A Sufficient Forgetting

This morning, we noticed that Rosco was compulsively licking his right paw which, on inspection, was puffy and swollen between two digies. Oh no.....

The thought of a $500.00 foxtail operation was certainly enough to throw a wet blanket on an otherwise sunny day, but it did not look like anything we could pinch or poke out. So Fips and Mike and Rosco and I piled into the truck and drove down the road to the Mid-own vet.

They're pretty good, I said to Michael, and if Lisa Hoffman is there, she'll try to get it out without anesthesia. A few minutes later we arrived and went inside. Dr. Lisa was there.

As Mike and Fips waited in the front office, I took Rosco into the examining room and lifted him onto the table. Perhaps it is due to his horrible fish-hook ordeal but, whatever the case, Rosco has never been as non-chalant as Fips. When it comes to examining tables, Rosco displays the typical doggie distrust and anxiety -- which is hardly unreasonable, after all.

All things considered, though, Rosco stayed pretty calm as Lisa probed his diggies with hers. "Do you think you can get it out," I asked. "We can try," she said. "I'll hold him."

As I held Rosco's fuzzy muscle-body tight, Lisa inserted a small forceps into the swollen abscess. Rosco quivered in my arms as she fished around. She pulled out part of sliver and probed some more, finding nothing. During one last final probe she hit a nerve and Rosco let out a piercing yelp of pain.

Michael said that both he and Fips heard the yelp outside and that both of them felt absolutely terrible. So did I. The anguish is so pure and piercing.

Lisa apologized as I stroked Rosco's head. "Well I guess that's it," she said, adding that she did not think anything was left inside. After she sponged up the wound with gauze, I put him down and he ran eagerly to press his nose against the door.

We spent the rest of the day giving Rosco treats and cuddlies and the like. But he forgot about it soon enough and was back to his normal rambunctious self.

I convince myself that Rosco will remember "that place of pain" and I wonder if I should take him back just to get a treat. But, on reflection, I doubt that doggie brains work that way. After all, ours don't. If there were some present good -- say a chunk of steak hanging on the front door -- Rosco would hardly shy away. Otherwise the danger/alert memory of a past painful experience can't be so cheaply erased with the counterbalancing happenstance of a milk bone. If it could be, the whole purpose of registering a memory alert would be defeated. Nah... he's happy now; best to leave him to his own devices. Sufficient for the day is the forgetfulness thereof.

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