This has been a scary week at Knight Shift Headquarters. Very scary.
On Monday, my miniature dachshund Tammy started yelping in pain at the least touch that I gave her. Especially around her ears. She's had ear infections before and they can be a real nuisance. But she's never cried out before when I've tried to examine them.
Then came Tuesday. And Tammy took a turn for the worst.
She had jumped up onto my bed that morning, and refused to move from her spot. She hadn't eaten anything, she hadn't drank any water. She didn't seem motivated by anything at all.
About noon Tammy laid down near my pillow. Her breathing was labored. And as the evening wore on it gradually became less pronounced. She had this look in her eye, that I'd never seen before. She looked... I don't know. Tired. Resigned.
I was really in fear of something. That these were going to be Tammy's final hours.
I'm aware of things. Next week she'll be thirteen and a half. Tammy has been in great overall health, but dogs, like humans, don't live forever. But I've made it a sacred mission of mine to give her a good long meaningful life, for as long as I can. A few nights before Dad passed I promised him that I'd look after Tammy. She was his dog too. Indeed, she was more his dog than anyone else's. He was the one who first had the idea of opening our home to a miniature dachshund puppy in 2012. He was the one who named her. She's always been her daddy's dog. I'm just the guy who's taken care of her since Dad left us almost eleven years ago.
Two nights ago I really did find myself thinking that this might be it. That she didn't have long. I was bracing myself for the inevitable. I knelt down by the bed and asked God for a miracle. But I also told Him that if this was when Tammy and I had to be parted, I was thankful for all the years that He let us have. They have been wonderful years. Tammy and I have looked after each other all this time. I've taken care of her and she's taken care of me. We spent a year traveling across America together, and in that time she visited 18 states, played on the beaches of both the Atlantic and Pacific, has met so many people... I've tried my best to give her a good life, as full a one as a dog might have.
I really did come close to giving up. I called one of my best friends and poured my heart out to him about what was going on. And sometime during our conversation I did something that I haven't done in over ten years. Something that I had thought was impossible to do, because I've come to think that the meds I take to manage my bipolar disorder had taken it away from me forever...
I started crying. Real honest tears. I cried for Tammy. I couldn't imagine life without her. It's just she and I in the area where we live. We're half an hour from friends in Greenville, South Carolina. If anything happened to either of us, the other would be left alone.
I didn't want to be left alone without her.
So I cried. And it felt good. It felt like a lot of things that I've carried pain about for over a decade came out. I'm a grown man and I cried my heart out and some part of me was loving it.
I cried and I hoped somehow that God might see it.
The call ended. I laid down next to Tammy. And not for the first time that day, I prayed.
Then, about 8 p.m., Tammy suddenly jerked to life.
She came to, jumped up, stood on all four feet, walked around on the top of the bed, and then... she leapt off the bed and landed squarely on the bedroom floor.
Until the day that I die, it will be something that I will NEVER forget.
Tammy shot me a look. If I were to translate what her eyes were telling me, it would be a single word: "Nope!"
She was telling me in her own way "Not now. Not this night. I'm not done yet."
Tammy walked around the room for a minute or so. Then she went to my sleeping bag that's on the floor, she "nests" on it every now and then. She curled up and laid her head down.
I called another friend, who I had been keeping informed all afternoon. I told her about Tammy's leap. And then in the midst of our phone call Tammy came to her feet again, got up and walked to her food dish where I had poured some food a few hours earlier. She ate it all. She then drank some water. And then she walked out the door and into the hallway where I put her doggy pads. She peed a lot and then went back to her nest.
That was two nights ago.
If anyone had told me 48 hours ago how Tammy would be tonight, I would not have believed it. It really, truly is a miracle. God reached down and touched Tammy.
It's now Thursday night. Today Tammy has eaten a full meal, has also eaten some of her bacon-flavored dog treats as well as some of the chicken nuggets I made for dinner last night, is peeing and pooping normally, her breathing is regular, and earlier today she jumped up on the sofa as I was working on some stuff with my iPad. I didn't even hear her come into the living room: she just suddenly appeared. She's letting me rub her belly, which she likes. She's yawning, in that very cute way that she yawns. And she's smiling now, that patented Tammy-grin.
I am just totally shocked. Bewildered. In awe. God has brought my dog from the edge of death and restored vibrant life to her.
She's still a little woozy. I'm giving her half a tablet of Benadryl every six hours. One of my best friends suggested that Tammy perhaps has had an allergic reaction to something. It's possible. Dogs, just like humans, have different reactions as they get older. If that's the case then the Benadryl is likely addressing that. It's making her a little drowsy. She's snoozing atop a blanket on the living room floor as I write these words, I gave her another half-tablet about an hour and a half ago.
My dog is alive, and recovering. She's going to make it. Two nights ago I thought she was gone. I was desperately praying for a miracle.
And God sent one.
Our Lord spoke of the kingdom of Heaven being like the woman who loses a coin, and searches for it and cannot find it. And then when she does, she tells all her friends and neighbors that she has found it and she praises God for it.
I almost lost my dog. My sweetest little friend in this life. Tammy gets a bit of space in the book I've written that will be published next week. She's owed that. She has kept me from making some horrible mistakes over the years. I couldn't go through with them because well, who would take care of her if not me? Like I said, we've taken care of each other.
I am compelled to praise God tonight. And as I ask Him each night, I hope that He will give Tammy and me many more years together.
From now on, if anyone asks me if I have faith in God, I will absolutely say yes. Because I've seen Him work. Tammy's leap from the bed the other night and recovery since then is testament to that.
