Creature Comforts

By Susanne Pettit-Crossman

As far back as I can remember, animals -- especially dogs -- were an important and integral part of my existence.

Being born with cystic fibrosis meant a lot of "down time" in the Hospital for Sick Children in my formative years, which meant a great deal of time was spent alone and in bed. This translated into having lots of time to think, and getting used to "self" pretty darn quickly.

And when back at home, because I was so vulnerable to germs and bugs, my mother was solicitous of who I played with and when.

Consequently, the animals we had in our home (beagles, back then) became my constant companions and best friends.

HAVING A ROUND WITH A BOXER
To be honest, I think I was doomed to be an animal addict from birth. After the beagles, we had a rather large and clumsy boxer named Tina -- although everyone thought her name was Peanut. I don’t know whether that was because, as youngsters, we weren’t pronouncing her name clearly, or because she wasn’t the brightest dog in the world -- as in, a bit of a nutbar.

Even so, she was a delight to us. Dad used to hitch her up to our wagon and she would pull three kids at a time (there were four of us) up the sidewalk. She also had a notoriously bad habit of leaping our picket fence (yes, the proverbial white picket fence!) and tearing off -- always ending up at my grandmother’s house around the block, where quite by accident she developed the ability to ring grandma’s doorbell, announcing her arrival.

One time, Tina wasn’t so fortunate in clearing the fence and came back with a large puncture wound in her chest. Blood was everywhere, and I recall going into a complete frenzy over her being hurt. Nevertheless, Tina had not impaled herself, and she recovered without incident.

My visit to the allergist was another story, however. I had developed "attacks": sneezing, wheezing, hives and itchiness, so a specialist was ordered up to confirm numerous allergies. These were the days of weekly allergy shots. And the allergy testing involved was far from pleasant -- it seemed to me like millions of needle punctures were being made in my back to determine which things in my life were making me miserable.

I recall shaking and crying, looking rather like I was wearing war paint with my hives and swelling. I was petrified that the doctor would cancel out Tina. I just kept asking, over and over, "Can I keep my dog? ...Can I keep my dog?" We kept the dog -- despite my arms breaking out in hives every time I petted her. Cats actually were identified as being the worst culprits. They caused itchy eyes, wheezing and my inability to breathe.

Even so, I tried to give refuge to a stray cat at the side of our house -- and succeeded for a short period of time. And over the years, right into my thirties, I periodically attempted to bring cats and kittens into my life. My particular favourite was the Siamese. I do have some fond (but short-lived) memories of several fabulous felines who shared my space.

But trying to keep cats in my life was further complicated as the cystic fibrosis began to deteriorate my lungs and breathing became impossible without oxygen support. One thing led to another, and at 39 years of age I found myself on the Toronto Lung Transplant Program’s waiting list. I was one of the lucky ones, and was transplanted quickly. Of course, after the double lung transplant, cats became a lethal weapon for me because of the toxoplasmosis they excrete. So I have resolved that I should be meow-less.

"PEP" TALKS
Tina succumbed to cancer, and our next dog was a miniature poodle named Pepi.

I was now becoming an independent and stubborn preteen, resulting in those typical arguments with my mom and dad. I used to "run away" from home once in a while. This entailed packing an apple, a toothbrush and a couple of other essentials into a paper bag, putting Pepi on his lead, and taking off down the street, where Pepi and I would find a secret place behind some neighbour’s bushes to stake out -- hoping I would be missed soon and cause some worry. We used to have the most marvellous conversations together. I did all the talking, and he did all the listening!

Pepi was truly my buddy. We did everything together. I even earned part of my monthly allowance by bathing and clipping him. I got a book from the library and used to try out the latest poodle pom-poms and puffery on him.

Pepi and I went on to be an obedience champion team, achieving high scores in trials, spending endless hours training, while my poor dad spent endless hours building me competition jumps and driving me to competition events.

As a family, we were always collecting forgotten or orphaned critters. There was Camie the painted turtle, who nearly met his end on a country road in Campbellville. We rescued him on a Sunday drive. Once again, Dad was recruited -- to build a turtle retreat in the back yard.

This later was to become a hare house for Flossy, a little brown bunny my brother found hopping through our neighbour’s garden. She was a lot of fun, and she soon learned to look forward to our weekend barbecues and leftover greens. Unfortunately, she didn’t live particularly long (wild rabbits in captivity don’t). But better this short life in safety than to be killed by a dog or cat.

HAMMING IT UP
Somewhere between Tina and Pepi, at the tender age of 10, I began my first business. I used to go up to the pet store and spend hours looking at the hamsters and other little creatures they had.

Much to my parents’ chagrin, I occasionally would arrive home with an injured or sickly hamster, resulting in vet bills (of which I had no concept) to fix torn pouches and so on. I did end up, however, with two beautiful hamsters that I called Cinnamon and Honeybutter.

These two little balls of fluff became my first sex education course. Honeybutter was a marvellous little mother, and produced litters with every conceivable colour of hamster. I struck up a deal with the pet store owner whereby I sold my hamsters for 50› each and he sold them for $1.00 plus 7› tax -- so everyone came out a winner. Unfortunately, my thriving little business came to an end when one of my siblings left the baby hamster cage open and Dad’s new basement recroom ceiling became hamster food.

Over the years, however, I have never lost my interest in rodents and small companion animals. Today, I raise domestic fancy rats and, since we bought our home in Burlington, Ontario, I have rekindled my business relationship with the same pet store. I supply pet rats to them in exchange for all kinds of dog treats or my collies, which we show, train and breed, and which grace our home today.

Very few people understand my interest in the lowly rat. But they are marvellous little creatures, and, particularly when I am feeling really ill and my dogs are too much for me, the rats are wonderful little friends who actually greet me from their cage much like a dog would, and cuddle up with me quietly on my chest, or snuggle into my neck for an afternoon snooze. They are extremely intelligent and their luxurious coats are superior to mink. Petting them is really a tactile joy.

"DOG GONNIT"
In 1979, I acquired a unique little character whom I called Brooks -- my best girlfriend’s last name. He was an English cocker spaniel who not only became my constant companion (I was single with an RX7 then, and he rode in the passenger seat with flair), but carved out for himself a rather illustrious career. He became one of the top champion cockers in Canada, a spokesdog for Gaines Pet Foods (I was the company’s marketing manager), and a TV star -- nationally!

Brooks and I had many, many marvellous years together before he was temporarily stolen, and then when my lungs went down for the final round, I was forced to part with him, unable to cope with the oxygen tubes and tanks and so on. Even to this day, Brooksie is deeply in my heart and memories.

I was transplanted five years ago (February 10, 1991). The first thing I did after being transplanted was to start looking for another dog. I had always wanted a collie, and within three months of the surgery my husband, Peter, and I had bought one... then two... then three...

I adore my collies. I think they are so beautiful to look at and have such incredible temperaments. They are very intuitive dogs, intelligent and, for the most part, very gentle.

As with my other special dogs, I am very actively involved with my collies, as I mentioned. Unfortunately, I ran into some complications with this transplant: infection and subsequent chronic rejection. I am currently awaiting a second double lung transplant. Now that I am severely limited once again, I am fortunate to have an understanding partner and good friends who are sharing my animal hobby with me.

FINS, FURS AND FEATHERS
Whether they be small or large, animals comfort me in many ways. Suffice it to say that waiting for a second double-lung transplant is at times a challenge, both physically and mentally. There are so many "ifs" and unknowns. Unlike people, pets have a way of making everything seem okay. They distract you from your worries and daily troubles, and make you forget about your pain.

I am no expert on pain therapy, but even when I’m feeling extremely ill, just the very presence of my animals helps to soothe the discomfort. A simple thing like stroking their heads and backs or having them place their head on your arm or leg while you are lying down feels really good.

Then there is eye contact. An animal’s very soul comes through the eyes -- they don’t hide and try to deceive the way humans can.

And you know something? Our four-legged friends seem to know intuitively when I am having a "bad" day. They huddle around me and nestle their long noses into my face and neck, and follow my every move -- or, these days, lack thereof. They try to be very good, and will lie quietly with me when I am forced to be a couch potato.

One of my favourite pastimes when I need to regain some equilibrium in my body is to get a hot cup of tea, sit at my window near our dogs’ play area, and just study them: their social structure, their behaviour, their sense of humour and other emotions. They experience joy, sadness, jealousy and pain. I like being connected to them this way. Sometime I will do the same with rats. I’ll just sit at their cages and watch them carry out their lives. You lose track of time and everything else around you. I’m sure any of you who owns a pet can relate to what I am saying here.

We also have fish and birds. These interesting little beings also have a world of their own that is fascinating to study. I often try to place myself in their minds and bodies. What are they doing, why, when and how? And when it comes to our puppies, my addiction is at its strongest. I love puppy breath. And I am constantly intrigued by a day in the life of a puppy.

I think it’s the same with wildlife. It brings peace and immense pleasure to watch a little chipmunk or squirrel store its food, or to take in the grace and beauty of a deer running, or a rabbit scurrying off to safety.

FRIENDS FOR LIFE
Animals have the innate ability to teach us a lot, particularly about life and death. When an animal dies, the grief can actually surpass that felt for another human being. I don’t "do" death well (Peter won’t let me watch certain animal programs on TV because I get too emotional). However, I must admit that every time I experience death -- and birth -- with an animal, it carves a little more character into me.

My animals are really a big part of why I continue to forge ahead with each day. Granted, I have had a marvellous career, I have a
wonderful relationship with my husband, Peter, and my days are filled past the 24-hour mark with interesting and varied activities, including travel for both work and pleasure.

However, for those of us who have disabilities, are in our senior years or are alone, there is, I think, a very special bond with our animals. Winter is always my toughest time of the year. No day is really a "good" day, and I have much more time to sit and think -- much like I did as a child. (Perhaps that is why this article is so introspective.) With winter in full force, I think there are many of us who are forced into a more sedentary lifestyle. And what better way to while away the hours than with our "best friends"?

(Susanne Pettit-Crossman is a broadcast journalist/freelance writer and former host of CBC’s "Disability Network." She is a committed member of the Human Animal Bond Association of Canada (HABAC). Susanne has cystic fibrosis and diabetes.)