OSCAR’S ORDEAL Handicapped dog shows spirit as his family copes
Advance correspondent
EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the first in D three-SDrt series on how a beloved pet becomes disabled, how he and his family cope while veterinarians administer treatments, and how Oscar the dachshund adapts to life in his “wheelies.”
BRISTOL BOROUGH - The little dachshund came into my life nearly five years ago on a bitter cold night in mid-January. I had just taken our two beagles and our little vorkie mix out for their final run in the yard and was sipping hot tea in the kitchen while beagles Luna and Scooby Dee, and the vorkie, Quincy, settled into their dog beds.
I looked up as my son and daughter came in from a trip to the mall and I asked them what they bought, then caught my breath. Peeking out from the zipper of my son’s jacket was a tiny little head with a long nose and the most liquid brown eyes I’d ever seen. And at eight weeks of age, the little dog my granddaughter Tara decided would be named Oscar, seemed to make himself at home. Within minutes, Oscar let us know that he was his own “man.”
Attitude, but softened comic relief.
After petting him and ooing and ahhhing, I took him outside to begin what can be an arduous task with dachshunds: house training. Nothin’ doin.’ Fourpound Oscar sidled up to me, planted his front paws on one of my fuzzy slippers, his back paws on the other. Too cold, was the message. Not happening.
The good news was that when he saw the puppy pads set down in the laundry room, he knew exactly what to do and where. So, I thought, he’s smart as well as cute.
Having
three dogs
that
by
al- ready got along, I wondered how the introduction of a fourth would go. The experts advise that dogs be gradually introduced by keeping them separate until they get used to each other. Oscar missed that memo. He sniffed at Luna, the regal beagle who displayed her aloof nature by ignoring him.
nuincy turned his head away in what Dog Whisperer Cesar Millan might call “avoidance.”
Not one to dwell on rejection, Oscar took one look at Scooby Dee and gave chase. And Scooby, who at the time was about 10 times the size of the minidachshund puppy, allowed herself to be chased, ducking around and under furniture and slipping and sliding on kitchen tiles and wooden floors. A beautiful canine friendship was born, one that would see “Mutt” and “Jeff,” as we sometimes thought of them, cuddled together to sleep.
Oscar was a big hit at St. Mark School in those early days. We’d walk him down to pick up my granddaughter Tara and my grandson, Andrew, and after the dismissal bell rang, our little weiner dog was buried in a pile of kids who couldn’t resist petting and fussing over him. Every October, we’d take our pets on St. Francis’s feast day to the school parking lot, where dogs, cats, birds, hamsters and fish congregated to await Father Dennis Mooney’s blessing of the animals.
For once, Oscar was skittish. Father Mooney’s long vestments seemed to give Oscar the jitters.
Election days brought another tradition. My son and I would leash Oscar and walk him down to our precinct, thinking we’d go in to the voting area one at a time. There were years when Congressmanto-be, then Congressman Patrick Murphy was on the ballot and his mother would be outside campaigning. She’d say to us, “both of you go in. I’ll hold the dog.”
So Oscar had the privilege of being held by a congressman’s mother.
Those were all good days for our pets, but time took its toll. In the past year, Luna and nuincy died. Scooby and Oscar seemed to grieve for a couple of weeks, displaying a sort of listlessness we’d never seen before. But they soon bounced back. Until, without warning, Oscar faced his own challenge.
Dachshunds are prone to disc problems because of their long spines and, to our sorrow, Oscar was not to be spared. One day he was trotting around the yard when he suddenly listed sideways. He seemed to stagger then his back end collapsed. For days, he’d work his front legs and shoulders furiously trying to make the rest of him get up.
“I know I had legs back there. Where’d they go,” he seemed to be thinking, but despite medication and treatment, the little ball of energy with short-short legs was crippled, and it looked to be permanent.
Oscar began his long journey of getting used to diapers, special massages and various treatments. He didn’t know what was happening, nor did he understand the confusion I went through as I weighed the methods of treatments that sometimes conflicted, depending who which vet I talked to. Even Scooby, now dubbed “nurse dog” took her time coming to terms with Oscar’s affliction.