When my little Lucy Dogge died, I didn't ever think I could have another dog. The pain of putting her down was agonizing. However, three months later I adopted Trixie. We've had a wonderful fifteen years together, but I am girding myself for the inevitable. My old girl is just that, old.
She's had quite a few health scares. One night she got drunk on my airline sized liquor samples. Back in the old days, you were given (for free) more booze than you could drink. So, I would bring them home to drink later. Later never happened, and Trixie had a one-dog party during a PTA night. Then I had a night of running her outside every time I heard that earping sound. Another time, her love of anything peppermint caused her to devour my dental floss. The first time it happened, I got home (from another PTA night) to hear her choking. Just in time, I was able to pull the floss out of her. It was similar to how a magician pulls a string of handkerchiefs from his pocket. I thought that line of floss would never end! Since neither of us learned our lesson the first time, Trixie once again had access to my dental floss. This time she ate it, container and all, resulting in surgery and thousands of dollars in medical bills. Since then she's had Cushings disease diagnosed and she also lives with congestive heart failure. Neither of those conditions seemed to slow her down, but old age is a different story.
Dogs get skinny when they get old. Trixie eats, and she eats well. I buy her a roasted chicken once a week. But, she doesn't put on an ounce. My girl should weigh between twenty and twenty-two pounds; she barely weighs in at thirteen. Getting her groomed turns her into a walking skeleton. She is arthritic and those old bones hurt her. When she shows me her pain, I give her the pain pills the vet has provided. They bring her relief. I hope.
She seems to have dementia. I have actually watched her walk into a corner and be unable to turn herself around. She will sit motionless and stare into the hall at nothing. Well, nothing that I can see. She will pace endlessly until eventually she settles down, only to get up and pace some more. It is annoying. It is unnerving. But it is really heartbreaking when I go to pick her up, and she is confused as to who I am. She tries to bite me. She struggles to escape my hug. She is confused. She winces when I approach her to pet her head. I think that's because she can't see. Or hear. I hope it's not because her head hurts.
She sleeps in the bed snuggled up to me. I've had to put pillows in the gap between my bed and the wall because she falls off and can't get herself out of there. And she cries when she falls, so the pillows soften the blow. I think she takes up more of the bed than I do, but she hasn't fallen lately. In the morning, I've started carrying her outside as soon as she wakes up because the old girl doesn't always find her way to the door in time.
I am no longer able to board her. She's so frail, the confusion could/would kill her. So Trixie and I will be spending Thanksgiving together here in Maryland while the rest of the family goes to the Poconos. I'm sure she'll enjoy some turkey (or cashew butter and jelly) as much as she does her chicken.
Yes, she's old, 105 in human years. But, she still gets excited when I come in the back door. I could be gone for as long as it takes to get the mail, and she greets me as if I'm returning from a long journey. She knows when I'm yelling at the television, and she sits at my feet to calm me down. She actually jumps for joy because she loves me that much, well, me or the morsel of food in my hand. Nobody else loves me that much. She still has spurts of energy when she runs across the lawn like a puppy. She's still happy to greet visitors to the house. Yes, she's still happy. Lucy taught me how to be a loving mom when the pup is no longer happy. The day's coming, I know that. But it's not today. And I know that too.
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