Who's tracks are these?

Two months have gone by without me posting anything about Maya, and in a way there isn't anything new to say from the last post in October. She continues to progress, but basically still favors her damaged leg an awful lot. If I walk her on leash she's pretty good about using it and walking on four legs, but when she's running around the yard or in the woods she's very protective of it. I figure that's good. She knows it's vulnerable and she is taking care of it. I also think it slows her down, so when she's running free she just gets along faster on three legs, though there's also times when she is running and it appears both back legs are in play. I'd probably need to film her a while and analyze her strides, though realistically I'm not going to do that.

If anything Maya has slowed some, which in most dogs would be expected at about two years old, which Maya is as of Dec. 18. Since Maya is an Irish setter, and typically they have a longer adolescence, I suspect her injury and long convalescence are probably more to blame. She tends to stay close to me, though not exclusively, and she's definitely more nervous, both when she's out and when she's surprised at home. She barks a lot more than she did before and is less friendly with people coming into the house, though sometimes it's hard to tell if she's just ecstatic about seeing someone or concerned.

Dog or coyote tracks?

Friday we went to the mountain but got out late for this deep into winter. It was 3:40 pm when we started out on the trail and Maya was none too happy about it. She was OK for the first 15 minutes, but then began to hang back. After taking a side loop we got back to the main trail and she stopped—facing in the direction to go back to the car. I ignored her and headed farther up the trail. She joined me but kept along side me, stopping from time to time. Once she let me get way ahead and around a bend and only came when I finally stopped and called her. This is the same place where Maya has been spooked before, particularly around dusk, which it was. I also came across some tracks that I wasn't sure if they were a dog's or maybe coyote paw prints. They merged with the main trail and all I knew was Maya didn't want to be there. I stopped and tried to listen. I heard lots of sounds off in the wind that I couldn't discern. Maya with her dog senses was surely hearing and smelling more than I. So, only a half hour into the hike, we turned around and headed back. Maya was very happy. She stuck with me but was definitely on a mission: get out of there! Walking back was heading west so the sunset was lovely—and the woods of course were "lovely, dark and deep."

It was a 45 minute walk across a crusty inch of snow and it was enough. Maya sacked out as soon as we got home. She had to be called for dinner. Yesterday we got another two to three inches of snow and we'll try another jaunt in a little while. The sun is out, though it's still slightly below freezing. The cold's gotta be tough on that leg, so I'll watch her carefully. Maybe the other day it was just too damn cold and windy for a smart dog.

Afoot again

After more than six months, Maya is out of a bandage and beginning to return to her old life, as much as she can anyway. In the photo, she's got all four paws planted on the ground and while she continues to baby her damaged leg a lot, especially around the house, she is using it more and more on walks. Tonight she was using it consistently on our walk around the neighborhood, the best she's done in the week and a half since she got her bandage off.

On Monday, I let her off leash on the mountain for part of our three-mile hike. Initially I kept her on leash so I could let her pull uphill and thereby force her to use her injured leg. Then I let her go on flatter terrain. Until tonight she tended to resist using her injured leg on the initial part of our walks, but after 15 or 20 minutes she would get used to it and start walking sort of normal with it. Let's hope tonight is a real turning point.

Her vets have indicated she should pretty much regain use of it, except she can't bend the ankle. So, we'll proceed working her leg and hoping eventually she'll have sufficient strength so that it really supports her. Now, it's almost more for balance than her putting any real pressure on it. On our walk Monday, she took a spill making a turn at a run when apparently she inadvertently relied on the weak leg too much. I think she needs to learn what she can do and can't.

Still waiting for her hair to grow out over where she was shaved for surgery, but all and all for what she's been through, she's looking pretty good.

Comfry compensations

I've stopped putting Maya into her crate at night. It's just too small for her now that she's wearing that big plastic cone on her head again after her latest surgery—and she's definitely entitled to some creature comfort. Her preference is the futon couch in the TV room. Her crate's in there anyway so it's sort of "her room."

After: The pin

Before: Plate with screws.

Last Thursday the poor girl went in for another procedure on her leg, this time to take out the metal plate that was supposed to remain in to help support the fused ankle. But the wound just wouldn't heal and kept opening. If I understand it clearly, it's her long, narrow legs, which aren't all that meaty to begin with and then she lost a good bit of muscle and tendons when she was hit. The hospital vet said he could try closing the wound again, but wasn't optimistic since it has failed to heal over twice now. Instead he removed the plate and those huge screws and put a large pin down the bone to give it some reinforcement. It's ghastly to look at in the X-rays and was even more so when the vet described inserting it from Maya's knee down to her ankle. The good thing is that now the wound should heal over just as it did right after the accident. He also said the bone will continue to build up and strengthen as she grows, since bone will reinforce where there is stress (Wolff's law, he says). That would be good since I worry about her over-exerting herself when she's better and doing what she loves best, running free through the woods. I have to say the vet, who—according to our regular local vet—is one of the best in this area of animal orthopedics, has been very caring and generous with Maya, comping her stay during our vacation and now not charging to remove the plate and put in the pin. His compassion for Maya is obvious, as it is with all the staff at the hospital. The vet's assistant always boasts about Maya being their best patient, always behaving herself and as docile as can be. Smart of her to ingratiate herself with the staff and fortunate for us that she's so little trouble for them!

I'm not sure how long it will take before she starts putting pressure on her leg again, but I'm letting her baby it all she wants for now. Letting her sleep outside of her crate is part of that babying. If she wants to curl up on the TV room couch, where she can stretch full out, roll over on her back and just plain sack out free and comfy, I figure it's the least I can do for her—along with the tramadol she gets at night to help ensure her a painless night. She's not getting TV privileges though.

This is been an ordeal for Maya, but her spirit is good and she's actually bounding back with a fair bit of energy. The other evening, Meche and I took Maya out for a short walk and got caught in a sudden downpour. Maya left no doubt that she preferred to get home quickly and was grabbing the leash in her mouth and pulling me. I didn't really want her running but she wasn't using the leg at all so I don't think it was much of a problem. She's always been a wimp in the rain. I know, it doesn't make sense for an Irish setter to have issues with rain. Just like with the kids, I'm going to have to start emphasizing more the Irish heritage of this family! No more Spanish and everyone's going to have to learn Irish—including Maya. In Spanish, dogs don't go "bow-wow" or "ruff-ruff" but more like "wow, wow" but spelled I think like "guau guau." I wonder what the onomatopoeic word for dog barking is in Gaelic?

Stiltgrass and high steppin'

Sometimes I feel like it's one step forward and two steps back with this dog.  A couple of weeks ago Maya was truckin' along using her damaged foot and generally making great progress after three weeks in the hospital with the best of attention and physical therapy while we were in Peru.

Then, from one day to the next she stopped using her leg. It seems she irritated her paw by gnawing on her nails, so, I guess like cutting a nail too short or maybe breaking one off, she didn't want to use it. The first week was pure setback. Then last Friday the vet left her foot uncovered to allow the irritated paw to air and cure itself, but in the time it took me to drop her off at the house and head to the office, she managed to rip into her bandage and bleed all over the place—despite wearing a big cone-shaped collar on her head! We had to rush her to the local vet and get her bandaged up again. This week she's been out of her cone hat only to go for walks and occasionally to eat.

Today, finally, she showed signs of getting better. I took her up the mountain—the second time this week—and by taking the hilliest route forced her to drop the leg now and then. At one point, on a soft, flat stretch, she voluntarily dropped it for four or five steps and did that two or three times during our ascent. As reward I let her run free for the walk back down, and in total we covered 2.35 miles. She was in her glory while free and even occasionally seemed to let her damaged leg hit the ground, though it was a bit hard to see for sure. Anyway, she didn't let it deter her from enjoying a romp through the woods.

This was the second time this week I've taken her to the mountain. Sunday, while Meche and the kids were at the beach, Maya and I went for a hike. We met a guy with a Brittany spaniel and I unleashed Maya so she wouldn't be disadvantaged. They ran around for a while but since the Brittany was a roamer—and had a small cowbell on her collar and a GPS tracker—she and Maya didn't spend too long together. Maya's good at coming back and even though the Brittany took off and was out of hearing range for a good while, Maya stayed obediently close by. Good girl.

I'm pretty sure this is Japanese stiltgrass.

Maya in stiltgrass.

From the Brittany's owner I learned about Japanese stiltgrass. Bummer. That lovely, bright green, feathery looking grass I've been seeing on the mountain is an immigrant! Damn. Apparently it came in during the early part of the 20th century packed around pottery from China! As I walked today, it really changed my perspective. I've always liked that the mountain is so obviously old farmland. I can easily imagine someone moving their dairy cattle
up and down the slopes to different pastures during the year. And this being an old settled area of the country, it has been farmed since well before the American Revolution.

Yet, who am I to be prejudice? We're all invasive species, no? Even the Native Americans can't really claim they are completely original to the area, and are descendant from early invaders traveling the Bering land bridge. Migration is the story of humanity. Still, I understand whitetail deer won't eat stiltgrass, so it is taking over and displacing other "native" grasses. Hummm ... and then how long have some of the other grasses and such been here?

Worst yet, I recognized it immediately as the same thing cropping up in my front yard. The good thing is it rips up easily.

Stiltgrass or no, it's great to be getting Maya out on the trail again.

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.