Tuesday
Then: A Dog
I’ll admit it. I’m a nutcase about a dog. My (now four-year-old) dog Morrie is a Havanese, or a Havana Silk Dog, Just recognized by the AKC in 1999, this ‘national dog of Cuba’ first came to the US with the Cuban refugees in 1958, but it took many years for the small breeding community in Miami to spread the delight of what has been called: “The Sweetest of the Companion Dogs.”
If you do not have a dog, get one. If you have a cat – or like cats better than dogs – well I’ll begrudgingly accept that at least you have an animal for its healing beams.
As I was editing this chapter, I read the book The Healing Power of Pets. The first page I turned to had this passage: “The powerful effect a pet has in breaking the downward spiral of cancer patients is something Dr. Edward Creagan, oncology professor the Mayo Medical School, has seen repeatedly in his own practice. He’s…a strong believer in the ability of pets to ameliorate the devastating emotional impact of a cancer diagnosis.” The book goes on to say that Creagan even records the pet’s name on a patient’s chart and always chats about the pet during visits. He said the patient opens up with such passion to the topic that he can see the healing power.
My over-the-top nutty actions around my little guy Morrie, who was there with me in the hospital (read on) and never left the top of my head (keep reading) during my recovery at home, recently exposed itself when I drove an hour and a half each way to Morrie’s breeder’s house. Why? There was a puppy open house for viewing eight new Havanese puppies. And I wanted to show off Morrie to all of the aspiring Havanese owners who would be there.
So, how was Morrie with me in the hospital? The amazing Chris Conyers and my wife plotted to have Chris, a graphic designer in Des Moines, blow up a photo of Morrie, mount it to foam core and cut out its outline so it would be life-size representation. My inventor son Mark suggested wheels which was the crowing touch. And ‘Flat Morrie’ was even adorned with an actual engraved dog tag with well wishes. Flat Morrie appeared in my hospital room the evening after surgery while I was still in the fog. He sat on a shelf at the foot of my bed.
And Morrie atop my head? Pre-surgery, anticipating what I was told was going to be a six- to nine week recovery, I went bargain shopping for a chair like Frazier’s dad. I found it at Cort Rental Clearance. An ugly brown recliner on the tilt from a broken leg complete with cigarette burn holes. $40. My father fixed the leg when I was in the hospital, so it was ready for my recovery. And even though Morrie, who grooves on sitting up high to look out a window (like he did at Gunflint), had a perfect perch atop another nearby chair during my recovery, he insisted on jumping gingerly, mountain goat style, onto the narrow perilous top of my recliner. And the only way he could stay there, facing a nosedive to the floor with a sudden movement by me, was to rest his hind end on top of my head.
Ever since those days, MoMo and I have a healing morning routine. When he senses me stirring while waking, he creeps up onto my chest, plants his face a couple of inches from mine, and beams a bunch of good stuff right at me. ¶ 1:50 PM
If you do not have a dog, get one. If you have a cat – or like cats better than dogs – well I’ll begrudgingly accept that at least you have an animal for its healing beams.
As I was editing this chapter, I read the book The Healing Power of Pets. The first page I turned to had this passage: “The powerful effect a pet has in breaking the downward spiral of cancer patients is something Dr. Edward Creagan, oncology professor the Mayo Medical School, has seen repeatedly in his own practice. He’s…a strong believer in the ability of pets to ameliorate the devastating emotional impact of a cancer diagnosis.” The book goes on to say that Creagan even records the pet’s name on a patient’s chart and always chats about the pet during visits. He said the patient opens up with such passion to the topic that he can see the healing power.
My over-the-top nutty actions around my little guy Morrie, who was there with me in the hospital (read on) and never left the top of my head (keep reading) during my recovery at home, recently exposed itself when I drove an hour and a half each way to Morrie’s breeder’s house. Why? There was a puppy open house for viewing eight new Havanese puppies. And I wanted to show off Morrie to all of the aspiring Havanese owners who would be there.
So, how was Morrie with me in the hospital? The amazing Chris Conyers and my wife plotted to have Chris, a graphic designer in Des Moines, blow up a photo of Morrie, mount it to foam core and cut out its outline so it would be life-size representation. My inventor son Mark suggested wheels which was the crowing touch. And ‘Flat Morrie’ was even adorned with an actual engraved dog tag with well wishes. Flat Morrie appeared in my hospital room the evening after surgery while I was still in the fog. He sat on a shelf at the foot of my bed.
And Morrie atop my head? Pre-surgery, anticipating what I was told was going to be a six- to nine week recovery, I went bargain shopping for a chair like Frazier’s dad. I found it at Cort Rental Clearance. An ugly brown recliner on the tilt from a broken leg complete with cigarette burn holes. $40. My father fixed the leg when I was in the hospital, so it was ready for my recovery. And even though Morrie, who grooves on sitting up high to look out a window (like he did at Gunflint), had a perfect perch atop another nearby chair during my recovery, he insisted on jumping gingerly, mountain goat style, onto the narrow perilous top of my recliner. And the only way he could stay there, facing a nosedive to the floor with a sudden movement by me, was to rest his hind end on top of my head.
Ever since those days, MoMo and I have a healing morning routine. When he senses me stirring while waking, he creeps up onto my chest, plants his face a couple of inches from mine, and beams a bunch of good stuff right at me. ¶ 1:50 PM
