Jenesis Productions

by Jene Nelson

Sometimes you just need a sign. Nothing subtle, the type that knocks you upside the head and is undeniable. I never thought mine would come through a disabled five-pound dog.

Tuscany was my Mom‘s dog. We often joked that she was the perfect pet for Mom because neither of them could walk. Mom’s journey to eternity began last March…Right at the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic. It was a time of so many unanswered questions and so much fear. For me, those feelings had nothing to do with what the rest of the world was experiencing. I was losing my mother. The person who loved me first and most, my best friend, my whole world was leaving this world. She did a slow dance in her exit from this life and because of that there was time to ask things that people might typically avoid. I asked her if she would give me a sign when she got to heaven to let me know she was OK. Mom told me she would if God allowed it. Ultimately, He did.

Let’s start at the beginning of Tuscany’s time with us. I was producing a story for a television station in Denver about a dog rescue in Colorado in 2012. The organization was bringing back dozens of dogs from commercial breeding facilities in the Midwest and also buying a few at a dog auction. (Yes, dogs are auctioned regularly. Breeders and rescue groups purchase them for various reasons.) Tuscany is a Maltese and was a year and a half old when she went on the auction block. Perhaps her small size combined with her overbite and unusual gait did not make her good “breeding stock” so off to market she went. I don’t know how much the rescue group paid for her, but I do remember the first time I saw her. A photographer and I were there to get video “offloading” for the story. That’s when the dogs are taken off of the rescue vehicle for their first photo op. She was so tiny I thought she was a puppy! The dogs are temporarily placed in x-pens and kennels before “intake”, which is where they are named, given vaccines, and made available for adoption. There was a randy red poodle who kept trying to get amorous with the yet-to-be-named dog that would become part of our family. I plucked her out of the pen and carried her until it was her turn for intake. I was asked to name her and “Tuscany” popped into my head. Oh, how difficult it was to leave her at the kennel when our work wrapped up! I called my Mom on the way back to Denver to tell her about Tuscany. Mom had lost her little white poodle, Bingo at the age of nearly 17 and missed her terribly. A few Tuscany conversations later, we decided Tuscany would join our family. There are many things to consider when an elderly person gets a pet. Mom was 87 at the time. Tuscany was not even two years old. We agreed I would care for her if the dog outlived Mom.

Life takes unexpected turns and shortly after Tuscany’s adoption, I accepted a job at a television station in Southern Colorado. I wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of working in a newsroom that was far below the standard of a major market like Denver, but it was abundantly clear that Mom was struggling to live by herself. My furry entourage of two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, a chatty Siamese cat, and tiny Tuscany crammed into my Mom’s little house…the home where she was born and I was raised.

Tuscany was an odd little duck from the beginning. She did not run and play like most dogs. She did like sitting on Mom’s lap and adored my male Cavalier, Bogie. Mom enjoyed their company, especially while I was at work, and I was entertained by the updates about what the “kids” were doing when checking in. Two and a half years flew by. Sadly, we lost Jolee, the female Cavalier, to heart failure and just over a year later, despite a valiant fight, Bogie passed away from heart failure as well. We were all devastated, but Tuscany’s grief over the loss of her buddy was the worst. She gleefully hobbled after Bogie and slept on top of him. Suddenly he was gone. Tuscany started hiding under the couch, only the tip of her little nose visible. A veterinarian suggested Prozac to help her through it. Mom believed time and love would be the ultimate healing forces

Fast forward to our big move in 2015. My employer at the time suddenly insisted that I live in Colorado Springs. We left that little house where the echo of generations reverberated in every square inch. I bought a couch that Tuscany couldn’t hide under and hoped she’d develop a new perspective in a new house. It didn’t happen.

She rarely walked and seemed perfectly content to plop on Mom’s lap and share a blueberry muffin. Now, little dogs can only eat so many muffins while owners ponder what to do next. Ultimately, Tuscany needed to see an orthopedic specialist. She was diagnosed with a torn CCL and both kneecaps were loose. Would surgery fix her problems? Possibly, but there was a list of complications that proved to be too risky for Mom to sign off on the procedures. Instead, we decided that Tuscany’s comfort was our top priority and put her on a regimen of pain management. Mom said many times that Tuscany was the perfect dog for her because neither of them could walk. Their shared disabilities bonded them. Mom and Tuscany chilled out in her recliner.

Then came my bright idea; I decided a puppy would perk up Tuscany and introduced darling little BoJo to our pack. Dumb move. Really dumb. Tuscany hated the rambunctious little terrier. BoJo got great glee out of tormenting Tuscany and was not discouraged in the least by her very vocal rejection. Eventually, BoJo mellowed out and Tuscany kind of got used to him. Ultimately, she was content to hang out with Mom and let us know through various tonalities of yapping what she wanted and when.

Everything was calm in the House of Nelson until the early part of 2017. Mom came down with a “bug” and was having a hard time shaking it. A couple of scary weeks later, Tuscany could barely take those shaky steps. She would have to be propped up to go potty sometimes. Her poor little legs just wouldn’t hold her up. I started thinking it might be time…We tweaked Tuscany’s pain meds and crossed our fingers. She never got stronger though didn’t seem uncomfortable or bothered by her immobile state. Surgery would be even riskier now, so I quietly resolved to monitor Tuscany’s situation and be merciful if she took a downturn. Some people thought we were cruel to keep Tuscany alive because she was becoming more disabled. A gauge I have always leaned toward is whether an animal is eating. Tuscany ate everything in sight. She just couldn’t walk and frankly, could barely stand. However, she didn’t seem miserable in the least, so we all carried on. A disabled mom, an immobile Maltese, a menopausal daughter, and three other quirky pets. And so we continued until March 2020.

Mom was starting to slip, slowly at first, but the month that marks Spring, the season of new beginnings, started the journey that was always my biggest fear. No longer was Mom able to sit in her recliner with Tuscany content to be at her side. There were no more blueberry muffins to share. Instead, Mom was drifting away over five grueling months. Her pup was sharing her bed instead of a recliner for the first time. Hope for recovery slowly gave way to the reality of what was inevitable. That is when I asked Mom if she would give me a sign when she got to heaven. She said she would if God allowed it.

On August 24, 2020, Betty Nelson, my mother, took her last breath with her four daughters and one grandson by her side. She was six days shy of her 95th birthday. That was the start of a journey that I knew would be difficult, but I had no idea just how hard the future would be without her in it. In the hours that followed her passing, two hummingbirds flew up on the patio and lingered for a bit. My sister was joyful and readily accepted them as a sign from above. I was not as confident. There are lots of hummingbirds in the world, after all. A few days later, a mourning dove perched on my barbecue grill and stared right into the house. Still, I was unconvinced. On the day of Mom’s funeral service, a squirrel was nonplussed by the crowd and ran around during the military salute. Later, a feather drifted down from the sky and landed right in front of me. Those things might have been plenty for one who was not a skeptic by nature and former profession. Even as a child, I peered suspiciously at Santa’s beard and wondered why the whiskers didn’t grow out of his skin. Nope, this time I needed my socks knocked off and begged God through never-ending tears to send an unmistakable sign. He did but took His time.

I had an eye doctor appointment in Denver on Oct. 22, 2020. Reluctantly, I nudged myself out of the home that had become a “grief cocoon” and traveled the highway like I did dozens and dozens of times over the years. It embraced me like an old asphalt friend as landmark after landmark whizzed by. I almost felt normal. Almost…but still hoped and prayed for a sign. One eye was on the road ahead, the other was scouring the landscape, the sky, even bumper stickers and license plates along the way. Nada.

When I got home about four hours later, Tuscany was in the front room, a good distance from where I left her. I dismissed her significant relocation as doing a “scoot” across the floor during the hours I was gone.

Two days later, a quick trip to the mailbox resulted in a surprise when I got home. Tuscany was in the kitchen, quite a stretch from where I left her a few minutes before fetching my mail. It was strange, but again, I wrote it off as her scooting across the hardwood floor. The mystery continued for several days. I never actually saw how she was getting from one place to the other. Finally, determined to get to the bottom of this, I set up my phone to record video and left the house. Sure enough, Tuscany was walking! Granted, it was not a normal gait for a dog, but for one who could barely stand on all fours, it was amazing. Fast forward two years. Tuscany is no longer shy about her regained stride and happily walks around the house. She even wags her tail regularly. As of this writing, she is recovering from a serious bout of pneumonia, which her veterinarian told me he thought there was “a 100% chance of her dying based on the first x-rays.”

I don’t know how long I will get to enjoy this little five-pound wonder, but every day is special. I often wonder what Mom would think about her tiny Tuscany walking again. Given the series of events that lead up to it, I believe she knows. Maybe she even had a conversation with God about my relentless requests for a sign and told Him that I would continue to nag until I got a whopper of one. The fact that a disabled dog that belonged to a woman who danced her way through life and ended up not being able to walk during the last years of her life suddenly did what Mom couldn’t on this earth…well, I am grateful for the poetry of that miracle.