In the world of working dogs, there is a breed called Blue Heeler or Australian Cattle Dog. The names derive from these dogs’ inborn tendency to work cattle from behind, their origins in Australia, and the typical “blue” coloring of their fur. They are often somewhat aggressive and may need to be approached with caution.
A young Heeler named Buck had recently joined a local dairy where the grandson was developing a herd of beef cows. One day, Buck’s owner brought him into the veterinary hospital for problems with his hind legs. They were weak and uncoordinated; he could barely walk. He showed no signs of pain. We took X-rays which showed no evidence of injury or damage to the spinal cord, so we gave him the standard medication for unknown spinal cord injury or inflammation. Uncharacteristically for a Blue Heeler, he accepted the examination and restraint with peaceful patience, watching us with his soft brown eyes and soaking up every bit of our affection.
Done deal.
The first thing I did was contact another client of mine, one who happened to be an X-ray technician at the regional human hospital. With her help, we slipped Buck clandestinely through the back door after hours, briefly sedated him, and gave him a CAT scan. None of us, including one of the hospital radiologists, could see anything the least abnormal on the scan. Sigh. . . . I considered some options for more exotic testing, but realized that none of them were likely to offer much chance of finding anything that could be treated. And I also realized that more testing was not in my budget, either, having three small children to support.
However, I knew a young man across the state who was in the business of building two-wheeled carts that serve like wheelchairs for paraplegic dogs. I sent him Buck’s measurements and Buck’s story, and inquired about the cost of a cart. To my surprise and delight, he replied that one of his clients had just returned a cart built for a dog about Buck’s size, and he would sell it to me for about half price.
Another done deal.
The cart arrived a few days later. Everybody in the hospital gathered around as Buck patiently allowed me to adjust and readjust all the straps and attachments until the cart fit well. Most dogs are confused by the contraption at first. They freeze, or try to walk backwards to get out of it. Buck just looked over his shoulder and trotted off across the parking lot. Well, that did it. We had a new dog at our house.
Buck and his cart fit on the front seat of the pickup, so I could take him to and from the hospital with me. Our other dog, Pepper, also part Heeler, agreed to share by taking her seat on the floor. From then on, Buck was part of the family, both at home and at the hospital. He had his special bed at each place, out of traffic, where he could rest while not in the cart. He would go on farm calls with me when it was safe for him. He clearly enjoyed being out in that environment and meeting other people. He learned from Pepper that he was not allowed to leave the office without permission. He also learned that he could stand at the door of the waiting room and use his big brown eyes to entice strokes of affection from waiting clients.
A big social event in our little town was the day the Bloodmobile came. A regular cadre of caring people showed up every time in the school gym, to staff the site and to give blood. The whole event involved a lot of waiting in folding chairs. I took Buck and his cart with me when I went, and he was something to watch. He worked the room like a good politician, but entirely without guile. He went from person to person, looking up with his brown eyes. When they responded by petting him, he rested his head on their knees. After just the right amount of time, he moved on to the next person, until he had either reached every person there or it was time to go. He stood by my side and entertained the technicians when they were taking my contribution. And he didn’t even get a doughnut for his efforts like the rest of us did.
You could see the effect that Buck had on people as he worked that crowd. Often, the afternoon would be gray and damp, it being near coastal Oregon. People would arrive with the cares of the day upon them. By the time Buck was done with them, the creases on their faces were less noticeable, their shoulders and backs less hunched, and their smiles broader.
Six months after he came to live with us, Buck’s forelegs began to fail. Whatever his condition was, I could see that it was progressing up his spinal cord and would soon render him unable to move at all. Finally, he would be unable to breathe. With great sadness and a last look at those soft brown eyes, we said goodbye and released him from this life. We gave him a few extra months of Life. He gave us a lifelong healing memory. ~~~
Joe Snyder is a retired country veterinarian and a member of Multnomah Monthly Meeting in Portland, Oregon (NPYM).