When are people going to learn that animals are not just fashion accessories?

Betty is not doing well. He went off his food last night and is neither eating or drinking. If it were not for his IV (antibiotics and pain medication) dehydration would be a real worry.

My morning navigation of the morass that is animal control in Canada was eye opening. The laws are not even consistent within a province, let alone the country, and a dog labelled dangerous and subject to immediate euthanization (no appeal, no anything) in one municipality cannot even have his record of aggression and unprovoked attack shared with other jurisdictions. So this dog (which was off leash off his own property--against the bylaws) and committed two unprovoked attacks on a restrained animal without any attempt of the owner to control him, can cross over the river to Ottawa without so much as a notation on his record. There is no way for the jurisdiction where the offense occurred to place a muzzle order on the dog: it is kill him or nothing. And even if they could, that order would cease to be in effect the moment the dog crossed municipal boundaries.

Most unsatisfactory of all is that the animal control authorities (animal control having been outsourced to the Humane Society or SPCA in most jurisdictions across Canada) has no interest in enforcing overly draconian laws (such as automatic and unappealable euthanasia orders) that run 180 degrees counter to their mandate. And where that is the only option available, that leaves the general public in a very uncomfortable position with an animal control enforcment department that will end up doing nothing.

I was very surprised to learn that no jurisdiction in Canada can impose mandatory obedience training (which trains both the dog and the owner) in the case of any animal bylaw infraction. I was also surprised to learn that by simply leaving a municipality, a dog's history becomes a complete blank. The owners of vicious or uncontrollable dogs will often leave an area of jurisdiction to avoid even having a pet muzzled, and the region that they move to will not even know that the animal newly introduced into their midst is dangerous.

Even more surprising, the same thing (a clean slate) is often accomplished just by changing a residence locally, getting a new vet and giving the animal a new name, or by handing the animal into the local Humane Society or SPCA under a new name, without divulging the animal's history of aggression, under some spurious pretext (such a new child with an allergy).

I now see why my friend Krys, and other responsible dog owners are so distressed by (not to say obsessive about) the pathetic state of animal bylaws in this country.

FYI: I could not get all the blood off my clothing.

Animal control? I am sorry, but ... Don't Make Me Laugh!

It is now nearly 24 hours Since Betty was attacked--twice--by an overly aggressive and uncontrolled black Lab. And for 18 of those past 24 hours I have been trying to lodge a vicious dog complaint with the people responsible for animal control.

It is now very much less than pathetic.

The municipality where the attack occurred, and the municipality where the owner and dog actually live, have both outsourced their animal control efforts to the SPCA (Quebec) and the Humane Society (Ontario).

The local SPCA (jurisdiction for the actual attack) at least gave me a number that I could call and leave a message with the complaint. (In the 18 hours since I left the message I have not heard back from them.)

The Ottawa Humane Society (responsbile for the area where the dog and owner actually live, and where they will be returning in about an hour or two after a nice weekend holiday at a cousin's cottage) does not even have a number listed on their web site, in the phone book, or in the voice mail complete listing of departments for their Animal Control department.

The fact that I cannot reach somebody to report two unprovoked and vicious attacks to anyone (I called the police in both regions first, and they said 'we don't do that any more') has me quite a large amount more than pissed off.

What angers me the most is that when I visited the cottage where the owner was visiting for the weekend to say that my vet had said that I must report the dog, or he would due to the nature of the attacks (the multiple atttack without provocation), I could not get out of my car as the dog was roaming free and unmonitored on that property. I had to wait in my car for somebody to come out and call the dog off. (To be honest, I cannot say he was behaving in a threatening manner or that I HAD to wait, but after what I had seen from that dog in the afternoon, there was no way I was getting out of my car until somebody had their hand on that dog's collar. You make think that wimpy of me, but so be it.)

Status report on Betty

First off, the funny bit.

I was kind of freaking. The place I took him (Alta Vista Animal hospital, an completely impressive facility) is very much like those ER programs you see on TV; where they keep the family members out of the doctors' way while the patient is being attended to. I have never taken a pet to the vet before where I was not with the animal for everything except Xrays and surgery, and I kept asking to see Betty. I finally got to see him once they had him settled into his cage for the night. The label on his cage was:

Betty
(Mr)

and that made me laugh. (First time since the attack.) From now on I will introduce him as Mr. Betty.

So, now the report ...

Betty is no longer huddled unresponsively in a little ball in his cage, but walking around (stiffly, but quite steadily). He is eating and drinking well. The puncture wounds are draining well but still tender and he was purring his little heart out during all of this morning's evalutation. He is still on antibiotics and pain killers.

He will be in hospital until the surgeon has reviewed the xrays. There is a rather large and disturbing lump outside his abdominal wall, but it does not have the characteristics of a hernia to the duty vet's eyes. Although the xray of the lungs was abnormal, he is breathing well (much better than he was yesterday, when the vet was quite concerned). It may simply be a serious contusion, but time is required before they can be positive on that score.

Because Betty is such a young cat (not quite 5 months old) and the growth plates on his bones are still active, the vet thinks that the pelvic fracture is along one of the plates, in which case the prognosis is excellent for perfect healing.

He will remain at least another day, so the surgical consultant can review a few of the things from the xray that are a bit worrisome, but the vet was very upbeat when he called me, so I don't think I will need to eat the last half of the chocolate cake I started on last night when I was still super-freaked. (Good thing too; I used up almost all of my vanilla ice cream with last night's freak-out cake binge.)

Betty has been savaged by a dog

I can't really say much now except the basics. As best as the duty vet can tell, Betty has a punctured lung, a broken pelvis, and some pretty serious puncture wounds. There are some things on the Xrays that he cannot read. Betty is staying at the hospital and being medicated for pain until the surgeon can come in and have a look over the Xrays and give Betty another exam.

I am a touch past distraught, and thinking massively evil thoughts about the person who brought an unleashed dog into an area where he was told there was a tethered cat. The dog attacked immediately, with the owner standing off to the side about 15 to 20 feet away saying 'Stop. No, Rufus.'. Others pulled the dog off of Betty. And the owner did not leash his dog at that point, and before I could get Betty out of the bush where he was hiding, the dog attacked again. Others had to tell the owner to restrain his dog: even after the second attack he made no attempt at restraining the animal.

It is going to be several hours before I can think of things milder than a tactical nuclear strike for that dog owner.

I will update on Betty once I get a status report from the clinic tomorrow morning.

I need to go and get the blood off my clothes before the stains set.

Betty .....

Betty is quite the character.

Yesterday afternoon he spent over 2 hours in the kitchen with me as I was cooking.
His big discovery was the 2 quart strawberry basket.

It was beyond funny.
The game lasted the entire 2+ hours.

Today I tried him out with a harness and lead so he could be out in the garden: but he got out of the harness (Fortunately, he didn't go far at all. I see a lot of trial and error until I get it so he can't get out of it.)

Sunday was a good day

Some days for me are just good days. I never know quite why: whether it is a better night’s sleep (bad sleep patterns is another ‘hidden symptom’ of the MS), the weather or the phase of the moon. This past Sunday was a good day.

I woke up pretty early (around 5:30 am) and wrote my last blog entry (which took a good deal of time and thought; that was not an easy piece to write, and I am still uncomfortable about it). I then had coffee and breakfast, and feeling pretty good, I started in on the chores.

I oiled 2 of the 3 pieces of wooden furniture in my garden (the table and one of the 2 chairs). I swept off the patio. I did 2 loads of laundry and a load of dishes. I did a complete clean up around the cat’s litter box area. I rewired the lamp I had bought at a junk shop for $10 on my shopping mojo day about a month ago. I deadheaded most of the plants in my garden. I installed a new VCR/DVD unit and programmed all my timer recordings into it. I cleaned and oiled the buffet (1920’s, walnut veneer over ash) that belonged to my grandmother. I collected up all the cat toys Betty had scattered in various nooks and crannies throughout the house and put them into an easily accessed basket for him. I made a potato salad, and sloppy joes. I turned the old VCR/DVD box into a lined cat bed. I made 8 new cat toys (some more appreciated than others).

About this time I decided to take it easy: it was about 5:30 in the afternoon. Dinner, and then I fell asleep.

How can you be yourself when you are no longer who you are?

That sounds rather pretentious (even I think so) but I cannot think of any other way to describe what I am going through, what I have been going through for the past 30-odd years, so please bear with me. I also have no clear idea of how this is going to present: will I come off conceited and self-absorbed; pathetic …

First off is, I guess, the conceited bit; for this I am going to quote family. Members of my immediate family have often said that I was the most generous and funniest member of the siblings. My mother once said something I took as the finest compliment I was ever offered: that I treated all people the same with the same consideration and generosity of spirit, Queens to street bums. I have always tried (with varying degrees of success) to be a kind, generous, fair and considerate person. My approach to people was ‘believe the best of everyone until proved otherwise’. I genuinely liked people and liked to be with people. I liked parties and large groups, and could do well in them. I had confidence in myself and my abilities.

My problem is that I am no longer that person. And it all came on so gradually that it took me a long time to realize it (denial and self-delusion are amazing things). Even now, I am way worse than I am aware of, excepting that other people tell me how bad I am.

I was diagnosed with Recurring/Remitting Multiple Sclerosis when I was 28, although the medical history done at that time pretty much determined that my first episode was when I was not quite 21. Because I mostly did not ‘look’ like I had MS (I did not use a cane, or a walker or a wheelchair), I was pretty well able to deny the fact of it for the better part of 20 years. Pride induced me to hide whatever physical manifestations the MS took from everybody for many, many years.

The hiding part was easy in many ways because most of my symptoms were of the ‘silent’ variety. There were two general types of silent symptoms; physical (incontinence, pain, numbness, blindness in one eye, extreme fatigue, hearing difficulties) and mental (emotional dyscontrol, an inability to concentrate, increased anxiety, rather radical personality changes, including extreme irritability, a diminished self-censorship ability and considerable reduction in general cognitive abilities, to name just a few).

The emotional symptoms of my MS were never a part of my conscious ‘hide it as best as you can’ coping strategy with my disease, mostly because I was completely unaware of them (except for the really obvious physical aspects of it, such as crying jags of an hour or more over a TV commercial). And that complete unawareness is itself a symptom.

I am increasingly inappropriate in my responses to people and situations. Sensitivity to social clues has gone right out the window, which means that interactions with people will go very, very badly for the most part. I upset, hurt and outright angry people at times, and am disconcertingly unaware that I have done so. Having the best of intentions, a kind heart and a generous spirit are no good when you cannot even perceive when you do things that are in direct opposition to your intent, wishes and spirit.

The last psychological assessment I had done of emotional and cognitive abilities was rather brutal, in that it rather baldly stated that the behavioural and emotional manifestations of my MS were contra indicatory of my being able to function effectively in any full time employment. That was a body blow.

Even harder for me to deal with is that these ‘silent symptoms’ are seen as personality defects that if I was only kinder, more considerate, more thoughtful, more motivated; if I would only exert a little will power, I could fix them. Surprise, surprise. I can’t make it go away, or be better, because none of this is my conscious choice. I am not intentionally cranky or rude or inappropriate. I just am and will never again not be: the brain damage has already been done and cannot be reversed. This is the new me, and I cannot like her.

The fatigue problem is also seen by others as yet another personality flaw. I am lazy, disinterested or unmotivated. This also has very negative repercussions on both personal and professional relationships.

So, where does this leave me? The people I am closest to and need the most understanding from are the people most put-off by my increasing irascibility and inappropriateness and inability to perform at my pre-MS levels. They cannot believe that all the horrible things I now am are not active and conscious choices that I am making about how to behave, or that I am unaware of the effect I have on people. They point out my social solecisms, sometimes lecture me, often yell at me, and I can cognitively recognize (after the fact) that I did probably commit the transgressions I just got reamed out for.

The overall approach of people is that if I just understood the effect my behaviour was having on people, I could correct it and never do it again; would become again the person they remember from 20-odd years ago, before the brain damage from the MS had progressed as far as it has. But being told that I have done something will never, ever mean I will not do it again: that is my reality.

The breaking of social and professional links 'ups' my stress level, which in turn exacerbates the symptoms that are making my being me increasingly difficult. I feel like I am a hamster on a motorized exercise wheel: I cannot get off and I cannot stop running in place while getting nowhere.

What all this is making me do is withdraw more and more from social interactions of any form, particularly if they are intense (large gatherings or noisy, for example) and that is unfortunately taken to be disinterest or dislike. I try to explain my reality, but is almost impossible to not reflect back the attitudes that you encounter: that you are just making up excuses for being a bad and inconsiderate person. (Besides, even I find it hard to believe that I am not just making excuses, and I resist being my symptoms, even though it is increasingly apparent that I am. Even I cannot believe that just a little exertion on my part won't make it all go away.) I can spend days, if not weeks, in flat despair (and deep shame and guilt) as I find all that I was and all that I wish to be slip away; as I become increasingly detestable and unloveable and am unable to halt, or even slow, that loss of me.

Who am I?

Multiple Sclerosis Society of Canada