Corndog Stella Pearl Bianco

"I am not cut out to be a dog person."

These words flew from my lips more than once that first two weeks as did a number of other colorful expressions and phrases such as: "Why God? Why?" and "Kill me NOW.""

As I said before, the puppy operated on a schedule that I in my freelance adulthood could no longer understand. For example, it woke up every morning at sunrise, and stood by my bed sniffing. It was just tall enough then, to clear the edge of the mattress with that pink nose and I learned quickly what others already knew, that simply opening my eyes to acknowledge this act was tantamount to a standing ovation. It inspired dog dancing.

I was lucky in that from the first night forward, she never doused the carpet down during the night. I'd get up reluctantly and congratulate her on it and the minute we'd step across the threshold of the bedroom, she'd squat - before I could even get my shoes on, before there was coffee, or even a lucid thought in my head - there was cursing. It didn't seem right but I blindly assured myself that it wouldn't last forever and it didn't. It lasted about four or five weeks, which only felt like forever.

She needed a name.
I tried not to rush this despite friends who were already making suggestions. If she had been a male dog, it would've been easy. I could've named a male after something on the midway or some old ride jock. Corndog, Harry, Mad Dog, Jimmy; the possibilities were endless but girl's names were different. I couldn't decide. Finally, I wrote a bunch of names on strips of paper and tossed them into the pile on my desk. If I remember right they went something like this: Yo-yo, Tammy, Pearl Bianco, Cupcake, Stella, and Rosie. The first piece of paper I picked up and opened was Stella. I called it out and she came trotting into my office from the other room. Now understand, I had called out a gazillion names in the week prior, with no response at all so it seemed pointless to go any further.

"Alright, I declare your name is Stella", I said to her.

It turned out to be a good choice although if I had to name her now that I actually know her, I'd call her Sunny. Just like every carny I ever knew, her favorite place in the universe, is outside - in the sun.

(Note: Pearl Bianco was the first person to ever talk to me about life on a carnival. She had been told not to, which made it all the more attractive. We wrote each other for years and although she hasn't passed on yet, that I'm aware of, I really miss her funny, insightful letters)

Give and Take

Tomorrow, will be two weeks since Stella's surgery. Not positive but I think when we revisit the surgeon, also tomorrow, he'll remove the staples and the Elizabethan collar we've come to love so much. Stella, in her teenaged grace, has bashed that thing on every stationary object in the building, including every door frame, every stick of furniture, the cat and my calves. It's difficult to say who'll be happier to see that thing go. To my knowledge, she's only actually jumped off the floor once although there have been a lot of sassy threats over the last week or so. It's hard not to laugh at a dog that's growling at you through fish lips and making facial expressions. One raised eyebrow from me and she'd be leaping through the house like a deer. Ordinarily that's not the case but as I said, we're low in the exercise department. Two days ago, I extended her post op walk to include a grassy plot of land two doors down, owned by the electric company. That same day, she managed to round up a tennis ball, showing up at my desk to rock it back and forth on my knee, again with the growl added for effect. She's been a good sport, I have to say. Her immobility has forced us to visit some of the more finite details of canine English language skills. Give it - Take it - Drop it - Open. She's clear on all of those now.

Get your ass in that dog house and LAY DOWN... not so much. Too many words maybe.

(Note: Thanks for all the kind notes and phone calls from readers and friends. I appreciate it very much. So far, everything has gone along as we hoped it would.)

This (little bit scary) shot was taken the day I brought Stella home. I am including it mostly for those who are headed in the direction of such surgery with their own dogs. After a couple of days, the inflammation subsided and it became much less disturbing.

Stella's patellas

For those just joining us, which is pretty much everyone, it's important to note that several months have passed since I began this page and Stella is a teenager now nine and a half months old. She has become a muscular, 54 lb. fireball of lovable, boundless energy. I have every intention of finishing her story from the last post forward but I want to interrupt along the way to basically keep track of some of the more current events in her life. Bear with me.

About a month ago, she was diagnosed with a right medial luxating patella. That's a trick knee to you and me. For a kneecap, it's a little like when your kitchen drawer jumps the track. It can simply slip off an be replaced manually or it can splinter the wood, damage the drawer and the track, and never work again. It occurs most often in little tiny dogs. If you've ever seen a little dog running full blast on three legs, there's a good chance it's because of a luxated patella.



Sometimes I'm told, these things right themselves with time but Stella's sadly, did not. Our walks went from four miles a day to zero over a period of four weeks and it became clear that she would have to have surgery or face chronic pain and (eventual) lameness at such a tender age. A couple of people I discussed this with naturally assumed I'd have her put down. Before anyone gets enraged over this sort of thinking, I should say in their defense, that they were people who generally don't have too many options. I don't have a vast supply of them myself, but putting her down was never an option. To make a long story short, she had the surgery on Wednesday and was released from the hospital this morning. I asked the vet staff if their itemized surgical estimate included any Xanax for owners, but was told that it didn't. I spent two days carrying the phone around and thankfully, working.

Not surprisingly, she was happy to see me this morning and I her. I was stunned when her doctor offered to walk her to the car. So far, the prognosis is good. The next four weeks however, are critical to her future quality of life, the idea being the nine and a half month old puppy isn't allowed to play or have any fun at all. I hope for her sake, that it all becomes a distant memory wherein I get to tease her occasionally about that day she came home dressed as a satellite dish.