Posted on Tue, Jun 26, 2007

Story of a woman and a dog

By Carla J. Zambelli
As I see itSome of you are going to find this column a departure for me. But to
those of you who know me, this column is still very much me. You see, it is about
a dog. My dog.

His name is Otto, and he is an English Springer Spaniel. Ten years ago, this very
month, I received a phone call from a lady I knew in Springer rescue who had found
for us the now late, great Winston, who came to usthrough the Chester County SPCA.
Otto was rescued from a home on the Main Line, where at six months, he was one
baby too many. He was a Christmas Gift puppy who came from Idaho.

When I first saw Otto (Winston and I went together to check him out), he was a
wild puppy - one big blur with long gangly legs and the sweetest face you ever
saw. It was love at first site for me and for Winston, and for, I think, Otto. At
the time my father labeled it a dog conspiracy - he and my mother were on a trip
to Italy and when he left there was one dog (Winston); when he came back there
were three. This was also the summer my sister adopted the completely curmudgeonly
and utterly lovable Buster the Dachshund.

Otto was a puppy that tested you at every turn. He wasn't very well behaved and
his energy level was insane. But since I had always had Springers, I knew this was
par for the course. You could never get mad at Otto for more than a minute,
however, because Otto is quite simply one of the sweetest and most loving dogs.
Yes, I realize all dog owners say that about their dogs, but in the case of Otto,
it is totally true.

When Otto was a little over two years of age, he was jumped by a huge Golden
Retriever on a public sidewalk in Haverford. The Golden was not leashed and had no
collar. He came at my Otto like a raging bull and latched himself and his jaws and
all his weight on Otto's back at his "shoulder blades," just below Otto's neck.
The owner never even apologized. And if he ever, in the end, received a fine from
Lower Merion's Animal Warden, it was somewhere (I believe) between $50 and $100.
To this day, I find that grossly unjust.
This accident almost cost Otto his life. One morning, a short while later, Otto
woke up and could not walk. In fact, he was dragging his hindquarters. I took Otto
to vet after vet, and even to a neurologist. He was poked and prodded and examined
and still wasn't really walking.

One day a friend of my mother's gave me a call. She had a dog chiropractor who
made house calls. At this point I would have tried anything, so I gave the
chiropractor a call. He saved Otto's life. It took a year and a half, but Otto
came back and walked again.

But now, the injury that almost cost Otto his life as a youngster has come back to
haunt him. The discs in his back are degenerating, and due to the previous injury,
it's happening quickly. I now walk him with a harness and often with a special
handicapped dog leash. It is the saddest thing, and I know I am on borrowed time.
There are no miracle cures with a 10 1/2 year old dog, as age and time are the new
enemies. But that doesn't make this any easier.

Every day I get with him longer is a gift. I know he's not in pain because
Springers are very expressive. I also know that one morning when I wake up, my
beloved dog is going to tell us it's time to say goodbye.

And saying goodbye is what I dread. I love this dog so very much, and I made him a
promise, as I have all his doggy brethren who preceded him, that I would let them
go when they told me it was time. I have always kept that promise, as hard as it
is.

With the love of a pet comes the awesome responsibility of doing what is right for
the pet when the time comes. And if you have never done this, never owned a pet,
or a dog, trust me that it is one of the singularly hardest things you will ever
do. Otto has had a great life, and my life has been all the better with him in it.

So there it is. The story of a woman and a dog. So just give me a little more time
in the twilight with you, Otto. I'm not ready yet. Happy anniversary, sweet boy.

Carla J. Zambelli writes an occasional column for Main Line Life