A Veterinarian’s Life

My Dream Dog

Nora

When I was eleven I went to a movie convention with my friend and her father, who owned a chain of theatres. At the MGM booth was a tamed cheetah who people were allowed to see up close and Mr. Allan knew of my obsession with cats, Africa, and the TV show, Daktari.

She was a mature female; watchful eyes in a small head, deep thorax, sleek, muscled body. In awe, I extended my hands towards her and she gently sniffed my fingers.

I don’t remember how it happened but the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the floor with this magnificent creature draped over my lap, scratching behind her ears as she purred like a kitten.

There are a couple of old polaroids stashed in a box, proof of this magical moment with my “dream cat”. Every decade or so I pull them out, that look of pure joy on my face a reminder that my career path was determined so long ago.

My “dream dog” came later in life.

I stood in the doorway of Exam Two and called “ Nora Jacobs?” At sixteen weeks, this Irish Wolfhound pup was already the size of a full-grown lab. She flew across the waiting room and pushed her head into my knees, wiggling her rear, begging for a pat. This became our signature greeting and as she approached full-size, having been tossed to the ground a few times, I learned to brace for the impact.

Her owners were a lovely older couple- empty-nesters- happy to share their home with a dog that would resemble a small pony when fully grown. They were well aware of the shorter life span of giant breeds — less than ten years- and felt at their age she was a more appropriate pet than a toy breed who could possibly live for 15 years or more.

My love affair with Nora grew with each visit but reached a new level when she was three years old. Her parents had to go away for the weekend, unexpectedly. Their usual house sitter was not available so they left her at the clinic for boarding. She seemed to do fine on Friday night, alone, and sat patiently by the reception desk all Saturday morning as we saw patients.

But as the staff got ready to leave she refused to go into the dog run. I had some paperwork to finish and let her have the extra time to roam. Ready to go I checked each room and finally found her blocking the door to the parking lot. No amount of treats could get her to move. At a hundred and sixty-five pounds I didn’t stand a chance in a contest of wills. There was no choice but to take her home.

At the time, I had a small hatchback and as she stepped in the chassis visibly dropped a couple of inches, almost touching the ground. I was forced to drive extra slowly — mindful of every bump.

Arriving home I opened the front door and announced,“ I have a surprise!”

My family was used to the ever-changing menagerie of animals in the house and raced to the front hall. Seeing Nora though, her mass filling the front door, their eyes opened wide and their mouths formed a collective “O” of shock.

My husband had heard stories of this special patient and my repeated assertion that, in a world where I got to pick a pet, this breed was my “dream dog”.

He spoke first. “She’s not staying, is she?”

“Just for the weekend — isn’t she gorgeous!!”

His relief was clear. Nora was just too much dog for him.

She proved to be as delightful at home as she was at the office — quickly making friends with all the humans and animals. In truth, she was better behaved than my unruly pack. Admittedly, I’m long on love, short on discipline.

Come Monday I confessed the entire escapade to her parents. This was a time before signed releases or other legal documents-people left their pets with me in good faith. Luckily, they were beyond happy and for the next few years organized their holidays around when I could take Nora home. It was a perfect situation. I had my dream dog without the pony-sized commitment.

One visit, in particular, stands out. In addition to Nora, there was a litter of orphaned kittens, only a few days old, who needed hand feeding over the weekend.

I ran across the street to grab dinner before loading the animals in my car. Any busy mother will share the secret of the rotisserie chicken- a quick meal that in a pinch can be carved and served on a platter, even to guests, as if you’d been slaving over the stove all day.

As the kids picked at their meal they each cradled a kitten in their laps, handing them to me one at a time to be fed.

Nora was sitting quietly in the kitchen, watching, waiting for any leftovers. One of the kids decided it would be funny to put the tiny ball of fur on Nora’s front paw, for comparison.

I’m not sure if it was the chicken juice on the kitten's fur that she was after or some maternal instinct but she bent her head and began licking the tiny baby.

Cats are wonderfully clean animals and a newborn will not relieve themselves until their mother licks their bum. With the orphans, I used a moist tissue to stimulate them after a meal and this never failed to get an “eww gross” from my family.

I was more than happy to let Nora take over this job. The kittens were too young to be afraid of this goliath and cooperated fully with the washing.

When she was eight Nora began limping on her right front leg. Soon after, a bone tumor was found growing on her humerus. Given her age and size, her owners felt amputation was not a fair option.

Other than the limp she seemed happy. They would give her as much time as possible but let her go before her pain got too bad or her bone weakened and fractured.

We crowded into the room- table and chairs pushed against the wall, blankets covering the floor, a cooked chicken waiting on the counter.

At this point, we could have let her consume the whole thing, bones and all, but out of habit took turns peeling meat from the carcass and hand feeding her.

As she took the last bits and licked the juice from our fingers we all said goodbye — a perfect farewell for the “dream dog” I will never forget.

I’m seriously missing my Medium gang !!

I had some bad, bad, bad writer's block but am starting to see a little light at the end of the tunnel.

This is a newer story for the project that is taking up my time right now — “ A Good Ending” — memoir/stories- work in progress but should be ready for publication in the fall.

Not to mention trying to reconnect with my far-flung children and grandchildren. (It’s costing more for the required covid test to enter the US from Canada than my one-way flight to Phoenix!) But that’s another story.

Once again, thanks for reading :)Your time is very much valued 😻

other stuff:

A Boy, His Cat, and A Lady Doctor

in Africa

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