Helicopter Dog Mom

Reporting for duty!

I’ve held a lot of titles in my life. Some lifelong, like Daughter. Some temporary, like Wife (twice). Some as a result of my own efforts, from nabbing First Place (with an actual blue ribbon!) in the fourth grade St. Paul’s Science Fair (okay, that was more a result of mom’s efforts on my presentation about clouds) to Writing by Writers residency recipient (that one was 100% me). But by far, the title I hold most proud, most near and dear to my heart, is Dog Mom.

I didn’t step into this role until my 30s, with my first dog, a Pembroke Corgi we adopted at six months old, named Awesome-O by my South Park-loving first husband.

I felt a heart swell with my little dude in a way I’d never experienced before, only to have that followed far too quickly by heartbreak, when he passed away from a condition called IMHA when he was just over two years old. In this case, the decision was made for us (we believe he passed from an aneurysm related to his condition), and to this day, it remains one of the most devastating experiences of my life. I was non-functional, to the point that my vet at the time suggested (gently) that sometimes the only way to move forward was to pay it forward.

A few weeks later, that’s exactly what we did, adopting a 12-week-old Catahoula mix I named Nancy Drew. My first baby girl, one brown eye, one blue, a total nervous nelly, barky as all hell with strangers, but boy when she decided to trust you and let you in her inner circle, it was nonstop wiggle waggle kisses.

I was blessed with her for eight years – oddly enough, she also developed IMHA, but this time, I had to make the decision. They say when you have a sick dog, you will know when the time is right, and I just… did. And it hurt just as much as when the decision was made for me.

After Nancy passed, I took a good year off from the Dog Mom role, being more of a Dog Aunt, babysitting dogs of friends. About a year after the anniversary of Nancy’s death, I decided it was time again, and went to Petfinder, typing “Corgi” and “over one year old” into the search parameters. A single result emerged: a little black and white Corgi-Terrier mix (more clever marketing than accurate, though the Terrier part is spot on), with bright blue eyes, tagged as just over a year old, currently being fostered in Houston, Texas.

I was ten months into my sobriety when Mila-renamed-Gilda Radner came into my life. She’s my only sober dog and in related news, she is also my first service dog. She’s traveled with me everywhere. She’s well known and loved by Alaska and Delta pilots and crew, as well as TSA staff at PDX and now LAS. Without fail, every time we fly somewhere, I get stopped by passengers who remark on how absolutely in awe they are of how wonderful she is in flight. She loves everybody from kids to adults, gets along great with other dogs, and REALLY loves cats (most of them don’t reciprocate, but some do).

And now, Gilda has brothers, because courtesy of my beloved partner in life, I’m a Dog Stepmom to two boys, a 10-year-old all-black Goldendoodle named Lobo (think Will Ferrell as a dog) and an almost 12-year-old Shih Tzu mix named Grady (think Ralph Wiggum as a dog). The three have been in lockstep since day one of meeting, and she is, without question, living her best life. She’s obsessed with my partner and loves her brothers.

She also finally has a fully closed-in backyard. That girl would sit outside all day and night if I let her, and you’d never know she spent the bulk of her life in the rainy Pacific Northwest because my goodness has she acclimated to desert life (just like her momma).

About a year ago, Gilda was diagnosed with an immune condition – not the same as Awesome-O and Nancy Drew, thankfully, but a different type that causes inflammation in her mouth. We started seeing an animal dental specialist, Dr. Brian Hewitt, earlier this year to help explore treatment options, and he is the most phenomenal doctor I’ve ever met, animal, human or otherwise. I’ve even asked him, multiple times, if he can also be MY doctor, but so far, no dice.

As part of her care plan, Gilda had surgery yesterday, with new biopsies taken from four different areas inside her mouth. She did very well during the procedure, and no surprise here, it was a five-star experience from start to finish with Dr. Hewitt and the entire team. Her sutures are inside her mouth, which means soft foods for the next ten to fourteen days, but no external stitches means no cone time, so that’s a big win. Results from the biopsies will take two to three weeks, but no matter what the outcome is, I know she is in the best hands possible.

And I also know all too well from my earlier Dog Mom experiences that every day is a gift: with Gilda, with Lobo, with Grady. Every single day. Every single hour. Every single minute. I know we don’t get them forever. I know that’s part of the deal: experiencing the most profound love possible will, at some point, come with the most profound heartbreak.

But that day is not today. Today I will sing-talk made-up songs to all of them (a go-to banger is the one about me giving birth to Gilda). I will accompany them outside to the backyard and report back to my partner on their respective pooping accomplishments (a favorite topic of mine). We will take our daily group nap around 2pm. I will sneak them bites of apple cider donuts from Trader Joe’s, and hold Grady up in front of the mirror to do his affirmations (“You can be anything you want to be!”), and remind Lobo that “Doodling Hours” are over at 9pm (and he will ignore me, as always). I will say good girl and good boys a thousand times, and hug and kiss all my babies about a thousand times more.

XO,
SG

Hopeless Semantic lands in your inbox on Wednesdays. If someone in your life belongs here, send them this way.