It’s been a scary and stressful couple of days. Harley the Dog was quite sick. Two trips and one night at the hospital later, he was diagnosed with a UTI. He’s home now, snoring his head off.
The poor guy was exhausted like I’ve never seen. His fever is down and he’s moving around a little better — he was walking like a drunk for a while, he was so weak. He’s still off his feed which is tough because he needs to eat to take his meds We’re working through it, but at least that’s something we can do at home. Cottage cheese, stinky cat food, beef stew dog food, chicken and rice, baby food, bone broth, nope, nope, nope. And he’s on an appetite stimulant. He did lick the spoon for the sticky cat food this morning, so that shows promise. He’s not completely in the clear, but he’s mending.
All in all an awful weekend, an awful way to be reminded I’m Harley’s mom. In our entire time together, I’ve never spent a night at home without him here. I was undone. We have both had a good sleep, at last, and I am optimisitic about his recovery.
I used South Seattle Vet Hospital. They gave him good care, but one of the vets was better with humans than others, that’s for sure. I’m trying not to fault her because she’s the one who ordered the test that ulitmately identified his issues but she gave me more information about what it *could* be than I needed, and made me spin out something terrible.
Cost a pile, too, and I’m still underemployed, so … ouch. I blew last month’s entire income to tend to this guy. Jeez. I do have insurance, I’m working through the claims process now.
I’m not sorry, as much as it stings to pay those bills. I have joked that I got Harls as a sort of annex for all the big feelings I was having when my marriage was in decline and I was suffering from depression. It’s not possible to overstate what he’s given me, how he helped me get better. He gave me a reason to get out of bed in the morning when it seemed like the hardest thing in the world to do. He kept the deep loneliness of getting divorced and being alone during the darkest part of the pandemic at bay. And he’s become a stalwart copilot on some big adventures, those winters in Joshua Tree and Moab, and a long stay on Hawai’i Island. His road trip energy is unmatched.
He is not a perfect dog. His recall is not great, he’s stubborn, reactive around big dogs when he’s on a leash, aggressively introverted, and moody. He can be kind of dramatic, refusing to eat when I’ve left him in someone else’s care while traveling. And he can be bossy, barking until everyone Just Sits Down when I have people over.
Harley’s most endearing, enduring quality is that he has known, from almost the minute I brought him home, that he belongs where I am. The two times he’s run away, where did he go? Home. Once, when walking with the ex who dropped the leash, Harley bolted for the house, rocketing home with apparently stunning speed. And once, he slipped out the door from a house six, eight blocks away where he was boarded and raced where? Home. He wants to be where I am.
For that, I love him in a way I have never loved anything, anyone.
TL:DR: It was a rough weekend. I am tired and covered in dog hair. But Harley the Dog is home and healing.