End of Days

This is George.  George adopted us about thirteen years ago.  Rebecca discovered him hiding under our deck one Sunday morning.  He was about two months old and had no sign of belonging to anyone.  We did later find out he belonged to a woman down the road but she didn't really want him so I got roped into keeping him.  I say "I" because he's my dog.  Oh, he loves Rebecca too and he's always curious about where she is but he's mine.  I wasn't thrilled about having another pup.  Gracie was twelve at the time - she was another mutt  - looked like Benji from the old Disney movie.  Gracie I adored - she was the best dog - easy going, great temperament, and she didn't SHED!  George sheds. A lot.  He has a horrible temperament and he's not very social.  Never has been.  I took him to doggie obedience school and, while he didn't flunk out, he wasn't exactly the star student.  He's just very antisocial and figures he has his little group of humans why would he need anything more. 

So George is thirteen - old.  Very old.  His muzzle and belly are graying and for the last year he's slowed down a lot.  He's content to be in whatever room I'm in but he doesn't follow me around like he used to - if I get up to do something he waits to see if I return before coming to look for me.  He's had some skin issues lately - he rubs himself in the grass and he's taken to gnawing at his feet some.  Up until this past winter he was still spry enough to jump on the bed and sleep with me.  Last weekend he really showed his age and it was obvious that getting up and walking around were more difficult for him than usual.  I bought him some hip and joint pills and started that therapy.  A few days later I bought some doggie aspirin and some salmon oil to add to his food.  I'd researched arthritis in dogs and found those recommendations.  I know, at the age of thirteen, there isn't all that much that can be done for him.  It's inevitable.  He's going to die at some point.  It's just part of life.  I've been mentally preparing myself for it.  My only real hope was that he would pass on his own - peacefully and quietly.  I had to have Gracie put to sleep due to liver failure and it was the most awful feeling.  I felt like I was betraying her somehow even though I knew it was the humane and selfless thing to do.  Her death is a story for another day and it involves other dynamics.  George is my responsibility now. My responsibility just like everything else since the divorce and it's one of those things I knew I'd have to face and process pretty much on my own.  Some days I hate being an adult.  

I'd been giving George all these extra things all week hoping he'd make a turn around and be more comfortable.  He didn't really seem like he was in pain though.  Sure, walking was more difficult and going down steps was more of a challenge but he wasn't making any indication he was uncomfortable.  He was wobbly and unsteady but eating fine and taking water and using the potty without any real problems.  He did have a few incidents with the solid waste that were sorta funny when I thought about it.  I would notice some mornings there would be a solid on the deck.  One morning I watched him and he went down the stairs and did his #1 and then headed back up the steps.  He got to the top step and stopped - you could see it on his face... he turned (a slow process for him) and headed back down.  He got halfway there when he couldn't hold it any longer and he dropped a few.  I couldn't really be irritated - you could see the concentration on his face and he was trying so hard to get to the grass but just couldn't get there fast enough.  I just took the rake and sent it sailing into the lawn.  No harm done.

Yesterday afternoon when I returned home after work I took him out.  He was slow going but he made it and then came in and ate his dinner.  He didn't finish all of it but ate most and then settled in for the evening.  I did some yard work then went walking with a friend.  When I got home I tried to take him out one last time before bed but he couldn't get up.  He tried but his back legs just slid out under him and he he looked uncomfortable.  He didn't want me to touch him so I left him on the little carpet beside my bed - the place he's been sleeping for the last year since he can't get on the bed any longer.  I got up this morning to get ready for work and he was still in the land of the living and try as he might he still couldn't get up.  Broke my heart and the expression on his face was just one of being lost, hopeless, defeated.  He'd scoot himself some with his front paws but just couldn't get his back legs underneath him enough to make it.  I knew I had to call the mobile vet and have him come.  I also knew it was probably time.  The vet didn't open until nine so I made plans.  I let my supervisor know I needed a personal day to attend to this.  I cleaned up a little and when it got close to nine I went back to Rebecca's room and woke her to tell her.  She cried a little and I cried a little and we hugged and talked about how we really didn't want him to suffer.  I called the vet and left a message and he called me back about an hour later. I explained to him what was going on as coherently as I possibly could.  I tried not to cry but I did a little.  He was sympathetic and explained how busy he was today and would work on making time to get here.  He asked if I was giving George aspirin and I said yes, hip/joint tablets - yes.  I also told him about the salmon oil and he said that was good. We talked about his inability to get up but that he'd been eating fine and passing waste fine.  He said it was a shame and that there was an arthritis medication we could try if it seemed like it would help but that he understood that if the quality of life George would have would be diminished then yes, it might be time.  And just as we're having this conversation, just as I'm choking back tears, the damn dog walks into the living room where I'm sitting having this conversation with the vet! 

I'm not sure what I felt.  I was emotionally prepared and here he was looking at me like it was just another ordinary day.  He sat down on the floor and then got up on his back legs and I realized he probably needed to go outside - so I'm talking to the vet and heading to the door to open it and I see his tail go up - he starts walking and plops a deuce on the floor before heading outside and down the steps to potty.  I finish my conversation with the vet and set a visit for Tuesday.  He wants to look him over and perhaps prescribe something if feasible.  If he's deteriorated more then maybe it will be time.  Until then I'm to continue with the other stuff and observe.  The dog ate his breakfast and took his pills.  He's been walk around the house and going outside.  He ate his dinner fine.  I took him out at about 9:30 pm.  We went out the front and since it's not fenced I walked with him on a leash.  He walked us all around the lawn slowly - then by the driveway and up the back deck steps to the back door.  He drank some water and has been napping since.  Go figure.

While we may be fast approaching his end, it wasn't today... silly ol' man.