Island Chick Travels

This is the reason why I haven’t posted lately.  Meet Max.  Max is our 8 year-old-cocker spaniel.  We used to call him demon dog, but now we call him miracle dog.

Here’s his story…

Max is one of those dogs who takes a lot of punching to get him down.  He’s resilient, he’s feisty and he’s the kind of dog who if he doesn’t want you to do something to him, he lets you know it.

For the last two years, he’s had a chronic ear infection.  We’d give him meds, it would go away for awhile, then come back.  We’ve had him to two doctors and the last one told us we’d eventually have to have his ear canals taken out and then that wouldn’t guarantee the infection would go away.

When I heard that diagnoses, I was determined I was going to do everything I could to save Max from never being able to hear again.  We had to  clean his ears constantly which involved putting a muzzle on him (that’s the feisty part) and then give him meds which he eventually developed an immunity to them.

On Saturday morning, as I was getting ready to go to work, I noticed he had scratched his ear so bad, it was bleeding.  I had had enough.  With one dog on insulin and having to doctor up this dog and it not working, I decided to make an appointment with a Dr. Marti in Chesapeake.  He was a specialist who could tell us what to do.  Our last resort.

So we make the appointment and he examines Max.  Then they tell us to come into a little room.  He draws a picture of what’s going on inside Max’s ears.  It’s not good.  The ear canal has hardened and the infection has gone to the inner ear.  Max’s ear canals have to be taken out.

While I was somewhat prepared for the diagnoses (not for what it would cost – almost 4 grand), I couldn’t hold back tears all the way back from Chesapeake – a two hour ride.  I didn’t want him to lose his hearing.  He would never hear me tell him I loved him nor hear his squeeky ball and what if he accidentally got out?  How would he hear me calling him?

I wasn’t as prepared for all this as I should have been.  I wanted to be strong but it was hard.

The next day, we drove back over to Chesapeake and picked him up.  He didn’t look too bad. He was wearing a cone shield like thing to prevent him from scratching his stitches.  I was still in shock over the fact he  couldn’t hear but hopefully he’d be out of pain.

On the way home, I knew it would do no good to talk to him so I had to pet him to let him know I was sorry he had to be put through all this.  He was panting kind of strange like take a breath, put his tongue back in his mouth, take a breath but I figured he was thirsty.

We pulled over to let him go pee and gave him some water which he drank up quickly.

We finally arrived home.  He was happy.  He was running all over the place like he was a free dog.  Skylar barked at him because of the funny looking lampshade he was wearing but he really looked good at that point.

It was at some point – I’m forgetting – that he acted like he could hear me.  It couldn’t medically be possible, but it did seem like it.  So, I did a few tests and sure enough he heard me.

I thought no this isn’t possible.  I decided to do another one.  He was upstairs asleep, I crept up and he made no move like he heard me.  I was standing in another room and I squeeked his ball.  His head shot up.

The dog could hear.

I knew no one would believe it.  They’d say vibrations or something like that, but no this dog could hear me.

I wanted to cry.  I did cry.  I thought my god this ordeal is over and my dog can still hear.  How fantastic is that???

Friday morning, 3 days after the operation, I noticed he had been bleeding on his right ear.  It wasn’t dripping but there was caked like blood clinging to the inside of the ear.  Then I noticed a stench.  Saturday morning, it was still bad and he was pawing at his cone like there was no tomorrow.

I called my vet and he said bring him in tomorrow.

Yesterday, I packed him up in the car and we headed to Dr. Nickle in Onley, which is only about a 45 mile ride from here.

What he told me was something I never thought I’d hear.  “I’m not sure what’s going on with this ear,” he said.  “It shouldn’t look like this.  The ear appears to be rotting.  See it?”

I hadn’t been looking at this point because blood makes me squeamish, but I looked.  The inner part of his ear had darkened.  It appeared there was no blood going to it.  “They might have to cut it off,” he said.

I don’t know what else he said at that point because I had lost it by then.  I paid my bill and the whole trip home was a blur.

I pulled into the carport and called the emergency room over there at Chesapeake.  I didn’t make myself clear because she was absolutely no help.

So this morning, I called Dr. Marti and his receptionist told me he said it didn’t sound like the ear was rotting, that it sounded like an infection had set in.

So, I’m sitting here preparing myself.  As if this dog has not been through enough.  And the pocket book is starting to give out fumes.

I don’t care what anyone says about dogs being dogs because once you accept responsibility as a pet owner, something else takes over.  Unconditional love.  The same unconditional love they give you, you give right back to them.

I want to see Max happy again.  I want him to be out of pain.  I want my Mackiedoodle back.

I’ll let you know what the prognosis is but sometimes you get to the point when you say, “How much can this little boy take?”