Last week I took Murph to Crockett Park like I often do to enjoy an evening stroll. As we were heading back to the car, we encountered a first for the both of us: a disabled dog. Her back legs were suspended in a harness that was attached to wheels.
Before I approached the dog, I asked the owner if Murph would bother her. She admitted maybe, because he was a bit larger than her Jayzee and sometimes Jayzee could be aggressive to bigger dogs. She also said, “But mostly other dogs are intimidated by her wheels.”
Not Murph. He was very curious. He approached Jayzee calmly, sniffed her tires, then tried to give her a kiss. She didn’t want any part of that. She sounded a warning growl and Murph immediately backed off. We wished them a goodnight and continued on our way, but it was clear Jayzee wasn’t done with Murph yet. She tried to follow him, but her owner held her back and steered her in the direction they needed to go.
Murph turned around to look at her one last time before we all parted ways for good. I wondered what he must be thinking. He noticed her “legs” were different from his, but he didn’t seem to care. He just wanted to say hi. (And bye.)
I’ve thought a lot about that dog since then. How did she get that way? How long has she been that way? Is she always attached to her wheels?
Well, tonight we were back in Crockett Park and ran across Jayzee and her mom again. Jayzee remembered us and immediately tugged on her leash to come greet Murph. She still kind of snarled a little, but Murph was very respectful of her. Actually, this time he was a bit more cautious of her wheels if I think about it. At first, he gave her a wide berth until she stopped moving around so much.
I had a chance to ask about her condition. She suffered a broken vertebrae in a car accident two and a half years ago. She had an operation, but never regained the use of her back legs. However, she’s adapted very well to her wheels and enjoys a walk every day.
She’s also not hooked up to her wheels all the time. She does wear her harness all the time, but in the house she scoots herself around. Her mom has another leash to hook to her harness to haul up her back legs to take her out to do her business.
Hearing it all, all I could think was, “What a remarkable dog.” I said as much to her mom, who informed me that other than losing the use of her back legs, Jayzee hasn’t changed much. She adapted to her condition with no change to her disposition or energy level. She goes about her days pretty much like she did before the accident. Then she admitted how much of an inspiration Jayzee is to her.
I held my tears back until we parted ways, but once my back was turned I couldn’t help but cry. Not out of pity for Jayzee, but out of admiration. Talk about courage. I don’t know many people who would handle what she’s been through with as much grace. I doubt I would. Jayzee reminded me what I admire most about dogs: their resilience.
I’m sure they have ways of complaining, and they certainly encounter and endure things worthy of complaining about. I’ve met people I’d categorize as “whiners” or “complainers” but I’ve never met a dog that fits the bill. (Maybe a couple of cats, though.)
Still, I’m going to keep that in mind the next time I feel like grousing. Most of the time I don’t have half the reason to gripe that Jayzee does. Or that all of the dogs in shelters do. Or that all of the other abandoned and otherwise neglected dogs do.
That’s quite the humbling thought.