Looking at the world with his heart

Born in 2003, our dog came to live with us just a couple of days after his second birthday. Given a fancy real name by our friends who bred him, our little guy had earned the moniker “Puddin’” before he came to live with us. And Puddin’ he’s stayed to this day.
Having lost our 17-year-old Lhasa apso, Lucky, Puddin’ arrived and mended our broken hearts. He was a lively guy, and although he was initially skeptical about his new family, it wasn’t long before “Mr. P.” – another Lhasa – became one of us.
There is something about Lhasas. We’ve owned several over the years, even breeding them for awhile when our daughters were young. Lhasa apsos, in our opinion, are stubborn, smart and intensely loyal. If he’s on a leash and “done” with his walk, Puddin’ plants his hindquarters down and refuses to budge. Or, being led into the groomer, he pancakes on the floor, doing his best impression of a dustmop. Of course that may be the fault of the owner (me) more than the dog. I’m not known as a terrifically hard taskmaster.
Soon after we adopted him, our older daughter, who worked through college for an Arizona veterinarian, noticed something in Puddin’s eyes. We took him to our vet.
“Looks like juvenile cataracts,” said Dr. Rick, who has seen us through our last three Lhasas. He referred us to a veterinarian ophthalmologist in San Jose who confirmed Dr. Rick’s diagnosis.
And so it began. Our good friends, who initially bred our boy, had us bring Puddin’ back to Ft. Collins, Colo. to the amazing veterinarian teaching hospital at Colorado State University. Susan and Bud undertook the arrangement of surgery to remove Puddin’s cataracts. They even paid for the costly procedure. And the miracle was that Mr. P. could see perfectly again. Life was good.
Returning to California, we continued follow-up visits in San Jose until one appointment when the doctor noticed something was off. Puddin’ had a detached retina in his right eye and was totally void of vision in that eye. And the left eye’s retina was in the process of detaching.
We were referred to a veterinarian ophthalmologist specialist in Fremont who was one of a handful of doctors in the United States that was successfully re-attaching retinas, thereby saving the eyesight of many beloved pets.
Dr. Patricia Smith spelled out the benefits and risks of the surgery. If all went well, Puddin’ would retain some vision in his left eye. If not, he would be totally blind. At that point, my husband brought up the quality of life issue. Would it be fair if Puddin’ was blind to expect him to live with this affliction? Or was it more humane to put him down?
I wasn’t prepared to discuss anything like this; we had to give it a shot. And the re-attachment held. We were thrilled. Our little trooper came through with flying colors, and we treated him with an arsenal of medications. He continued to improve as we made countless trips to Fremont for follow-up visits with Dr. Smith.
But Puddin’s sight took a blow several weeks later when he developed glaucoma in the repaired eye. So the successful retina re-attachment gave way to the news that glaucoma had got him. Our boy was blind.
Far from his life being over, however, Mr. P. adapted. With his initial gradual loss of vision, when it became total, he got around just fine. Reflexively saying, “Watch it!” when he was about to bump into something, he quickly got my meaning and adjusted, instinctively knowing when to correct left and when to correct right.
Best of all, his funny personality remained intact. Through our large dining room window I watch him dash through the house to the garage door entry when we drive in. We open the door, and there he’ll be, reared up on his short legs to dance and wave his tail and welcome us home.
One of our granddaughters said about Puddin’s condition recently as we discussed his blindness, “Puddin’ doesn’t need his eyes, Mimi. He sees you with his heart.”
Oh, yes. She is so very right about that!