Yesterday was a rough morning for Elliot, like one of those days when you just want to crawl back in bed and start over. Plagued by unrelenting parasites that cause him to rub and bite himself raw, he faced the horror of another vet visit. Chained to the deck railing, he was injected (steroids, antibiotics), shaved and scrubbed with betadine. The result? He looks cleaner, perhaps less itchy now that the bugs can no longer take refuge in his matted fur, and his sores will be easier for me to treat. Unfortunately, along with the humiliation of his shorn appearance comes the loss of any natural protection against winter chills, so he is confined to the garage except on the sunniest days. His stylish new coats are now standard wear, even indoors. Every day, we pray for spring!
Those who know us may recall that Ellie fought this same battle for some sixteen long months in years past, until we finally conquered the parasites last spring. This present recurrence, his apparent new resistance to parasecticide treatment and his unaffected brother leads me to wonder, will this be a lifelong struggle for Elliot? My veterinarian concedes that, yes, this may be a war we ever fight but never win. As I sweep piles of crusted hair from the deck, scour the treatment supplies and shed my soaked and stained clothing, I wonder how long I can do this. Ellie trembles at my approach - how will she hurt me this time? - and shivers even under his coat. The question hovers just beyond asking, can he endure a lifetime of this?
I scratch his ears, the one place he feels safe allowing my touch. I promise him days of sunshine, someday, long walks by the creek and warm nights to sleep on the shed roof (his favorite place in the world). Just hold out a little longer, Ellie, spring is almost here. We can face anything then.
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