The other day was Wordless Wednesday and I decided to post some pictures of
all the other animals cuddling with Hobie. There was nothing wrong with Hobie at the time, I just thought it was cute how many times I had snapped a picture of one of the other pets snuggling or chumming around with him.
That night, or more accurately, the next morning at 5 a.m., Hobie became very ill from what was eventually diagnosed, after a 3-day hospital stay, as "severe gastritis of unknown origin". I went home from work early that Thursday night, after getting a call from Gil saying to come home that Hobie was still not well. I took Hobie across the street to the lake for what I thought could potentially be his last swim. We sat on the beach together after he poked around in the water for a while, and I took video and photos "just in case". Just the two of us sat on the beach, and I said "Don't die on me, buddy. I love you. Please don't die one me." Selfish, I know. We walked home, and he puked once on the way. That was enough for me, I called the vet, he said do not pass go, get him to the 24/7 vet right away, don't call first, just go. I used to live up by
Wachusett Animal Hospital, so I sort of knew the way, but it had been years, and it was dark out, it was an hour away from home, my dog was puking, and I was upset. I managed to find the place, between tears, after overshooting their road a few times.
Having to bring my 13 year old dog, the canine love of my life, to the hospital on a dark, summer night way up in the woods an hour away from home, and him never having had any operations or any medical procedures of any kind, was so scary and stressful for both of us. Leaving him there tore my heart to pieces. I remember leaving him and Hector at the kennel when I went on vacation, all those times, for many years, and I always cried, even though I knew they were in good hands -- I was the one with separation anxiety, not them! I hated leaving him at the hospital the other night; I wondered if he wondered why I left.
Living in the house for three days without Hobie was horrible. Not only were we sick with worry, but it was just so weird in the house without him there. He has always been here, during these last 13 years, an ever-present icon of beauty and the glue that held us all together. Like I said, everyone loves Hobie. The cats were lost without him, they kept looking for him (ok, maybe Bullet didn't, but the other two definitely did).
I hate to say it, but I think Charlie Brown felt he had won the battle for pack leader during those three days. Who am I kidding?! he thinks he's the pack leader all the time! Shoot, he was even described as the pack leader in his bio on
Petfinder.com when we first found out about him being the last remaining member of the Kate-Plus-8 litter of puppies! Cesar Millan says you don't get the dog you want, you get the one you need. Hmmm.... I'm still trying to figure out why I need this dog!?
Cooper didn't exactly seem lost without his friend, Hobie, but I guess he did miss him -- when Hobie came home yesterday Cooper went nuts.
So did Cali, the only other lady in the house besides me -- she ran up to us when we were walking up the road upon our return. Like something out of a movie, play violin music, film it in slow-mo, if she could have, she would have had arms outstretched.
Hobie came home last night with a set of medications and instructions as long as Cooper's missing limb, but he was spunky and seemed as happy to be home as we were to have him here. The first overnight it seemed iffy, we left him in the kitchen with a baby gate between the easy-to-clean, but cold, kitchen floor and the brand-new carpet that he had already soiled once. He seemed weak and lethargic. I tried to lie next to him -- he on the cold floor, me on the dog bed. He sat up, looked at me incredulously, as if to say "REALLY, MOM?" He stood up, I got off the dog bed, he got on it, he went to sleep. I moved to the couch. About 2:30, when I could no longer stand Cooper's farts (he was on the couch with me) I moved to the bedroom, satisfied that Hobie was well. He had moved around a lot on that bed, and it reminded me of the night Hector died, which wasn't easy... a similar bed, a similar situation. But this morning, the outcome was completely different. He was well! He had recovered almost 100% overnight. He held down his food and water. He went up and down the deck stairs three times before 10 o'clock.
The people at
Wachusett Animal Hospital, and particularly Dr. Funk (ok, the entire week I have had
this song stuck in my head -- the original, not the Red Hot Chili Peppers cover! Right. We must see the humor in these situations. The opening line of the song is "The bigger the headache, the bigger the pill, baby; and they call me the big pill" -- Ok NOT FUNNY since I had the worst migraine ever all day today).
But seriously, the people at WAH are extraordinary, hard-working, thorough and caring. "Thank you" seems lame, and is hardly enough. They took such good care of Hobie, they really cared, they didn't leave out a detail and made no assumptions. They were in constant touch with me about his condition, and asked my advice and opinion about things. If we had to go through this experience, thank Dog it was with these folks!
Our family was given a gift this weekend. The gift of more time with our beloved water-loving, handsome-eyed, senior dog, Hobie. I plan to savor every moment. After all, I hear August is the time to
Celebrate Senior Pets.
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