Last year, every time I looked at him, I was torn apart by the idea that I would have to give him up. In short, I would either have to find somebody who would take him and love him (doubtful, there are just too many abandoned dogs out there), or put him in a shelter.
A series of events led to me driving to Kundang one Sunday morning with Arnold in tow. After a series of wrong turns and numerous calls to one of the volunteers there (after I could not get Sabrina on the phone) I found the place. It took a little ride off road in mud (as it had been raining heavily and steadily that morning and the dirt road had turned to mush) to get there. And one wrong turn took me to the house of a woman with many dogs. When she saw Arnold standing on my lap and peeping out at her, she said...no, don't put him there. Putting him there is akin to throwing him away. They have too many dogs...
Which made me feel even worse.
And I found the place and left him there anyway. Sabrina was nice, tired-looking, and she held Arnold back as I left. He had stuck close to me in this strange place, looking at all those other dogs, wondering what was happening, and then suddenly he knew. He let out a howl and hurled himself against the gate. I drove off in tears.
Sabrina later told me that he had stayed by the gate for two days, waiting for me to reappear. And then, hungry and heartbroken, he had gone to her, looked at her, understanding that she would be his new mistress. She fed him. And he fell in love with her. (Most of the dogs do).
When a month later, unable to bear it, I took Arnold back, he didn't want to come. He was happy to stay there forever. Although he was looking a little worse for wear. A fight with a younger dog (provoked by Arnold who doesn't seem to realise that he is no longer in his prime), kennel cough (it took me about three weeks of solid medication to deal with this) and a skin fungus (I'm still dealing with this).
But I took him back and for the first two days he slept outside not wanting to come in. I bought him a bed and kept carrying him and putting him on said bed until he came to realise that it was his, and he was supposed to sleep here.
I spoilt him in terms of food as well - going to the chicken rice shop and getting the soft steamed chicken which was ridiculously expensive but after a while, it seemed to be the only thing he would eat, especially as the medication for his various ailments soured his palate.
Two more surgeries - as that affected area under his ear swelled up and finally started shooting out pus. Apparently this is a condition I'll have to deal with indefinitely.
And then, the silly dog gets into another fight and the other dog nips him hard under the affected ear. The vet takes one look at the flap of skin hanging loose and says he'll have to cut it off. It will not heal and if he attempts to stitch it together, the area will become infected. He proceeds to draw on a piece of paper to show me what he means.
It's all Greek to me, but if cutting will be most efficacious, well, cutting it is.
So my little dog prepares for yet another night at the vet and I take him back the next day.
And yet, for all the trouble, for all the niggling little details, for everything, I can say it fills me with joy to look out across my room and see Arnold curled up in his little bed, his cone placed around his head because he will keep scratching the affected area, no matter how much I scold him.
His food is now bubbling merrily on the stove and after it is done, and cooled down, I will feed him. And he will eat heartily, like he always does when I don't give him the wrong food, and then he will come over and lick me, thank you, and then settle down in his bed and go to sleep.
It's a dog's life.
No comments:
Post a Comment