On Being Prepared

One of the great things about Murphy is her easy going attitude.  Like many labs, she is gentle, and absorbs the human antics we impose on her.  Like all the times I put my silly ski hats on her, or the Easter Bunny rabbit ears, or sing my covers of Motown or Nashville county in her ears.  She has been especially easy going about the vet.  Every time, she walks into the clinic, sniffs the stone dog statute in the waiting area, lumbers onto the scale, and then sits, patiently, until her doctor checks her.  She willing takes shots, has blood withdrawn, and doesn't mind the cold stethoscope.  

When she was a pup, we had a great vet in New York.  He assured me that Murphy would "calm down" around age 8.  Ok, so he was way off on that one.  But he clearly loved animals, and enjoyed having an active Yellow lab pup scamper about his tiny office.  It was hard moving back here, leaving Dr. Gardner.  Eventually we found a fabulous doctor, who immediately bonded with Murphy, and even noticed my relationship with her.  

During these past 14 years, Murphy has been amazingly healthy.  The usual cuts, scrapes, bruises, all normal for an active lab.  But not much else.  Even her arthritis has been relatively easy to address.  But every time she had to go, she let the vet take care of her and usually gave the good doctor a nuzzle in return.

Our vet has worked hard, developing a thriving practice, and several years ago went into semi-retirement.  She is only at the clinic a two days a week, and often out for extended periods of time seeing the world she postponed while she worked.  Can't blame her.  But now, as Murph ages, and it seems to be happening fast, I realize that I am panicked about not having "my vet" there when we need her.  I can not imagine the added stress and anxiety of dealing with a stranger when the inevitable emergency arises.  

On today's "to-do" list is a meeting with another vet.  A young woman we met several years ago while romping at a local park.  Kate is owned by two young dogs and several cats.  Sage and the young dogs became "catch me if  you can" buddies.  About a year ago Kate opened her own practice close by, and seems to be doing well.  I am going to talk with her about helping us if we need her.  

It feels sad, doing this.  As if I am preparing for something I don't want to think about, to imagine.  But I also know myself, that if I didn't do this, if I didn't prepare, I would feel as if I short-changed Murphy in the end.  I simply can not do that.  Murphy barks that she deserves the best steak, or the buttered toast, or another turkey chew-thing.  But I know she deserves the best all the way to the end.  And if that means making sure I have someone who will care for Murphy in the ways I think she merits, then I will take a deep breath, walk into the vet clinic, and have this talk today.  Be prepared.  

Murphy's day.