One More Detour on the Writing Road

It's a year today that I lost the Mickster.

I hope he's in a place with an endless supply of tennis balls, and his favorite Kong, and a nice, comfy bed. And snacks. Snacks are important.

Thanks to everyone. This afternoon felt like a plummet down an elevator shaft. Mickey hadn't shown much by way of discomfort during this, much less pain. Then the pain hit. When that happened, there was only one way out.

There was so much I didn't know about that dog, and would never be able to find out. How old he really was, and what his first years were like. I know he was abused--he cowered at first when I caught him on the couch or tried to bop him playfully with the empty paper towel roll, and he was very quiet. As time went on, he stopped cowering, and over the last year began to get on the couch with impunity. Sometimes I'd catch him, and he'd get down, tail wagging. "You didn't see that," he seemed to say. "I'm not the naughty puppy you're looking for."

He grew noisier, too. Yawns. Throat-clearings and hacks so prolonged and loud that I swore he would hork up a lung. He'd greet me with barks.

Some things never changed. He always left the room when a certain type of male voice sounded from the TV. He also left the room when I swore, or yelled (to myself, or sometimes at King, canis oblivious). He sensed anger even if it wasn't spoken. He was very sensitive to mood. Maybe I don't want to know what his early years were like.

I hope he enjoyed his four and a half years here. He was loved. He'll be cremated with his favorite Kong, and then he'll come back home.

Mickey

??? - 22 July 2008

He was the Mickelocious Mickelator.

Sometime during the morning, while I was at work, Mickey horked up on his bed. It was mostly water, but it was still hork and after a while...I decided I needed to wash the bed cover. So I pulled out the bolster stuffing and the pad and took the cover downstairs to wash. In the interim, I brought Mickey's office bed out to the living room to tide him over.

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And he shall be spoiled. And he shall have what he wants.

And if he happens to somehow reach underneath the chain link fence to grab the raw chicken breast that you dumped there the previous day because you thought it had been out on the counter for too long, you will do your best to pry it out from between those pretty-sure-he's-part-pitbull jaws. And if he manages to swallow most of it anyway, you will simply keep an eye on him for the rest of the afternoon and have a garbage bag handy to catch anything untoward that might result, You will accept the dirty looks directed at you, the you-tried-to-take-my-chicken-away glares. And if anything untoward does result, you will simply cut back on the evening's feed and as soon as is reasonable, feed him again. Even if it turns out to be raw chicken breast that's been dumped over the fence. Because he shall be spoiled, and he shall have what he wants.

Thanks to everyone for your kind words and good wishes. They're very much appreciated.

Mickey's home. I picked him up this afternoon, after talking to our regular vet. He'd been given antibiotics and IV fluids, and was livelier than he'd been in the last few days. He sat in the back seat with his head out the window, just as he had riding down.

He's resting on the living room rug now.

The only treatments at this point are palliative. There are two different types of cancer involved. Individually, they would have been difficult. Together, given their advanced state, it's just too much. If surgery were performed, Mickey would lose his bladder and most of his liver, and there's no guarantee we'd get it all.

We're probably looking at a couple of weeks. We could get lucky. There's always hope.

I will say for the record that this sweet, gentle dog did not deserve this, and someone has some serious explaining to do.

Cancer. Liver and likely the bladder. It appears to have spread to the lymph nodes.

Emergency vet will talk to my vet, and we'll explore options. Given that it's spread, it doesn't look good.

I'll be taking Mickey to the doggy hospital tomorrow. It's been a week and a half since this load of rocks fell on him, and I still haven't been able to step up his food intake so that he can take in enough calories, and it isn't going to get any better if he can't eat enough to maintain his weight. He ate breakfast and lunch, but turned away from dinner, and has been drinking a lot of water. Just spoke with his vet--it's possible that either his pancreas or liver is flaring. Time to call in the specialist.