They come into our lives and break our hearts

Meg
aka Little Fox, Miss Meggles, Supermodel
c. 1990 - December 12, 2005

It was then that the fox appeared.

“Good morning,” said the fox.

“Good morning,” the little prince responded politely, although when he turned around he saw nothing.

“I am right here,” the voice said, “under the apple tree.”

“Who are you?” asked the little prince, and added, “You are very pretty to look at.”

“I am a fox,” the fox said.

“Come and play with me,” proposed the little prince. “I am so unhappy.”

“I cannot play with you,” the fox said. “I am not tamed.”

“Ah! Please excuse me,” said the little prince.

But, after some thought, he added:

“What does that mean — ‘tame’?”

“It is an act too often neglected,” said the fox. It means to establish ties.”

“‘To establish ties’?”

“Just that,” said the fox. “To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . .”

“My life is very monotonous,” the fox said. “I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . .”

The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

“Please — tame me!” he said.

“I want to, very much,” the little prince replied. “But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand.”

“One only understands the things that one tames,” said the fox. “Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . .”

“What must I do, to tame you?” asked the little prince.

“You must be very patient,” replied the fox. “First you will sit down at a little distance from me — like that — in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day . . .”

The next day the little prince came back.

“It would have been better to come back at the same hour,” said the fox. “If, for example, you come at four o’clock in the afternoon, then at three o’clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o’clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you . . . One must observe the proper rites . . .”

“What is a rite?” asked the little prince.

“Those also are actions too often neglected,” said the fox. “They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all.”

So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near –

“Ah,” said the fox, “I shall cry.”

“It is your own fault,” said the little prince. “I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . .”

“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.

“But now you are going to cry!” said the little prince.

“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.

“Then it has done you no good at all!”

“It has done me good,” said the fox, “because of the color of the wheat fields.” And then he added:

“Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret.”

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.

“You are not at all like my rose,” he said. “As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world.”

And the roses were very much embarassed.

“You are beautiful, but you are empty,” he went on. “One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you–the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.

And he went back to meet the fox.

“Goodbye,” he said.

“Goodbye,” said the fox. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

“What is essential is invisible to the eye,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”

“It is the time I have wasted for my rose — ” said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.

“Men have forgotten this truth,” said the fox. “But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose . . .”

“I am responsible for my rose,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

–From The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Meg is fading

If Meg had been diagnosed with a brain tumor, it would have explained a lot, and we’d have a much better idea of what we’re facing. But the x-ray came back clear, so we’re back to medicating and hoping for the best.

The vet thinks Meg is much older than we had thought. Because she was a rescue, her past is guesswork. There’s a strong possibility she’s slipping into senility.

Thursday night, around 11:00, Meg fell into another petit mal seizure. This time, though, it lasted for half an hour. She had been making noises in her sleep, but when they became very rhythmic and didn’t stop, I found her unresponsive and trembling. In fifteen minutes her eyes were responsive, but she remained on her side for another fifteen minutes. When she stood up she was very unsteady. In another ten minutes she was back to pacing, which she’s been doing almost constantly lately.

Yesterday she was still in slow motion, occasionally stumbling, and had several accidents in the house.

This morning, I went into the kitchen at about 7am. She was standing in the middle of the floor, head down, not moving. Her eyes had that now familiar glassy look. This time, the episode lasted for almost an hour. At 9am she had another (less severe), and at 10am, collapsed while pacing. Her morning dose of phenobarbitol finally kicked in around 10:30am, and she fell asleep in her crate. We closed the door so she’d be safely contained in case she again collapsed.

It’s now about 4pm. I carried her outside about 20minutes ago, and she did well out there, though still hesitant to come in. (In more normal times she’d run out, do what she had to, high-tail it back in, then dance and spin for joy when the leash came off. Meg’s never liked being outside.) She paced for a while after that, but is now settled in her usual place next to the sofa, sleeping soundly.

I’m at a loss. I don’t know if this is just another bad stretch, like she’s had with seizures that went away as suddenly as they appeared, leaving her healthy and happy for months at a stretch, or if this is part of a permanent decline.

More later.

Meggie’s brain

About a year ago, before daybreak, Meg started scrabbling in her crate, like she always does, ready to start the day.

Within moments, though, the sound became a rhythmic pounding, and all of us, including Abby, knew that something had gone terribly wrong.

It was Meg’s first seizure, and it lasted a long five minutes, from convulsion to collapse to consciousness. We took her to the emergency vet, who did some bloodwork and reassured us with the possibility that this was the only one she’d have. Like humans, dogs can have one seizure and never be troubled with another.

The next one happened that same afternoon, and the third that night. All lasted for only a few minutes, but she went in to her regular vet for observation the next morning. Nothing happened. No more seizures. Nothing strange in the bloodwork. Sometimes dogs have a couple of seizures, then no more after that.

She did well for a few months, and didn’t seem to have any effects from the electrical storms.

But then they started in again. Three at a time, always when she was sleeping. She’d go a month or so without another, so we got used to the idea that she would have them, but they’d be sporadic, and not frequent enough for medication.

Then the petit mals began. She walked as if she were in slow motion, then stood motionless and apparently blind. Three in three days.

We started her on phenobarbital, and after a few days of drunkenness, her body adapted and didn’t show any effects. Meggie was back. The seizures were gone.

Meg has always been inscrutable. I took her in when she was about five, after she had proven too difficult for her previous family to handle. Meg had been a breeder in a mill, and when rescued had a severe case of peritonitis from constantly producing puppies. Physically, she recovered quickly. Her teeth remain a problem — when rescued they were invisible because of soft food and the lack of dental care, but she’s had few health issues since then.

Mentally, though, she’s had much to work through. Her behavior shows a lack of socialization — she doesn’t interact with other dogs (except Abby, whose well-being is Meg’s main focus), doesn’t comprehend voice commands, seems to have little sense of her own size, would stay indoors for the rest of her life if she could, and doesn’t connect with anyone. She seems happy — she’s learned to wag her tail, and her face lights up when it’s time for treats — but every day is a new day for her. Though I’ve kept her existence simple with repeated patterns and words, she still seems to be stumbling through life. For the past seven years, putting on the leash has always meant going out the door and down the steps, but still she has to be lead out the door and down the steps. Occasionally she’ll head to the door and patiently stand by it when her leash is on, but most days it’s as if she has no idea what’s expected of her. On cold mornings, it gets to be a little, well, much.

Lately she’s become even more difficult to handle. She’s forgotten her always tenuous understanding of being housebroken. She awakens earlier and earlier, but then sleeps unnaturally soundly during the day. She has transient deafness that’s so profound she can’t hear when someone is standing directly behind her and saying her name. She can’t control her water intake, regularly drinking so much that she throws it up a few minutes later. We’ve taken to giving her smaller amounts of water with ice cubes to slow her down. Her back leg twitches when she’s otherwise standing still.

My worry is that it’s a brain tumor. When an older dog starts having seizures, odds are this is what causes them. Because of all the behavioral changes, she goes in tomorrow to see if we can get a definitive diagnosis.