Our First W

In recent weeks I've had reason to think back on our first W. Before Kathy and I got together, everyone took turns walking Oz. Kathy did it sometimes, Jon did, Zach did (her sons), and Beth did.

However, when we started dating, Zach was the one who was around the house most often. Kathy would ask him to take Oz out and he would agree. And then he would stay hypnotized, staring at his computer screen, chatting, gaming, etc. And Oz would wait patiently by the door. Well, patiently at first. Then she'd start to whimper, just a little. Then she'd whimper more, and shift around a little. Some of the time Kathy would ask Zach again. He'd agree, sure, no problem. And then he'd sit until she screamed at him, and, eventually, he'd give in.

One evening Oz was starting to whimper and Zach was in his "Sure, no problem, right away" loop. Kathy asked if I would mind taking Oz out for a walk."Um…okay. I'm not very good at it, though." I've always been a cat person. The idea of controlling or restraining an animal was pretty foreign to me.

"Oh, no problem. She's a good dog. The leash is over there."

I found it, and Oz immediately started bounding around, left, right, ha! Then Kathy said, "Sit," and she did, even though she was vibrating. Kathy showed me how to clip the leash on, which I probably could have figured out, but hey, and then we walked outside. It was evening, and apparently the coming night smelled delicious!

We zigged and zagged and squatted and peed, and, looking back, I think Oz knew pretty early that she had a live one. I never knew why we went from the near side of the street to the ditch at the far side, but I was game. And then we went back. When Oz stopped to smell, I'd sort of stare at her. Do I pull? Coax? What's too hard? I'd pull about enough to dent a marshmallow. Nope, not enough. (Not only was it not enough to get Oz to move, I'm not sure she noticed.)

Eventually she moved on, and so did I. No adventure that first W, and no real response on my part except a low level confusion and a relief that I got through it without losing the dog. Whew!

Greg

The Story, in a Nutshell

Back in spring, Kathy and I took Oz to the vet's for a check up. She had fully healed from her leg surgery, and charmed everyone at the vet's. She actually gets announced. I open the door, and one or more of the women behind the counter puts on this deep/fake bass voice and pronounces "It's OZ-MA," except with a long "o." Then they all applaud, and my puppy takes her proper place in a circle of petting. And I'm choking up now.

Anyway, the vet visit went well except that Kim (the vet) noticed that Oz had lost a tooth. We were properly mortified. Had we given her too much hard food? Indulged her bone fondness too much? But we got no answers, and, except for watching her once we got her home, mostly forgot it.

Over the next few weeks, that gum started looking a bit larger, just a little. Kind of swollen, but not crazy. We thought, hmm. Maybe she's chewing on the spot where the tooth used to be, yes?No. Time passed, and the gum kept swelling. Finally, in late May, I took Oz in to the vet. Kim took one look and said, "Oh, now that does not look good." She kept telling Oz how wonderful she was, and petting, and so on, while getting a tissue sample and sketching out the possibilities. Basically, they reduced to a) something unknown, b) abscess, or c) cancer.

If cancer, there were three types that were most likely: a) one they have a vaccine for, b) one that grows slowly, and c) one that grows at lightning speed and is always deadly.

When the news came back, the results were c) and c): Oz had an osteosarcoma in the left jawbone. Average prognosis: 1-3 months of life after diagnosis.

We got four months. Oz had a golden summer, and didn't always know why she was getting so many treats. She didn't fall into a bad way until the final month, and even then, things only got really bad at the very end. They did get bad, though, and tiring.

We had some hopes along the way, and I'll say more about those, but mostly, life got really unfair for our puppy and to our puppy.

Sigh.

Greg

My First W

I took my first W last night.

Scratch that.

I took my first W alone last night. It was only the length of two houses, and I cried a little, but I expected that. You see, it was the first W I'd taken since my puppy died.

I stopped updating this blog when Oz got diagnosed with cancer. I tried a bunch of times to write about what was going on, but it seemed wrong, somehow. It seemed selfish and off to write about what was going on instead of doing it. Now, though…now that my puppy is gone, I feel like I've been through a lot, and I want to share some of it.

So. I took my first W last night. I walked very slowly, like Oz did at the end, and I only went as far as she could go the night before she died, which was the width of two yards. After that she had to stop and rest. She lay down in the middle of the road, right on the yellow lines, resting on her side and panting. When she was finally ready to walk again, we came back. The wide of one yard. Then she had to rest again.

I got her one more yard's length after another 3-5 minute lay down, and then managed to get her back to our property through jazzing her up—talking about seeing Kathy, about getting a drink, and so on. That last nighttime walk was about two minutes of healthy Oz walking time. It took us at least 20 minutes.

Last night, I just crept along and cried. I didn't lay down in the street, though some of her places, I plan to. I miss her so bad. I miss her, and I miss her dog friends and all of our places. That was my first W.
Greg