At times like this, the idea of wandering down to the kitchen for a midnight snack of olives becomes a very bad idea indeed.
Sammy’s eyes, you see, are in there. Tupperware never served a nobler purpose.
Returning from a business trip to find how Sammy is faring in the wake of eye removal surgery, I am advised by my wife to be careful about the fridge, since his eyes are in there. The Rhodesian Ridgeback Rescue Society, so helpful to our entire process of engaging life with Sammy, wants to make sure that genetic testing is done to find out at what point bad eyes came into the mix and how to prevent the calamity for the breed’s future puppies.
Meanwhile, Sammy bumps about the house with his enormously clumsy ‘Elizabethan collar’ protecting his eyes from sudden jolts and sharp corners. He clearly dislikes the idea. It’s good for him, we tell him over and over.
Our sympathetic friends at the Michigan Road Animal Hospital called to ask Linda to pick him up previously to the appointed time. Sammy, it seems, was not a happy camper, eye sockets aching amid the chaotic canine chatter of the recovery kennel. He refuses to lie down, to sleep, and even bites angrily at the clinic’s care-givers. ‘Sammy will be more comfortable at home, with people whom he knows love him’, we were told.
They were right, of course. After having been plunged back into the kind of environment that represented his fearful life prior to coming to live with us, Sammy reverted to behaviors that we had almost forgotten. But now, back in our home, dressed up in his plastic Elizabethan accoutrements, he day by day reverts to form, becoming before our eyes—if no longer before his— the Sammy we have come to know.
Within three days, he is playing with adopted sister Rosie again. For her part, she clearly enjoys the new advantage provided by the Elizabethan collar. As Sammy opens his enormous mouth in the traditional hope that Rosie will run into it for a good gumming, she dances happily about him, secure in the knowledge that there is no geometry in the world that will get her into the cone and, then, into his jaws.
As I write this now, Sammy lies at my feet. The collar is long gone and he’s dreaming about happier things. A persistent infection around the surgical incisions means he couldn’t get his stitches out yesterday, coming home instead with a course of antibiotics to combat the offending invaders. Yet, for a boy with his eyes in the fridge somewhere between the salad dressing and the parmesan cheese, Sammy is one noble, playful, hopeful little beast.
Eyes were always over-rated, anyway.
Hi David and Linda – I have loved reading about your new (old) dog… Someday I will get to meet Sammy. He reminds me in some ways of our Panda who lost her eyes – one at a time… and was still spunky! Kitty
I am so glad that Sammy is doing well — I’ll keep my fingers crossed that the infection is gone quickly.
Elise
one of those “national” people 🙂
Dear Kitty,
Yes, you *will* meet Sammy some day, I’m sure. He looks forward to it.
Dave
Dear Elise,
Our collective hat goes off to you ‘national’ people! You’ve made many things possible. I hope to become a donor some day and give back something of what we (and Sammy!) have received.
The infection is giving way slowly. His mood improves each day as his physical health causes less discomfort.
We’re told that it’s likely he suffered chronic pain as his eyes deteriorated and is likely to be released from all of that as any lingering post-surgery pain recedes.
I had him out for an evening walk just now. It’s pure joy for him to be out of doors.
Dave