Disheveled Duos

Lil' Big Head absolutely loves our agility class. We are a team, tackling obstacles together. I don't care much for competition, which is why I assume I have never excelled in sports. But I love the way Stacey and Janice make the experience about each duo and what the dog CAN do; it makes me so happy to see Lil' Big Head's giant smile when he charges out of the tunnel, he always seems so proud of himself. There is never pressure to perform at a certain level and Gavin has been a stellar study, but more importantly the class is strengthening our bond.

Before class, my mushy little monkey dog was shaking so much from the cold; I was grateful that I taught him to have one favorite spot for business trips. Lil' Big Head has no fur. He wanted to get back inside; under a warm blanket, pronto. I bundled Gavin in one of my jackets for the drive because I could not recall where I had stored the hipster hoodie I bought for him when I was in Oregon over Memorial Day weekend. Lil' Big Head ran through the drills like we had been teammates for years, sometimes it's hard to believe he has only been with me for seven months because he seems so content and cheerful to be by my side.

We were practicing the dog walk and Gavin began running too fast and fell off onto the floor. Unlucky little guy tumbled right onto the spot where a metal gate separate the space between class and daycare. For the first time, I heard Lil' Big Head yelp. And, Gavin sat there, next to the equipment, looking up at me with his big, sad doe eyes. I ran over to comfort him and he leaned into me while I stroked his chest. We all wanted to see if he was ok, so I stepped away from him a tiny bit to see if he would stand and put weight on his leg; Gavin limped as he tried to walk. Luckily, Lil' Big Head shook it off and was moving just fine within a couple of seconds.

The last time I heard my Lug make that godawful sound that tore my soul up inside was the summer of 2011. Finn had a lump on his belly that I lovingly called his nubbin'. My Lug could have been covered head to toe in skin tags, lumps and bumps; I did not care as long as I knew he was not hurting nor were they a sign of something worse. But, because the benign mass was hanging off the lowest point of my Lug's barrel chest and it was growing so fast, one of my favorite veterinarians advised me to have it removed. I hated subjecting my senior dog to anesthesia but we had been carefully monitoring Finn's nubbin; and we knew it would soon become troublesome for him to walk. And, the thought of waiting another year; doing the surgery on an even older Finn helped me decide to move forward at her suggestion. Before I scheduled the appointment, Dr. Berman, who is also a brilliant surgeon, introduced me to the veterinary technician who would be by her side, Finn's side, during the procedure. Seeing this women's face and knowing she cared enough to meet me gave me more comfort but I was a wreck thinking about the upcoming procedure.

When I dropped Finn off at the vet that morning, no breakfast in his stomach which he did not understand or approve as he kept running into the kitchen, then onto his bed with an indignant look; I stared at the sheet of paper every veterinary hospital gives you when you drop your pet off at 8am and started bawling. I knew who the audience was, it was me 11 years prior. I read the words, "if your dog is scheduled for surgery later in the day, be thankful. It means your dog is the youngest and the healthiest". I understood the worries of being a new pet parent to a puppy that was being neutered, and how hard it was to wait all day but my Lug's surgery was scheduled for 9am, did that mean he was the oldest and unhealthiest? The Office Manager had left me a message the day prior that they were out of my business cards but I completely forgot to pass them along as I raced out of there, wearing sunglasses on a dreary day to hide my bulging eyes.

One of the many reasons I love positive training is once Gavin fell off the dog walk; no one, including me, was interested in getting him back on again, we just wanted to re-build his confidence. We had an awesome rest of class, Lil' Big Head's ears flopping in the wind of his own excitement because he chose to continue running through the course. Then, as we were leaving class, the poor dog's dumb mom did not see him hesitate. CRUUUUDDDDDDD! Because, for a second time, in one day, Gavin yelped. Lil' Big Head had paused at the exit and I didn't see it until it was too late and the door caught his tail. Pitiful, considerate, contemplative Lil' Big Head looked at me with the same sad expression he had given me less than an hour prior, but that time it was because of my clumsiness. Thank goodness I had the time to sit in the waiting area and feed Gavin lots of cheese so he has good associations again with the space, and Janice let us get back on the dog walk, one of us on each side of him so he was sure to safely walk up and down the incline. When we got home, all Gavin wanted to do was snuggle and I rubbed his white tuxedo as he fell asleep.

Those few seconds I waited to see if Gavin had stubbed his leg or if it was something serious were awful. There was nothing I could do but wait. And, the hour and a half I waited to hear that Finn was awake was excruciating. Ring, ring, ring. I saw that it was Dr. Berman's hospital and when I answered, it was her. She has the best sing song voice and told me that her "big man" had came through the surgery amazingly well and they confirmed that the lump was completely benign. When I picked Finn up, he was wrapped in a bandage the veterinary technician told me was to relieve the pressure and prevent fluid from creeping into the space where the lump used to be; I was allowed to remove it within a couple of days.

What I thought was an ace bandage turned out to be a giant bandaid and when I went to slowly peel it off Finn's abdomen, my Lug yelped and ran into the bathroom. Poor guy stood, wagging his tail, not wanting to move. I sat on the floor with him for a few minutes so he knew I understood and he smothered my face with his awesome slobbery kisses. I pulled the olive oil off the shelf, a bag of cotton balls out of the drawer and called Finn to his bed. Once I realized just how much oil it was going to take to grease up my Lug, I searched for the coconut oil so he would not smell like salad dressing. And, for two hours I coated teeny tiny areas of adhesive over and over again with oily cotton balls so the band-aid glided right off Finn's fur with ease and not a lick of pain. Finn took turns giving me kisses and slurping on his bone. Cream cheese specs on my nose and the smell of the tropics permeating my living room will always remind me of Finn. And, I hope I don't have to hear Lil' Big Head yelp again for a very, very long time.