Gene's Blog

How NOT to walk your dog

About a month ago, I told you how not to go down the basement steps with a dog, while carrying a bicycle. When I wrote that, it seemed okay, and then I learned just how long it takes for an injury to the bursa between the patella and knee joint to heal. Though I never had trouble walking, it turns out that it takes weeks to heal fully. Two weeks after that little headlong dive down the stairs, I also learned that when your knee bleeds gravity has an effect, giggle, because my whole darn leg turned all the colors of the rainbow, and hurt all the way to my ankle. Never anything earth-shattering, just annoying. But very colorful. :^)

So, this is the same story, but with a twist, the ending? Well, I think I will have to wait a while to write that, because I suspect, as with the dive down the basement steps, I am going to be finding out slowly just what I damaged and how badly.

See this story starts almost 12 years ago. Brandon and I got Cisco on January 5th, 1996. Two days before Brandon’s 20th birthday. Cisco was ALL he wanted. His brother had a wonderful dog already, Misty the Wonder dog, who could do anything, with flash and elan and grace. She was so smart and so beautiful and so loving, so it sort of followed the pattern of their lives, if Evan had it, Brandon wanted it too. I mean they were but 17 months apart, this part isn’t rocket science.

So he and I went to the Anoka County Humane society to find a dog. Well, when we walked in the door, there was this cage huge enough for five dogs, and in it was this tiny little puppy, who looked right at us and got sassy immediately. They said he was too young to be back with the others. So we went back and looked at a LOT of dogs, gawd, I love dogs, I grew up with them, one actually raised me, more than my parents, in my opinion, and for that matter, I think in just about every way, dogs are better people than people are. Except for that whole butt sniffing thing. Anyway, we looked at all sorts of adorable dogs, but he couldn’t choose. There was this pair of half-shepherd pups that were 4 months old, but we didn’t have room for two dogs and I couldn’t bear to separate them, I really wanted them adopted together. I have no idea if that happened. Their names were Pancho and Cisco – from the oldie tv show. Since we couldn’t decide amongst them, Brandon said, lets go look at that little one again, so we did. He looked me right in the eye and yapped at me, I stuck my finger in the cage to touch him and he bit me, then smirked. YES, it was a smirk. He can still do it. So we decided, okay, we’ll take the little one.

As I was signing the check, the women behind the counter said, you might notice that he is a little noisy. I thought, what? They all bark. But we started to understand what they meant on the drive home. He whined – happily, the ENTIRE time. That night, we put him in a big box next to Brandon’s bed, his room adjoins mine, and Cisco cried ALL night long. He would cry until his little voice would give out with a croak, he’d wait two minutes and start again. ALL night long. The next morning Brandon told me, “dad, I don’t think I can handle another night like that”, I said, me either. So we put him in the basement the next night, not in a box. During the night, he shredded, this aluminum wrapper sort of insulation I have against the outside walls, as high as he could reach, into the tiniest pieces you can imagine, the floor literally looked like it was MADE of aluminum foil. And we could still hear him. And this is a quiet place, well sound-proofed, I have NEVER heard a noise from another home, but I could hear HIM through the vents. So, from his third night, he slept with Brandon, and never cried again. That was all he wanted. Someone with him. He was the last of a litter of 7, he was 7 weeks old when we got him and he weighed 7 pounds and 7 ounces. It was meant to be, giggle.

Okay, so that winter we did not know what dog urine will do to grass. We let him go right out front of the door and in the spring the bushes were dead as well as all the grass. A friend of Brandon’s, that next spring told me that dog urine is actually a powerful fertilizer, if it is diluted, it is so concentrated that it causes the burn. So I started, and so did Brandon, carrying water out with us, to flush wherever he whizzed. It worked, has for 12 years. But this year is different, that damn tumor means he can’t move like he used to, he doesn’t leap tall snow drifts in a single bound anymore. And he knows he can’t. Which is sad. Because one of the fun things about winter with him, is that he loves the cold, he has such a thick coat (which he sheds all year long, and ferociously twice each year) that to him, winter, no matter how cold, is just another day, giggle. I mean, he’d run out there, crash around like he does, stick his face in a drift, then lie down and look at us, like, “what?” isn’t this just the bestest day? He LOVED when we’d get a big snow and the plows would pile up these huge walls across our little drive, he just go charging out there and crash right through them, then poke his head back up to see if what noticed how cool he did that. He’d just jump back over, and then go to the end of our drive where they pile it all, and climb the snow mountains. NEVER content to just do his stuff at the bottom, ALWAYS somewhere up on top of that damn thing, so I’d have to climb to pick up his treasure. I am sure he thinks I am the strangest person on earth as I follow him around picking up every last thing he excretes and telling him what a good boy he is. I mean who does that? Giggle. That was NOT an easy adjustment for me, lol, on the farm it didn’t matter what they did or where, but in the city it does, and he is the first dog I’ve had live with me since 1970.

Picking that stuff up is not one of my favorite things, but I learned how, and I got used to it. But things changed, last year was the first year he couldn’t do his normal routine anymore. He still crashed through, but I had to go over and help him get back onto our side. That was sad. And he stopped doing that. That is sad. I don’t want him to be old. He’s a baby, dammit. So, well, to the point of this story. This year we got early snow for the first time in years, suddenly the boundaries changed for him again and he knew he couldn’t crash over those spots he used to. So he has started just stopping and whizzing on our front yard. Which I know means the grass will be dead come spring. So I have still been following him with my big red bucket and flushing wherever he goes. And it is cold now too. Which means that flushing runs to the street and freezes. Yes, that is where this is going. Tonight, I had errands, so I was later getting home than usual, and I put on my womens boots (see earlier post for THAT nonsense) and took him out. He went into his usual spot, and so did I, but as I approached it, I noticed it looked different, icy. Unfortunately noticing that wasn’t enough to make me stop walking. Hit the ice, fell down, went boom, managed to save 3/4’s of the water in the bucket but I was laying in the rest of it. As I hit, I thought, oh chit, this is gonna hurt tomorrow. And I’m sure it will cause it sure hurt then, then I noticed how flipping cold I was, and wet. And he is still standing there like King Solomon making a big decision.

I asked him, please, puppy, be quick tonight, I have GOT to get out of these wet pants. You have NO idea how cold soaking wet jeans feel in 7 degrees, unless you have experienced it. Fortunately, he was intent on taking care of the rest of his business and did so, relatively soon. So we’re back inside, I’m dry again, he was patient waiting for his treat cuz he knew something was not right with grandpa, I am just grateful I didn’t yell or he would have headed for the hills as usual and I’d probably still be looking for him in those frozen stiff jeans. I don’t hurt yet. I feel tenderness, which I know is really not, giggle. So over the next few days I will be discovering just how many parts of my body hit and how hard. 58 sucks. Things were a lot easier when I was a lot younger, giggle. But I don’t bounce like I used to. I land now. Hard. Thank gawd I grew up on that farm and drank all the milk, or I’d have broken more bones than Santa has presents, in the last damn month!

This is going to be one hell of an interesting winter. I hope I survive it. And him too. much love, :^) gene

If today brings even one choice your way
choose to be a bringer of the light :^) gene