But we can't. For one thing, our cat, Gunther, doesn't like being confined to the second floor. For another, we're on bookseller salaries and our household is all we can afford. (I'm sick of telling myself that over and over, and you're probably tired of it too.)

This morning on her NPR program "Speaking of Faith", Krista Tippett interviewed Katie Payne, an accoustic biologist who has spent her life observing whales and elephants. Katie Payne had many amazing things to say but one stood out in particular. She was talking about elephants' capacity for compassion towards elephants to whom they are not related, but her observation seemed worth thinking about in a larger context. Her words went sort of like this: "Community responsibility, when it's managed well, results in peace. And peace benefits everyone. Taking care of someone or something to which you're not immediately genetically related pays you back in other dimensions and the payback is part of your well being. Compassion is useful and beneficial for all."

Peace.

Meet the Coneheads

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.

Here's Looking at You Kid