She runs in her sleep.
Raven, I mean, my Scottish Deerhound who had her left rear leg amputated last month after bone cancer had eaten a big hole in it. She runs in her sleep.
Lots of my deerhounds seem to do that: Their closed eyes darting, their legs bunching and releasing, their necks extending and drawing back in. They're dreaming of running after a hare or a deer, or maybe just after one of the other dogs in a play version of the hunt.
When Raven does it, the remainder of her amputated leg still moves with the other one, draws up and extends in a dreaming double-suspension gallop. Her eyes dart and her neck pumps and when I put my hand on her side, her heart is racing. The chase is on and she's in it, coursing with the other hounds after a dream deer.
I sat on the bed next to her this morning at around sunrise, my knees drawn up to my chest and my feet tucked under the edge of my quilt. She was having a great run and once or twice she gave a muffled little bark of excitement. Since deerhounds run silent and only vocalize when they've caught their prey, I have to guess her hunt was a success.
And then she woke up.
Every day except when she was at her sickest after surgery, Raven has greeted me and the morning with joy. Her eyes light up, her tail thumps, and she gives me a slurpy kiss good morning. She waits until I've cleared the other dogs out of the room to get up now, though, as she's scared to jump off the bed and and catch her balance when they're around. Then she sails off and gallops outside to potty, one front leg moved back to form a stable tripod while she pees. Then I let my two oldest dogs out the gate and the three of us walk down to the edge of my property and back, Raven making better time and covering more ground than my four-legged senior citizen, Rosie. Sometimes she hops up the fairly steep hill next to the drive, sometimes she just looks at it appraisingly and decides against it.
Now and then, for a change of scene, I shut the young dogs up in the house and let Raven into the meadow off my deck, and she races around on her three legs, in a funny little hitching gallop that would still outpace any dog but another sighthound.
She may never run with the pack again, never scare up a jackrabbit and fly after it like the wind, never put four legs to the ground and then into the air in the flying gait that's the hallmark and definition of her breed. That wasn't something that she lost because I had her leg amputated, as some people either ignorant or unkind, or perhaps both, told me when I made the decision. Cancer took that away from her, not the surgeon and not me. As the oncologist told me at the time, dogs are born with "three legs and a spare."
Will Raven be one of the 15 percent of dogs with osteosarcoma who has amputation and chemo and never has a recurrence of their cancer? Or maybe one of the 30 percent who makes it to two years? Those aren't great odds, but they aren't zero. Obviously we're going for the 15 percent. Maybe all we'll get is two years or a year, or even a few months, of dreaming about the hunt and hitch-galloping around the meadow, of watching her flying after a deer in her sleep. Maybe she'll overcome her nervousness and fear and play with the young dogs again. Maybe, just maybe, she'll fly again.
But I know one thing: Dead dogs don't play, or run, or hitch-gallop, or smell at the ground, or have their eyes light up in the morning.
They don't even dream.
Besides ... as I told Ben when he lost a toe to cancer: That's one less toenail that has to get cut. Raven has a whole foot's worth of toenails that she doesn't have to have cut.
Posted by: gina | 06 July 2005 at 09:33 AM
Our dog Chris lost his sight last year to diabetes-induced cataracts. I love to see him dream because I know that for those few moments he can see again and chase rabbits and bark at anything that moves him!
Posted by: Natalie | 06 July 2005 at 03:29 PM
Have you ever read the book, "For Every Dog an Angel" By Christine Davis? It is a short book, about your "forever" dog and its 'Guardian Angel', and in it she describes that when the dog's legs are moving in their sleep, they are dancing with their Guardian Angel.... Just a thought, and something I always think about when I see my dogs "running in their sleep"....
Posted by: Kim | 06 July 2005 at 04:50 PM
Christie, I've been moved by Raven's story and grateful to you for sharing it with all of us. I'd like to talk with you about having you write about your journey with Raven for my paper, FETCH--a new paper in the North Bay. I'd love it if you would contact me. --sandy
Posted by: Sandy | 09 July 2005 at 12:12 PM
Greyhounds run in their sleep too.
My younger hound, Summer, lost her leg 12 days ago to osteosarcoma. It's been a non-stop haze of complications ever since. I notice the same thing, though; while dreaming, she's still trying to get that squirrel.
Posted by: Sharon GR | 30 August 2005 at 10:27 PM