MY SPECIAL BROWNIE

And now, a word about our dog, Riley.

You were expecting this blog to be about something else with that title? Maybe you were thinking about a certain chocolatey treat you had in college?

No, “Special Brownie” is our code phrase for finding yourself in a situation when you need special attention. Let me explain.

When I was a kid, I belonged to Brownies; that “too-wit, too-woo”-reciting, around-the-giant-toadstool-dancing, cookie-selling, badge-earning, pixie preview for Girl Guides (aka Girl Scouts in the U.S.)  Each week, we would conclude our elfin ritual with a snack. Usually this consisted of cookies and rich, red Ribena — a super-sweet, syrupy red currant concentrate mixed with water — prepared by our leader, Brown Owl, who was British, and thus I concluded that Ribena was considered a delicacy in the UK — TV ads emphasized that it was “RICH, RED Ribena!”

Anyway, the treats were not offered to one girl in our troop who was diabetic. Instead, she would be given a ham sandwich and milk. Brown Owl explained that she was a “Special Brownie.”  I felt bad for the kid, but remember thinking to myself in my seven-year old brain, “I’m glad I’m not a Special Brownie!” Not that I had anything against ham. But who wants to be special in the way that you can’t have fun like everybody else?

I never forgot that alias; that label. It is a reference point for my aversion to needing singular treatment, dietary or otherwise. It happens on occasion, but I try to avoid it. I told Ken this story years ago, and every once in awhile he will chide me with, “Well, aren’t you a Special Brownie?” 

But, I digress. This isn’t about me. This is about Riley. He is my Special Brownie. 

When I last wrote about Riley, it was April and he was having worrisome health issues. I know you have been waiting for an update!

Poor little guy got down to a skeletal 43 pounds. Now, when you understand that Goldens usually weigh in at 65-75, you can tell how desperate we were! Regardless of what we fed him, his system just couldn’t digest nutrients in his food and was actually on the offensive, causing his digestion no end of irritation and us no end of worry. Finally we consulted a veterinary internal medicine specialist. A biopsy and endoscope (you can only imagine how expensive that was – ka-ching!) led to a diagnosis: “Lymphangeactasia” — a disease of the small bowel that is uncurable, but manageable with a low fat diet and drugs. He is on Prednisone, plus a couple of other drugs (ka-ching, ka-ching.) At this writing, he eats 4 cups of kibble, plus 3 cans of dog food per day (ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching!) This is so that he gets enough food to prompt at least some of the nutrients to make it through his “firewall” to get absorbed by his system. For those of you with normal dogs, you know how much food this is. For you non-dog owners – believe me, this is a LOT of food – about the equivalent weight of a Yorkshire terrier.

But poor Riley has had to put up with Special Brownie status in his social life as well. He’s had to conserve calories, so we haven’t taken him on long walks for weeks and weeks (vet said short walks were o.k.) He hasn’t been to his doggy day care in months. He doesn’t go swimming (we don’t need any intestinal problems as a result of creek/pond/lake water!)  He’s had some play times with some close buddies – his BFF, Dover, and his summer romance, Talley, the Wheaton terrier visiting next door – but these have been very short. Mostly he lazes around with his mom. We’ve had a nice time together, but a young dog needs to get up and go!

I just got home from taking him to the specialist for his follow-up visit. She was very pleased that he’s looking so good. He is gaining weight and is now up to 68 pounds. (Yay!) He will be on meds and a hearty amount of low fat food likely for his lifetime, but other than that, he’s good. I took him to the day care for a half day as a little reward. They said he played his a** off!

So, we are optimistic that he will be playing and running and jumping like the other dogs real soon. He will always be a Special Brownie, of course. And I’m thinking — the poster boy for Canine Inflammatory Bowel Disease!