At a loss…

Humans often have the distinct advantage over animals of being able to say where it hurts.  We can work through the problem in hopes of finding comfort, be it short term or long term relief.

Dogs don’t have this luxury, and so here I sit, at nearly 1am feeling completely and totally inadequate.

My dog bit me today.

He is tired, old, sore and suffering some intestinal issue.  (I’ll spare you the details.)  He doesn’t feel good, so I want to put him on his big bed and let him sleep… but I can’t.

He is a big dog with a little case of the diarrhea.  That equates big mess and tough clean up no matter how you do the math.  He has to be contained in a easily scrubbed spot… where he doesn’t want to be.

When I asked him to go there, he refused.  When I told him to go there he tried all the other spots in case there was room for compromise.  When I went to go get him he told me he was not intending to go in there with a very clear indication that drew blood.

He has only once bitten someone before in his 11 year life.  He went after me when he was 1 and was feeling pretty dumb about it the second it happened.  He did not feel so bad about it today.

I feel pretty bad about it.

I love my dog and I have no idea what to do for him.  I feel like I am letting him down by not knowing how to help him feel better.  I feel like his playing, romping and eating is a good indication he still wants to be here and it’s premature to think of “easing his suffering”; however, what do you do with a big dog that has been ill twice in the last 3 weeks?  Put him in the outside kennel if he could get through the dog door with his bad hip… or figure out to go where it’s warm so his arthritis isn’t so bad in the cold winter air.

He’s a big old house dog that has no place in the house when he’s sick like this.

I have been living with this dog for 11 years now and I feel like I have no experience to care for him.

This feeling of helplessness and inadequacy brings back so many emotions from my mother’s illness that I am feeling crumpled and overwhelmed tonight.

I’m going to try to take comfort that he is not barking in his poop safe den and go to bed to try to sleep.  It seems so silly to shed so many tears over a mutt, but he is MY mutt, my roommate, my responsibility…

my Fat Boy.

Somehow in the next day or so I need to get into a mindset where I can be the best guardian for him that I can be and figure out how I’m going to care for him as this goes downhill from here.

I’m hoping that just posting this little freak out will help me start transitioning into a mindset where I can take this challenge on, because as it stands right now I’m still struggling with the fact that old dogs get sick and die…

and somehow my dog got old on me while I was still trying to teach him to come when he’s called.

Insert your favorite expletive of exasperation here —>   <—.

S.

Take that back…

Last night after 5 times of being woken from deep sleep I went down to kill the dog for barking.

He wasn’t even standing up, just laying down, barking like a mad man.  Looked a little surprised when I opened the door.

I didn’t even smack him around this time.  I said something to the effect of “Seriously?” and went back to bed. Barking done for the night.

Barking Dog Update.

I have had 4 whole nights of sleep uninterupted by barking geriatric dog.

Whatever has changed with him is beyond me, but I am thrilled and have been rewarding him with treats.

I’m a much better dog owner this week.

Says me.

S.

Geriatric Barking Dog.

I love my dog.  He has cost me a fortune in food, vet bills, destroyed furniture and flooring.  I have spent countless hours chasing him as he seems to laugh at me.  He has shed about 30 sweaters worth of dog hair into my home, one changing season at a time.

Despite all this I love him and his quirky stubbornness, but here is my assessment of last night.

Number of random barks from him that woke me up last night:  15.

Number of times I yelled at him down the laundry shoot before getting up:  13

Number of expletives uttered on the way down the stairs with a rolled up newspaper: 52

Amount of guilt I feel for thwapping an 11 year old geriatric arthritic mutt:  Immeasurable

Who in the world ever let me get a dog?

Says me…

Sarah

Dog days of summer….

I have no idea what that means, the dog days of summer, so I just looked it up.

1 : the period between early July and early September when the hot sultry weather of summer usually occurs in the northern hemisphere
2 : a period of stagnation or inactivity

Ok… that’s not what it’s meaning to me this year.

Dogs are not for everyone. Some people are allergic. Some people are logical and practical about the cost of keeping a dog and the ongoing maintenance of cleaning up after them and the destruction they like to create. Some people prefer the cool independence and unpredictability of cats.

I’m a dog person. I come from a family that had dogs. I have a dog. Dad has a dog. My brother and nephew dog-sit the dogs. Dogs are part of my family’s life.

We like em… except when they are dumb or expensive.

Precious moments are when they cuddle with each other or you.

Not so precious moments are like the third time you find they’ve wrestled in the house and knocked over their gallon water bucket… that you just happened to have filled.

Dad’s dog, Brixi, is the first girl dog we’ve had, and she’s endearing in surprising ways. For such a small dog she has attitude like a pro-wrestler in the ring. When you tell her to do something she always seems to cock her head in a manner that says, “Seriously?” First time response from her is unheard of. She is relentless in her pursuit of cuddles. You can be furious as she gets into the garbage in 3 seconds flat, and then an hour later she does that face where her jowls get caught on her teeth and she just looks so pathetic and adorable.

She’s had a rough summer this year having been diagnosed with two forms of blood born illness, including Lyme’s disease and then being left in my care for the summer as dad went to play in Alaska.

A few weeks ago I was still worried about her pot bellied pig look, so while taking my dog, Baxter, to the vet I dragged her along with me. X-rays revealed she had a large mass in her abdomen and surgery was scheduled for later on that week.

It turns out that our little girl has a very nasty form of ovarian cancer. It is quite rare, so they don’t have a lot of experience in treating it, and it has a high rate of metastases, meaning it is likely to spread to other areas.

Brixi’s pathology reports indicate that it has already gone into her lymph nodes, so while her surgery to remove the cancerous ovary (all 7 pounds of it!!) was very successful, we did not get all of the cancer out.

She is feeling great and back to her old self now that she is done with Lyme’s and has all that extra weight and pressure out of her belly; however, they tell us the cancer could very well run it’s course in about 6 months.

Dog days is what we’re having this summer. While I’d prefer to not associate my dad’s dog with my mother, the whole experience is bringing back a flood of memories for me.

Between common terminology and having to make heart breaking phone calls, I’m feeling like this is just too soon for illness in our family.

She’s just a dog…. but she’s our dog. Our little girl. Our princess. So we will play and romp and get into stuff. We will eat treats we’re not supposed to and go places that we might not have gone otherwise. We will maximize our time and enjoy our dog days.

She doesn’t know it yet, but her Pau-Pau is coming back tomorrow. Matt is getting dad at the airport tomorrow evening and driving him down. I’m sure the reunion will be…

well…

knowing dad it will be anti-climactic, but his little girl will be thrilled….

both his little girls, that is.

Says Sarah.