Ah, Progress

Whisper hurt his leg on Saturday. He doesn’t advertise his injury on his face; that smile seldom dims. Instead, while inside the house, he walks around on three legs, carrying his beloved tennis ball in hopes that someone with opposable thumbs will throw it for him. In that event, he will bite the proverbial bullet, put his sore leg to the ground, and chase the ball, using the sore leg at least until he retrieves his ball. Then, limping even more obviously, back he comes, ball in his mouth, hopefully dropping it at the human’s feet.

So, today, off to the vet.   The verdict for his leg is that, most likely, one of those hairpin turns strained or sprained his hip, and he needs to rest. So, pain meds, anti-inflammatory meds, and a mild medicine for sedative purposes. Gotta try to keep the pup calm for several days to let that leg heal up some. (This is the dog that had OCD surgery on his shoulder when he was six months old; try keeping a six-month old border collie calm for SIX weeks!)

None of that is particularly surprising and not a cause for comment necessarily.

But……

The last time Whisper was at the vet he could not even enter the building till he had a muzzle on his pretty snout. He had lunged at a dog quietly entering the building, snarling and snapping from roughly fifteen feet. Then when the technician came to get us, he turned into Cujo with her. After we were in, they took him from me, and he calmed down some, peeing voraciously, shaking, and scaring himself and me. But they got an exam in. That was the incident that sent us to the Vet School Behavior Clinic and the start of our puppy Prozac regimen and behavior modification sessions.  That was May.

Today we took our muzzle with us. My husband and I both tried to get the thing on Whisper. We are both college educated professional people, both having worked with technology for decades. I can sew and knit; Mike can build furniture, for Pete’s sake. As we struggled with the muzzle for the fifth (or so) time, Whisper would shake his head, turn, and remove the muzzle. That bumper sticker that says “My border collie is smarter than your honor student” may not be appropriate in our case, but one saying, “My border collie is smarter than his owners” rings true.

So, we just thought we’d see how well this puppy Prozac works (along with the clicker training I am doing, of course), and as they called us, we looked down at that handsome white face and said, “Come on, Whisper!”

My sweet boy, so afraid of new places, no nervous of strange dogs and people, trotted in like he owned the building. We sailed through the waiting room like he lived there. Then, the dreaded SCALE. And, yet, he hopped up, did take a couple times to sit long enough for the weight numbers to settle, but eventually did (he’s lost seven pounds!), and trotted after the tech into the examination room. He was smiling, wagging his tail, looking around.

Who is this dog?

He never growled, he never snapped. One time, as the doctor grabbed his leg and rotated it—not pleasant for any dog, even if the leg did not hurt—he peed a little. That was the only indication that he was veering toward fear. Mike and I both were helping hold him, of course.  And, when it was over, he was happy again, wiggling, and greeting the vet like he has always been this normal, happy dog.

I wanted to weep from relief and the joy of it.

The vet told us the plan of treatment (see above), and we also discussed his behavior issues and treatment plan. I mentioned how sad I had been for him when the fear aggression had started:  “After all, I’ve had Mac and Millie.” 

Her response was the universal response when Millie’s name is mentioned. “Ah-h-h, Millie. What a sweet, wonderful dog she was.” Indeed.

But, today I was so proud and grateful for my little, puppy boy—well, not so little. Even seven pounds lighter is almost 54 pounds, not a light border collie. We will keep working, of course. Today was wonderful, but not the end. But it showed me that Whisper really can be okay; not necessarily that I can ever be as sure of his behavior as I was with, oh, say Millie. J But that with continued treatment and work, he and I can interact with other dogs and people and have fun and people can know the beautiful, sweet dog he is.

We’re not there, but, thank you, God, we are not at the start of the road anymore, either.

I cannot begin to say how grateful I am.