“YOUR DOGS ARE SO CUTE!! I BET YOUR BABY IS EVEN CUTER.”

I look around, a bit confused, to see a woman in a luxury SUV driving on the wrong side of the road at a slow crawl to capture a glimpse of “the baby.”

Bryan and I were walking our weenie pups in our neighborhood—Franz, Ralphie, and a bonus weenie, Stevie, we were watching for the holiday.

Filled with adrenaline, Ralphie had blown his energy load on our street, running ahead of his brother and Stevie. So by the time we turned the corner, where we met the baby-crazed stranger, he was in his stroller taking a break.

“I wonder if she was disappointed,” I say to Bryan. “Or if she realized that he is, in fact, even cuter.”

I used to judge people with dogs in strollers.

Growing up, I never had a dog that could fit in a stroller.

When I got Franz (government name: Franz Ferdinand Kafka) in 2014—a 17 lb. black and tan dachshund mix who takes that 2% Doberman in his bloodline very seriously—I told myself he’d NEVER be a purse or stroller dog.

And in 2018, I got Ralphie (government name: Jean Ralphio Waldo Emerson)—an 11-pounder with red hair and the meanest side eye this side of the Mississippi.

He had a rough life before he came home with me—survived parvo as a puppy only to be neglected and abused by assholes. Even though he was tiny and cute, he was tough. He wouldn’t even let me put a sweater on him when it was cold. There was no way he was gonna be a stroller dog.

While I imagine some tiny dogs like the stroller life, dachshunds are not that. They think they’re big. They were bred to hunt badgers. They’re stubborn as hell, and they make it very clear when they don’t like something.

When you look in Ralphie’s eyes, you can tell he’s not the one. 😂

Unfortunately, dachshunds are predisposed to IVDD—a neuro condition where the spinal discs degenerate and rupture, leading to pain, mobility issues, and sometimes paralysis.

In 2021, Ralphie was diagnosed with IVDD, and two days later (on my birthday), his legs stopped working. The emergency vet said his prognosis wasn’t great, and he’d likely have a 10% chance of walking again with surgery.

Two days later, he had spine surgery. A few days after that, we brought him home with a catheter and no idea what to expect.

Taking care of Ralphie in the first couple of weeks is what I imagine it’s like to take care of a newborn—only without the joy of having a new healthy baby.

I often found myself sobbing on the floor in a pile of pee-soaked blankets, wondering how tf anyone keeps a human baby alive. (Coincidentally, this is when I decided that I 100% did not want/could likely not handle having human children.)

A week or so after his surgery, I took Ralphie out into the yard (with the catheter in tow) to feel the sun.

The little look of pure joy on his face despite the fact he was doped up on pain meds, couldn’t pee on his own, and had a big surgery scar…

That was worth everything so far and everything to come

Recovery was long and hard. Ralph had weekly electroacupuncture appointments and physical therapy on the water treadmill 3x a week.

We did massages and exercises at home as well. We had to express his bladder to help him pee and keep him confined for 8 weeks. I bought him the G-Wagon of dog strollers so he could get outside more.

At his one-month checkup, the neurosurgeon said he wasn’t showing much progress, and he likely wouldn’t improve much. He may not regain bladder function or walk again.

He didn’t stand up or pee on his own for at least 2 months.

And once he did, progress was S-L-O-W. He started to hobble around a few months later. We used a harness to hold his hind end up and help him walk outside. We also got him a wheelchair and special skates for mobility.

At his 6-month check-up with his regular vet, the doctor said, “You know this is likely as good as it’s gonna get.”

To which Ralphie responded, “Hold my pup cup.”

He slowly got better and better each month. After a year, he walked like a drunk guy, but he was mobile and independent.

Today, he gets around well on his own in the house with the help of rugs that give him a little traction. He uses the wheelchair when we go for walks and takes periodic rests in the stroller when he gets tired.

When Ralphie was first diagnosed, I joined an online IVDD support group. While it was a lifesaver, it was hard to see other dogs get up and start walking like normal a couple of days after surgery.

To this day, every time I see someone post in the group about how their dog is still not walking a week or two after surgery, I tell them about Ralphie.

When everyone else seems to be making fast progress, it’s easy to think that’s normal, and anything outside of that spells disaster for you. When professionals tell you you’re doomed, it’s easy to give up.

But everyone’s progress looks different. Sometimes, you bounce back quickly, right back to normal. And sometimes, progress is hard and slow AF, and you must find a new normal.

Now, I'm a person with a dog in a stroller. And I don’t feel ashamed or care that anyone might judge me anymore.

Because when I look at Ralphie, all I see is a happy dog who had a painful, hard year of slow progress but doesn’t give a shit that his new normal looks different. He’s happy to be mobile, peeing on stuff, and fighting trees.

May we all aspire to an ounce of that resilience, adaptability, and side-eye talent.

This year has been a year of recovery for me. After losing 80% of my revenue in 2023, it took me a year to recover and find a new normal. And I still have a lot of progress to make in other areas of my life, like my health, which has taken a backseat to my business for over a decade.

But I'm still here, motherfuckers. ✌️

And anytime I start feeling sorry for myself and thinking I should be further along after 13 years of doing this (or, ya know, 35 years of living), I only need to look at Ralphie and that glorious side-eye that says, "Get over yourself. If I can do this, so can you, betch."

Cheers!
Sarah Jane Burt