Ever hear the old adage that pets and their owners often
resemble each other?
Ever hear the old adage that pets and their owners often resemble each other?
My canine pal and I sport blond, shaggy haircuts with dark, ummmm…”highlights.” Both built close to the ground. And there, but for some interesting interventions, the similarities might have ended.
Now I grant you – some of us are dog people and some are cat people – but in terms of our devotion to them, both species are equal. When our best friends suffer, we’ll move mountains to help them.
Years ago when my friend, Byron, came moping into the office and announced, “Well…. Kitty’s hooked up to a dialysis machine,” we all sympathized and thought, “What an idiot!” No, I’m just making that up.
We all knew, though we’d never admit it, we’d walk in his shoes someday.
Last October, we had to put down our beloved old dog, Lucky. Fate soon intervened, and we acquired a sweet new dog (with a name to match) called Puddin’.
To give this heartwarming tale some historical perspective, you should know that four years ago I found myself in the hospital – twice – undergoing cataract surgery. A bit young for cataracts, I’d anticipated “fun” surgeries – as in the nip and tuck department. Yet perfect vision by way of permanently implanted intraocular lenses was pretty nifty, too.
“And WHAT,” you might ask, “does all THIS have to do with your dog?” Stay with me here…
Soon after acquiring two-year old Puddin’, we (along with his astonished breeders) learned he had an uncommon genetic disorder: juvenile cataracts – a condition that, if untreated, would result in painful glaucoma and blindness.
Losing Lucky was heartbreaking; thinking of Puddin’ losing his sight was no less so.
So when Bud and Susan, an extraordinary couple who breed Lhasa Apsos and raised Puddin’ from a puppy, sent word to us that they would take on the considerable financial expenditure to correct this malady, our prayers were answered.
Thus we found ourselves on the road to Fort Collins, home of Colorado State University’s renowned veterinarian school and its department of animal ophthalmology specialists. There a collection of faculty and resident physicians, students, technicians and possibly even a maintenance worker or two, welcomed to their facility our 14-pound bundle of tail-wagging energy – complete with his four stressed-out human advocates.
As the busy staff cheerfully endeavored to perform mandatory pre-surgical procedures, Puddin’ was having WAY too much fun to fret about his imminent surgery. His joyful reunion with Bud and Susan, along with abundant licking of my husband and me, showed that despite his ailment, his innate loyalty and love was bountiful and unbroken.
Susan and I were a bit less graceful. OK, we couldn’t have been more edgy. We’d done our research, weighed the percentages and fretted ourselves silly. I vaguely recall that one of us may have grilled the head surgeon:
“I’m not sure how to say this without offending you, but exactly how good at this ARE you?”
Uneasily we relinquished Puddin’ over to his doctors and then hovered close by, a clutch of four nervous mother hens, as he underwent a delicate surgery to both of his eyes. And now, thanks to permanently implanted intraocular lenses and two gifted surgeons, Puddin’s eyes are perfect.
So the little dog with the big heart came back home with us to Morgan Hill – disguised as a cone head for a few days to protect his healing eyes, but able to see again with the best of them.
And while it’s pretty neat that my pal and I are both sort of blond and built low to the ground, these days we share another trait in common that’s unalterably remarkable. By the grace of some extraordinary people who made this happy condition a reality, our crystal clear view of the world now arrives via two pairs of “bionic” eyes.
I’d say that’s the greatest resemblance of them all.
