Good dog

Sam had his second (and final) two injections of immiticide this weekend, one Friday and one yesterday. Right now he's asleep in the hallway with his legs stretched out. At the vet's recommendation, I'm dosing him regularly with Benadryl, and he does his best to stay awake but his little eyes just can't stay open. Resting is important during these critical days.

Despite having one shot in each hip, Sam doesn't seem as uncomfortable as he was after the first injection in January. He hasn't been incessantly pacing, thank goodness, and he seems to be sleeping at night. He just has some general soreness, which my mom was very sympathetic about. She has general achiness every week after her regular shot, with flu-like symptoms that are so predictable we've taken to calling the day after her injection Side Effects Day, knowing that she shouldn't make any big decisions or plan to cook elaborately or commit to any activities on that day. She came over on Friday and commiserated with Sam (i.e., took a nap together) while I ran some errands.

Sam also gained five pounds in the last two weeks, which is great news. (Wouldn't that be nice?) He has lost quite a bit of weight due to the heartworm, and his collar is too big for him now. The fact that he's gaining some back is good. The vet was very excited about that.

And Sam seems to be tolerating the treatment well so far, which is good news, although I'm not basing that on any scientific analysis. This month is critical, because the heartworm have been loosened by the antibiotics and the first month's shot and the preventive heartworm medicine--and now, these two shots 24 hours apart are the big push to get rid of all the adult heartworm. But that means that as they break apart, they could potentially cause problems in his lungs, which is why he's supposed to be kept very quiet for the next four weeks.

You're probably thinking to yourself, how is that good news? Well, compared with this: the original antibiotics for his (possibly) bladder infection were apparently not effective, and he will require more antibiotics.

As instructed, I collected a urine sample--Sam's--and took it along to the vet on Friday so they could test for bacteria after the first round of antibiotics. It was easier than I feared; I just took him outside and waited until he started to go, and then bent down with my plastic container, stuck it under the stream (sort of like filling a water bottle in a drinking fountain...) and prayed that he wouldn't get spooked and splash me. Ugh. But he hardly seemed to notice me kneeling there.

My big dilemma was what to carry it in after I collected it. I didn't really want to arrive with a clear plastic container of urine in my hand, so I found the smallest paper sack I had, which was from Williams-Sonoma. Seriously, how suburban middle-class did I feel, arriving at the vet in my Subaru with a bag from a moderately-pricey kitchen store concealing my German Shepherd's urine?

The technician took the bag from me, and asked if I wanted my container back. I said no and laughed, and she told me I'd be surprised how many people get mad if their containers aren't returned.

The vet will call me tomorrow with the first results from the urine culture. That should tell us which antibiotic will be most effective to treat this particular infection, and then I'll go back for a prescription.

After I listened to the vet's voice mail Friday night saying the first round of antibiotics hadn't worked, I sat down at the foot of my bed, rubbed my cats' ears, and wondered what I had gotten myself into. When I factored the cost of owning a dog into my monthly budget, I had no idea how far above food and treats and an annual rabies vaccine I was really committing to. His adoption fee seemed like such a bargain at the time.

Was it a mistake? Was I too far down this road to change my mind now? I thought about the money I've already spent on my dog, and the seemingly infinite possibilities for more expense. He could get another infection, or the first round of heartworm treatment might not work, or he might get some other ailment that afflicts older dogs. Was this all worth it?

Yes. I think so. So far.

This is what I know for sure: Sam has the sweetest disposition. He makes me feel safer at night. He makes me laugh, with his goofy grin and his obsessive focus on anything edible. He's always so thrilled to see me when I get home (the cats are, too, but they aren't so demonstrative), and I look forward to his greeting me at the door with tail wagging so hard it makes a reverberation on the closet door that I'm sure my neighbors think is a drum kit. I love that everyone admires him when we're out together, and that he has very nice manners. My parents love him and have adopted him as their part-time dog (or granddog, as my mother has embraced on her own). He just makes me happy. I don't regret bringing him into my life, and I don't begrudge him the expense. I just have to remind myself now and then, that I made an intentional decision to go down this road, and why.

Someday I'll look back at this time and think about the wonderful, sweet dog and however much time we have together--and not about the money. He'll be a bright, funny, bittersweet chapter in my life.

But there's no need to eulogize him yet, since he is very much alive and waiting to have his belly scratched beside my chair. Good dog, Sam.