When it rains ...

Yes, indeed -- it does pour.

I'm not talking about the water droplets falling from the heavens ... although I will veer off for a few sentences and say that rain has indeed damped my day. A lovely snow storm was predicted, and I went to bed happy as an expectant child, expecting an early morning phone call and a winter wonderland outside of my window. Instead, all I saw was rain. Cold, dismal rain. I think I was far more disappointed than my kids. It's the middle of January and still no decent snowfall. I am truly disappointed.

But no, I am talking about the adage that has become my life's statement, or at least so it seems. "When it rains, it pours." I have been blogging about my (mis)adventures with illness, in both child and adult, and just the other day I mentioned that now my dog is sick. I was harboring the hope that I might know what was ailing him, but no -- there's a reason I'm not a vet. I have no clue. I was wrong.

After I dropped Aidan off at school, a quaking Jack and I drove over to the vet. As usual, he appeared to be having a seizure, due to the outrageous amount of shaking his fear sets off in him. A kindly older doctor saw him and I was thankful once again for the incredible knowledge of these care-givers. We quickly ruled out my idea, but then he talked about things that I did not want to hear.

Jack is eight-and-a-half. In people years, he is approaching 60. He's middle-aged. And middle-aged beagles tend to sport a serious problem.

My dog's spine is starting to degenerate.

I knew this would probably happen. I just wasn't ready for the news. But then again, I never would be ready for this kind of news. My beautiful dog is starting his descent. These issues will most likely escalate over the years, resulting in either immobility or some neurological issues, both of which claimed my husband's beagle years ago at the good age of 16. But it's starting, and it's a painful decline.

Jack is in tremendous pain now. One of his middle discs must have disintegrated somewhat, which caused some fluid to seep out, causing a pinched nerve and pain. That's why his back end isn't cooperating. That's why when he stands, his hind quarters are scrunched in, tail tucked tightly between his shaking legs. That's why he sits or lays down as much as he can. That's why he climbs the stairs like a 90-year-old grandmother. My poor friend is hurting.

My first unbidden thought escaped: "God, are you kidding me?! Now Jack? There is such a thing as gluttony -- how much is going to heaped onto my bursting plate? And let's not even go to the expense department ... Unbelievable."

But then the kindly doctor had some encouraging words. After an injection of cortisone, plus cortisone and steroid pills, he should be feeling 100% in about 3 days. And no, he said, reading my mind -- this will not be something to deal with on a frequent basis. While this is the beginning, and there will be future episodes, the next occurrence might be a year from now, or three years, or five years. It's slow, it's natural. Jack is in impeccable health, which can only benefit him. He'll be OK.

Phew. Thank you for that. But it's hard to accept when your buddy is starting to show a little wear and tear. This is the reason why, 9 years ago, I told Don I didn't want a dog in the first place. It's the inevitable that hurts.

Jack is now sleeping in the chair, one long velvety ear draped over the arm.
Boy, how I love that little guy.