Empty Spaces
I called Chatham on Wednesday for Appy. She had three accidents in two hours Monday night, which for a dog who has been potty trained well for her whole life is a strong sign that something is amiss. The process was starting and who knows how quickly she would go downhill. He came out Thursday afternoon. Car rides have been stressing her and I didn't want to put her through driving in to her usual vet and then driving her back home so I called Chatham. He put Blaze down too several years ago.
She didn't have any additional accidents between Monday and Thursday, but she was spending any time we left the house in her crate instead of free in the house as well as being put out the door almost every half hour, if not more frequently.
I don't know if I was just hyper-aware, but I noticed her swaying more when she stood. I went to pet her once this last week and she completely fell over. She took an exuberant jump into the house and her front legs failed her, her jaw and chest slamming into the hard ground. She would stand and appear lost or disoriented, almost like an elderly person with Alzheimers forgetting where she was, lost in space and time.
Despite her trim and grooming the other week she was still bumping into things. There was a soft prayer in my heart that I might just find her having slipped away amidst her dreams. (Did you ever know a dog to talk in it's sleep? She did.) She was strong in some respects, no visible arthritis, still had all but six of her teeth, most people looking at her were shocked at her years, but other ways she was weak and getting weaker. My dog who would chase the ball for hours hadn't gone after one in well over a year. The one who took glee in dismanteling her squeaky toys left one untouched for a year and a half. She who would bark and play-bow at the vacuum just stood and stared, moving out of the way when necessary. My little shadow would lose track of me and calling to her often added to her confusion as her hearing became worse. All the little things have been adding up.
So Chatham came and because of her size gave her an IM anesthetic. It was a little painful, but then she drifted to sleep before the final injection to her heart and she drifted quietly into that eternal sleep.
We talked, Chatham noted what I suspected: incontinence is often the first thing to show as other systems fail. He palpated her and showed me a mass that she had on her left side, most likely on her spleen. She probably had some form of cancer. I know she had a couple of fatty tumors on her chest and belly.
Chris had dug the hole Wednesday and I lay her down in it and talked to her as Chris drove home on his lunch break to help me bury her.
I am still having to remind myself that I don't have to let her out or check her food and water. Friday I was breaking down her Kennel and Kelhan was there opening and closing the door and putting things in and out of it as I was trying to figure out how to unhook the sides from each other. Kelhan was a bit distraught when I finally collapsed it. I was too. We haven't had time to put it in the storage room yet so it sits in the space under the laundry counter, present, but empty.
You forget how much space a little dog can take up in one's life. Right now I feel all the empty spaces.
She didn't have any additional accidents between Monday and Thursday, but she was spending any time we left the house in her crate instead of free in the house as well as being put out the door almost every half hour, if not more frequently.
I don't know if I was just hyper-aware, but I noticed her swaying more when she stood. I went to pet her once this last week and she completely fell over. She took an exuberant jump into the house and her front legs failed her, her jaw and chest slamming into the hard ground. She would stand and appear lost or disoriented, almost like an elderly person with Alzheimers forgetting where she was, lost in space and time.
Despite her trim and grooming the other week she was still bumping into things. There was a soft prayer in my heart that I might just find her having slipped away amidst her dreams. (Did you ever know a dog to talk in it's sleep? She did.) She was strong in some respects, no visible arthritis, still had all but six of her teeth, most people looking at her were shocked at her years, but other ways she was weak and getting weaker. My dog who would chase the ball for hours hadn't gone after one in well over a year. The one who took glee in dismanteling her squeaky toys left one untouched for a year and a half. She who would bark and play-bow at the vacuum just stood and stared, moving out of the way when necessary. My little shadow would lose track of me and calling to her often added to her confusion as her hearing became worse. All the little things have been adding up.
So Chatham came and because of her size gave her an IM anesthetic. It was a little painful, but then she drifted to sleep before the final injection to her heart and she drifted quietly into that eternal sleep.
We talked, Chatham noted what I suspected: incontinence is often the first thing to show as other systems fail. He palpated her and showed me a mass that she had on her left side, most likely on her spleen. She probably had some form of cancer. I know she had a couple of fatty tumors on her chest and belly.
Chris had dug the hole Wednesday and I lay her down in it and talked to her as Chris drove home on his lunch break to help me bury her.
I am still having to remind myself that I don't have to let her out or check her food and water. Friday I was breaking down her Kennel and Kelhan was there opening and closing the door and putting things in and out of it as I was trying to figure out how to unhook the sides from each other. Kelhan was a bit distraught when I finally collapsed it. I was too. We haven't had time to put it in the storage room yet so it sits in the space under the laundry counter, present, but empty.
You forget how much space a little dog can take up in one's life. Right now I feel all the empty spaces.