“Family is not an important thing. It's everything.” — Michael J. Fox

Milo cuddling with Bianca during 'Milo Time'

Four weeks and several days ago my dog Milo started squeaking with pain and is noticed that there was a weakness in his back legs. Seeing these symptoms make me feel physically sick to my stomach and my chest got tight with panic. I immediately thought. “It’s IVDD!” This is an awful disease of the spine that long dogs like dachshunds, corgis, and basset hounds are prone to. Often the disease develops when dogs jump on and off things, which is certainly the case with Milo. 

    When I got my first dachshund, Hugo, I read up about the breed and learned about IVDD. I taught Hugo to use ramps to get on and off the furniture. When I got Toby, Hugo’s half-brother, I once again taught him to use the ramps, which he always does. It was easier the second time around because Toby learned many things from his brother by watching him. However, Milo and his younger ‘brother’ Danny are jumpers. They joined my dachshund pack when I was going through a particularly challenging period in my Long Covid journey and I was not as assiduous as I should have been about training them to use the ramps. I did try, again and again, but clearly I did not try enough. And so here I am with two jumping dogs, one of whom is very sick. To say that I feel guilty is an understatement.

   IVDD is a truly terrible disease and in severe cases it can require a eye waterteringly expensive surgery which may or may not work. Far too many dachshunds who develop IVDD end up with paralyzed back legs. Many wonderful folks get their disabled dogs wheelies so that their canine companions can get around, and get around they do, but none of us want our dogs to be put in that situation. However, many of us don’t have a set up that lends itself to a dog on wheels and you can just imagine what that means.

   Since that day of squeaks and wobbles Milo has been seen by our wonderful vet, is taking the meds he needs, and he is getting a series of laser treatments. The hard part is that Milo has to be on bed rest for eight weeks. No sitting on laps or cuddling unless I can completely control the situation. No walking except to go to the bathroom outside. He is used to being with our other dogs and with us. Being constantly contained is awful for him and therefore it is miserable for me. He is on pain meds that are sedating, and sedation meds that are sedating, but he still has periods of time when he is alert and wants to be with the rest of the family. Nothing I do calms him down except one thing: I have to lie in bed with him and give him snuggles. This is his 'Milo time.'

Milo is his much hated 'Milo Prison'

   To keep him in a small contained area we have a pack-and-play for the sitting room, and I got a folding portable cat/dog play area tent that we use in our bedroom and my office.  I have to move his pen around the house as I go about my chores, and carry him from place to place.

   I have cooked him special food to make sure that he eats. Strangely Milo isn’t interested in food and never has been; he is surely the only hound in the universe who isn’t a stomach on legs. 

   Then I have to give him his meds, which is not always easy. Milo is a master at cheeking pills, which he them spits out. Sometimes I have to try to get the same pill into him over and over and over. One of the meds he is taking is a liquid that I syringe into his mouth. For some reason the medication is bubblegum flavored and he, naturally, thinks it is disgusting. After he is given this medication he shakes his head and does the dog version of “BLEH!” I try to take the sting out of this awful business by quickly giving him a cheese ‘chaser’ to get the taste out of his mouth. What kind of idiot makes a medication for dogs bubblegum flavored?

   I also have to watch his fluid intake and make sure that his digestive system is working properly; pain meds can really slow the digestive process down. When nothing ‘moves’ I have to give him more meds.

   If he squeaks I come running. If he moves around in his pen during the night I get up to check on him. Last night I had to take him out at midnight and at two-thirty in the morning because his tum is not happy. 

  I do all these things day after day because Milo is a dear, sweet, member of my family. When I was poleaxed by Long Covid he staunchly comforted me and gave me months and months of unconditional love and support. Now it is my turn to care for him to the best of my ability, and I do it willingly and with as much love and tenderness as I can. He deservers nothing less.

  I’ve been chronically ill for years, I’ve been injured, and I’ve needed to be cared for on many occasions. Now the shoe is on the other foot and my poor little furry patient doesn’t even understand what is going on. I cannot explain his condition to him. It’s heartbreaking, so stressful, worrying, and exhausting, and he is going to have to stay on ‘bed rest’ for another four weeks. At least. And to top it off I don’t even know if this period of rest is going to be enough to heal him.  

   If he does recover, as we all hope he will, I will have to walk him in on a leash at first, and somehow teach this dog who loves to jump, who flies through the air off furniture, to keep all four of his very furry paws firmly on the ground. Since Milo’s younger ‘brother’ Danny is also a jumper, I am using treats and a remote trainer to get Danny to use the ramps that my two older dachshunds happily use. This is turning out to be an enormous challenge as Danny loves to jump, and he is a hound, which means that he is incredibly stubborn. Why do two of my four dachshunds use the ramps while the other two insist on jumping on and off the furniture? Why, she says as she grinds her teeth in frustration. 

   I raise my hat to those of you who are caregivers. To those of you who take care of someone who is chronically sick or injured for months, or years, on end. You are incredible. How you don’t fall apart is beyond me. I confess that I am emotionally and physically exhausted, and terrified that Milo is not going to heal, but I will keep on doing what I am doing, hoping all the while for the best possible outcome. 

“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the things which you think you cannot do.” — Eleanor Roosevelt