Found Picture

My husband was looking through his phone and found this picture of Lucy. It was from our January trip, taken in the Mojave desert. Isn't she beautiful?

A Great Vet

I've mentioned this before, and here I go again, but Kate Schottman and her team at Sunset Pet Hospital are truly a notch above. Not only did Kate, the owner and main vet, send me a touching personal card, but the staff sent their own joint card. Today, I received a letter from WSU's College of Veterinary Medicine that Sunset had sent a donation to them in Lucy's name. The donation here goes into continued research. Some other little pup (or pet) may live longer because of it. I am not naive enough to think this is unique to us, nor that it doesn't promote continued business for Sunset. However, I think it is indicative of the style of that clinic—caring, compassionate and great. I would never go anywhere else with a pet.

My good, good friend Betsy sent a donation to PAWS in Lucy's name also. Now some other discarded pets will have a better chance at food and care. Lucy is happy about both of these. I know it.

Ashes to Ashes...

They called yesterday; Lucy's remains were ready. I picked them up with much trepidation, but she sits on the desk beside me. At first, because I was uneasy, I thought I'd leave the box in the basement—after all, she slept there much of the time. Yet that seemed a bit bleak, so I brought her upstairs. Eventually I opened the cardboard box uncertain of what I'd find...a bag? A box? There was a gray urn. We decided we'll scatter some of her ashes here and some on one of the trails where we took her mountain biking. He said it's only ceremony and not really necessary, but we both feel its an important step—closure—to a dog life well lived.

Many of our friends have elderly dogs and I'm so sorry for what they'll also soon have to experience. When I was growing up, my mother would get another dog rapidly after we lost one. Her motive wasn't to replace the first pet, but to honor it by giving another "cast off" another chance. I couldn't agree more. When our first dog passed away after 18 magnificent years, I doubt I waited two weeks before bringing Lucy home. This time, however, I feel no urgency. Yes, I did tell my husband I'd try to wait a year, but even more than that is the time I need to heal. Lucy was sick for over two years with something (back, nose and cancer). I need to be away from that sadness for some time before I'm willing to take on another pup and its issues. For me, that means remaining dogless for some time.

Waves

It is the seventh day. Mostly I'm pretty good. Yesterday, for whatever reason was difficult though. I took myself on a couple of dogless dogwalks and tried to go places that I no longer took Lucy. However, even that made me sad.

Some friends stopped by in the late afternoon and ended up staying for dinner which was a great break. They gave us a card that tore me to shreds. It was written 'from Lucy' and thanked us for such a good life. Having put her to sleep, to get a thank you...even if written by Kathleen...cracked whatever reserve I'd built up. I still feel raw this morning.

Multiple Stages of Grief

I know some people find ludicrous the grief others experience over the loss of their pets. What they must not realize is how entwined one's life becomes with a pet. Multiple daily walks and feeding, brushing, washing, playing with them, patting them... They become your focus. You control their life and as a good dog owner, you are involved on an intimate level keeping them healthy, happy and engaged.

When Lucy was diagnosed with cancer a mere two weeks ago, that focus became quadrupled. Her care and comfort took on a whole new meaning and also became (unconsciously) a period in which to say goodbye and let her know how much we loved her. Knowing we were going to be the final arbitrator of her life was a struggle. At some point, all pet owners must come to grips with this. However, when she exhibited so much discomfort Monday evening, it was a quick decision—she let us know it was time and took the decision making on herself. Yes, I know, we made the call, but she made it abundantly clear she was miserable. There was little debate about what we had to do. Only for the briefest second did I doubt myself and that of course was because of the grief over losing her.

The next day I started cleaning up her things and was going to give away or toss most of it. (Not her collar; that I'll keep.) But I realized that was also grief talking—that somehow, by removing any sign of her, the grief would also disappear. Her food, her toys, some of her hiking paraphernalia, sure, others may be able to use them, but I don't need to get rid of everything. Not her beds, not her leashes, not her dog bag. Eventually we'll have another dog in the house.

I mentioned hearing her bark yesterday in the wee hours of the morning. Last night I dreamed that they'd made a mistake and Lucy was just fine and still with us. Another stage of grief: reversing the outcome. I wonder how many stages we'll go through?

I wrote my niece and told her that I was catching myself in the habits I'd accrued through my life with Lucy. Returning from work, any water left in my bottle, I'd pour in her water bowl. While making salads, any little pieces of vegetable she liked, I'd give her a scrap. I kept all the used plastic veggie bags for collection on dog walks and now what do I do with them? I hear her coming down the hall. I hear her old snorfely nose. I reach down to pat her or turn my head to see if she's in one of her many beds, but there is no Lucy to receive a pat. There is no water bowl, no beds. This is surely the most difficult stage of grieving—habit versus reality. I am constantly reminded of our loss.

Woof

I heard Lucy bark at 4:16AM this morning. I woke with a start. It was her gravelly, older dog, partially paralyzed larynx bark and was clear as a bell. At first I thought she was hurt, but realized she is at peace now and prefer to think she was saying goodbye or that she was okay; she was on her journey...that in front of her, lay a huge, sunny field filled with little rodents to snort out or bunnies to chase.

Saying Goodbye

I take part in an on-line dog forum. I don't personally know any of the participants, but they have been quite extraordinary in sharing their experience, thoughts and feelings. They've been particularly invaluable to me through Lucy's crises.

The last couple of days I've been struggling with ethics. How do I know when it's right for Lucy to go? Do I wait until she no longer can stand or eat? Do I put her to sleep while she's still functional? She's been panting a lot the last several days—rapid, prolonged panting, and I feel this is a sign of pain, not the prednisone. My husband and I talked about acupuncture over drugs as Lucy is so sensitive to pain killers; they turn her into a zombie. He felt any mitigating care wasn't fair either as it was just prolonging a life that was ready to let go. Yet he couldn't put her to sleep while she was still walking, eating and joining us for baby bike rides. And that too, was my dilemma.

When I posted my concerns and confusion in the dog forum, one wonderful participant sent me a private message offering her story. They chose to put their dog down before pain became his constant companion. Her note clarified my dilemma. It wasn't about me (and my ethical conundrum). It was about Lucy, her comfort and life quality. As a dog owner, you assume their care and well being. No matter how much we love them, the bottom line is their best interest regardless of our pain at losing them. So I talked to my husband about this and told him he needed to prepare himself emotionally for this eventuality...that this weekend may be the time we put her to sleep, if Lucy could wait that long.

Lucy is hard-wired for running. Each weekend we have taken her on baby bike rides of 1-2 miles. Each time she has been willing, eager and able. Walks have not been as enticing for her, so the last several days, she hasn't always been interested in her morning or afternoon outings. When she has gone, the walks have been quite short. The prednisone has kept her hungry, so her appetite is good. Last evening, sometime after she ate, she went into the back yard. For some reason, I felt I needed to watch her. She paced the yard. She looked like she wanted to poop, but couldn't; looked like she was trying to vomit, but couldn't. I rushed out to check on her and found her tummy quite swollen and rock solid and feared bloat. I called the hospital to bring her in. Luckily they were still open, and remained open until we got there. Kate wasn't on duty, but another vet, whom we like, was there along with some of the staff and techs I know well.

Lucy threw up several times in the van and I know she was uncomfortable doing this despite how awful she obviously felt. The techs and vet were wonderful. The vet said it wasn't bloat, but that something was definitely going on in Lucy's abdomen and she offered an xray. Instead, we opted for sleep. Lucy had been given 2-4 weeks to live and had just crested the half-way mark. She wasn't comfortable anymore and had started withdrawing from us. Yes, she might be in the same room, but she wasn't participating, wasn't watching us, wasn't keen on patting anymore.

The vet techs put a big, blanket-covered pad on the floor and a catheter in her back leg so that the drug would go in cleanly.We got down on the floor with her and were able to be with her until the end and then some. It was very fast, but our hearts are broken. She was such a fine, fine hound.

Positive Thinking & Reality

Lucy has started piddling again as she sleeps. I've put her back on Pro-In and hope that solves the issue. I've got an email in to the vet regarding dosage. My recollection was she started on 1 a day for X amount of time and then dropped to a 1/2 tab once a day.

She's drinking a huge amount of water and she is voraciously hungry. I could even say obsessively hungry. Every time she even thinks we might be heading to the kitchen, she's there ahead of us. Sometimes I'll find her just lying by her food bowl.

Is it the cancer? With all she's eating, she's losing weight. Are her kidneys failing? Her breathing is very congested, her heartbeat rapid. My sister said that perhaps the pneumonia will be her demise.

What a grim picture! I'm trying to think positively, but this morning it isn't easy. The reality is overwhelmingly depressing.

Taking things as they come

Saturday was a gorgeous day; one of those "foolers" that makes you think spring is here. I worked a bit in the yard, but really had to restrain myself from doing too much (and run the risk of plants getting zapped by a sure-to-happen frost). Lucy was in the yard with me happily soaking up the sun. So why was I depressed?

I think weekends are harder because I am with her 24/7 and can witness minute by minute how she is doing. Scrutiny that is that close reveals the changes I miss during the week while working. I don't always want to see them. She's slower. Her breathing is more labored. Her hacking is back. Her energy is low.

I decided to try focusing on the positive. She's here. Very positive. She eats well (in fact, she's always hungry). Positive. She still loves her cocktail ball. Positive. On Sunday, we decided to see if she'd be interested in a little run. Once those van doors opened, she leapt (yes, leapt) in. She ran (loped) about 2.5 miles. Now what's not positive about that?

I had made an appointment with a holistic vet, but my husband was not keen on my taking Lucy in. He recently lost his mother to cancer and saw her go through the medical gamut. He didn't want Lucy to suffer through that. I know it is different for a dog. The medication isn't as powerful; the acupuncture is supposed to ease discomfort. I cancelled the appointment, but may call her again and discuss in more details her costs and the procedures.

Perhaps I'm throwing darts at a moving target, but isn't this what everyone does when they fear they are losing someone (in this case, my lovely hound) they love?