Only Dog Knows …
When we know something, we at once limit our options and lock in to a course of actions based on a belief that we clearly know what’s best. From the small matters of the daily mundane to the larger life issues of love and happiness, we perceive a situation, compare it against our subjective database of factoids, convince our self that it matches one of our assumptions and then proceed to take actions in accordance with our limited beliefs.
Too vague? Well, let me put an annotated not-so-shaggy-dog-story in place that may help settle the cloudy water in the glass that is half full, or empty as the case may be. This last holiday, my old hairless girl Taco had a tumor on her hind leg that opened. Five years ago, my sweet Bella had a tumor(s) that was also aggressive and malignant. So I have quite a bit of “evidence” in my databanks about dogs and tumors. Because of course, I did a lot of research with Bella, I have been a dog owner for all of my adult life, my friends all have dogs … you get the idea. I “knew” what was going to happen. And Taco is 15 years old, clearly on the last chapter of her life as a Mexican hairless dog.
Knowing what I know about insidious illnesses, I called the home vet to make arrangements to put her down. It was her time after all. She slept for much of the day, clearly in more pain than we would want to admit and I knew that this tumor would eventually be the end of her, and it was my job as a responsible pet owner to minimize her suffering.
As fate would have it, the home vet that I trust and am so blessed to have as our family dog doctor, was on vacation. We spoke on the phone and made plans for a visit the following week. I knew what would happen during that time. I had bandaged Bella’s tumors for months. I knew how to care for them and keep Taco as comfortable as possible.
Quite unexpectedly, and without the gory details … the tumor and probably abscess underneath it actually shrank during that week before the appointment and the day that the vet came to our door, Ms Taco was quite the perky puppy albeit senior dog of well more than a dozen years. I had prepared myself and my family, for a week that we would be saying goodbye to our furless friend and we all were grieving for her loss in our own way. So when the vet recommended surgery for the old girl, I said no.
You see, my decision to put Taco down, was because I “knew” from Bella’s experience what to expect. I had tried the expensive tests, surgeries and medicines with Bella. Only to see each fail, her suffering prolonged and my bank account diminished. I wasn’t in a financial position to do that again, so I told the vet, NO. I would not put any of us through that this time. No tests. No surgery. No more suffering.
He understood my concerns. And he even agreed that it was likely she had a type of malignancy much like Bella did. But then he made a proposal to simply remove this one tumor at a price that was so low it was simply unprecedented. Indeed, the bill for the procedure did not match my database of “knowing”. Standing their puzzled, I looked at my boy friend who said without hesitation “Martha would want her to have the surgery, we’ll do it.” Because of course, his database of dogs and dying is different than mine and for him that decision was simply common sense.
We did the surgery. But wihtout any expectation. Unlike the failed and heroic efforts we made with Bella. We agreed to this surgery because we trusted that it was the right thing to do in the moment. Taco was able to celebrate the holiday season (and ham!) and ring in the new year (with roast beef!), a smile on her dog snout, a bounce in her step and the love of family around her. We have no expectations of course, that the tumors will not return. She’s an old dog. She’s had a good life, and one day inevitably soon it will be time to say goodbye to her. But that won’t be based on any database of how things will happen.
Life and death and everything in between unfolds at a pace and with a precision that Only Dog Knows. Coming from a dyslexic blogger, I’m sure you can understand. And of course its not really about Taco, because our mind would like us to believe that was just a “freak” miracle on 42nd street. But our minds do this “knowing” thing all the time. A man is kind to us, and we think he must want something. We shy away from showing our feelings, because the last time our heart was torn open, we make assumptions based on appearances instead of withholding our judgement and letting the wide and vast ocean of possibility appear before our eyes (I). And why do we do this? Because we trust our memory as much as we value Google to settle an argument. Fortunately, sometimes when we step back and accept that we may not be the holder of truth … that Truth not only finds us, but smiles upon us in all of our imperfection. Taco taught me that. 😉
