Meanwhile, back at the ranch ...

I had expected an exuberant reaction from Maya when we picked her up from the vet on Saturday after being away from her for three weeks. What I didn't expect was her lapse in recognition. How easily they forget!

After meeting with us and going over how Maya was doing—very well thanks to the wonderful care and attention she received, including another surgery that closed up the open wound over the metal plate in her leg—the surgeon vet went and got Maya. She basically pulled right past the little examining room we were waiting in, hell-bent on getting outside for a bit and the vet had to pull her back. We went to her and she didn't recognize us. She shied away and cowered a bit before approaching me apprehensively. Then, boom, she was jumping all over me and Meche and whining and quivering. Poor thing, she must have thought she would never see us again.

Bionic extremity

 The vet showed us her xray, which is pretty impressive. I can imagine why she isn't too comfortable using that rear leg. The metal brace inside her skin is huge, with big screws clamping it to her bone. Dios mio, I can imagine I'd be favoring my leg and limping like crazy if I had a plate like that under my skin! Apparently the screws extend into the other side of hard bone, though it isn't that hard to see in the picture. Otherwise, according to vet, they might wiggle loose.

Four-footed cat huntin' in basement daycare.

So she came home with meds and a physical therapy routine that includes making her walk uphill so she pushes off with the leg and walking in a circle clockwise, which makes her use the leg, especially if I give her lazy butt a nudge now and then. When she's excited or wanting to play she totally forgets the leg and has it firmly planted on the ground, such as in the picture above in which she nearly snagged the cat. (Note extended, wagging tail, a clear indication of desire to engage. Translation: cat at 2-o'clock!)

The first couple of days home she was pretty much a wimp about the leg but the last couple of days she's been keeping it down a lot more, and tonight I took her out for an evening stroll and she was planting it firming on the pavement the whole way up our hill—about a good 10-minute walk. Back down again was another story but she was tired by then. I'm feeling a lot more optimistic. She can use it with certain vigor when she wants. I suspect she will tend to favor it for a long time, if not forever, but I'm no longer worried that she'll just let it atrophy. I'm now hoping we'll be back out on the trails by September. Maybe not off leash but that will come.

Good girl, Maya.

Going to the ...

What with all the dogs? Everywhere I turn now I find people we've known for years, who like us have lived perfectly happy lives, at least each according to his or her ability, without the need for a canine. Now it seems like everyone I talk to has gotten a dog. I don't think it's just because I am suddenly more aware of dogs in this world—I am but that's not the reason. The empirical evidence is just all over the place:

My longest, best friend from high school tells me one day on the phone that he and his wife have gotten a dog. This was shortly after we'd gotten Maya and he and I hadn't talked in probably a year so it couldn't have been cross-pollination of thought. A coworker also got a dog about six months before we did, though I can't claim lack of knowledge on that one, nor can I say his actions didn't help push me toward accepting one.

Meche's uncle's dog, Chicucha, an unshaved schnauzer, in Cuzco, Peru.

Now, here in Peru, I'm finding many of our old friends are going to the dogs as well. Our friends Cesar and Aglae informed us they have a schnauzer, as does Meche's uncle with whom we stayed in Cuzco. The two dogs have very different temperaments, though, and her uncle had one previously.



Then on Sunday we go to a cookout at her cousin's house in the campo south of Lima and he picks us up with his son and their six-month-old schnauzer-terrier mix, or at least that's my guess as to what it is. Meche's cousin calls it an ex-schnauzer.

An ex-shnauzer named Chaska

Then at the barbecue—called a parrillada here—some other old friends show up with their dog, a mixed breed of I don't know what called Sour. I learned that day that Sour was their second dog and that their first dog, a lab-boxer mix, was stolen. The stolen dog's name had been Pisco, a grappa-like spirit distilled from grapes and used in the national cocktail, the Pisco Sour. Thus the name of the dog that followed the dog Pisco.

Sour, a spirited dog named for a spirit.

I have made a feeble attempt to captures some images of dogs in Peru, particularly in Cuzco, while on this trip. My underlying agenda—spurious as it is—was to find traces of Irish red and white setters in Cuzco and confirm my brother-in-law's belief that Maya is the spitting image of his former dog Stroll I. I didn't find anything much like Maya there but did find a few white dogs with patches.

Most of this effort consisted only of lifting my camera in passing as we went about visiting friends and family. Even then, I missed a great shot of a dog jumping into the fountain in the main plaza of Cuzco for a bath because my camera was uselessly stashed inside my knapsack. We did carry out one dog-specific mission this trip, though, and that was to visit Stroll II, my brother-in-laws second Stroll, which bears no resemblance to Maya.

Stoll II, guardian of his domain.

He had to be left behind when my in-laws and their two boys moved to the States. It broke their hearts, especially my youngest nephew who pleaded for years for his father to go to Peru and bring Stroll II back. For a lot of reasons that wouldn't have been feasible, one big one being Stroll II was used to wandering openly around his neighborhood.
Also, he was adopted by the new owners of the house and later by neighbors across the courtyard, where he now resides. He's a big, brave dog who became the de facto guardian of the little complex of houses and survived poisoning—the vet clipped the ends of Stroll's ears so he would bleed out and get rid of the poison—and not long ago survived testicular cancer. Although I don't recall having met Stroll II before, the girls had and, believe it or not, he appeared to remember them, at least according to the neighbor who says unknown visitors don't usually get such a friendly reception.

Then there's Rose, an English woman who has lived in Peru for 25 or 30 years and has been a staunch defender of animal rights, particularly in working to improve treatment of dogs and cats. She works with a group called Vida Digna, a Peruvian animal welfare association. She spends a good amount of time rescuing injured, abused or neglected dogs, especially ones hit by cars, and has about 20 dogs under her care boarded with various friends and sympathizers around Lima. Below is a link to a touching story she wrote about a handicapped boy with a big heart for our best friend. Note the color of the dog in the pictures; not exactly an Irish setter red but ...

http://www.care2.com/causes/deaf-boy-in-shanty-town-rescues-burned-homeless-dog.html

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Here are some more photos of Peruvian dogs, mostly from Cuzco, though, the last patriotic pooch was wandering around the center of Lima with his owner on the country's Independence Day. He's actually a working dog, because we saw him a couple of days later in a similar part of downtown in different attire, something akin to traditional Peruvian campesino, including a chullo, the well-known Andean woolen hat with a pointed tassel and ear flaps. His owner dresses the dog up in these costumes and then waits around for tourists to notice and take pictures. He collects tips for the favor of posing his canine friend, who doesn't seem to mind the work.

A Peruvian hairless pup

A Peruvian hairless dog in national colors in Cuzco plaza.

Far from Maya

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Meche and I arrived Friday in Lima as part of a trip the family has been planning for the past year, timed to Molly’s 13^th birthday. Since her older sister got to travel to Peru the summer she turned 13, it was only fair that Molly get the same opportunity. The thing is, Fionna is much more adventurous than her younger sister and went for six weeks without us, something Molly wasn’t going to dare. Since we haven’t been back to Peru together as a family since 2003, it became a full-blown affair—one that Maya and her accident almost derailed.

Had Maya been hit by a car before we had purchased tickets to Peru and began this spiral of out-of-pocket hospital, surgery, medical and therapy costs (ha! I should say "out of plastic" costs), this trip would never have gotten off the ground. Maybe a much more modest trip of a month for the kids themselves (staying with family and friends here, of course), but I doubt Meche and I would be here. But, as the saying goes, things happen for a reason and this morning I’m happy to be back in Lima, the city where I met Meche and where Fionna was born.

Maya, meanwhile, is boarding at the hospital. The veterinary surgeon who is treating her offered to board her for free when it became obvious six weeks ago that Maya needed surgery to fuse her ankle. It was a very generous offer and had he not done so, I wouldn’t be here because she needs too much attention right now to expect any of our friends or family to do as a favor. Her stay the next three weeks at the hospital is far from cheap, nonetheless, with physical therapy, bandage changes, medicines and a special vacuum-technique they plan to do use to promote skin growth over the metal implant they’re using to stabilize her ankle until it fuses. At one point I considered cancelling my part of the trip to care for Maya, especially as her recovery from the last surgery has lagged. The wound has been stubborn to close because of tightness and scarcity of skin there.  But she’s in the best hand now and we’re here, though I’m embarrassed to meet old friends and Meche’s family because I’m so paunchy, having blown off not only running by my frequent jaunts in the woods that had been Maya’s and my routine for the year prior to her injury.

I’ve a secret mission here actually: look for signs of Maya’s race in Peru. My brother-in-law swears he once had a dog that looked just like Maya. I’ve seen a blurry photo of his dog, Stroll, and there's definitely a resemblance, though I’m dubious about the breed since he was living in Cuzco when he had this mascot and I just don’t think Irish red and white setters would be found here. Impossible? No, as the British ran mines, textile mills and the railroads in Peru for years so it’s not impossible someone brought over red and whites of one line or another. I plan to keep a look out when we’re in Cuzco next week. I’ll be shocked if I see any.

Wouldn’t it be cool if Maya were here in Peru with us, though that’s a rhetorical question on multiple levels. For one thing, Maya’s slow recovery and the other is I just wouldn’t risk that even if she were better. Lima traffic is horrid. It’s a lovely idea though to be up hiking in the mountains around Cuzco, but that’s not the trip, not with my lovelies. It will be enough to get them explore a few ruins, notably the fortress of Sacksayhuman at Cuzco itself, Machu Picchu and Ollantaytambo, which is my favorite as the one place the Incas managed to defeat the Spanish, at least in the first battle. The following year the Spaniards came back with a much larger force. Plus the town of Ollantaytambo is old and precious and a great place to drink chinca, the local homemade brew.

We’re off tomorrow to Cuzco, the Sacred Valley and Machu Picchu. I fell in love with Meche while exploring those magical places over New Years of 1992. I remember the night after our tour of the Sacred Valley we had dinner at an Italian restaurant on Avenida del Sol in Cuzco. When we finished the bottle of wine, Meche told me blow into it, covered the top with her hand and told me to make a wish but not to tell it to her. My wish was one day I'd marry her. It was more than a wish; it was a premonition.

Another round

Since I believe hope is as essential to the human spirit and psyche as healthy food is to the body, I'm giving myself a pass on believing Maya was going to bounce back without needing surgery on her leg. It's basically healthier to believe things will work out than not to, just as you can survive on a poor diet but not thrive. So, we lean toward hope.

I hoped she wouldn't need the operation she ended up needing a week and a half ago, which basically fused her ankle into one bone at a 140 degree angle. Our regular vet was never very optimistic about it, noting not too long ago that Maya was "crazy," meaning she is excitable and runs around like a maniac, which is true. He felt she would put too much stress on the weak ankle and easily injure it again. The hospital vet had said maybe Maya would be one of the 5 percent with that type of injury not to need surgery. As it was, two months after the operation she was still in pain when the vet applied a little pressure to the ankle and she was favoring it much more so than when it was supported by a hard plastic splint. The recommendation was to stabilize it by fusing it and let her heal and get over it.

I was partly inclined at first to see how she'd do without the operation, but both vets said she would suffer arthritis in the injured ankle and that could be debilitating for her later. Both said it wasn't if, but a question of how soon. That relates to hope. Somehow hoping that the arthritis wouldn't be too severe or develop too quickly wasn't really hope but resignation.

With the surgery, the chance of arthritis in that ankle is zero—since it's no longer an articulated joint—and she'll be able to walk and run pretty much as she did before because most of the movement in a dog's leg is in the knee and hip. I watched for this as a I walked her the week after her bandage was removed before deciding on surgery.

Were I a younger man, I might not have thought so much about the arthritis, and while I don't have that many aches and pains, I'd be a liar if I wasn't aware of stiffness and soreness in some of my own moving parts. And without Maya forcing me out every day or so, I have to admit I've slacked off badly.

Even after her latest surgery she's doing wonderfully. She needed her cone—the collar that is supposed to keep her from gnawing her leg—for only the first day. Her actively is severely restricted—walks to bathroom and back only for the first week and this week no more than five-minute walks. But the last few days she's started to put her foot on the ground again, and yesterday greeted me by putting both front paws up on my shoulders (very uncharacteristic of her even before her operation and not something I've ever tolerated). I don't want to encourage that yet, though the vet said lifting her front paws would be a good way to help her strengthen her weak leg, but not just yet!

So here's to hoping Maya is back out on the trail by the end of summer—and her lazy bones owner by the end of spring (which is only a week away).

Back on track, or simply, "OFF!"

Meche has decided to reimpose discipline on the Maya, whose convalescence is coming to a close. It's been seven weeks tomorrow since she was hit by a car in front of the house and last week the vets at the hospital removed the splint on her leg. She's still bandaged but it's not as rigid. So she's babying her leg more.

In another week she's supposed to get the bandage off all together. But, thank St. Roch, she'll return to normal, minus one toe. (Nah, I didn't really invoke St. Roch for Maya's recovery, but a Google search turned him up as the patron saint of dogs and those who love them, so ...) Now, I have investigate dog physical therapy for real. She might yet need surgery, but it's a time-will-tell deal.

So, while I'm in D.C. this week meeting with like-minded colleague and trying to convince congress people to do the right thing (i.e. give a shit about the underdog—pun intended), Meche has banished Maya from the furniture again. Out of sympathy for her suffering we couldn't bring ourselves to boot her butt off the sofa. She still responds to "Off!" begrudgingly. We've been reintroducing her basic commands as well—and reviewing her training fundamentals. After all, she's back to prowling the daycare area after hours in search of something to chew up and even dared to scuffle up a hole in the yard after I slaved at filling in her craters and reseeding during her recovery. If she's feeling up to her old mischief she's up to behaving again.

Meanwhile, discovered another dog blog today by someone I met here in D.C.—the reflections of a cute little pooch named Trudy: trudydogblog.wordpress.com

I thought I might be the only person weird enough to blog about his dog. Duh ...

On the run

Maya may get her bandage off tomorrow. But as the following video taken at the parking lot where I work shows, she's clearly recovering.

Dog gone good!

The girls say they can tell Maya's getting better: she's annoying again!

She has definitely regained some of her energy and gotten more demanding of attention. All good. But better than that, the vets say she's truly amazing. The hospital vet said on Saturday that he was so impressed with Maya's progress that he projected she'd be out of her bandage in another couple of weeks, which would be six weeks from her accident. Furthermore, she may yet escape surgery to fuse her ankle bone. While most dogs with this type of sheering injury to their foot need surgery because of the loss of tendons, Maya's foot seems to be improving enough through scar tissue. "Maya may be one of the 5 percent not needing surgery," he said. Good girl.

What she may need is specialized physical therapy and I've gotten more specific exercises for her leg. To get Maya to use the leg, the vet advised the reverse of heeling—letting her lead and pulling her back at the same time to get her to plant her rear leg to push herself forward. Guess you could call it the anti-heel.

What I hadn't realized was how much and how quickly she had lost muscle mass in her thigh on the injured leg. So what do I do? Over-walked her on Sunday.  We went up the mountain, since I figured she needed an uphill pull to make her use the leg. She was really wiped out that night. Yesterday I laid off.

Today we got out for only a little walk, and initially she wasn't dropping the leg much at all. Then we met some of her old friends from her puppy-day walks around the neighborhood! The old Maya emerged and she forgot all about her injury. She was standing and walking on all fours as she nuzzled her old buddy Leo, a sweet, friendly rottweiler. I was going to separate her because she was getting so excited but changed my mind seeing her walking around on all her limbs.

A sad note, though, was finding out that Leo's companion, Taz, had died in his sleep a couple of weeks ago, apparently from a heart attack. Leo was the first rottweiler I met after getting Maya. He and Taz changed my opinion of rotties. Poor Taz; he was only three years old.

It's interesting how my opinions of and feelings toward dogs has changed since getting Maya. Used to be I couldn't imagine having a smelly, obnoxious dog around. Besides, at heart I'm a cat person, as is Meche. Oh well, open your mind and your heart expands as well.