from the quack to the quacken
Never has there been such a fowl start to summer—and no, that isn’t a typo.
It’s been a season of neighborhood waterfowl, of expected and unexpected bills, of a few new feathers in my cap, as well as many weeks spent paddling through a sea of social media on the World-Wide Webbed, where, indeed, with a bit of fishing, I even reconnected with cherished members of my childhood flock. In short, hotter weather notwithstanding, it’s been downright ducky. (Except for winging our way through the bills. I wouldn't wish to imply we're enjoying that bit. We're meant to be evoking a punny sense of ducks here, definitely not loons.)
First there was the duck with the umbrella. I call her Beatrix--Beatrix Jemima Bumbershoot, to be precise. Beatrix Jemima, because, among Beatrix Potter's charmingly illustrated stories, there was a lovely, if naïve, character known as Jemima Puddle-Duck, and Bumbershoot because, well, if there's a more delightful way to say umbrella, I certainly don't know what it is. She's not a living, sentient duck, of course. Rather, she's something of a thoughtful homage.
A few of you already know the story of the fashionably accessorized duck, a crayon drawing I'd made when I was a very little girl, a drawing of a white duck carrying a colorful floral umbrella because she didn't want to get wet or, apparently, sacrifice style. There was a whole backstory there as well, one that amused my mom endlessly. Luckily for you, I no longer remember it, so you need not worry about being tormented with the imaginative ramblings of a three-or-four-year-old child. No, you'll simply be tormented by the reflective ramblings of a middle-aged woman instead. Depending upon your point of view, I cannot guarantee that will be the superior experience. As my mom would tell it, the backstory was hilarious, and it was one of those priceless parenting moments she'd always treasured, occasionally sending another gift to remind me--something sweet and full of a mother's love, expressed in the form of a duck with an umbrella. Mom's been gone now for more than five years, but Dennie knew the story, knew why, for example, there's still an umbrella-wielding duck clinging to the side of a potted plant even though it goes with nothing else in our decor. Dennie knew how special this memory was and insisted this solar, bumbershoot-toting duck needed to reside here, a whimsical addition to the home we've made together as well as an affectionate gift of nostalgia...expressed, naturally, in the form of a duck with an umbrella.
That was duck number one. Subsequent ducks got a little weirder.
Recently, Maisie started limping. She's at an age where arthritis and hip dysplasia are not only possible, one or both are likely for a dog of her size and breed. She had taken an awkward fall at the Fragrance Garden near Hovander Homestead, and, while we were aware changes to her gait could be merely age related, we had to consider that she may have also injured herself, or worse: she could have developed osteosarcoma, a rapidly invading disease that, with one of our Labs, first manifested as nothing more troublesome than a limp. While waiting for a vet appointment, a period of rest followed by gentler, shorter walks seemed to improve Maisie’s mobility, but there was still a slight abnormality in the way she carried herself, the kind of thing only a totally obsessed dog mom would notice. (Hi. Totally obsessed dog mom here. I'd love to shake your hand, but mine are busy with beagle belly rubs.) We continued to take our daily walks so our girl's muscles wouldn't atrophy, and gentler was certainly the goal if not always the reality. Especially after the aforementioned period of rest, Maisie's enthusiasm to be out in the fresh air each day could easily get the best of her, bringing out her inner puppy in full zero-to-sixty-in-three-point-five fashion.
Then, just to the left of her spine, we found a lump. Suddenly, arthritis or an injury, even dysplasia, dropped to the number two spot on my list of worries. I've been rocking this dog mom gig since 1996, so I've seen my share of lumps and bumps, upset bellies, unusual phobias, and aggravating allergies. I've nursed every one of my dogs through illness and/or surgical recoveries at some point in their lives. Not every lump is problematic, but enough of them are that we snatched up the first cancellation slot the animal hospital had available. With previous dogs, we've been through lipomas that have grown large enough to impede movement, a necrotic tissue mass, and two types of canine cancer, only one of the latter being treatable. The other--the osteosarcoma--was too heartbreaking to bear, but bear it we did through its brief and virulent spread. Dennie and I weren't taking any chances with any kind of unfamiliar lump. Thursday, July 10th, we ducked out of work early, buckled Maisie and me (she's comforted by the company) into the backseat, and headed to the vet.
To be fair and very, very clear, her doctor is not at all a quack. She was, in fact, very nice and very thorough, but you have to admit, as titles go, From the Vet to the Quacken just doesn't have the same ring to it.
Our vet also noticed Maisie's gait, but, while there are signs hip dysplasia may well become an issue as our dog ages, it is not the primary issue now. The doctor said the fall may have caused a soft-tissue injury to Maisie's back leg, but it seems to have healed as there is currently no evidence of it. However, she did say our pup's quads are unusually tight, which could indicate too much exercise. It more likely indicates the Schwarzenegger-like muscle mass of zero-to-sixty-in-three-point-five while dragging the weight of a grown human behind her. She does settle down, but for a while, post-recuperation, there was no quashing that initial burst of enthusiasm on our daily walks. We're working on the pulling, but we'll never give in to any facsimile of quashing. Dogs are meant to be happy. Today, after a gentle discussion our little genius clearly understood, Maisie merrily trotted along in a manner just this side of angelic.
As for the lump, this weekend I can breathe again. The doctor believes it's only a benign cyst and said our baby may get more of them. Some dogs do as they get older. As long as they're harmless, we see no reason to put our pup through the risks and trauma of having them removed. Still, we aren't sorry to have had it checked. Sure, we paid a vet bill to find out Maisie is no longer injured and doesn't have a mast cell tumor on her back, but those charges bought us peace of mind. I'd have been filled with anxiety daily if we hadn't gone, and if this growth had, at a later date, revealed itself to be cancerous, I'd have never forgiven myself for delaying.
Despite her nervousness to be there, Maisie did exceptionally well through all the poking and prodding, though as soon as the doctor backed off, one German shepherd-beagle stood at the door, adorably wide-eyed, gazing up at the handle, then gazing at me, and so on, desperately hoping I'd take the hint and break her out of that puppy prison sooner than later. Alas, there were questions to get answered and accounts to be settled first. Then it was time for fun. For Maisie's benefit, we do have to go easier on our hikes now--keeping them shorter, taking more breaks--but, after all the stress of the afternoon and the days leading up to it, a walk in the shady forest was exactly what she needed, what we all needed. Our chosen park was sunny and serene and at its most beautiful, with wildflowers and berries colorfully dotting almost every trail through the verdant woods. It was a wonderful walk, followed by a culinary detour. The hour was late. All three of us were beat. No one looked forward to cooking. Dennie suggested picking up some Olive Garden to take home with us. Eggplant Parmigiana? Count me in.
What we hadn't counted on were ducks. Not to eat, I should clarify. I've been a strict vegetarian for three and a half decades. No, these were enormous inflatable rubber duckies, a trio of them strapped to the roofs of two vans in the parking lot. Upon each window, various duck puns and riddles were scrawled, though the one that really made us laugh was the larger painted lettering along one side window, a comical command that some days can be downright tempting to obey: Release the Quacken!
Special thanks to Betty Verheij for the delightful rubber ducky graphic used in this post’s header image.