Publisher’s message: adapting to Ryan’s life changes

As almost 12-year-old Ryan lives his days totally deaf, Buzz and I are doing our best to make them as safe and happy as possible.  

Lately, we’ve both become more aware of the subtle changes taking place in Ryan’s life.

Buzz does his best to be a canine protector while I do my best to figure out what Ryan needs to feel completely content.

I’ve noticed that rather than isolate himself, Ryan seeks out either Buzz or me and naps close-by. Which is a good thing, because when Ryan’s sleeping, he is out like a light. He’s unaware of a car coming up the driveway or the propane truck making a delivery. So Buzz has become a much lighter sleeper and he now sounds the alarm.

While outside in the dog yard, Buzz lets Ryan set the pace and then either trots or saunters beside or behind him. At night, I can tell Buzz to fetch up Ryan when it’s time to come back inside and he can usually “convince” Ryan it’s time for bed.  

For most of his life, Ryan’s job was to protect us both. So, watching these gradual changes sometimes makes me sad, but I do my best to hide the tears from him.

When Ryan smiles at me and madly wags his tail, I’m reminded that he doesn’t let these life changes get him down. It’s his new normal. And he’s adapting rather well.

Some days, though, I let myself be sad for a few minutes when I hear the birds calling with their beautiful songs and know Ryan’s not experiencing it with me. Or when ducks or goose or sandhill cranes fly by and he doesn’t try to toll them in unless he sees them.

Then other times, I watch him turn into the wind so it blows in his face and sweeps up his lovely, thick coat and I know he can smell the fragrances of the season much better than I.

He also seems more visually astute to the world around him, gazing off into the sunrise. I used to watch him from the doorway, but now I go out there and stand beside him, so we can experience the glorious color pallet of another sunrise together.

There’s much more to see and feel in nature than when inside the house, so we go outside more often together, too. And I watch as he puts his nose up to the fence or down to the grass. He seems to embrace the wonder of the world around him with gusto, taking it all in with the senses that are fully functioning.

So when he wakes up disoriented, I help him solve his confusion. I’ve discovered he enjoys being petted more these days, perhaps because that tactile connection is soothing. While once I could tell him what a good boy he was, today, I do it with a smile and touch. He even lets me hug him once in a while – almost as if he’s throwing me a bone for accurately figuring out what he needs.

In these changing times, I take my clues from him, rather than he from me.

Then there are the times when he wakes up slowly and looks directly at me with those sweet eyes and a slight smile in his lips and I melt into a puddle, fighting back tears again, but these are ones of joy.

While adapting to Ryan’s ever-changing reality, I find myself smiling a lot more these days, and doing all I can to bring as much joy to his days as possible.

So when I’m out and about and people say, “Hi, Lisa. How are you?”

I can answer honestly that I’m truly doing great, because among many other things, I’ve been blessed with yet another day with Ryan.