Life With Her Pets Is a Heroic Effort
Did you catch People’s cover story, “Hero Pets!” last week? Tara, a Rottweiler, and Tiree, a golden retriever, pulled their master from a frozen lake. Haven, a Chihuahua, wrestled a poison snake away from a toddler. And Norman, a blind yellow Lab rescued a girl from drowning.
As the owner of two Boston terriers, I have an even truer story.
A couple of months ago, I awoke very early for work, as is my custom. My daughter slept, my husband was out of town, the baby sitter would not arrive for half an hour. There was nothing especially tempting for breakfast in the fridge--just a baked potato, left over from the night before. I zapped it, then bit off a piece. Halfway down, a starchy chunk just sort of stopped, pressing hard against my windpipe. I couldn’t breathe. I grabbed a glass of water, swallowed, and watched in amazement as the water spouted right back out.
OK, I thought as I ran around the house in a panic, think, think, think: Call 911 or go out like Mama Cass right here, right now. My life did not pass before my eyes, but I did envision a really embarrassing headline over my obit.
Just as I reached for the phone, two things came to me with stunning clarity. One, I was breathing again. The chunk had moved. Two, my dogs did nothing. They did not yap until the neighbors woke in alarm. They did not dislodge the phone with their paws and press for help. They did not trip me and attempt a horizontal Heimlich. As I nearly died of spud suffocation, my dogs sat there staring at me like a pair of bug-eyed bookends. They could not have been colder had they put out a contract on me themselves.
My dogs and I, in other words, have a normal relationship. I dote on them; they use me. I feed them; they puke on the furniture. I let them sleep on the bed; they snore my ears off. Plus, they are in constant need of attention for afflictions that would be funny if they weren’t so expensive.
Kermit, for instance, has chronic ear infections that come on in the middle of the night. He announces his ailment by wandering the house, waking us as his nails click-click-click like castanets on the wood floors, shaking his head and screeching as though his throat is being slit. I assure you, the sound is even less charming than described. This week, the vet sent us home with a $75 bottle of ear goop. The dog’s cataract surgery--did I mention the cataracts?--will probably set us back a couple thousand. And don’t even get me started on the tapeworm.
Perry Violet has Addison’s disease, an adrenal gland deficiency that gives her something in common, besides Boston, with President John F. Kennedy. (“You know,” said Dr. Lavac, our vet, “before they had steroids to treat Addison’s, Kennedy received last rites something like eight times.”) Well, you might not mind paying through the nose to medicate a future president, but for a 13-pound dog, the cost seems ludicrous. Perry’s pills run $40 a month. She requires regular blood tests. We spent a fortune in E.R. visits and tests to diagnose why she went all weird and wobbly one day. (For trivia buffs: the medical literature calls Addison’s “the great pretender” because its clinical signs resemble so many other disorders.)
Perry, we also learned recently, has a potentially fatal fondness for chocolate.
“There’s been a disaster,” my husband announced one night. “Look at the couch.”
The dogs had been left alone in the living room with a pound of See’s candy. True, the couch was a mess. But the real disaster was the dog; chocolate poisoning can cause cardiac failure in canines. Eager to avoid an untimely death by nuts-and-chews, we phoned Dr. Lavac at home. He instructed us to place the patient in the bathtub and induce vomiting immediately. We gave her a teaspoon of hydrogen peroxide and within minutes, she stood in a rather large puddle of chocolate and undigested almonds.
Both dogs looked guilty, so Dr. Lavac advised us to dose Kermit too. Poor thing. He hadn’t touched the candy, but he must have consumed 10 pounds of kibble that day.
I’d be remiss not to tell you about the lovin’ these puppies are capable of, though. They are very physical, very touchy-feely, and I’ve got the scars to prove it.
Perry bit me on the nose a couple months ago, right on the tip, giving my face a leprous kind of charm. She didn’t mean it, though. She was trying to bite Kermit. I had the bad luck to reach down to pet her just as she lunged. The other day as I lay in bed, as she stretched out to be rubbed, she raked her razor-like claws across my face, slicing open a bright red trail on my eyelid. And I like to think that Kermit felt bad when he sunk his teeth into my hand during a visit to the vet, since he was aiming for the doctor, not me.
We await People’s call.
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* Robin Abcarian co-hosts a morning talk show on radio station KTZN-AM (710). Her column appears on Wednesdays. Her e-mail address is rabcarian@aol.com.
