Rupert’s Dog-Buggy
Saturday 8th August 2015
Rupert has been a wonky dog for years, with his IVDD (dog back disease). He has pulled through three major operations, and even recovered from back leg paralysis. This makes him tire easily, so walking fast, or far, is not possible. When we walk, I carry him a lot of the time, which is even slower.
Now he also has heart failure. He has had heart disease for a couple of years – a heart murmur, which then progressed to a gradual worsening of the condition. Two weeks ago he had an ECG and this indicates that he is now in the early stages of heart failure. I had not appreciated that there is a difference between heart disease and heart failure. All is not lost. The vet prescribed a tablet every day, and six days in he is definitely livelier, less sleepy.
For ages I have been pondering getting him a dog buggy or pram. I didn’t do it because I felt the longer we could manage, the better it would be for him, but in practice this meant we hardly ever took him out for proper walks, because I just can’t carry him for more than about half a mile, and he can’t walk happily for more than about fifteen minutes. The heart failure diagnosis spurred me on. Last week his new chariot arrived:
He loves it. I got one that is big enough for two dachshunds, so Arthur, who has no need of it, can share if he has walked say three miles and needs a break. I reckon a three mile walk for a dachshund is about ten for a human, despite the fact that they have four wheel drive.
Arthur does not love it, but treats and soft cushions are helping his buggy-phobia. To be fair, Arthur has anxiety about Everything, so I knew he’d be reluctant. We are getting there. But I also have some issues to resolve. Note the mesmeric impact on Arthur (right) of a treat being held above his head.
So the main issues regarding the buggy fall into two camps: logistical; and emotional.
Logistically, it is a bit of a tank. You can buy dog push chairs for as little as about thirty quid, but they seem a bit flimsy. You can buy them for hundreds of pounds but that seems silly. Also, not an option financially, so I have one that is sturdy, large enough for two medium sized dogs, and has air-wheels. I am struggling with the weight of it when lifting it into and out of the boot of the car.
The second issue is about walking dogs on leads, whilst pushing the buggy. I have to hold the leads in one hand, and also steer this tank which does not have a rotating front wheel. Two such outings have seen small improvements in my handling technique. The dogs are getting better at trotting along beside the buggy too. After a bit, Roo gets a lift and then it’s just Arthur walking alongside. I must admit to just putting him in with Rupert far sooner than he needs it, just because it’s easier.
The emotional issues are less easy to define.
I know he has a very diseased spine, and a heart condition, but The World doesn’t know this. I may well be projecting thoughts here, but I worry that The World kind of judges me as – well, mad. Then my assertive side says: stuff The World. And I am fine for a bit.
Last week I took the dogs plus the buggy, plus a picnic, to Weston-s-Mare. They have a lovely wide paved sea-front prom there now which is miles long, flat and ideal for dogs in prams. And other uses I suppose. It was certainly busy, despite being a typical British summer day. I parked, and began the long, awkward process of unloading and erecting the buggy. While I was doing this, then loading the picnic into the tray underneath the carriage, another car parked beside me, and they too unloaded and popped up (in record time) a push chair. We smiled. We exchanged: goodness me, isn’t this a miserable summer? murmurs. We loaded our cargo into our respective ‘prams’. The couple with their baby – for yes, they had a
baby, not a dog – stopped mid-loading and just stared, open-mouthed, as I popped first one, then two dachshunds into my buggy. I had to cross a busy road to get to the prom so I wanted them both in the blasted buggy before we set off.
I was brought up to believe that it is rude to stare. It doesn’t actually stop me, as I am extremely nosy, but I do hope I would not have my jaw a-gape, or
point. Which they did. We set off with as much dignity as I could summon, which wasn’t much as I tried to get going with the brakes on. We tried again and I fled, burning with embarrassment, over the road.
On the prom, Arthur walked, and Rupert rode. Here, I noted that for every dog buggy I saw – which was one, if you count mine – I saw eleventy nine human mobility aids. Prams, push chairs, wheel chairs and motorised mobility scooters. Then there were skates, skate boards, bikes and trikes. I reckon that for every two walkers, there was one person (or two dogs) who were not walking. This was better. People smiled. They pointed – but in friendly ways. Yes, some people laughed a bit – but it felt OK. Several people delayed us on our walk by wanting to talk to the dogs.
At the far end, past the old ruined pier, we stopped for the picnic. Once the boys had had their treats, they sat fixedly staring at me, while I had mine. With the cover up, and viewed from the back, you can’t see that the buggy contains dogs. It looks like a rather posh jogging push chair.
A young spaniel bounced over, a sandy tennis ball in his mouth. He was eager to investigate my picnic, but he didn’t actually steal it, or do anything really wrong. However, he was not on a lead, so he was able to get very close to us, very fast. This prompted an instant response from both my boys, who were, thankfully, clipped by their harnesses to the interior of the buggy. Nonetheless, they unleashed a volley of verbal abuse whilst lunging as far as their short leashes would allow, at the spaniel. He, and his owner, were startled by this. That is to say, the spaniel reared back on his hind legs and pelted off, whilst his man jumped and then failed to retrieve his dog, as he was laughing so much. The buggy was rocking as Roo and Arthur whipped one another into a frenzy of spaniel-hate. To on-lookers, it must have looked like a giant toddler, whom they could not see, was yapping and snarling like at least two dogs, whilst also trying to up-end his pram. But in a testament to its weight and stability, it did not tip over. My picnic was partially lost to the playful summer breeze as I had to let it go in order to restore order in the buggy.
Oh well, that spaniel got more than he bargained for and may well now have a life-long pram phobia, poor thing. How Rupert laughed. He was a proud dachshund on the way back. He
owned that prom and was the boss of All The Dogs.
Stuff The World. Definitely. Xxx
You do make me laugh as that’s exactly what goes on in a dog’s head. I have been pondering the pram all week and think I would have produced an ‘I’ve got heart disease’ sign to hang from the front of the pram and an ‘it’s rude to stare’ sign at the back.