Godspeed, My Fine Fur Friend

The Rainbow Bridge has gained a fine small dog. New Old Dog crossed over this morning, when a series of seizures throughout the night made it clear that he was ready to Go. 

This note is for him: 

When we adopted you from the rescue two years ago, you were named "Chico". However, Offspring the Third said you looked like a "Hank". Since you were already 12 years old, I didn't want to confuse you with a whole new name, and so you became Chico Hank. It took us a few weeks to figure out you were nearly deaf and it didn't matter what we called you. I mostly called you "my buddy."

You were a good and faithful dog, with a cheerful trot and an enjoyment of fuzzy blankets, and your favorite pasttime was sitting on the couch together. You loved me unquestioningly right from the start, and I will always be grateful for your devotion.

Godspeed, Chico Hank, and thank you for your time with us.

Diptych

The Struggle is Real

Herself speaks.

I've really been struggling with migraine lately. It is a drag on my whole system, my quality of life, my ability to think and be productive. Migraine always comes with its companion Dementors of what ifs and wanting unattainable things and the grief beast, so things have been hard, to say the least. I have an appointment soon with my primary care physician, and perhaps she will be able to help. I'm not optimistic, because migraine also comes with a side order of feeling hopeless. We'll see.

Meanwhile, Tiny Dog is retaining more fluid from the heart failure, despite the diuretics. We've increased them with advice from the vet, but there isn't much improvement. Breathing is harder. Nighttime is the worst. She struggles. 

I know it's nearly her Time. 

The idea of her absence, after 10 years of her presence, is terrible. 

I just want to fold up into myself. 

One day at a time. One hour at a time. 

Onward we go. 

Monster

 This evening's earworm: Monster (Mumford & Sons). 

I'm not entirely sure I understand what the lyrics are all about, but I was struck by this one line:

Yours is the face, that makes my body burn....

That's poetry.

Couch Potatoes

The Pathetic Duo

Bump

New Old Dog had a seizure this afternoon.

The seizure itself was about two minutes. Fortunately I was there to lay him down and make sure he was in a safe area. (I've lately been watching occasional episodes of a standard medical drama show, and I distinctly remember thinking well that's a bit much every time a human patient allegedly went into a seizure. After this afternoon, though, I stand corrected. New Old Dog's seizure was pretty violent.)

After the seizure stopped, though, came the harder part. He was extremely agitated and confused, and his vision was affected. He ran around, bumping into things and whining, nonstop, for an hour and a half. He didn't seem to recognize or notice my presence much of the time. I took him to the back yard to minimize the number of hazards, and he trotted, nearly running, around the edges of the yard, over and over again, as if looking for a way to escape. I tried holding him, but he just screamed and flailed, so I let him pace instead. I had to occasionally unstick him from bushes or the patio furniture. He wanted to just keep going. Bump, run, bump. 

Eventually, he calmed down, and had some water, and then seemed to understand that I was trying to help him. He sat in my lap for a bit, and is now sleeping next to me. 

It was... a lot. 

I'll give him one of Tiny Dog's anti-seizure pills this evening, to try to ward off a recurrence until we can get him into the vet's office.

Bless his heart. My poor little old man. 

Good boy.