As he raced down the path in hot pursuit of a tennis ball, Timmy had no prescient knowledge of what was to happen to him in the next few moments. He fell, sitting on his haunches, as though a giant unseen hand had struck him a blow on his spine. He cried out in pain and terror, a chilling sound that brought a neighbour, who normally dislikes him, to rush in to help him.
He could not move his rear legs; they stuck out at an abnormally straight angle to his back.I had hoped, that he would have broken something or dislocated a joint, all of which could be surmountable problems. But no, it was to be more complex. Somehow, with a great deal of effort we put the terrified dog into my car and took him to Animal 911 Emergency clinic.
I had seen this store front place often as I passed by on Dempster Street, and had thought how quaint and gimmicky that name was. On this day I discovered that it was far from gimmicky- it was truly a place for emergencies (911 is the hotline for dire emergencies in the Chicago area).
They brought out a stretcher, efficiently muzzled the scared dog and carried him in. Anxiety mounted as time went by. I sat under glare of tubelights in the well lit waiting area. I was remembering the first day we had brought Timmy home from the farm, a tiny little Border Collie puppy, who couldn't find a home because he had some pink spots on his black nose. These spots could preclude him from being a show dog. How ever, he had already captured Deven's heart. My father, who had accompanied us, turned the puppy upside down and explained to Deven how he could tell a girl dog from a boy dog. Deven was not too interested; he just wanted to take 'his puppy' home. Today, neither my father nor Deven were there; my father having passed away and Deven gone to college.
Here was Timmy, faced with the prospect of not going back home ever again. I sat and wept. Eventually , the vet came out and ushered us in. The prognosis was uncertain, she said, since the injury was not a fracture. He would have to stay in the ICU overnight and perhaps, if we felt compelled, we could take him to a neurologist and an orthopod the next day.
He was, she gently told us, an old dog. He was not a good candidate for surgery. If he did not show improvement, euthanesia was an alternative. My heart was sinking steadily, hearing what I had already suspected. I filled in a form permitting his hospitalization.
At the bottom was a question with two choices. If he were to have a cardiac arrest, should they resuscitate him or not?
At first I checked 'No'.
Then I was horrified, how could I just let him die like that? I changed the option. It was a slender life line I was throwing to him.
A very slender and subtle one; 'Don't go yet, Timu!'
Through the years
When he first came to live with us, he slept in Deben's baby bathtub
Now a Man and his best friend
Posted by LinaS at 10:35 AM
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