Walking Grannie

Brenda's extremely high dose of Buspar combined with the heat of New York on the verge of summer has made for one sluggish dog. Though she still has outbursts and I have to have 360 degree vision at all times (maybe I'm just conditioned to be hyper-aware when I'm with her by now) I call her my little grannie.

She shuffles for a few steps, smells a fire hydrant, looks up at me with a crazed look and glassy eyes and then about fifteen minutes later she plops down on the sidewalk for a rest. I can pretty accurately estimate--based on the temperature, how long since her last dose of meds and how much exercise she's already had that day-- when she needs to take a break, and we walk to appropriate destinations.

We can't just stand on a busy sidewalk with lots of men walking by, for example, but have to be near the West Side Highway where only an occasional jogger will pass.

The way the drugs are affecting her makes me wonder if her little heart can take the dose. I don't have many more options for her, though. While not a wonder drug, Buspar has made living with her a million times better. Before I got the script I didn't know how much longer I could handle it.

I do peer into her crate each morning, which is right next to my side of the bed, to make sure she's breathing. I feel a strange mixture of relief and disappointment when I see that she is.