Three-Legged Dog Nights: On Living with a Disabled Pet

"I have a surprise for you guys!"

That was my wife on the phone , explaining why she was running late for dinner. It wasn't exactly painting an accurate picture for me, but that's how Sandy came into our lives.

I don't consider myself a dog person or cat person, or any sort of animal lover at all. With my asthma and allergies, I'm the last person to think of getting a pet. One minute in the living room of any of our cat-owning friends, and my nose and eyes swell themselves shut for hours. And this is just my allergies, not including my asthmatic wife's and son's.

So just imagine my reaction that December evening when my wife brought home a cocker spaniel (mixed breed), and happily announced that we had adopted a new family member. This was completely from left field; nowhere in that day's horoscope did it warn me that: "You will meet a cute but aging female who is half-blind and missing one leg". My son and I didn't even notice the missing leg until she came out of her blanket and walked across the living room floor. Her hindquarters bobbed up and down a bit, but basically she looked perfectly normal. My son let out a small gasp of surprise, and looked at me as if to make sure he actually saw an amputee dog wobbling around inside our house.

At first this made me a bit unhappy, because my wife, as well her intentions were, didn't give us a chance to first sit down as a family and discuss adopting dogs before impulsively picking one up. This is a living, breathing creature dependent upon us for care, and definitely more involved than, say, buying new appliances. At an estimated ten years old and a former stray, our now-family dog would understandably not be in the best of health, and would probably have veterinary expenses we weren't expecting. All she said back was that we had several days to reconsider if it didn't work out, and besides, we couldn't turn away a family member at Christmas.

During those few days, the dog worked her charm on us big time. I named her Sandy, after another Spaniel in an old elementary schoolbook. She also seems to have bonded with my little boy in just a few days. To this day, he never fails to say goodbye to her each morning before leaving for school. She grew on us, and how. No work was necessary on my wife, whose heart melted the day lady met dog.

"Where did she come from?", I would sometimes ask myself. I couldn't help but wonder about her past, and deduce things based on her behavior and a few other clues. She has a very mild dispositon, and hardly ever barks. I suspect she is actually mute, and when she barks, she barks with the dog equivalent of a speech impediment. And because she acclimated to our place quite easily, she seems to know the drill of living in a house, and so must have had previous owners at one point. The veterinarian was the first to note her missing leg is from a clinical amputation, as opposed to some other cause. She doesn't come right away when I call her back into the house, so I think she's also a little deaf. When you look into her eyes, you'll find cataracts in each eye, one thicker than the other. Oh, and did I mention her teeth are a bit crooked? Talk about your girl next door.

At first you wonder how such a small, three-legged, partly-blind-and-deaf dog survived wandering the streets, but she has a secret weapon: She's cute. This dog is permanently set to "Cute on Steroids", and knows when to turn on the charm with a stranger who might have food. More than once I have walked her past a bar, and saw some large, scary leather-clad person step out the door and make eye contact with her; Sandy would back up, furiously wag her tail and (I can only guess) smile cheerily at this new person, and the scary-looking person would say:

"Oooooooooh! Puppy-puppy-puppy! You're so cuuuuute! Hey pal, what breed is your dog?"

Normally when I would make eye contact with such a person, my urge is to scurry away, cockroach-like, as quickly as possible. But with Sandy, I stand there like her proud PR manager while people start milling around and asking me about her.

"Oh, what happened to her leg? Poor doggy!"

I really have no answer to that question, except to say that we adopted her already that way. But regarding the "Poor doggy" part, I don't particularly feel sorry for her when she sometimes runs out the door and I have to chase after her. Her running skills are as fast as any four-legged dog, I can assure you. You can barely tell she's any different from your average dog, it actually takes a bit of looking to notice the missing leg, and perhaps the most remarkable thing is how normal she looks. I've even been asked if we've considered a prosthetic leg or even wheel-based support, but she's fine as she is, and happily keeps going along. The only thing she asks is for us to help scratch where she couldn't reach.

When adopting a disabled pet, there will be veterinary expensesfor any pre-existing conditions (Sandy had to get a few tumors removed, and watched over for a week or so) and some medical concerns, like general health and upkeep (she was underweight at the time of adoption), more than other dogs, depending on the animal's condition. So keep these in mind when talking it over with your household.

On the other hand, having a disabled pet has been a blessing for us. My son loves her with the giant affection that only happens between kid and dog. He very directly learns to appreciate her despite her imperfections. He has learned tolerance and acceptance, something that we don't have enough of in this world, and we can all stand to be taught more of. Especially if all it costs is a few tummy-rubs during the every now and then.