Many things baffle me these days, like Donald Trump’s hair and Forrest, our rescue Dalmatian. More baffling is why Forrest faked a stroke.
Forrest joined our family approximately five years ago after his human, Don, passed on from this crazy world. We knew Don from the airport. Forrest would always accompany him in the VW Beetle and even stayed in the car while Don flew his small plane. On nice days, Don put the top down, and Forrest could experience the sights, sounds, and smells of St. George and the airport. He would sit in the hangar or the car, never moving until Don signaled that it was time to leave. We admired Forrest’s calm and friendly demeanor, rather uncharacteristic for a Dalmatian.
When Don passed, no one was willing to take on a 7-year-old Dalmatian. It seems that people thought Dalmatians were a little nuts, and no one was willing to test the theory. I now know that it isn’t a rumor. After all, this Dalmatian may have faked a stroke.
At the time of Don’s demise, my daughter was looking for a dog to enhance their family dynamic. It seemed like fate that Forrest needed a loving home, so I convinced her to give him a chance, despite her reservations. She had done some research on Dalmatians and had concluded that they could be a canine Dr. Jackal and Mr. Ride, but she finally relented. So, Forrest rode in the car all the way to Salt Lake. Riding shotgun is his thing, so he was happy and calm for the entire 350 miles.
Once he arrived at his new home, however, things changed. Forrest decided that my daughter, Kendra, was his human to defend under any circumstances. He never let her out of his sight and dutifully defended her from all interlopers, like her husband and child. He was calm and loving most of the time but especially at night became combative and barked incessantly.
Kendra called me after a week, begging me to come get him before he murdered the entire family in their sleep. I reluctantly agreed. We met in Nephi, and my granddaughter was walking him in the parking lot of the truck stop when we arrived. He had a red harness on and came with his own bed. My granddaughter, Ashley, explained that he preferred the blue side, so we arranged it blue side up in the car. So far, so good. He hopped, in and we headed back to St. George. The minute we entered the highway, however, Forrest turned into a growling, snarling beast. Mike and I began to wonder if he was going to kill us on the way home. Then he settled in and went to sleep.
The following weeks and years blended together. We became more in tune with Forrest’s moods. He may be passive, aggressive, or bipolar. Or, maybe he has sundowner’s syndrome. We don’t know. My friend, Jennifer says he is quirky. My dog, Sashi, would lecture him on his errant behavior. His current sibling, Tess, is twice his size and easily puts him in his place when challenged. Forrest has no qualms about eating his food and food belonging to Tess or anyone else. His manners are atrocious, and my spouse, Mike, says he’s an ass. But he is our ass, and we will care for him until his time, or our time, on Earth is over. He follows us everywhere and constantly reminds us that he is part of our family. He is the weird family member that is a bit “off,” but he is still family.
One year ago, Forrest was diagnosed with hemangiosarcoma, which is a particularly aggressive cancer. The diagnosis wasn’t good. Life expectancy with this type of cancer is 6 weeks to 6 months. Survival to a year is almost unheard of. Therefore, we were prepared to have him euthanized as soon as he became uncomfortable. However, Forrest isn’t just any dog. He loves fruits and veggies and rice and mushrooms. I put turmeric in his food, and we put it on his lesions when they appear.
You guessed it. He is still with us and is kind of a folk hero, in spite of the fact that he barks at flies and sometimes at nothing at all. Therefore, we were rather distraught when he lost control of his back legs during a short walk. Of course, this happened in late evening after our incredible veterinarian, Dr. Rebecca Thode, had left her office. Rebecca feared a stroke given Forrest’s advanced age and all, so we put his muzzle on, distracted Tess, relocated the cat, and loaded Forrest into the car.
Forrest hyperventilated for most of the 20-mile ride to the Emergency Vet’s office. By the time, we arrived, he had calmed down and was sleeping in the back seat of the car. I went in to check him in, only to find that the veterinarian on duty was delivering puppies. According to the conversation I overheard, the “breeders” had done this many times before. In fact, the technician on duty told me that they had bragged about bringing 40 litters of puppies into the world.
I began to hyperventilate, my extremities went numb and I may have had a stroke. I envisioned sterilizing the dog and those that brought her in. The good news is that by the time the rooms had cleared and the veterinary technician came outside to retrieve Forrest, he had fully recovered. His legs were fine and he has been his normal, psychotic self for over two weeks now. We think he faked the stroke to ride in the car. Or, maybe his trip to the vet provided me the chance to rant about reckless breeding. Weirder stuff has happened, like Donald Trump’s hair. Just saying.
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