But, really, the dog comes first
Aurora
Aurora passed away yesterday
Oct 16th
All of last week wasn’t quite enough …
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Last Flop: and while her ability to hit a target was laudable (and desired) when she tried to roll in something stinky, she never quite managed to hit the bed either.
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Damn it.
Inside of a dog
Oct 14th
One of these things is not like the others,
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One of these things just doesn’t belong,
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Can you tell which thing is not like the others
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By the time I finish my song?
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Aurora Update #2 (Improved) (Yay!)
Oct 12th
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Aurora’s ketones have decreased given the volume of IV fluids. (Yay!) This is very good and she is stronger, more alert, more agile and more vocal about coming home. (I cheer when she complains.) It is clear that she is not ready to “go”.
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On the other hand, when she tries to eat, she becomes nauseous and stops: the UFO does have to “go”.
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We spent yesterday and today playing with the iPad camera** and calling around to find the proper* tool for the endoscopy. (It seems wrong to me that finding the tool is an issue.)
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Tomorrow will be spent picking her up from one vet, playing ambulance to a second vet. There she will have the procedure and then I will drive her back to her original vet home. Keep your fingers crossed that all goes well. It has the makings of a very long day.
*Where proper indicates both what you may think as relevant to the task and not costing $8,000. (True quote. We could buy the damn thing for that price.) (And, really, I dreaded having to make the decision of “No, sorry, that’s too much money.”)
**The iPad was a wonderful surprise gift for my birthday/retirement/first anniversary (Oh, heck, they were all lumped together. And I was/am spoiled. I haven’t got it (the iPad) all figured out yet, but Aurora likes to sleep my lap while I read a book.)
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Aurora Update
Oct 11th
Aurora is in the hospital – she is in ketosis and needs massive IV fluids to help flush the ketones. She got this way – uncontrolled diabetic chaos – because she has a foreign object in her stomach. (i.e. the dear dimwit ate something manmade and non-digestible. I’m curious to see what it is; I told them to save it for me.)
Prognosis is uncertain: if the object can be removed endoscopically (she refused to upchuck it), and the ketosis is treated, good. She probably is not strong enough to withstand major surgery. In which case, the ketosis will be treated. She’ll come home for a few days and be snuggled.
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Really, I thought the cancer was going to do her in. (And I will refrain from listing the foreign objects she has “passed”.)
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In my melo-drammitc brain, I write posts with titles such as “It’s time for total truth between us” and ”UFO: Unidentified Foreign Object”
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But my federal work-trained writer refuses to type them. (And she needs to get over that.)
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Yesterday was a roller coaster day after an awful evening of frantic drinking and vomiting.
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We wondered if it was end of life.
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When Dude and I loaded her into the car, she somehow landed facing the “wrong” way. We literally rolled her over, repositioned her feet, scooted her to her preferred spot in the back seat, rubbed her belly and neither one of us spoke the thought “don’t you die on me”.
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We’ve been having a series of relatively minor health issues (herniated impacted infected anal glands anyone? Yeah, I’ll spare you the deets.) But she’s old and not recovering to full health. Each issue ages her. She has good days: we walk in the creek and bob for treats. She likes belly rubs. (She used to like eating but that UFO problem has quelled that urge.)
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She has trouble on the slippery wood floors. Sometimes she can’t stand up by herself.
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It was 9 something in the morning, on Sunday and Aurora had refused to go out for walk. (Constipation has been a lifelong problem but increasingly complicated with the anal gland issue and the not eating issue this week.) I was writing an email, she got up and asked to out outside. I carried her down the stairs (her choice – sometimes, she’ll take the stairs herself) and put her on the grass. She wandered about, a couple of houses up the street (so much for my morning 3 mile run) and returned home – doing what she needed to do.
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After her morning walks, she usually gets a marrow bone (well, since May and the Diagnosis of Doom).
It was later than usual, and I forgot. I went back to puttering (getting coffee, answering a question for Dude …).
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Aurora came into the kitchen and asked for a marrow bone. She took it all happy and wagged her tail (and did not knock herself over when she did.)
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And I celebrated the small victory (and the poo!)
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Then she spent last night at the hospital (alone and scared and abandonned and without me to watch over her).
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I miss her when I see an empty dog bed.
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I missed her when it was time for a night time stroll.
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I missed her when I noticed the moon was full and that I missed that because she wasn’t there to take me outside for a walk.
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I missed her breathing at night, knowing she’s o.k.
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I missed her this morning, now as I write, when I should be outside looking at the stars while she pees.
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I feel guilty for putting her through this.
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I feel guilty for thinking of end-of-life when it’s not her time. (I hope it’s not her time. I hope I don’t wait too long.)
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I feel guilty for being all mixed up and confused.
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A wise person once told me,
Sep 25th
or maybe it was many wise people, at different times.
No matter.
A wise person once told me not write while in the middle of something. Something emotional. Your writing will improve with perspective – that elusive vantage point where all is clear and makes sense.
I’m pretty sure this (trivial lowering of camera elevation) is not what they had in mind:
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but it is good for the soul.
We are o.k. We almost weren’t. (The problem with crisis, as far as I’m concerned, is that after it’s over and everyone is o.k. You probably really need to sleep.)
Plunging in …
Sep 12th
So … Saturday was the annual day where we torment spend the day with our furry friends at the pool.
I thought, maybe, this year Aurora would like to tell you about it (since, you know, I didn’t really expect her to live this long and I had to debate whether or not to bring her (it might be her last time/but she hates it/but it’s good for her))
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Snapped
Sep 11th
I have been trying to get this shot for months*:
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And then I go and miss her ears. /sigh
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We’re fine (swamped**). Posting will resume soon.
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* With no canine teeth, her tongue literally falls out of her mouth. It amuses me.
**kind of literally, swamped that is.
A lot of huff
Aug 28th
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It took a few hours for the storm to clear, but by early afternoon the sun made a welcome appearance. It doesn’t seem too bad – except the power is out. (Odd twist of fate: the coffee pot turns on automagically at o’dark thirty. The (second) power outage occurred at o’dark thirty-two. So we had a dribble of coffee in the pot. Even odder: this is the second time that has happened in this house.)
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Ned is dry:
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Nickie is in a window (how often is it cool enough to open a window in August?)
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And Aurora is in front of a fan:
I’m wishing I could do laundry.
I am hoping you are dry, unless you don’t want to be.
