A tough ailment to shake
Howard has always been a head shaker. Wheaten terriers are known to develop ear infections, and Howard has had his share. We’d notice some small bouts of shaking, take him to the vet for antibiotics and eardrops, and wait a few days for things to improve.
But as the weather turned colder last month and Howard spent more time indoors, the shaking got worse. Sometimes he’d wake at night to wander around the house, shaking and scratching. Sometimes, while we watched TV at night, he would drag his head along the sides of the furniture.
I made an appointment for him later in the week.
But that night, things got worse; the shaking and scratching were constant. He jumped on and off the bed all night, rolling on the floor and then climbing onto the bed to resume the head shaking. The metal tags on his collar combined with the ear flapping to create a noisy windstorm that kept me awake and shook the room.
Howard was suffering. I considered, briefly, taking him to the local emergency center. But at 2 a.m., the bill would equal my grocery budget for the month.
It’s a dilemma for any pet owner. We want them not to suffer, and in the moments of dire need, we would not hesitate to make huge financial investment in a pet’s health and comfort. But this was a case of itchy ears, not an accidental poisoning. Best I could tell, itchy is not life threatening. I pulled Howard up against me in bed and spent the rest of the night rubbing his ears.
“This has been a whole day of ear infections around here,” said the veterinarian the next morning. “And Howard wins the prize.” The doctor had taken a swab and peered at it under a microscope.
“Rods and bubbles and squiggly things I don’t recognize,” she said. And the otoscope showed a ruptured eardrum.
“Maybe from the shaking,” the doctor said, “and probably why he doesn’t seem to hear so well.”
It was a hard office visit for Howard. I held his mouth shut and an assistant held his body while the doctor clipped and poked and needled him. I told Howard he would feel better soon, but he wasn’t buying it. This dog, so gentle and almost passive at home with his family, was bucking under our hands, whimpering through his clamped teeth.
“It’s almost over,” we kept saying.
And finally it was. With antibiotics and eardrops and ear wipes and a big shot of steroid, Howard was on his way to feeling better. I clipped the leash on and went to the counter to pay the bill. It took two hands and all I had to keep him from bolting out the door. Outside, he leapt at the car door, demanding that I open it so he could get away from that place.
Once home, he ate a big bowl of food, ran around the back yard three times, settled on the kitchen floor and fell asleep. It was the deep, snoring sleep of tired, lumbering old dogs that can no longer be bothered. But Howard is not old or lumbering – he was just dog-tired. He was feeling the warm sense of relief we all get when the hard part is over.
He slept all day. And then all night.
Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.