A Sloppy Day
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Today was another rough day for my boy.
I awoke early today, because I was going out to my buddy Tommy-Gun’s horse ranch to help out and hang out. Frisco wanted to be well, but he wasn’t.
When I took him outside first thing, he tried to act cool and suave, but he could barely hold himself upright. The back door was a bit too small of a target for him to hit: he failed twice before finally squeezing himself along the left side of the opening. He acted like a drunkard pretending to be sober, looking up at me when he banged into things as if to say “I meant to do that.”
He insisted that I bring a ball with me, or he wouldn’t go out. No matter how hard he was falling over to the right, he would do nothing but stumble in place until I threw a racquetball.
His hobbled attempts at playing fetch were like a dishonest sentence, in which the real meaning fell inside a parenthetical phrase: He ran off, curved to the right like an open-parenthesis, and returned shaped like a close-parenthesis. But in between, he stumbled and struggled, and twice fell right over on his side. The sentence he was trying to convey was “I’m okay,” but inside the parenthetical he showed his desperation. I had to hold him upright to pee, or else he would have fallen helplessly. Even with my help, he sprayed in random directions, wetting both me and him in the process. He looked at me with humiliation, but I couldn’t do anything to help.
When he was finally done, and frustrated, he stood by the door to tell me he’d stumbled enough. I opened the door, and he took a halting step backwards to take aim at the opening. Instead of walking through, though, he made a little circle to the right. He fell back, frustrated, and tried again. Someone, probably one of the other dogs, had moved a block of wood in front of the door, and Frisco tripped on it and flopped painfully onto his side. He found a way back onto his feet, then stood there, waiting for me to pick him up and carry him inside. I laid him on his side in the living room, and he made no effort to stand.
I was gone for the rest of the morning, helping my buddy pull weeds on his horse ranch out on the plateau east of Austin. Frisco was still there when I got home, flopped over on his side immobile.
He tried to walk a few times during the day, but with little effect. He just doesn’t have the motor control. My roommate’s dogs played and tousled all around him, but he didn’t lift a leg to join them. He wanted to be next to me, or to Carol, but he couldn’t do much to move.
Somehow my few hours on the ranch seem to have inflamed my bad toe, so now I am sitting on the back porch, immobilized with my foot up on a chair. Frisco is pushing for an occasional throw of the frisbee. I can’t see him, can only hear him thrashing around after it in the darkness, but he always returns with the frisbee in his mouth. So his attitude seems good, even as his motor control is weak. I hope that tomorrow is a better day, so that I can take him out to some more of his favorite places. But given today’s experience, I am once again worried that his recovery is waning.
Today was another rough day for my boy.
I awoke early today, because I was going out to my buddy Tommy-Gun’s horse ranch to help out and hang out. Frisco wanted to be well, but he wasn’t.
When I took him outside first thing, he tried to act cool and suave, but he could barely hold himself upright. The back door was a bit too small of a target for him to hit: he failed twice before finally squeezing himself along the left side of the opening. He acted like a drunkard pretending to be sober, looking up at me when he banged into things as if to say “I meant to do that.”
He insisted that I bring a ball with me, or he wouldn’t go out. No matter how hard he was falling over to the right, he would do nothing but stumble in place until I threw a racquetball.
His hobbled attempts at playing fetch were like a dishonest sentence, in which the real meaning fell inside a parenthetical phrase: He ran off, curved to the right like an open-parenthesis, and returned shaped like a close-parenthesis. But in between, he stumbled and struggled, and twice fell right over on his side. The sentence he was trying to convey was “I’m okay,” but inside the parenthetical he showed his desperation. I had to hold him upright to pee, or else he would have fallen helplessly. Even with my help, he sprayed in random directions, wetting both me and him in the process. He looked at me with humiliation, but I couldn’t do anything to help.
When he was finally done, and frustrated, he stood by the door to tell me he’d stumbled enough. I opened the door, and he took a halting step backwards to take aim at the opening. Instead of walking through, though, he made a little circle to the right. He fell back, frustrated, and tried again. Someone, probably one of the other dogs, had moved a block of wood in front of the door, and Frisco tripped on it and flopped painfully onto his side. He found a way back onto his feet, then stood there, waiting for me to pick him up and carry him inside. I laid him on his side in the living room, and he made no effort to stand.
I was gone for the rest of the morning, helping my buddy pull weeds on his horse ranch out on the plateau east of Austin. Frisco was still there when I got home, flopped over on his side immobile.
He tried to walk a few times during the day, but with little effect. He just doesn’t have the motor control. My roommate’s dogs played and tousled all around him, but he didn’t lift a leg to join them. He wanted to be next to me, or to Carol, but he couldn’t do much to move.
Somehow my few hours on the ranch seem to have inflamed my bad toe, so now I am sitting on the back porch, immobilized with my foot up on a chair. Frisco is pushing for an occasional throw of the frisbee. I can’t see him, can only hear him thrashing around after it in the darkness, but he always returns with the frisbee in his mouth. So his attitude seems good, even as his motor control is weak. I hope that tomorrow is a better day, so that I can take him out to some more of his favorite places. But given today’s experience, I am once again worried that his recovery is waning.
posted by Unknown at 11:55 PM
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