Special Edition: Update on My Dog, Sally Sue

My little girl's amputated leg isn't coming back, but her personality is.

What she lacks in legs, Sally Sue makes up in attitude.

OOF. I knew her recovery from major surgery was going to be a process. I knew that her getting used to life on three legs was probably not going to be easy — for either of us.

Even so, I started getting worried when Sally Sue spent several days hardly eating, hardly moving, and uninterested in even her favorite toys.

I got more worried when every time she did move, she squealed in pain. When every loud noise or sudden movement caused her to shake and flinch. When even the lightest touch to certain areas of her ribcage or rear quarters would have her chattering and pulling away in fear.

For a while there, I thought I’d lost the dog I had known and loved.

I was profoundly relieved that she had physically survived the accident, but I wasn’t entirely sure she would ever be psychologically the same.

Now, a month after our run-in with that hit-and-run driver, I’m feeling more confident that both Sally Sue and I are going to be okay.

We got her sutures out a couple weeks ago, and most of her shaved hair has regrown. Even the open wound on her head has healed up nicely, with just a few pinkish bald spots peeking out where once, a half-dollar size chunk of her scalp was missing.

This past week, after a home visit from a chiropractor friend, she began hop-walking with new enthusiasm and surprising speed. And she is once again playing tug — a favorite game that had become a thing of the past until just a few days ago.

Best of all, her sass is back.

At last, I’m starting to see Sally Sue’s goofball antics, counter-surfing mischief, and trademark stubbornness returning. She almost chased a rabbit today — but then (GOOD GIRL!) listened when I told her to leave it.

As I type this, Sally Sue is sitting at my feet in one of about a dozen dog beds and blankets we have scattered around, both inside and outside the house. Each one is an encouragement for her to move around and take up new positions. Each one is an enticement for her to comfortably relocate where she is always happiest — right next to me.

So many dog beds. So many toys. Yet she only has eyes for me.

And me? I’m doing … okay, I guess.

I continue to struggle with some PTSD symptoms of my own. Neck tension, sleeplessness, scary dreams, waking with the panic that my dog is in danger or gone, an emotional turning-in from all but my closest friends and family, a very limited desire for social interaction.

But like Sally Sue, I’m starting to feel better. Comforted by her resumed receptivity to belly rubs, and giddy each time she brings me a toy to throw for her. Still missing our longer walks, but enjoying the pauses that now occur on even our shorter ones, and just so delighted to have my dog at my side.

Pictures being worth a thousand words — and moving pictures being even more telling — I’ll close with a video that I think you will find cheering. (If you hear somebody sniffling emotionally in the background, that’s me.)

Mostly what I want to say is thank you.

Thanks for your support and your lovely feedback on my essay about the accident and its aftermath.

Thank you for your paid subscriptions to this newsletter, which are helping with the astronomical vet bills. And thank you for being part of my community, which makes me feel better and more hopeful about this mixed-up world of ours.

If you have pets (or kids, or parents, or partners, or anybody you love), this would be a good time to remember that in a flash, they — or any of us — could be gone, altered, not the same as we’ve come to assume they always will be.

So let us all take a moment to appreciate all that we have — and especially, what we have in each other.

For a while there, Sally Sue wan’t even interested in cheese curds — her favorite treat of all time. We are both very happy that her taste for them has returned.

Let us all take pleasure in all that is right.

And may we all remember that with enough love and nourishment and rest, even that which is FUBAR (totally messed up) can also heal.

Meanwhile, Sally Sue sends her best regards, and says that if you want to send her any snacks (and/or contributions for her vet bill), that’s just fine. You can upgrade to a paid subscription or send your gift of choice (ideally chicken free ‘cuz she is allergic) to:

Sally Sue c/o Pilar Gerasimo
P.O. Box 31
Menomonie, WI 54751

P.S. The next +Depth Charge edition of this newsletter (with exclusive content from my Healthy Deviant U members-only collection) comes out on Sunday. If you upgrade now, you’ll get it delivered right to your inbox!

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