The New Rescue Pack

Dog rescue always somehow seemed easier than helping people, I mean I've never felt strong enough to foster a human child or become a firefighter and truly "rescue" anything!  Besides, dogs are amazingly intelligent creatures that are loyal, lovable, and most importantly can't speak for themselves in a society they have been domesticated into.  When the first caveman threw a chunk of meat to a dog, befriended him, and pulled him away from his natural instincts to hunt, we entered into a sacred stewardship with the species and we owe it to them to protect and care for them.  In return they give us that loyalty and unconditional love.  As long as we maintain that unspoken agreement, the symbiotic relationship will flourish.

Rescue.  It sounds so arrogant, so out-of-proportion for the actual physical tasks that are involved in taking on a foster dog.  I know they would have been destroyed in a kill shelter, but it just sounds so haughty.  So sad that the human race believes they have a right to toss away a life because some stupid human ran out of patience or had a lack of understanding that they refused to correct.  Even with that said, I still imagine a "rescue" as someone hanging from a helicopter over the ocean grabbing a struggling drowning victim.  Then there are those moments when Melie looks at me and I can see the part of her soul that has been to the bottom of the ocean and I understand why the term 'rescue' works!  Sigh.  Ok OK...drama-queen soapbox aside and on with the story!

New roads have led me away from dog rescue temporarily and into human rescue (if you'll permit me to use that already established arrogant term).  My Melie and Toby won't have foster canine siblings for a while, instead they have an adorable white-haired grandma who they are in the process of training.  They follow her protectively everywhere she totters around the house, although from an outsider's perspective it probably looks a little like wild dogs stalking a wounded deer.  They've trained her to give love and head-scratches in trade for not barking at the mailman or the neighbor children.  She's trained them that wrestling loudly with each other is rewarded by the door to the back yard opening.  Best of all they've trained her that if she wants to share her lunch with them, the best way to tell them is to get up and go into the next room leaving the lunch on her end table.  Grandma has been a pretty good sport, I must admit, considering she has never had dogs.

I probably should back up the story a moment and tell you how Grandma became part of the rescue pack.  Sometime before Christmas in the Fall of 2013, the exact day/month escapes me like one long nightmare, Mom (aka: Grandma) had a series of strokes.  Two recognized episodes and several other smaller ones that were found in the tests done later at the hospital.  Being in the medical field I was ashamed to find I was incredibly naive about strokes and how they can damage the brain.  The stroke victim dragging a half paralyzed body with impaired speech is really as far as my imagination and understanding went.  When I was 16 and worked in a nursing home, those were the stroke victims I cared for, the extreme cases.

Grandma's strokes were TIAs (Transient Ischemic Attacks) or sometimes called the 'mini-stroke'.  Mini or not, when they happen like fireworks in several spots through the brain, as in this case, the damage is still showing it's ugly colors even to this day.  The first sign was confusion, the kind of confusion a very drunk person feels and exhibits.  Considering my little Christian Mama doesn't drink, we knew something was very wrong.  Then her sight faded to almost nothing.  At one point she did have a slight droop in her smile just on one side and a headache, however she was still in denial about what was happening.  She asked my Sister to help her get ready for work, but luckily my Sister is a bright bird and took her to the ER instead.

A month later she was finally released from the rehab center where they determined she would be safe to live on her own.  She admitted later that she had them all fooled about her capabilities and that she was actually scared to death to go home.  In one of her eyes part of the sight was returning and the confusion seemed better every day, but cognitive skill loss is not as easily assessed apparently.  Her reasoning skills, decision making, confidence, and coping skills were damaged as well.  Short term memory was (and still is) a problem, but we decided with a schedule and two daughters reminding her to take all of her new meds, she was confident that she could handle it alright.   Her social graces, like in an Alzheimer's victim, were still strong, so who knew she wouldn't be able to administer her medicine safely or ever pay her own bills again?  She tried to protect us all against how much damage was really there.

When the holidays died down and everyone started back to work and school things began to crumble and we realized Mom wasn't going to make it living on her own.  At night, mostly due to her sight loss, she would panic and insisted someone sleep over with her.  That quickly grew old while trying to manage our own lives as well.  I don't blame her for being afraid, I mean she is also diabetic and has enough nerve damage in her feet and legs that she can't feel them.  It would be a bit like walking on stilts while blindfolded.  Somehow her fear and reactions still seemed too extreme, like a child who believes monsters are in their closet, she started spiraling into full panic attacks.  We knew something would need to change, just not where to start.  

One afternoon I came in to bring her groceries and she didn't hear me come in.  She was in her chair not moving and just staring at a blank wall with a sad far away glaze over her eyes.  I saw fear and confusion and then she saw me and painted on a happy face.  She said "Hi", but then asked me what day it was.  My stomach dropped and at that moment I knew she couldn't live alone safely.  This amazingly creative woman, mother, & elementary school librarian was just a shell of her former self and my heart broke at the recognition of the unseen brain damage.   Arrangements started quickly and within a couple of weeks she was a new pack member at the Snow house.

The first days she spent alone with the dogs I was a nervous wreck.  Would Melie knock her over accidentally?  Would she step on little Toby?  Would she let them escape out into the neighborhood?  It's been about two months and so far all are still alive. :) At first the dogs were timid and unsure of this slow moving creature attached to tubes and a loud oxygen machine.  They started following her around, it seemed very sweet at first, like a protective nature.  Then I realized that as she got up, little things like sunflower seeds would fall from her house coat...so they were just straight up snack stalking her!

Usually I leave early and get home after dark from work, but one Saturday I was puttering when the dogs (mostly Melie) starting barking like crazy out the front window.  Grandma said (in super sweet little old lady voice) "Melie. Calm. You are ok. Be calm & come here."  To my surprise she stopped barking and went to Mom's chair, put her head on the arm and waited.  Ear scratches and head tickles followed, then Melie wandered off to go about her business.  I was amazed!  Damn that grandma super power force was strong in this one!  After that I stopped worrying, they had a system worked out and it looked like everyone was happy.  However, I'm still questioning who was training who...sort of seemed like Melie was conducting the Operant conditioning on Grandma.

The three "rescues" hanging out together during the day has cut the anxiety dramatically for both Grandma and the dogs.  No more midnight calls from a scared grandma and no more obsessive chewing from the dogs while we are at work and school.  A few times I've found little things that belong to Mom out on the back lawn, like tissue boxes or a chap stick.  We're still working on the little Melie thief taking advantage of a half blind woman, but for the most part things are OK.  My teenager, however is now married to the Xbox in her bedroom for much of her free time...but that's another story for another day.  She too has been very patient and supportive of the new pack order in her home.

As for me, the much anticipated break in time between raising children and caring for a parent has disappeared.  I suppose the 'cougar' years will wait.  At least I hope they will wait, I refuse to go straight from Mom to a Golden Girl!  Time will tell.

Love Always, the Pack Leader