But this morning - at six o'clock on the dot - I learned exactly what it means to be truly, unconditionally, heart and soul grateful.
All thanks to Molly.
She's a pistol. Or she was. Because, you see, the last few months, she's been gone.
Sort of.
Earlier in the Spring, I noticed a change in my baby girl. Once a hyper, playful, attention-seeking seven-year old, she suddenly, without much warning, did a complete one-eighty. Towards the end of March, she was lethargic, distant, spacy, and - it makes me cringe to say it even now - practically comatose. Our precious little pitbull had gone from lively and energetic to limp and unresponsive within a week.
At first we attributed the change to the beginning stages of arthritis. After checking an x-ray and blood work, I, along with the doctors, assumed she was probably just sore and decided to try her on a week's worth of Rimadyl (a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory) to see if that would maybe free her from whatever pain she was feeling and liven her up a bit.
No such luck.
The next issue we addressed was possible depression. (Yes, dogs can suffer from the big D, too.) So Chris and I embarked on a new mission - to make Molly's life the best it could be. We walked her, talked to her, tried to play with her, cuddled with her, took her on tons of car rides, gave her extra cookies, and bought her favorite meat-flavored bones.
None of it worked.
Finally, about two weeks ago, after she ignored a particularly smelly meat-flavored bone, I was desperate. With my voice all high and squeaky, I brought her in to work and shakily asked what could be done next. I was doing my best to be positive but, in light of the situation, was barely holding on.
Enter Dr. Frey. Thank God for Dr. Frey.
He put his big brain and tender heart to work on Molly's behalf and, low and behold, came up with a solution.
Since February, Molly had been on Proin for, um, spayed female dog issues. (Slight incontinence. Hey, it happens. Don't judge.) "Why don't we," he suggested, "take her off of that for awhile and just see what happens?" If that didn't work, he assured me that we could try the amitriptyline (the doggie uppers) next. I, willing to try absolutely anything, agreed. Up until that point we hadn't heard any negative talk regarding Proin, but there's always a first. So that night I crossed my fingers, said a little prayer, and pushed the purple bottle of meds to the very back of the cupboard.
Well, as of today she's been off the Proin for exactly one week. And this morning, at six o'clock on the dot, she woke up on her own, trotted into the kitchen and looked up at me as if to say, "Okay, Mom. Where's breakfast? I'm freakin' starvin' here!"
For the first time in months, I saw life in my baby's eyes.
Molly, the precious little pitbull who has had our hearts in the pad of her paw for the last eight years, was back.
And then, of course, my eyes proceeded to fill with tears. (A sentimental sap? Yes, I am.)
At that moment, an intense gratitude unlike anything I've ever felt before flooded through my heart. I can't even express the feeling in words - there are none. It's beyond all rational thought or reason.
My heart swelled, my eyes swelled, and Molly just looked at me like I was a complete idiot.
Oh, well. I'll take it. The attitude, the sassy behavior, the hyperness, the rambunctious late night runs throughout the apartment... All of it.
So tonight I sit with gratitude in my heart and know the true meaning of appreciation. Of love. Of hope.
And of having one hella good veterinarian.
* A very old pic of Molly... Oh, God - I'm tearing up again. (Sheesh!)
_________________________
"You may have a dog that won't sit up, roll over or even cook breakfast, not because she's too stupid to learn how but because she's too smart to bother."
-- Rick Horowitz, Chicago Tribune
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