Howard isn't doing especially well, and the surgery was possibly a mistake, because he appears to have a degenerative condition rather than a spinal compression. We're committed to making his life as pleasant as possible, and the good news is that he's not in any evident pain. Give him food and a lap, and he's pretty content.
Most likely, he'll lose the use of his rear legs first. He's been prone to dragging his back paws ever since the surgery, so we make him wear those rubber booties that protect dogs from snow salt. We tried dog shoes and baby socks, but both fell right off. He looks very cute in the booties, and he gets all kind of attention as a result, which is not always great, since he hates most strangers. I take him to the water treadmill once a week, because he'll lift his paws while in the water. He'll also do it on sand, so in California he gets a walk on the beach every morning. If we time it right, we run into the guy who has four pugs.
We also do physical therapy at home. One exercise is what the vet called "noxious stimuli"—great name for a band!—which involves bothering his back paws so much that he's forced to engage them. He lies on his back, in my lap, while I stick my finger in between his pads over and over, wiggling it around until he kicks it away. He doesn't like it, and he finishes each session by taking out his aggression on a toy, but he doesn't really struggle to get away. Today was an exception: I assumed he was just being ornery, but it turns out that he had to barf, which he did while lying on his back, in my lap. I watched the barf come up and go right back down. Howard, meanwhile, appeared pleased with the efficiency.
Relief walks have grown tougher because he keeps walking as he poops—no, he always did that, but now he positively races. You'd better have the bag ready when he drops into the running squat: He often walks ten yards or more before doubling back. Yesterday, I was walking him in City Hall Park, when I overheard one possibly homeless man tell a definitely homeless man that he shouldn't play with his penis while kids are around. We were near the end of the walk, and I had wrongly assumed Howard wasn't going to deliver the goods, so I was not at all prepared with the bag. I missed the first two and was trying to get on pace while looking over my shoulder and yelling at people to watch out for the poop when a blind man headed right toward it, forcing me to yell even louder. That's when the penis-player starting yelling nonsensically and throwing a garbage can lid all around the park. Everyone headed for the exit, which was on the far side of the poop minefield.
Preparing for the future, we've attempted carrying him in a BabyBjörn–like contraption, but we worried it put more strain on his back. And we've bought a set of wheels that can one day support his back half. I have yet to venture outside with my two-wheeled pug, but Adam has done it. He had read beforehand that passersby might take offense, believing that you're somehow harming the pug and/or unnecessarily prolonging an unhappy life. It sounds absurd, but sure enough, some guy threatened to call the police.
I dare someone to try that with me.
Sorry to hear that the going has been so tough for Howard (and you). I have no doubt that you and Adam will make the best choices for Howard's care and comfort every dragging step of the way.
While on a hike in the woods in British Columbia last week, we were overtaken by a man and his dog that was using the wheelchair contraption. He was one of the happiest dogs I have seen, running, fetching a stick and generally behaving utterly normally. If I could have caught up, I would have taken a video for you but he was fast!!
Also, you tell a mean homeless, poop, crazy, embarrassing, only in New York story.
Posted by: Andrea | 29 May 2014 at 09:38 AM