“I have a dog,” she said.
“Great. I love dogs,” I said.
It was a test and I knew it. I can still picture my wife-to-be telling all her friends that any boy must accept her dog as a pre-condition of being considered husband material. That was ok. I was pretty sure I was ready to get married, but I was definitely ready to have a dog.
Around our third or fourth date, Tina invited me to her apartment to make introductions. As the door swung open she made a little bow and said, “And here’s Pookie.”
Expecting to see something in the 30-40 pound range, my eyes were focused about knee high, a few feet inside the apartment. All I noticed was empty space. Clearly missing something, I sent my gaze further around the room. On the second pass I lowered my eyes and saw, somewhat camouflaged on the parquet floor, a small tan lap dog with a pink clip in her hair and a serious under bite. She was looking up expectantly, wagging her tail.
“Hi puppy,” I said, making my way over to her with my hand extended. Pookie, a shi tzu/poodle cross with a face like an Ewok, licked my hand, accepted a pet on her head and sashayed out of the room. I had passed the sniff test all right, but wasn’t quite sure what to make of a dog that was about half the size and twice as girly as I had expected.
Getting to know you
After Tina and I started dating, I noticed more of Pookie’s quirks. She was a sociable girl, prone to picking up huge mouthfuls of kibble and bringing them into the living room, dropping them on the floor so she could eat around people. She had also had a rather odd habit of rubbing her butt / tail area back and forth against the bottom of a coffee table, emitting self-satisfied groans that made the whole process look pretty masturbatory. But everyone got a laugh out of it, and it was practically the only noise she made. Pookie might have been a purse dog, but she wasn’t much of a barker.
Pookie also had the run of the place, with her own antique padded stool to help her make the jump onto the bed. She insisted on following Tina everywhere, and was absolutely furious when she got locked out of the bathroom.
The three of us also spent a lot of time at my place downtown; Tina would often leave her dog with me when she went to work or out on errands. Almost immediately Pookie seemed to regard me as pack leader, and installed herself permanently at my feet while I wrote. This made Tina quite jealous and began what would become a five year rant against dogs who ‘stop loving their mothers’.
Unfortunately, it got worse. Pookie, who had previously been quite dainty, began taking on more ‘boyish’ qualities. She started walking in puddles instead of around them. She would actively run away from Tina to go sit under my desk, protecting herself in a web of USB and power cables every time, even if I was not around. One night in the backyard she surprised us both. A raccoon was making its way down a tv antenna towards us. Pookie became territorial, puffed herself up and started growling and barking like mad. The raccoon backed off. “Good girl,” I told her, rubbing her head.
“Don’t do that so rough; she’s not a boy dog,” Tina cautioned me. Pookie, who celebrated her victory by flopping around on the ground, rubbing her back against the grass, didn’t seem to mind.
Dealing with diabetes
In early 2004 the three of us moved into a two bedroom flat in Roncesvalles Village. The bedrooms were upstairs, and the smaller one, which had just enough room for my desk and a small couch, became my office. I took the desk and Pookie generally took the couch, checking in on me throughout the day and sharing space when it was time for a nap.
After a few weeks together, we noticed Pookie was drinking enormous quantities of water, panting and urinating a lot. We chalked it up to winter weather and the apartment being very dry, but when we described the symptoms to our vet, she had a different take.
“Diabetes,” she said confidently. “And you should get her checked right away.”
Diabetes? In dogs? This was a new one for us, but the results were definitive: Pookie was diabetic, and her blood glucose levels were right off the charts. A few days later Pookie spent the night at the vet’s office so they could create a blood glucose curve. This process measured her blood sugar levels throughout the day, so that we could arrive at a suitable amount of insulin to give her at home.
After 10 years of eating when she damn well felt like it, we were forced to find food that she would eat on command, as insulin injections require food in the system to prevent diabetic shock. We went through a number of options, including cooked ground beef and vegetables, egg-based dishes and pastas. The new foods were all exciting for a while, but eventually Pookie tired of them. We finally arrived at a compromise that worked for everyone: hot dogs. The smell of encased, moist chicken or turkey brats was enough to send her into a frenzy that guaranteed appetite whenever it was required.
Getting Pookie regulated on this schedule, and getting used to the idea of giving our dog daily injections, took a few months. We stayed positive about the whole thing, as people told us that diabetic dogs can continue to have happy, normal lives. I can vouch this is true; once the three of us got used to the routine, we got the timing of her feedings and medicine down to a couple of minutes, twice a day. Asides from that, she acted, played and rested like a normal dog.
There are great support resources online for diabetic pet owners. Here is one that gives a pretty good overview of what to expect after facing a diagnosis of diabetes, and how to deal with it.
Our routine
Over the course of the next four years, although she had occasional trips to the vet for check-ups and other issues, Pookie remained regulated on insulin with no major setbacks. The high blood glucose levels did lead Pookie to develop cataracts, a condition that is almost unavoidable in diabetic dogs. As she began to lose her sight, it was a lot harder on the people around her than it was on Pookie. Dogs don’t dwell in self-pity, and they live in the moment. Their attitude is a lot more like, “I can’t see; what’s for dinner!” than anything else.
Pookie continued to lie by my desk as I worked. She still went ballistic for hot dogs and found her way around the house, jumping on the couch and on to our bed with her antique step stool as if nothing had happened.
I continued to work from home, and would often send text messages and updates on our day to Tina. Sometimes these were standard complaints of Tina putting dog food cans back in the fridge with next to no food.
Sometimes we would celebrate the discovery of chips in the house.
Other times I would let Tina know when Pookie was ‘divebombing’ on the bed: pushing her head into the sheets and flopping around when she was in a good mood.
Faster and stronger
As she rounded the corner on 15, Pookie’s energy levels took a sharp spike up. We had managed to secure some dog food created specifically for diabetics that Pookie tolerated, allowing us to drop her dependence on hot dogs. Then she started running. Let loose to barrel down the middle of the street, Pookie would gallop ahead with reckless abandon. You had to watch her to prevent a full-on collision with the curb or a parked car, but a brisk run became part of our morning routine.
I thought this quite remarkable and put together a small video from our morning walks.
Saying goodbye
We had slowly grown accustomed to some of Pookie’s ‘old / grumpy dog’ behaviour. She was barking a lot more these days, was less interested in other dogs and had an absolute aversion to any type of car travel. And she loved her mother even less. But by early 2008, excessive drinking and urination, often inside the house, were back. Spring brought some more disturbing symptoms, including spells where she seemed to lose her balance or ability to walk around.
Eventually we discovered that the answer, in addition to general symptoms associated with senior dogs, was Cushings Disease. We began reading up on Cushings – this forum was particularly amazing in terms of its information and support – but never had a chance to explore treatment options. Pookie’s condition was causing her to reject food, even with the help of anti-nausea, antacids and stomach coating medication. After three nights in the hospital and four nights at home under our care, there were no real improvements to speak of and we knew it was time to say goodbye.
We had no interest in putting her through another traumatic car ride or visit to the vet, so we enlisted the services of Dr. Brodetsky, a mobile veterinarian who came to our home. I highly recommend this approach for anyone who has to say goodbye to a pet. For the most part, Dr. Brodetsky was calm, sympathetic and professional. Unfortunately, he somehow managed to leave without taking Pookie with him. I called him on his cel phone and heard, in a thick Russian accent, “Yes, yes, I forgot dog. I come back.” And he did. But not before we got to spend a few more minutes with Pookie, her battles with age, diabetes and Cushings no longer a concern.
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As with any dog that enjoyed a 15 year run, people in our universe have different recollections of Pookie. Many of Tina’s friends and family remember her as a puppy, a three pound ball of fluff that silently went everywhere with her Mom inside a handbag or purse. Some of our more recent friends know her better as the yappy dog who demanded pizza crusts, or would bark at the wall and interrupt our Buffy marathons for what seemed like hours on end. But everyone has been wonderful. The sheer volume of phone calls, cards, and emails have made dealing with the absence a little more bearable.
We still wait for the ‘thunk’ of Pookie running into the dishwasher on her way to scarffling down hot dogs. Tina even misses Pookie’s evening routine of lying in bed beside her just long enough to let out some gas, distracting her mother just long enough to wriggle free and crawl over to my side of the bed, where she generally stayed until morning. With all the challenges that her care required, she was very much a part of our family and is deeply missed.
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