Pups in Tea Cups: Tales of Littleness Overcoming BIG Odds Page 6

  Now, all during that time she has had a service dog, either a Labrador or Golden Retriever. They were great dogs. Amazing dogs, even. They carried her books and supplies to school. They alerted her parents when she had to go the bathroom. You really couldn’t have asked for better dogs.

  Well, except for “Mr. Wiggles.” You see, “Mr. Wiggles,” a pug mix, was a mistake. As their older Golden, “Percival,” was having trouble with arthritis and being retired, the foundation was going to send a new service dog.

  The trainer arrived, with all seven pounds of “Mr. Wiggles.”

  Where was the Golden Retriever? Or even a Border Collie?

  Somehow, the paperwork had gotten confused, and “Mr. Wiggles” was supposed to be the companion dog of a young boy with epilepsy.

  Just as the trainer was getting ready to leave with “Mr. Wiggles,” he jumped from the trainer’s arms, ran up to my client’s daughter, scrambled up into her bed, and started lavishing her with kisses. Right up her nose, even.

  After having given up on physical therapy for months, my client’s daughter started laughing and turning her head from side to side, trying to keep her nostrils out of reach.

  My client was thrilled, but more than a little horrified. The other dogs had never been allowed to jump up to bed level, let alone sit on her chest!

  Worried about scratches and infections, she tried to “shoo” the dog off, but “Mr. Wiggles” had other ideas. He would jump off, run around the coffee table, and then jump right back up onto her daughter, kissing furiously, until the process started all over again.

  It took her and the trainer ten minutes to catch him. But keeping him away from her daughter was another thing. He slipped his collar, jumped back up onto the bed, changed the channel on the television, and then cuddled up—as snug as a bug in a rug.

  “Please, Mom, please?” her daughter asked.

  Stammering, my client tried to think of every reason in the world not to keep this most impertinent Pug. But the trainer assured her that the dog had been tested and had nothing that she could give her daughter.

  That’s when I got the call. How my client thought I was going to be on her side, I’m not sure, but with my vote, she was clearly outnumbered. “Mr. Wiggles” was staying.

  I was happy for them. A Pug is good for everyone’s soul. I didn’t give it much thought until “Mr. Wiggles” came in for a bad tummy ache.

  Now, my client had dogs for years and had always been a very straightforward, no-nonsense kind of woman, so I quickly explained that I thought “Mr. Wiggles” had pancreatitis and would need to be hospitalized for a few days.

  At that point, she burst into tears. Now, this is a client who seldom would crack a smile, let alone sob. In a slight case of shock myself, I tried to console her.

  “We can’t lose ‘Mr. Wiggles,’ ” she pleaded.

  I explained that I felt very confident that I could cure him, but still she cried.

  “You don’t understand. I’ve finally gotten my daughter back.”

  When asked to explain, it turned out that “Mr. Wiggles” had basically come into the household and taken over. He wouldn’t eat unless her daughter ate. He wouldn’t go outside to do his business unless the daughter accompanied him. He wouldn’t give her kisses unless she did her physical therapy.

  Better even than that, her daughter had started writing poetry again and surfing the Internet. “The light is back in her eyes. ‘Mr. Wiggles’ has to get better,” my client pleaded.

  Hey, no pressure on me, though! Confident that “Mr. Wiggles” would pull through the episode, I sent her home to reassure her daughter.

  The next day, when I called to give an update that “Mr. Wiggles” was progressing nicely, my client again became distraught. Her daughter had refused to eat and wouldn’t even turn her head, let alone do her vital physical therapy.

  They needed “Mr. Wiggles” home, and home now. Unfortunately, that wasn’t in the Pug’s best medical interests.

  I suggested that her daughter come to visit “Mr. Wiggles,” but she hadn’t been out of the house for nearly a year. “It’s too much hassle,” she would say.

  Having an inkling that “Mr. Wiggles” was worth more than just a little hassle, I encouraged my client to at least give the option to her daughter.

  Sure enough, within fifteen minutes, the whole family was at my doorstep. “Mr. Wiggles” enjoyed the visit, and even though he was ready to go home the next day, she visited again in the morning.

  As if “Mr. Wiggles” hadn’t done enough already, his trip to the hospital changed the daughter’s life again in not just one, but two, different ways.

  Now that “Mr. Wiggles” had to be on a low-fat diet, she too adopted healthier eating habits, shedding the weight she gained during her depression.

  And once out of the house, she began finding all kinds of excuses why “Mr. Wiggles” would need to go out (taking her along with him). Dog parks, pet stores, or taking pictures at the mall.

  With his sass and spunk, “Mr. Wiggles” truly did open up the world for my client’s daughter.

  In my client’s words, “Her daughter was reborn.”

  Tales from the Tea Cup:

  “Tinkerbell” and the Corporate Captain Hook

  As you have probably already figured out, I am a HUGE proponent of adopting rescue animals. And if not rescuing a dog, I strongly urge finding a reputable breeder, and then making a donation in the sum of the purchase price to your local humane society. You know, to even the karma scale.

  However, even my best clients succumb to the “impulse purchase.” But sometimes, even an impulse can create a miracle.

  So one day my client picked up the kids from soccer practice and ended up at a mall to buy a baby shower present. I’m sure you can imagine the next part.

  Within an hour, they walked out of the pet store with a tiny Pomeranian (supercute and even sweeter) puppy. The next day, she called me. The pup was coughing. I told her to bring the baby right in.

  Sure enough, the pup had kennel cough. I took a white cell count to see if any pneumonia was brewing and a set of stool samples to check for parasites. She felt confident that the pet store would reimburse her for the care, since the symptoms presented just four hours after they left the store.

  Yeah, I didn’t even bother to warn her about the tricks and traps of some contracts. She wouldn’t have believed me at this point, so I sent her home with antibiotics and the bill.

  The next day I called to tell her that “Tinkerbell” did have pneumonia brewing, and a parasite called coccidian needed to be treated. Thankfully, “Tinkerbell” was doing well, eating and playing.

  I asked how the pet store had reacted to the bill. She said they needed to call their corporate office to see how to handle the reimbursement.

  “Awesome,” I said, pretty much knowing that on Monday I would get a very different answer, but that’s cool. “Tinkerbell” was doing great, and the bill would sort itself out.

  Sometimes it’s annoying to know how tricky contracts can work (and this goes for disreputable breeders as well). On Monday, my client was told that they could return the pup for an exchange.

  Of course, they were already in love with “Tinkerbell” and would never give her up. She pressed the manager of the store regarding their “health guarantee,” but they refused to pay because they had not taken the pup in for her mandatory examination within seventy-two hours.

  Huh?

  They were debating a bill from a veterinarian generated within sixteen hours of purchase. But it seems my exam wasn’t good enough. Only an examination by the pet store’s “official” veterinarian would do (who could not see the pup until Monday, BTW).

  My client took a deep breath and said, “Fine. I’ll get my records and bring the pup to your vet to prove ‘Tinkerbell’ was sick before purchase.”

  But wait, now it was over seventy-two hours—outside the time the contract stated the exam needed to be done.

 
At this point, my client began to see why I had shaken my head at her certainty that the store would “take care of the bill.”

  Still, she tried to use logic. How could she be penalized for not getting the pet to the “official” vet when she had been told by the pet store’s manager to just wait until Monday to discuss reimbursement with the corporate office?

  As you can imagine, this argument did not end the way the client hoped it would.

  The good news? “Tinkerbell” went on to kick her cold and coccidian, thriving in her new home, and charming all newcomers. She’s fine. Her owner’s pocketbook, not so much, but it was all worth it.

  Why? Because not only was “Tinkerbell” an awesome puppy, and the family loved her now more than ever, but she was also very attuned to my client’s son. You see, he had a condition where he would have petit mal seizures. These are seizures that don’t take over the whole body. Sometimes they show up as twitches, and sometimes the patient looks “zoned” out.

  The problem with my client’s son was not that he was having too many of these seizures. As a toddler, he had learned to use his condition to his advantage. If he didn’t want to mind his parents, clean his room, or eat his asparagus, he simply looked “blank.”

  His parents and doctors were having the hardest time telling when he was actually having a petit mal seizure, or just faking it to get out of chores, etc.

  Then “Tinkerbell” came along. If he were truly having a seizure, she would run around him, barking and pawing at the air.

  If, however, he was just faking it? “Tinkerbell” would lie down, cross her feet, and rest her head on her legs.

  Let’s just say the jig was up!

  Once “Tinkerbell” helped them determine which of the “seizures” were real and which were fake, they realized that he was having far fewer real seizures than they had suspected. The doctor had even been ready to put the child on medication for them!

  Instead, it looked like he was growing out of the condition. Who knew how long it would have taken them to realize this fact without “Tinkerbell”?

  It seems to me that all dogs, but especially small dogs, always find a way to “pay it forward!”

  Tales from the Tea Cup:

  “Bagel Bites” – Magic Across Generations

  Sometimes, the genesis of magic starts in some pretty mundane ways. A client of mine wanted a “mini” beagle puppy. A lemon-colored one.

  She called to get advice on how to find a reputable breeder. I told them they needed to find a breeder who would allow them to visit not only the pups, but also the mother and father so they could check out the cleanliness of the breeder’s facility.

  Taking me seriously, they started to get suspicious when the breeder never took their calls “live.” She always called them back on her cell phone. Plus, she kept coming up with excuses why they couldn’t come by to visit the parents or the pups. As a matter of fact, the breeder wanted to bring the puppy to the new parents. I, of course, shook my head at the plan.

  The clients lamented that they really, really, really wanted an eight-week-old female, lemon- and white-colored beagle pup. The woman’s father had bought her one for her fifth birthday, “Dusty,” and he had recently passed away. Plus, they had a house fire when she was a teen, and they lost all their childhood pictures. She wanted a dog just like the one her father had bought her to not only be a reminder of him—but also to honor him.

  How could I argue with those reasons? So I gave my blessing for them to purchase the pup as long as they were allowed to visit the pup and parents for at least fifteen minutes (rather than the usual hour or so I recommend).

  The clients jumped for joy, certain they could easily arrange this. Little did they know that I’m pretty wise in the ways of breeders.

  The next day I got a thankful call from the client. They had gone to the breeder’s home to find that she had over forty dogs on the premises—and they ALL bayed (and if you haven’t heard an excited beagle’s baying, you can’t fully understand how overwhelming the scene was). And they kept baying. And they bayed some more. There wasn’t a single instant of their visit that all the dogs weren’t baying.

  Ears ringing, they left the breeder without a pup. Which I was quite grateful for as well. That baying in a small exam room can really get to you.

  We had a long talk. Exactly how important was the beagle’s coloration? Again, for her, it was critical. Knowing her dedication to her father’s memory, I recommended that she search on the East Coast for a breeder, but reminded her to be realistic—that she might fly cross-country and still come home without a pup.

  My client set out with new vigor, now understanding there was some rhyme to my reason. She found several breeders online, but none with her preferred coloration.

  Defeated, she came to me. The search was over. I reminded her that there was still the old-fashioned way. Going to dog shows, asking around.

  She wasn’t too encouraged until I relayed that the amount of effort that went into a puppy usually was exactly equal to the puppy’s specialness.

  It took her a few weeks, but she finally was referred to an older breeder who didn’t have a website. As a matter of fact, he was retiring, and this was his last litter. Feeling that karma was on her side, she booked a flight out to see the puppy. Little did she know how much karma was working for her!

  They got there, and “Bagel” was exactly what she had imagined. The perfect color. The perfect temperament. The perfect puppy.

  Then she looked up and noticed a picture on the wall. It looked awfully familiar. It was her father!

  Not just her father, but herself as well! With a little lemon-colored beagle puppy on their laps.

  It turned out that this was the breeder her father had originally bought “Dusty” from!

  That pup had been from his first litter, and “Bagel” was from his last. Once she told him the story, he of course gave her the picture as a keepsake.

  She now has that picture of herself, her dad, and “Dusty” alongside a picture of her, her daughter, and “Bagel” on the mantelpiece.

  Beagles over several generations brought her a little piece of her father.

  If that’s not magic, I’m not sure what is.

  In addition, the pup turned out to be the perfect pup for her and her family. And quiet. Very, very quiet for me.

  Tales from the Tea Cup:

  “Taz” – The Little One That Could

  “Taz,” a fluffy Pom/Shih Tzu cross, has seizures. Now, you might be wondering, why in the world would Dr. McCray tell us such a sad story? I don’t want to hear about such a tragedy!

  But I believe “Taz” had seizures for a very special reason. You see, “Taz’s” owner brought the fluff ball in after his first seizure. The type was very specific, so we ordered an MRI. It turned out that “Taz” had a cyst in his brain.

  Cysts happen, and many times they can be benign, but other times they can be a problem. We weren’t sure which “Taz’s” was yet. As I began explaining this to my client, he became more and more pale, and then he promptly went into a seizure.

  Once he came out of it, he explained that he, too, had a cyst, and that his seizures were becoming more and more uncontrollable. He had even debated getting a dog because he wasn’t sure if he would be able to take care of a pet if his seizures worsened.

  He kept insisting that I didn’t understand how his condition and his dog’s condition was exactly the same. And if they followed the same course, he didn’t know if he wanted to put “Taz” through all of that.

  While I couldn’t promise him a cure, I comforted him that I felt certain we could help “Taz.” Then he got home, and “Taz” seizured again. Even on meds, “Taz” seizured. It looked like “Taz” was going to be refractory and uncontrollable—just like his owner.

  But I have been in this situation before. Call it what you like (and many will scoff), but people and their animals seem to be connected through a quantum channel. In my experience, more of
ten than not, people and their pets share similar conditions.

  From the mundane allergies to rare, bizarre cancers, they mirror each other. Another thing I’ve found in my experience is that beyond all of our medicine, hope is about the only thing that will help.

  So we began to discuss “Taz’s” “stressors.” We found out that his owner’s boyfriend was kind of a jerk, coming home drunk late at night, waking them up, and disturbing their sleep cycle. We also found out that “Taz’s” owner’s work schedule was variable and could require long hours away from home—and was a job he didn’t even like. We also found out that there was a lot of tension in his family because they were having a hard time accepting my client’s sexual orientation.