Day 1 I grew up around horses. When one keeps laying down, experienced horse owners see the truth others miss. Earlier in that day, before our vet recommended retirement, Robbie laid down twice in places and situations where he never would normally, and getting up was slow and difficult. Now, Robbie isn't a horse. Nonetheless, we knew. Getting the news from the vet that his shoulder tendons were basically shot was a gut punch that I knew was coming. I knew something was wrong, and now it had a name. Within 20 minutes, my world got turned upside-down. My independence was gone, my functionality and progress was swept backwards, and I felt immensely vulnerable. Looking down at the floor, my once invincible partner looked gaunt and tired. His world was turned upside-down now too. His purpose swept away. Did he know something was wrong, too?
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When I was a little girl, I loved Breyer Horses. I would give each of my horses names, make up stories about them, and strategically place them high up on shelves around my room to mimic wild horses on mountain ranges. Every so often, I'd take each one down very carefully and wipe away the dust, whispering kind words as if it were real, and dreaming of one day when I would have my own horses to name, groom, train, ride, and love. As my love for animals expanded beyond horses, this collection grew to include the Stablemate Breyer horses, plastic Breyer dogs, and ceramic dogs. Each got a name, a backstory, gently played with from time to time, occasionally had the dust wiped away, and held a treasured spot in my heart. As an adult, I no longer play with my Breyer horses or ceramic dogs, but I still cherish them. It's a remembrance to the past. They all have names, are placed with great care, and are kept clean, mostly. They are a piece of my story, who I am, and what I love. They can live on a shelf, though, because despite having names and holding a realistic place in the vivid imagination of a child at one time, they are not actually living, breathing animals with souls, feelings, depth, character, and needs. Retired working dogs are. There's this analogy about grief that involves a ball, and a box with a button inside. Right now, my ball fluctuates between being barely big enough to fit inside the box to being a stealthy medium-sized ball that slams into the grief button only a few times a week, but with such force it makes me lose my breath. My grief rises and falls in tandem with the good days and hard days caused by my CRPS, and is further complicated by having to pull on my rational hat to go out and look for Robbie's successor with a clear head and objective view.
How am I doing? I'm a beautiful mess wrapped in a façade of having my shit together while I run a business, manage a retired dog, and balance my disability. Robbie is an athlete. No, was. Robbie was an athlete. In my mind, in my memories, he will always be an athlete, a performance animal, a working dog. I think he believes he still very much is all of the above, who has unfairly had the rug ripped out from underneath him all of sudden. If I set up the jumps, I know he would attempt to soar over them. I know if I asked, he would readily try to brace, tug, drag, and perhaps, even slightly grudgingly still, do retrieves. It breaks my heart to withhold that life from him now. When I picture him in my mind, he is 2 years old again, galloping across the sand lot at my husband's workplace, muscles bunching and extending out, tail waving proudly. Hi everyone! I want to start by saying thank you to everyone who reads our blog, newcomers and long-time followers alike. It was my hope that our experiences would help others and that has been the case! I've got a lot more on my plate nowadays than when I started this blog and website in 2016, but I really want to do my best to keep up with it to continue helping fellow CRPSers and service dog teams.
If you read my post from a few weeks ago about our decision to retire Robbie, you know some changes are coming up for our team. I need to start the selection process for Robbie's successor, and that's a lot more involved than most people realize. Since I started writing about my adventures with Robbie after we found him, I really want to write about what's going into our search as it is happening to give future teams a little insight onto all of the emotions, details of planning, search criteria, what retirement is like for Robbie, and more. I will be starting a series of blog posts to cover all of those things, as well as updates on how the search is going. You'll be able to find all of these posts in a new category link labelled, The Next Chapter. I'll likely cross tag them in other categories as well, but if you're looking to find all of this new series in one place, you can go to the "categories" column on the side of the page and click on "The Next Chapter." Please be patient with me, as I'll be writing posts as they develop over time. I have no idea how long this process will take. It took us several months to find Robbie. Stay tuned! |
My Name is Sally...I have a condition called Complex Regional Pain Syndrome. This blog is about my journey training Robbie, a dog who helped me regain independence, confidence, and achieve the impossible in the face of my disability. It continues on with the training of Austin, Robbie's successor. Check Out... - "More than a Dog" was published on a site called The Mighty Categories
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