Sally, The Great!

 

She will soon be 14 years old, an incredible feat for a Labrador retriever who has endured cancer surgery, double hind leg surgery along with necrotic lymph node removal all since 2017. There is more. But I can't remember. She is the poster child for perfect patient, perfect pet. The arduous protocols of redressing, weekly, her 'cancerous' leg over many weeks coined her the term 'make work project'.

Our 'Sally' has been dealt a blow to her freedom loving days yet remains the head of her class in endurance. She maintains her status in the 'group'. Yes, she controls me as she monitors the 'halls' of the den waiting for the evening snack to appear: her addiction to apples honed over many years by me. (Teeth are my concern. But now healthy lungs have been added to the list). Her companion attests to that. She stands, glaring at me, as if to say,”What is taking you so long?” “Get on with it so I can rest and go to sleep” Finally, I acquiesce. I'm tired, too, watching her surveilling me as if to catch me in a crime, the crime of not moving fast enough for her.  Yet I'm her willing pawn.

She was a driven little girl. Outside, one morning, at the tender age of two with that gleeful look of hers, she held a huge paper weight, spanning more than the width of her tiny mouth, daring me to try. I won that round. With a tree directly behind her and a high fence on all sides, she could have lost all her teeth and been knocked unconscious had a sudden retreat ensued. I just stood there calmly praising her beauty and smarts while offering her a treasure trove of cookies as trade. She took the bait; I took the 'hostage', while happily thanking her. At this ripe old age of more, she gives hope to the future. 

Pity has no place here. Dogs do not know its meaning. Serves no useful purpose, anyway. Others have it worse. Where there is life there is always hope, always, while a sense of humour goes along way towards healing. The other day I tripped and fell. During a previous event, while rushing to a crisis in the yard, I had tripped down one stair and hit concrete, again. How lucky I was. It hurt. But so what. Others still have it worse. 

Decades ago I was diagnosed with osteoporosis, given Fosamax. After two months, its use was stopped. Pain had enveloped my body.  I could do nothing. It took a year to rid my body of the pain caused by this 'prescribed' drug. Now who's right? I chose to remodel my bones. Strength always equals health. (Open the door for men, ladies.) My body must be stronger in the throes of tripping here and there. My daughter-in-law called me a stunt woman. I laughed. What else could it be? My 'girl' and I are quite the pair. ...Others still have it worse!