Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover's Soul (39 page)

OFF THE MARK,
©1997 Mark Parisi. Reprinted with permission of Mark Parisi.

A Pocketful of Love

I
f you think dogs can’t count, try putting three
dog biscuits in your pocket and then giving Fido
only two of them.

Phil Pastoret

DebbieLynn never set out to be a fashion model, it just kind of happened. Although she had other interests she wanted to pursue, it was hard to walk away from the success she’d achieved modeling. The exciting lifestyle meant Deb traveled constantly, which left little time for other interests. She’d thought about taking the gamble, quitting and trying something new, but told herself she’d model just one more year. For more years than she could count, it had been, “Just one more year.”

Everything changed the day Deb returned from an overseas modeling job and caught a taxi at the airport. Instead of delivering her home, the drunken cabbie stole her career and health in a horrible car accident that Deb barely survived. Suddenly, the “one more year” of modeling wasn’t an option. Deb was left with a kaleidoscope of disabling health problems, some caused by side effects of the drugs meant to keep her alive. She had no choice— this time, Deb had to start over, from scratch.

Although she’d had dogs as a child and had wanted a dog for a long time, her travel schedule kept her from adopting a pet for many years. Finding the perfect canine companion was now the first thing on Deb’s wish list. Not just any dog would do, though. The scleroderma racking her body left her skin so fragile, a tiny bump could tear it and cause bleeding. On top of that, secondary hemophilia kept cuts from coagulating, and Deb could die if the bleeding wasn’t stopped in time. Doctors who feared a large dog could accidentally hurt her warned Deb that two and a half pounds was the top weight limit she could tolerate. With her lung capacity so severely diminished, shedding was also a problem.

Nevertheless, Deb was determined to have her dream dog. It took her eighteen months to find the perfect two-pound Yorkshire terrier, whom she named Cosette. Her puppy had special needs of her own—because of her tiny size, Cosette couldn’t digest commercial dog foods and required a special vegetarian diet. Deb was happy to do whatever it took to keep her new companion healthy and happy.

They’d been together only a few weeks, and Cosette was only five months old when the pocket-size puppy began “acting weird.” Cosette ran up to Deb, gently pawed her leg in an odd way, and squeaked a peculiar sound Deb had never heard before. The dog wouldn’t stop—she repeated the behavior time and again. What was wrong? Deb worried the pup had gone nuts. Didn’t Deb already have enough to deal with—what if the pup she’d fallen in love with had emotional problems? Deb knew she could manage the homemade diet, but could she handle something worse?

It never occurred to Deb that Cosette was trying to tell her something, until the doctor saw themtogether. During a house call, Deb’s doctor witnessed one of Cosette’s strange episodes. Other patients of his had dogs who alerted them to health conditions, so he immediately recognized that the puppy somehow “knew” in advance Deb would suffer a health crisis. Sure enough, seven minutes later one of Deb’s dangerous migraines began.

Deb was amazed! She had heard about this ability and knew dogs couldn’t be trained to have it; they either “know” or they don’t, and it’s the bond between the pet and person that makes it happen. She’d never considered having a service animal, but Cosette had taken matters into her own paws. The pup’s ability offered a freedom Deb never expected, and allowed her to take medicine and prevent the headaches that not only were painful, but also could cause bleeding and kill her.

The doctor told Deb that her puppy should get additional training and certification so Cosette could go with her everywhere. The Delta Society, a national group that certifies therapy dogs, recommended a trainer. It took only four months for the little dog, with her inborn service-dog instincts, to be certified.

Deb had also suffered hearing loss from the accident, making it difficult for her to hear buzzer-type sounds like the doorbell, the telephone, and the washer and dryer, so Cosette learned to alert her to any of these. She also was taught to tell Debwhen something or someone approached from her peripheral blind spots.

But Cosette figured out ways to help Deb that not even the trainer anticipated. Cosette’s acute sense of smell allows her to alert Deb to tiny cuts that Deb doesn’t even know have happened. First, she pushes and pushes against Deb’s ankles to make her get down to the dog’s level. Then Cosette puts her tongue against the cut, finds a position that gives her good traction, then applies pressure. Deb says that the tiny dog can make herself feel like a lead weight. A treatment lasts for twenty to forty minutes—or until the bleeding stops, and somehow, Cosette knows when it has been long enough. Without Cosette’s skillful attentions, Deb would need to spend all day at the emergency room.

Another serious health problem Deb faces are her heart irregularities. She’s often not aware that her breathing has become shallower until she blacks out. Now when Deb’s heart skips a beat, Cosette warns her so she can take medicine in time to ward off the problem. When Deb sleeps, sometimes her heart stops altogether, until Cosette leaps into action—literally, by jumping on Deb’s chest. That almost always gets the heart going again, but if it doesn’t start right away, Cosette even knows to dial 911!

Cosette was trained to dial 911 on any push-button telephone by tapping out the individual three numbers, so she can call for help anywhere, anytime, even from a cell phone when they’re away from home. Deb leaves phones in their home always within paw-reach. Cosette has called 911 and saved Deb’s life more than thirty times during their years together.

The little dog who saves her life also helps Deb make a living. Cosette inspired Deb to create three Web sites that cater to pet lovers. Cosette’s Private Collection is a line of all-natural, botanical grooming products for dogs. Cosette’s Choice includes organic biscuits, nutritional supplements for dogs with special nutritional needs (like Cosette herself), including a Biscuit-of-the-Month Club. The third, Cosette’s Closet, leverages Deb’s experience and taste from the world of fashion modeling to provide a specialty line of canine clothing, including doggy bridesmaid gowns, sundresses and tuxedos. Cosette, of course, has her own closetful of designer doggy togs.

Cosette wears her special outfits when she accompanies Deb to restaurants. On her last birthday, Cosette enjoyed eating rice and beans at her favorite Mexican dining spot and greeting the restaurantmanager, amember of her “fan club,” who insisted on singing “Happy Birthday” to the special dog.

Her biggest fan, though, is DebbieLynn. The former model—now successful entrepreneur—never knew she could become so attached to a dog, yet her tiny companion and service dog has become everything to her. And Deb knows the feeling is mutual; she is amazed at the depth of Cosette’s love for her. Today they live for each other.

Amy D. Shojai

Pedro the Fisherman

The most touching dog story I’ve ever heard was told to me thirty years ago by a neighbor on her return from a Mediterranean cruise.

The setting of the story is a little cove on the east side of the Spanish island of Mallorca. It was there that an Englishman, a professional diver, lived on his yacht with his dog, a springer spaniel. He had tied his yacht to a pier where diving conditions were ideal. Each time the Englishman made a dive, the dog sat anxiously on the pier, awaiting his return. One day the dog became so concerned when the Englishman disappeared into the water that he dove in after him.

Underwater, the dog saw a school of fish swim past. He grabbed a fish and carried it back to the pier. The Englishman, surprised and pleased, praised him. After that, the dog followed the man on his dives. In the course of the shared diving, the dog developed excellent fishing skills, to the man’s considerable amusement. The Englishman told the island’s residents of his dog’s accomplishments, and they came to the pier to watch. Delighted, they began calling the dog Pedro, after Peter, the fisherman.

One day the Englishman became ill, and shortly thereafter, he died. Townspeople tried to adopt Pedro, but the dog would never leave the beach for fear he would miss his master’s return. He waited on the beach through hot sun and driving rain. People tried to feed him, but eventually they gave up. He wouldn’t accept food from anyone other than his master. Finally, to feed himself, Pedro went back to fishing.

It happened that on this same island there were a number of stray cats. Ravenous, they would gather to watch Pedro dive into the schools of fish, select the fish he wanted and bring it back to eat on the shore. Then the cats would fight over what the dog had left uneaten. The dog must have observed this, for one morning when Pedro had eaten his fill, he dove into the water again and came back up with a large fish, which he placed on the sand before the group of cats. Then he backed off and watched. One black cat, with greater courage than the others, approached the fish, grabbed it and ran. After that, in addition to keeping vigil for his master, the dog also seemed to consider it his duty to feed those less fortunate. For every morning thereafter, Pedro the fisherman shared his catch with the hungry cats of Mallorca.

Bob Toren

Angel’s Angel

When we first met Frisbee, she wasn’t much to look at—a black-and-white lump of fur, being half-dragged and half-pushed by an impatient veterinary technician. Someone had left two six-week-old puppies in a box behind the hardware store outside of town. It was April in Texas, so the pups were lonely and hungry, but luckily not frozen. We agreed to foster them.

Over the next month, while the puppies grew, our family volunteered at the local shelter’s Saturday adoption days and held the leashes of older dogs waiting for permanent homes. For three weeks in a row,my husband held an affectionate, gray and white one-year-old Weimaraner/cattle dog mix named Angel. A volunteer had found Angel lying at the side of the road. No one knew whether she had been hit by or thrown from a car, but in addition to her injuries, she also had heartworms and spent months at the veterinarian’s office undergoing treatment.

Sometimes when a dog is adopted, the chemistry with the adoptive family isn’t right, and the dog is returned to the shelter. We were surprised to learn that Angel had been returned three times for “erratic behavior,” and was considered a “hard to place” dog. We held a family meeting and decided to bring Angel home. The next weekend, a family adopted one of our puppies, leaving just one: the girl we had named Frisbee. She and Angel got along well. In fact, we wondered about the other homes Angel had been in because she didn’t act erratically with people or other dogs. Her only fault was that she tried to keep close to us, so we were constantly tripping over her. Her head appeared between the rungs of my chair. She leaned against my legs while I worked at the sink.

One evening, about a week after we adopted Angel, our family sat down to dinner. Angel and Frisbee lay under the table. Suddenly, there was a thump, followed by scraping as the empty chair next to me mysteriously pushed back. We heard more thrashing and saw Frisbee scramble out from under the table. I assumed the dogs were squabbling and bent down to scold them.

I had never seen a seizure before. Angel’s eyes were dull and her head cartwheeled against the floor. Her legs twitched and thrashed as if she were racing from unseen demons. Our kids cleared the chairs, I cushioned Angel’s head against the tile floor, and my husband dialed the vet. We hoped the episode would be a one-time event. Maybe she’d eaten something someone had thrown over the fence. Maybe she’d eaten a poisonous plant. (Sometimes she chewed on trees like a beaver!) But that evening’s vet visit was the first of many.

Angel’s seizures came more frequently. We tried a range of medications, read, contacted canine acupuncturists and visited specialists in Houston where Angel had a spinal tap. Angel was diagnosed with idiopathic epilepsy, a cruel diagnosis meaning that she suffered seizures for which there was no identifiable source. We could treat her symptoms, but not the cause. The veterinarians said that Angel’s seizures were unusually severe, and she might live another year or two at most. At that point, we decided to adopt Frisbee. We reasoned that we would be able to bear Angel’s loss better if we already had another dog.

Although medication eased Angel’s seizures, several times a day she stiffened and stared into space in a petit mal seizure. Then she shook her head, as if to put her brains back in order, and continued as if nothing had happened. The grand mal seizures weren’t as easy to watch. These episodes came unexpectedly, with brutal ferocity. If left alone, Angel sometimes hit her head on the floor until her jaw bled. We tried to rearrange our lives to be home more, but even so, we returned to disaster several times each week.

During the week of Thanksgiving, Angel had multiple grand mal seizures. I had to cut back her favorite activity and stay closer to home after a seizure midwalk left me struggling to carry her sixty-five-pound deadweight. Our family was heartbroken.

By then, our “puppy” Frisbee was a muscular seven-month-old, fifty-pound dog. She had grown up watching Angel’s struggles, hearing “go sit” and “stay back” while I held Angel’s head. One evening I heard Frisbee bark. It didn’t sound like a “stranger at the door,” or “squirrel in the yard” warning. I followed the bark and found Frisbee pinning Angel to the floor.

Some dogs have the innate ability to detect the onset of seizures. People use these dogs to detect their seizures so they can get to a safe location before a seizure starts. Other dogs, though not able to detect a seizure before it happens, stand over their charge during a seizure until the person regains consciousness. They hold their person steady and keep them safe. This is what Frisbee was doing for Angel, though she had never been trained to do so.