Maisie Comes in Third

Everything is different during the 2020 Covid Quarantine.  Even Vet Visits.  It is not that I wanted to go, but it’s been one thing after another with my dog Maisie.  And, well, I’m a doctor, not a veterinarian.

In late February Maisie got into something in the yard and developed hot spots. Big ones. In two different places.  Maisie was a hot mess.  I had to shave her beautiful tri-color coat.  She moped around forlorn, like she had leprosy.  She even self-isolated in her kennel.  She never goes in her kennel, at least not without a treat. 

When I first called the vet, they were not offering appointments. They made a few recommendations and told me to call back if things were getting worse.  My kids whose dog had the same issue last year coached me through a treatment plan and soon Maisie was on the mend.  

Before I could get too pleased with my new vet skills, Maisie developed an abscess.  I tried to ignore it, but it grew to the size of a baseball within 24 hours.  Again, the receptionist at the vet’s office could not schedule an appointment.  My son, home from college and bored, took it upon himself to nurse her back to health.  With frequent hot compresses, I am happy to report his treatment worked.  She was back to her playful puppy self.  

All was right in my dog world again. Right as rain.  Until it rained.

Maisie was outside for her usual morning romp last Saturday, happily chasing hapless birds. I was weeding in the garden.  She careened around the backyard fence and slid down the sidewalk, newly wet from the morning’s rain.  Evidently, she clipped her paw on a fence post because she yelped in pain and dropped to the grass, instantly immobilized.  I ditched my garden tools and ran to her aide. She pushed my hand away with her long snout. I spoke in a low, soothing voice.  “Let me look, Maisie.” She cautiously allowed me to palpate each of her limbs.  It was obvious even to me that the third digit of her left hind paw was dislocated.  With gentle pressure it popped back in place, but Maisie would not walk on it.  I waited an hour and when she still would not move, I called the Vet. This time we got right in.

The Vet tech came outside to my car wearing PPE to collect Maisie for her appointment. She dutifully limped behind him; however, it took some coaxing to convince her to cross the threshold of the office.  She looked back at me mournfully.  I felt a little more emotional than usual and big tears welled up in my lower lids. I shoved my arms across my chest. Damn Covid, I muttered.  I swallowed hard, feeling forced by an invisible power to just sit in my car and rebreathe my air.  While I waited, thoughts about Maisie cheered me and helped pass the time.

We had been several years without a dog, but I suddenly felt the need for one when my youngest son graduated from high school and was preparing to go away to college last summer.  Maisie was a gift from my husband for my 54^th birthday, a beautiful Bernese Mountain Dog with gorgeous markings including a white blaze that runs perfectly in the middle of her forehead.  She was little and fluffy and cute, just like a stuffed animal.  But she did not stay little for long and clearly needed training. So, when Maisie was 6 months old, I signed us both up for a dog obedience course which my church offered for free.

Excited for the first lesson, we showed up early and eager.  Nine other dogs of all shapes and sizes meandered into the gym along with their owners.  As it happened Maisie was the youngest and the biggest and apparently the friendliest in her class.  This is a difficult combination when the instructor does not want you getting to know your fellow classmates.  I understood that it was for safety and liability reasons, but Maisie didn’t. Consequently, I spent the entire time yanking on her leash, pulling her away from the other dogs and off their owners.  Maisie spent the entire time choking and spitting and coughing the way dogs do when you are trying to hold them back from sniffing and greeting.  It was exhausting.  By the end of the hour I was drenched in sweat.  My arms were all but pulled from their sockets.  I hated it. I did not learn one thing.  I take that back.  I learned that being the youngest and the biggest and the friendliest was not a good combination in dog obedience school.  Maisie?  She loved it!  She was still smiling and wagging her tail as I dragged her out to the car away from her new best friends.

“You may want to consider a different kind of collar,” mentioned one of the other owners, trying to be helpful.  Her dog was perfectly behaved.

The next week was only a little better.  Even with the different collar.

And for whatever reason, I could not get us to the next two lessons. Either I was super tired, or it was dreary and rainy and cold. When I finally got the gumption to go again, I showed up on the wrong day.  I showed up on the wrong day two weeks in a row.  Where had I put that paper that had the meeting times listed?  

Maisie and I only made it to one other lesson, mind you, so we were way behind all the other dogs.  When the instructor called about the graduation class, I braced myself to be un-invited.  To my surprise, even though we had only been to 3 out of 7 classes, she encouraged us to participate in the final exam that next week.

I did not want to go.  

I did not want to go because I was afraid of failing.  I was afraid of failing because if I failed, I would feel embarrassed and ashamed in front of all the other dogs and their dog owners.  If I could not succeed what was the point of going?   And if I was brutally honest with myself, maybe I even started the downward spiral of self-sabotage after the first two classes, finding any reason not to go.

I could relate to my patients who start a weight loss program highly motivated and then after a few months, drop out.  I can relate to the patients who tell me they sit in their cars outside my office agonizing whether to come in or not, afraid to step on the scale because they know they have not lost weight or worse, they may have gained weight.

And I told myself the same thing I tell my patients:  Imperfect progress is still progress. Everything worthwhile takes time and hard work. 

There is more than one way to measure success.  The most important appointment to keep is the one you are afraid of.  Winston Churchill said it well: “Success is not final.  Failure is not fatal.  It is the courage to continue that counts.”

Maisie and I practiced the exercises every day after work that week and we showed up for the final exam.  We paced nervously along the sidelines carefully studying the way the other dogs and dog owners carried out the exercises one by one.  Finally, it was our turn.  My heart pounded as we waited for the start signal from the instructor who clutched her clipboard ready to critique our performance.  I whispered a few words of encouragement in Maisie’s ear and we began.  

Confidence grew in me with each step as I called out the commands to Maisie, praising her for her obedience, correcting missteps with a gentle tug of the leash.  A few minutes into our performance, I realized we were doing great.  Not perfect.  Not 100%.  But we were doing great.  The other dog owners cheered as we finished.  Maisie earned a third-place ribbon.

My cell phone rang and woke me from my stupor back to the reality of my car and Covid. It was the Vet.  Maisie broke her toe in four pieces and would need a surgery to correct or amputate.  If it’s not one thing it’s another.

 At Oregon Weight and Wellness, we understand weight loss is difficult.  And it is even more difficult during this time of increased distress. Still we encourage you to keep showing up. Keep showing up and you’ll be sure to weigh different.