Last week my eight year old dog Sasha, a rescued Beagle/Labrador mix, had a UTI (Urinary Tract Infection). Yes, turns out female dogs get UTIs as much as human females do. The difference is that when our symptoms appear we can almost diagnose our condition and take medication over the counter to relieve some of the pain. Dogs in the contrary, have to rely on their masters and hope for the best that they can interpret their signs and take them to the vet for proper treatment.
I think that is probably what Sasha expected of me. However, despite the love I feel for my four legged daughter it took me two nights to connect the dots and figure out that something was wrong with her. Around three a.m. on Saturday she started whining in the middle of the night. I got up, pissed and half asleep, walked to her crate and took her out to go potty. Standing by the door she was desperate and she was almost talking in a canine language of whines with a high pitch accent. As soon as she took care of business, the lamenting stopped and we went back to sleep.
During the day she was fine. Eating, drinking and playing as usual. She even sat at my feet in the afternoon while I stocked the party favors for my son’s birthday party. Then came the night and she woke me up again at three a.m. like clockwork.
I got up, more pissed, and took her out listening to the same dog rant. She got relief on the grass and we both went back to sleep. Unfortunately by five a.m. Sasha started whining once more. This time I wanted to strangle her and said: “This bitch…!” but out of compassion I got up and took her out to potty.
By Sunday morning, two hours before the party, I was a tropical storm soon to become hurricane Xiomara. Before I left the house to pick up more supplies for the party, I heard Sasha walking around the house, whining. Suddenly I knew and I told my husband: “Sasha is sick. I think she has a UTI” and he said: “Well… take her to the vet“.
If looks could kill my husband would be six feet under right now. Although it was the obvious answer I couldn’t take her right then. So with my heart broken I gave her a kiss and a cookie (which she ate like somebody stranded on a desert island) and left. Sasha could eat on death row just like any other day.
Monday morning the three of us (Sasha, my son and yours truly) were at the vet’s office at nine a.m. sharp. “It’s a UTI” said the doctor in a gentle voice. She gave me the instructions to give her the medicines and I just nodded to every word like an zombie. I was so happy that she was going to be o.k. While I was waiting to pay the bill I saw a poster on the wall showing the equivalent of dog years in human years. According to this chart Sasha is around 50 years old. Immediately I learned her lesson:
No matter the pain, stress or uncertainty of life we should never make the people around us our victims. Sometimes we are so selfish and think about our problems as the only problem in the world, and expect people to focus on us and forget about their own troubles. Sasha was in a lot of pain and yet she wagged her tail and showed me the unconditional love that only maturity nurtures.
Off course, I am guessing because she couldn’t talk. Otherwise probably she would have said: “This bitch…! Is she ever gonna take me to the vet?“
Thanks for reading and sharing.
Xiomara Spadafora
Good crazy woman 