Crusoe, the Worldly Wiener Dog

by Ryan Beauchesne

  Just kidding. We aren’t sure exactly what happened, but I do know that one of the discs between my vertebrae burst, causing me to go wobbly in the hind legs (not the late-Friday-night kind), which promptly required surgery to remove the pressure on my spinal cord.

  I likely never would have shared such intimate details of my health with you all, but I guess now I have no choice but to level with you. I’ve experienced very minor back issues for a few years, yet they were always solved with a bit of rest, pain meds, and rehabilitation. This recent episode was different though, because I had never experienced any loss of motor control before, and once paralysis occurs, there is only a 24-hour window to conduct surgery or the damage to the spinal cord is permanent.

  And since we’re getting everything out in the open right now, I must admit to Mum that the poop on the hallway floor last month . . . it wasn’t Dad. I did it. *Phew* Feels good to get that off my chest.

  Anyway, as you can imagine, that was a hard day for Mum and Dad as they drove me to the neurosurgeon.

  The worst part of it all is that Mum and Dad have done everything they could to prevent this from the day they got me, building me ramps all around the house and securing baby gates at the top and bottom of stairs.

  I still remember waiting in the consultation room, not understanding why I was there, Mum and Dad looking sad. Even my lifelong friend, Laffie, was there to see me off. I was then taken into the hands of a stranger in a white lab coat as I threw one last desperate glimpse at Mum and Dad, beckoning them to save me. . . .

  They didn’t. And then everything went black.

  I woke up in a tiny cage, my head spinning and eyes blurry, a strange feeling in my back. Something in me had changed, I could tell. I burrowed under my blanket, hiding from the lights and doctors bustling about outside my cage. My first thought was that Dad had elected me for a cool experimental procedure, like implanting me with Wolverine bones. Or more sinisterly, perhaps Mum had sold me to be a lab rat to test women’s cosmetics?!

  I was so relieved when Mum and Dad finally came to pick me up forty-eight hours later. Once we hopped in the car, a quick look in the rearview mirror revealed no lipstick on my face, so that was good.

  The reality of my situation seemed to kick in the next day when the stronger medications wore off and I came to understand that I couldn’t yet walk; that I could barely turn around in my crate; and the embarrassment of wetting my bed. It hit me that this was going to be a long, hard road to recovery.

  I couldn’t do much at all to begin with, just hanging out in my crate all day except for quick potty breaks. Although, the doc did prescribe me all the gentle squeakin’ I wanted!

  Which made me wonder, Is it possible to overdose on squeaking???

  Now I finally knew how my Mum felt, and I guess we have one more thing in common. You see, my Mum was in a terrible car accident about twelve years ago. She shattered two vertebrae in her back and now has metal plates supporting her spine. She spent an entire summer in the hospital, two months of which were in intensive care. She’s gone through everything I’ve gone through and worse, including learning how to walk again.

  “I hope I can be as strong as you were . . . ” I told her.

  “I know you will be,” she reassured me, with a tear in her eye. “You’re my baby after all.”

  Normally I avoid her kisses for the sake of my maintaining my manly image, but those days, I admit they were all I wanted. . . .

  Learning to walk again would require the use of a sling to support my back end, which of course Dad decided to construct himself. Knowing his fashion sense, I should have known what a bad idea that would be.

  “Dad, did you literally model this off of Borat’s mankini?!”

  My fans will never be able to look at me the same!

  Still, I wasn’t ready for walks yet, so all I could do was watch Laffie from the porch and tell her which trees I usually mark. “That one there, over there, and oh, don’t forget the recycle bin!”

  “Hey, watch what you’re pullin’ on back there!”

  Four weeks later, I was officially on “room rest” instead of crate rest, which is kind of like going from solitary confinement to a regular jail cell.

  Yet, jail cells aren’t so bad when you have so many people thinking about you and sending you care packages! In fact, the reaction and support from my fans over this time was mind-blowingly heartwarming.

  “As Dad explained, the laser helps my body accept my new titanium-alloy bones.”

  Mum and Dad truly believe that the fun I had from opening all those packages and letters helped keep my spirits up.

  After two weeks, I was finally able to walk on my own, although far from perfectly and only for very controlled amounts of time.

  I’d also been watching a lot of TV, including the Olympics, which sparked the bright idea that I would like to win the gold medal in the 100-meter doggy paddle one day.

  “My powers are being supercharged!”

  Yet, between all the relaxing and squeaking at home, I was taking my rehabilitation therapy quite seriously! Here’s what I did:

  At-home exercises and stretches, to keep the muscles working and the nerves stimulated.

  “With an overload of toys and treats gifted to me by my fans during my recovery, there was no way I could use them all. So, with my wagon full, we visited my local humane society to share the love.”

  Laser therapy, stimulates blood flow to the area to promote healing.

  Electro-acupuncture, helps relax the muscles and alleviate pain so the body can heal easier.

  Water treadmill, works a whole bunch of muscles and stimulates the nerves in a variety of ways.

  There were times where I just felt like giving up, but I never “dropped the ball”!

  After a grueling two months of rehabilitation three times a week, not including everything Dad did with me at home on a daily basis, my therapy team surprised me with a gold medal for my outstanding performance!

  I was brimming with pride and relief, and I didn’t even have to race Michael Phelps! For a second, I even contemplated the idea of melting it down to use as gold plating on my future statue, but I think this is one for the keepsake pile.

  Keep fightin’,Crusoe

  Note from Mum: Not every dog requires the same treatment, so always consult your vet. Crusoe has a dedicated page for intervertebral disc disease (IVDD) on our website, including all our learnings and experiences on prevention, surgery, rehabilitation, etc., that you may find helpful.

  Letter to Laffie

  It seems life was not done presenting me challenges. After having just gone through surgery, my best friend in the world and lifelong mother figure, Laffie, passed away. . . .

  This is my letter to her:

  Dear Laffie,

  It was just last week that you were by my side, staying with us while your parents were away. By some sort of coincidence, this is when my back took a turn for the worse and I went for emergency surgery. You, the friend I needed most in this time, were there to keep me company as I went off for my operation and to welcome me back home when it was done.

  So perhaps it was no coincidence that you should be there with me in this time. You’ve always been a canine-mother-figure of mine, and I feel like maybe your last motherly act was to see me off on a good recovery course.

  Those first couple days after surgery, when I cried in my crate, you came and slept by my side to give me comfort. I know it made a difference, you being there, so for that I’m thankful.

  I still remember the day I came home as a pup. I was scared and shaking, especially at your towering figure over my little body. Yet, you were gentle and kind, and wagged your tail. You barely even knew me, and yet you gave me comfort and let me snuggle in your warm, woolly fur.

  From that day forward, you were my best friend, and although you’ve always preferred to stay out of the limelight that has found its way to me, it was you who shaped me into the dog I am today.

&n
bsp; You taught me how to be an adventurer. Even as a young pup, I quickly took after your free spirit, doing my best to keep up with you in the bush as you followed the scent of your favorite critters.

  You taught me the hunter paw-signal, and how to use teamwork to better ambush our quarry.

  You taught me how to play, and how to be tough.

  You taught me how to withstand our cold winters, and how to move through the snow like a hare.

  You taught me how to scratch at things I want, which is one of the cutest things I do according to Mum and Dad, but also one of the most annoying. So, thank you.

  Most importantly, you taught me how to be a loyal companion. You were a dog who came and went as you pleased with no leashes or fences, but you always came back (most of the time). I’m happy to have learned that “country dog” spirit from you.

  I’ll miss sleeping on the couch next to you, and our walks through the woods together. I never told you, but it was sort of nice as you got older and slowed down, because it meant I could finally keep up with you. I’ll especially miss sharing in new adventures with you. We had some good times together. . . .

  I’m sorry your kidneys failed you. At 15 years old, you were still so strong in every other way. Part of me wishes you could have stuck around a bit longer, but perhaps that is selfish of me. I’m grateful you made it as far as you did, for there were so many other times when you brushed death aside—like when you chased away the black bear who was eating our garbage . . . or when you floated away on a piece of ice on the thawing lake . . . or when you got lost in the woods on a –30°C night, only to turn up the next morning a mile away enjoying breakfast at a stranger’s house.

  I think life didn’t fail you at all. You conquered it, and lived it in a way most dogs would envy. Not many people know about you—let alone your story, but fame was never important to you, and . . . I almost envy that. I may be a celebrity, but you are my star.

  Thank you for everything you taught me. I promise I will carry on your legacy. I promise I will get better from this back surgery, and I promise that as soon as I am, I will chase those critters for you. And every new adventure I live, I’ll imagine you by my side.

  Goodbye my friend. Until we meet again,

  Keep shinin’,Crusoe

  “With a little help from me, Mum and Dad officially completed my yard on October 28, my birthday!”

  “I love it, thanks, guys!”

  Banff National Park, Alberta, Canada

  After my surgery two months ago and a long rehabilitation routine, it was nice to finally receive the “OK” from the doc to be a normal dog again.

  So, what better way to celebrate, and to honor Laffie’s legacy, than with a little trip to the wilderness! How about Banff National Park in the Canadian Rockies, Canada’s first-ever national park? This is about as wild as it gets!

  As we entered the Banff park, we passed this wildlife crossing sign by the side of the road. I was thrilled at the thought of seeing one of those creatures, so I insisted we pull over, whipped out my camera and held it at the ready!

  Several minutes went by . . .

  “Dad, when the heck do they start crossing? I don’t got all day here!”

  But as I, and many other doofus tourists have discovered, there’s no specific time.

  The Bow Valley Parkway is renowned for its wildlife viewing, so early the first morning (and every morning), that’s where we headed to start the day.

  At the entrance to the parkway, I stopped for a quick pee break. When I hopped back in, I showed Mum my camera and said, “Look, there was a wolf just over by the sign!”

  You see, just like how Africa has their “Big 5” animals, so, too, does Banff! The wolf is the first one I’ve checked off my list, but I especially wanted to see a bear—from a non-snackable distance of course.

  As we continued our slow cruise down the road with eyes peeled out the windows, I suddenly exclaimed, “Hey, look!”

  Another one of the Big 5! The elk!

  Or more specifically, a bull elk guarding his harem of ladies.

  “Hey Dad, how come you don’t have a harem of ladies like that guy? Were you not alpha-enough of a male to win over more than one female?”

  Dad looked thoughtful. “No, I definitely was. It’s just that I chose to be with one. . . .”

  At that point I noticed Mum give one of her “looks” in Dad’s direction, which indicated it was best if I let them be.

  After a short car ride, I had my paws on Rocky Mountain soil for the first time and was leading the way through the woods on a short, easy hike called the Fenland Trail.

  Along the way, I couldn’t help but take a few minutes to reflect and take it all in; the quiet river flowing by, the soft rustling of trees, the birds chirping and woodpeckers knocking, and Mum’s loud, obnoxious singing meant to warn any nearby bears of our presence. . . .

  Laffie would have loved it here, especially considering she was mostly deaf.

  A little farther down the pathway, we came across a marshy opening, and I couldn’t believe what I saw. Perfectly situated in its natural habitat was the moose. Another check off my list.

  They’re actually a lot smaller than they look in pictures, but are quite dangerous and territorial.

  Next up was the gorgeous Lake Louise. The pristine mountain waters give this lake a mesmerizing turquoise color. Incredibly, the colors of my toque perfectly matched my mountain backdrop.

  Heck, it looks like we walked straight into a postcard.

  From the lake, we decided to embark on the longest hike of the trip, which went up the mountain to the Lake Agnes Tea House.

  Before my surgery, I would have been able to do this hike no problem, but since I’m still working back up to that level, Dad carried me most of the way, only putting me down for short 5-minute intervals when I wanted.

  As we climbed higher, the endless landscape of mountain summits came into misty view, and from within that bouncing sling bag I had a moment of realization. For the first time I understood that I would never get the chance to conquer all those mountaintops, that the world is too big for one wiener dog to conquer it all. Yet, somehow, I had learned to accept that. For it’s not always about doing more, going farther, or climbing higher. Sometimes it’s about where you are, looking out from the peak on which you stand to appreciate the world around you and the people beside you.

  Thinking on this enlightenment, I was quiet for most of the hike up until we finally reached the lovely little teahouse overlooking another enchanting lake.

  Tuna sandwich and soup, don’t mind if I do! All this contemplating the meaning of life had me famished.

  On our way back to the hotel, along the Bow Valley Parkway once again, we finally saw what I was after. Just off in the field was a grizzly, grazing away!

  I rolled down my window and yelled, “Hey bear, how’s the salad bar?! Haha. I bet you could go for a hot dog, huh? Well, you ain’t getting’ this one, sucker!”

  “Don’t tease the bear!” Mum scolded.

  Of course, you shouldn’t tease bears, but do you know which animal causes the most injuries in the park? Not the bear. And not the ferocious Wienerwolf, surprisingly.

  Nope. Can you believe it’s the frickin’ squirrel?? Ridiculous, I know. But once again those doofus tourists like to try to feed them (against park rules), which often leads to the squirrel chomping on a finger! So, how about you leave the squirrels to us wiener dogs?

  Technically, the deer would be the fifth animal on my list, but “man-eater squirrel” sounds much more bad***.

  Keep waitin’,Crusoe

  “A famous Canadian treat is called a ‘beavertail,’ yummy fried pastry sprinkled with brown sugar and cinnamon. Common side effects include the flattening and widening of your tail and excessive incisor growth.”

  “Time for my pawdicure while I catch up on all the celebrity gossip being spewed about me in the tabloids. Supposedly I have four children that I’ve never known about? Intere
sting. I’ll have to let Mum know she has grandchildren. . . .”

  “We’re really into skiiing—mainly for the apres ski drinks and the cookies, though.”

  “You sing, I squeak. Together we shall make beautiful shower music.”

  New Orleans,Louisiana, USA

  It was just a personal vacation choice that we decided to visit New Orleans; a city where vibrant Spanish architecture coupled with French descendants and new American influences combine to make it unlike any other place in the world.

  The very first thing we did was to try one of their famous “beignets” at the equally famous Cafe du Monde.

  I don’t know what the heck kind of service they offer though, because this beignet was served to Mum with two huge bites already taken out of it! I’ve never seen anything like it in my life!

  So, the next time the waiter came around, I politely stopped him and said, “Excusez-moi, Monsieur, it seems my Mum’s beignet has been in someone else’s bouche on its way over here. She would like a replacement, s’il vous plaît.

  The waiter gave me a funky look, and said, “Right away, Monsieur,” but not before handing me a napkin.

  In front of the café, a local saxophone player was entertaining the guests with his jazzy tunes. I also noticed people were giving him money for it! So, I figured I’d join him for a couple minutes and it’ll pay for my beignet!

  Luckily, Mum always carries my saxophone in her purse for such occasions.

  While down in the historic district, we decided to walk around, which is where I came across a Paw Reader! I’ve never had my paw read before so I had to give it a try!