As an abstract concept, amputation wasn't so bad. Murray has been paralyzed since he was a tiny puppy. He sometimes seems to wag his tail, but then he also kicks his feet when they are touched in some way. The docs at the veterinary school at Colorado State University explained to us that it's an involuntary reflex. He has no control over those nerve impulses. I've seen video of other dogs with their feet in the slings of wheelchairs, also kicking away non-stop like Murray does. So it stands to reason that on the days when his tail seemed to be held high, moving independently, it probably wasn't really on purpose. Just like he won't suddenly start feeling his feet and building muscle control and strength, he wasn't going to wag his tail in excitement like Elsa does every time she's around people or thinking about being around people or thinking about food.
The tail wasn't just a neutral component of Murray's paralyzed state. It was a bit of a detractor. For all its floofy beauty, it got dirty a lot. When he spends time in the back yard, not in wheels, he bounces around on his bottom, "running" along the fenceline to bark at cars and pedestrians in the alley. His tail fills with mud and stickers and poop. Especially poop, outside or in on his bed. Murray takes a lot of baths, compared to your average dog. He lives his life in a constant battle with bacteria, and he has eaten more antibiotics hidden in dog food than just about any other canine in the state.
Even with all the difficulties, we weren't going to go cutting off the parts of Murray that didn't work. I paid close attention to the saga of Cassidy, the internet-famous tuxedo cat in British Columbia who lost his back feet shortly after his birth, and I learned how much physical therapy he had to go through to keep his tendons from shrinking up inside his leg stumps. Amputation is a very serious business, with repercussions that last long past healing of a stump. We would never have taken a decision like this lightly. But when he fractured his tail so badly, we were left with little choice. The tip of his tail had already started to die by the time he went in for surgery this morning. His papa thought he had wrapped the bandage too tightly, and that was causing it to turn purple. Au contraire, it was not his fault. The tail was no longer getting a healthy blood supply after the fracture and necrosis was setting in. If we hadn't agreed to the surgery, we risked systemic problems (I assume sepsis or something equally serious).
For two days, I was compartmentalizing what was going to happen to Murray. My rational mind accepted that amputating his tail was necessary and reasonably safe. But as I drove to my sales meeting this morning, right as he was being dropped off for the surgery, it kind of hit me all at once. This was a change from which there was no going back. My little buddy was having his tail docked, and he would never look the same again. I spent most of the drive mourning for something he probably would never miss. I worried for him going under anaesthesia, and for his recovery over the next few weeks.
He and I got home right around the same time (because I wandered every aisle at Costco before coming home, and he was ready to come home far sooner than I expected). He is taking this like a champ. I know they probably gave him a block so that he wouldn't feel anything even if he could for two to three days. Even so, he's looking perky as ever, like he has no idea his rear end is any different. I found myself unable to try to pull him out of his wheels this evening when it started to get too chilly for dogs to be outside in the cold. I brought him into his heated garage, and I asked him to stay in wheels until his father got home. I'm terrified of hurting him, even if he can't feel it, because I don't lift him, I more dump him on his bed and drag the wheels away. (Best I can do.) It's probably better that I left him like that. The less chance he has of eating off his bandages, the better we will all be in the long run.
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