Update on Phoebe (because I know you're dying to hear :D)

Today I accompanied my dad and Phoebe to the veterinary opthamologist; yes, there are specialty eye doctors for poodles (and other animals, I suppose). I was hoping for some great answer to all of Phoebe’s health problems. Perhaps a declaration that she wasn’t going blind after all and maybe she was just constipated or moody. This was not the case but I did make some very interesting discoveries while there still.

First of all, a veterinary eye doctor’s office is not all that different from the office you and I may visit. There is a waiting room and little patient rooms with examination tables and eye drops and machines. However, they have linoleum floors for…accidents…and also there are no eye charts on the walls. Go figure. Even the smartest of dogs won’t be covering her eye with her paw and reciting letters anytime soon. Another difference I noticed. Most people who go to the eye doctor also don’t have to be muzzled so that they don’t snap at the doctor who is poking and prodding at their eyeball. Although I wouldn’t blame any poor soul for growling a little bit when being bothered by the bright lights and odd instruments.

So, now for Phoebe’s prognosis. The word “blind” was never used in reference to Phoebe though her cataracts were referred to quite often as being problematic and no doubt uncomfortable. As I stated before, Phoebe’s glassy black little eyeballs were examined quite closely and she was muzzled. Apparently ever since her first visit to the eye doctor, a few years ago, she has gained the reputation of needing her mouth clamped shut. They are all terrified of her ferocious face; and who wouldn’t be scared by all that cashmere-like fur? Upon finding that the pressure in her eyes was fine but the cataracts were clearly a problem, the vet began talking surgery. Without much explanation on the nature or implications of this surgery (or other important matters, such as the cost), we were warned that Phoebe wasn’t perhaps the best candidate for cataract surgery. Not due to her age or overall health or the necessity of the surgery. Because of her temperament. I repeat, as the doctor said, “Phoebe isn’t the best candidate for cataract surgery because of her temperament” and then she made a couple jokes about making sure everyone’s fingers were intact after surgery and during post-care. In other words, they don’t like my poodle’s personality! Highly offensive. But I have a feeling that people don’t like Phoebe for very similar reasons that they feel confused about how much they like me and my parents and maybe even my sister. I feel bad that we brought this poor little creature into our family of bad personalities.

Maybe the entire vet staff is more keen on the temperament of the other animals around the clinic. Like the hound who is howling two doors down. Or the cat in the cardboard box with renal failure. (Okay that one I feel bad about because the owner was crying and it made me thankful that Phoebe was just blind and not much worse.) There was another dog laying in its bed in the waiting room just before we were called back. In the examination room I said to my dad, “Did you see that dog out there in its bed; it sure didn’t look well.” My dad asked, “What looked wrong with it?” And I said, “It just looked weak and sickly” and he replied, “Oh no, it was just a Chihuahua.” Good one. Wait a second, is this the disagreeable temperament people are talking about? Because Phoebe definitely barked at the sick Chihuahua when it first walked…er, was carried in on its deathbed. Poor animals; I really do feel for all the owners of sick pets because it’s not always easy to deal.

The final concern about Phoebe was that she may have diabetes; our first clue into this is her incessant water drinking and panting thereafter. So they wanted to do a blood work explaining it would be easy to tell immediately if that was her problem. Well, Phoebe’s health is apparently never black and white. Her glucose levels were a little high but not irrationally high. Still, they thought it may be a concern to look further into. Thus, it would be really helpful for us to catch a urine sample. I repeat those exact words from the doctor’s mouth: “Try to catch a urine sample.” I wanted to ask if there was a specific procedure for this task. I’ll probably leave that up to the poodle’s master.

Anyway, it became quite clear that the veterinarian had a complex about how much Phoebe’s temperament affected their relationship. The final time she entered the room she commented on the fact that Phoebe was avoiding eye contact with her. I wanted to yell, “That’s because she is blind now!” But I figured this was politically incorrect or something, considering the B-word hadn’t been used a single time in the examination room, and the woman in the room with the Dr. on her badge made a very distasteful joke about my dog’s temperament/eyesight.

Dog clinics are clearly quite the hang-out. Phoebe was panting pretty hard the whole time we were waiting; she stopped only when she heard the bark of another dog or the clink of a chain-leash on the floor outside our room. But she was given a treat before we departed and once back in the car, she settled again very calmly into the crook of my arm for the drive home. In the meantime, send up a prayer for my precious-crazy-little-idiot-dog and her cataracts and blindness or possible diabetes and obvious bad personality.