I have a dog. … We have a dog.
Pepper Joplin Heald, my 13 year old Shi Tzu, had perhaps a day at best according to the veterinarian. “Don’t even bother feeding him.” “We’ve done all that’s medically possible.”
Holding and brushing Pepper only does so much. He’s barking because of pain that’s hard to nail down. Some of it is his difficulty moving, a lot internal.
At least the growing death howls let us know he’s still alive. Even though one can’t help but just wish he could be out of pain — the family has decided against induced “sleep” — which prolongs the pain and sorrow for us.
I’ve been brushing and petting him and occasionally trying to interest him in water. Can’t tell whether I’m helping or annoying the dog — who’s starving to death, and bleeding from his spleen, anemic, and having his red blood cells eaten by his immune system.
Most communication is a barking whether he moves or tries to get up … and a pained one at that, but at least we know he’s alive (sort of.) At the moment it’s a cross between a smoke detector and a barking seal.
And I’m on jury duty in 24 hours, so that should be fun. Neither the dog or I can sleep. Though if no barking for an hour, I worry.
So he can’t eat or breathe and seems to have some manner of canine AIDS, at least in some kind of completely compromised immune system.
It was suggested a few days ago, he might have eaten a poison. So we’ve no idea whether he licked his paws and ingested some of the melted road de-icer or swallowed a dropped pill for one of the family ailments.
So that’s a compounding freakout on top of everything else.
On Monday Morning, we both finally did get to sleep.
Me with a clock radio turned on a couple rooms away. The last thing I did was re-adjust Pepper in his bed to his other side not that it apparently mattered. He was just in pain regardless of position. At least the yelping picked back up shortly thereafter. And I don’t know, around 9 a.m., I drifted off until about 6 p.m., hoping and not hoping the dog would … not be in pain and agony.
Pepper, who moved in bursts, crawled all the way across the house and laid down at dad’s feet and had company in his final moments. Finally gave in about 10 a.m., an hour after I decided I had to get some sleep for jury duty.
And the bed is now gone, his food is packed up in bags his bowls are emptied. His ropes are nowhere to be found. Dad apparently did all the C.S.I. and crime scene cleanup.
I used to have a dog. We used to have a dog.
