Friday, June 11, 2004

The Adventures of Cosmo, the Mostly Good Dog, Adventure the Fifth: Music Appreciation for Dogs

We’d had Coz for more than a few months and had learned many of his little tricks.  He liked to hop on the furniture when we weren’t around, which we discouraged by placing empty soda cans on the sofas and chairs.  He got lonely alone, so we’d turn on the radio for him when we went out (classical, always classical).  And sometimes he’d get bored and chew things the way puppies sometimes do - like a turkey carcass or, on a later occasion, the remote for the tv.  Well, we were probably watching too much anyway.  But we never figured he’d go for a cassette tape.

90 minutes of Maxell’s finest epitaxial engineering, packed to the ferric oxide leaders with Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble (Texas Flood, and Couldn’t Stand the Weather).  We liked the music.  We listened to it often.  That’s mostly why we left it out - in the case, properly labeled, but there for the taking, too tempting for a mostly good dog to forbear.  When we got home we found nothing left of it but a few sharp shards of plastic on the floor.  The dog seemed okay, though.  We chastised ourselves for our poor housekeeping and went on with our lives. 

But over the next few days Coz started looking sickly.  He lost energy and enthusiasm.  He ate less and less, then not at all.  He seemed to strain to relieve himself on our walks, to less and less avail.  He looked sad.  We thought it was indigestion.  We tried to treat it at home.

Finally, after his infirmity had slowly increased over time, he came to us in the night and, with an apology in his eyes, threw up - not kibble, but a black tarry mess that scared Kel and me into immediate action.  We got him down the stairs, lifted him into the car (he was so ill that he didn’t even seem to mind it), and drove to an emergency clinic.  He was admitted immediately and we waited several hours for the diagnosis and prognosis.  Diagnosis: perforated and blocked intestines - the tape case had shattered into daggers that pierced and sliced him from the inside; the tape itself had balled up and knotted all though his tract.  Surgery was the only option.  The prognosis was questionable.  In other words, they told us, he might not make it. 

Surgery was performed the next day at a full-service veterinary clinic two blocks from the emergency room, a clinic with an excellent staff but no overnight services - so every day for almost a week we had to get to the day clinic just as they closed, bundle Coz into the car, and drive him two blocks.  Every morning we brought him back. Each day his recovery seemed stronger. 

We saw the first good sign on the first day we came to shuttle him - when the tech led him out to us, he looked weak and was staggering, hardly able to keep his feet, but when he saw us his little stumpy tail started wagging – barely, but perceptibly.  He looked glad to see us as he welcomed us to his new temporary home. That’s when we knew he would be okay.  Soon, he stopped bleeding from his hindquarters.  He started grinning when we arrived to move him. Eventually he was ready to hop right into our car when we came for him, and the medics released him from treatment.  He’d survived yet another brush with death. He wasn’t just a good boy, he was a tough boy.  Tough and lucky.  Just like a dog should be. 

And despite his demonstrated excellent taste in music, that was the last time he tried to eat any of it.