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I WALK ALONE
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Aspen (My
Three-legged Dog)
She seemed to laugh and dance when I first saw her. The little black dog
in the cage. She watched me intently, not letting go with her eyes. "I’m
here. Do you see me? Please come over here and play," she appeared to
beg.
How could I not notice her. "What's wrong with your
leg?" I asked Her left front leg dangled uselessly in front of her.
"Don't bother with that , I have three other good
legs. Just let me out so I can play with you. We could have such fun! I
know we could."
"Okay, little girl. But you must stay by my side. The
management might not like it if I let you run, carelessly, around the
Humane Society. There are so many other animals here that we must think
of."
"Come on then."
She eagerly stepped from her cage and began to dance
around me like a healthy pup not even fearing or knowing that she missed
the use of her left front leg.
"We'll just play for a little bit then I must put you
back. I have other animals to tend to."
She didn't want to go back, but she did, apparently
happy with the short amount of time we shared together.
As I left her I wondered her story. Why the untimely
fate for a four-month-old Black Lab puppy?
"Dr. Cunningham," the senior veterinarian called.
"You seem to be attached to the Lab pup. I thought it might be a
learning experience for you to amputate her bad leg. It can't be saved.
The bones are crushed and the leg is severely infected. You could do the
surgery this afternoon. She hasn't been fed yet. Are you interested?"
Pause. . . .
"Normally we would have euthanized her by now. But
she is such a friendly little thing. I think we should be able to find a
good home for a three legged dog," she encouraged.
I wanted the best for the pup but was hesitant. The
surgery was complex and I was uncertain. I was just a new veterinarian.
My only experience with the amputation of a front leg was on a written
anatomy exam. And I knew the brachial plexus, underneath the scapula,
was a complicated network of vessels, and nerves that must be carefully
avoided.
"Sure," I slowly responded.
"I'll have one of the other veterinarians review the
surgical approach with you. You'll do fine."
The surgery was successful. The little girl's life
was in my hands. And I ever so carefully dissected out the scapula, tied
off all bleeders, removed the entire leg including the shoulder blade,
and carefully re-sutured the axillary muscles and connective tissue and
skin that were positioned protectively over the brachial plexus. I was
curious to watch the muscles twitch, for several minutes, on the
amputated leg as if it had a life of its own.
Then I stood back and hopefully watched as the pup
was awakened from the anesthetic. Slowly she opened her eyes, and
cautiously looked around. When her eyes fell upon me she began to wag
her tail as if to say, "thank you friend, I knew we could do it."
At that moment something miraculous happened to me.
Something so rare, yet so uplifting. I could not deny it. A sense of
calmness, confidence, trust, and friendship all surrounded by quiet
beauty. She had freely given that to me. And because of that I became a
better person. A more complete veterinarian. And I knew, at that
instant, she was my joy, my blessing to care for, for the rest of her
life. She would come home with me. She must be repaid for the trust that
she so generously gave to me.
I named her Aspen. Aspen trees grow by spreading root
systems underneath the ground to create new offshoots, branching,
exponentially, to a infinite stand of magnificent trees. In fact, as a
result of this, the Aspen tree is known as the largest single living
organism in the world. And somehow, I thought, the little black dog's
life would continue to spread and to grow into something beautiful and
magnificent. At least for me.
The first day home, Aspen was tired and painful. I gave her frequent
pain medications. But the next day she was up and ready to go. Since she
hadn't used her left front leg for several weeks, she was already
accustomed to being three legged. . . . . Read more in the book
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