Paralysis is a real drag for my Cooper

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 09/04/2010 (5688 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

I can explain that big, ugly bruise on my arm.

Same for the nasty scrape on the side of my wife’s head.

These are the sorts of minor injuries you have to contend with when your dog loses the ability to walk on his own and you are forced to stagger along behind him using an old sheet as a sling to support his hindquarters while, powered only by his front paws, he happily drags you along like a farm plow, slamming into every available tree trunk, overhanging branch and shrub as you go.

This all started a little more than a month ago when we noticed something wasn’t quite right with our main dog, Cooper, a long-eared, drooling basset hound with a brain the size of a walnut and a ravenous appetite that would make a shark look like a picky preschooler.

Over several days, our bleary-eyed, sandbag-shaped buddy lost the use of his back legs. The vet diagnosed severe arthritis and a possible ruptured disc and prescribed kennel rest and steroids, which have given our normally lethargic hound the energy and forward thrust you would expect from a nuclear-powered submarine.

Cooper has taken the situation in stride, but our backup pet, Zoe, a wiener dog with the size and brainpower of a standard throw pillow, isn’t coping nearly as well. The wiener dog insists on marching into Cooper’s kennel, plopping down at his side and keeping vigil hour after hour.

For his part, Cooper isn’t in any pain and clearly isn’t about to let something as trivial as partially paralyzed back legs slow him down. It’s just that he needs a bit more help to carry out his daily activities, including going outside every 30 minutes to pee, which requires a family member to trail behind, hoisting his (I mean Cooper’s) hindquarters up with a tattered towel or bedsheet festooned with cartoon characters as he attempts to drag them into obstacles in the backyard.

Being a dog, he hasn’t grasped the basic concept that, in his current condition, with a human being in tow — a human often clad in a ratty bathrobe and a pair of gumboots — he can’t walk under the picnic table or the forest of low-hanging branches surrounding the garbage cans.

It’s a different story, however, when we go out for a "walk," which involves plopping him into a pricey doggie wheelchair purchased off the Internet about 12 years ago when we went through exactly the same thing with one of our first bassets. If you have never taken a stroll in the park with a dog in a wheelchair, you are really missing something. It’s kind of like hanging around with a rock star in the sense that EVERYONE will be drawn to your pet because, as he bravely rolls along, his cuteness level will rocket completely off the charts.

As a human being, the main thing I’ve noticed is that my low-slung best friend is pretty much oblivious to the fact he needs assistance to stay upright. If anything, his already voracious appetite, fuelled by steroids, is even larger and, as he makes moony faces with laser-like intensity, it is incredibly difficult to deny him half a roast beef sandwich, even if your wife thinks it’s a really bad idea.

Under the wiener dog’s watchful eye, our basset seems to be making progress. In the house, he motors around like a semi-trailer on an icy road, back end fish-tailing wildly until, like a frat boy on keg night, he keels over, at which point he happily begins sliding along the floor.

The other week, using a long scarf to hold him up, I took Cooper into the front yard where OHMYGAWD he spotted ANOTHER DOG being walked along the sidewalk by two neighbourhood girls. Using only his front paws, he rocketed out of his makeshift sling and tried to power himself along the mucky grass to greet the passersby.

Eyes bugging out in shock, the two girls stood there, confused, staring, as Cooper rapidly slithered over the mucky yard towards them with an overweight newspaper columnist in hot pursuit.

The great news is my buddy seems to be getting a little better every day. We’re hopeful he’ll recover completely, but even if he doesn’t, we think we can handle it.

Cooper’s not complaining. Even if he can’t get his rear legs to work properly, he careens to the front door to greet new arrivals, wobbles down the hall and butts open the bathroom door with his head to confirm who’s inside, and howls with delight when it’s time to go for a roll in his wheelchair.

Life has thrown him a high, hard one, but my dog is still happy as a clam. I kind of think the rest of us could learn something from him.

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca