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| Nicki in the park, November 2022 |
It's time. We said goodbye to Nicki March 16, 2023 at noon. In the days just before, I had begun noticing odd pink stains on her bedding. Thinking she might have a UTI, we went to the vet, who sent us home with two antibiotic prescriptions. More pills. One of them was huge. The next morning when we got up, I noticed more stains, but as I passed her upstairs water bowl, I saw that the water was deep pink. There wasn't blood in her urine - it was coming from elsewhere. Back to the vet. He was kind and thorough, but direct. He checked her temperature - low. Considering what she'd been going through, his opinion was that her body was finally starting to give up. He thought these were early signs of organ failure. "Maybe she's telling you that it's time." He said to continue the antibiotics (why?)
We went home, and I began to prepare. Our vets no longer make that house call. They're swamped with work and can't spare someone to come out. A friend had found a mobile vet to come to her home to help her cat (who also had DCM) to have a peaceful passing, so I got the vet's number. I made an appointment.
In the meantime, I decided not to ruin Nicki's last days by pushing more pills down her throat. When she got down to 18 pounds (from her normal 25) last November, I decided to take her off Vetmedin entirely. I had taken her off all meds for a week in October, then gradually added them back one at a time, a week apart. All was well until we got to Vetmedin, and then the wracking vomiting and diarrhea began again. Vetmedin may be a life saver for many pets, but it was killing Nicki. With the GI issues eliminated, I embarked on a feeding program that was largely based on puppy formulations to give her maximum calories. She became very picky, eating some food for a few days then refusing it entirely. It was hard to keep her eating. Nonetheless, I managed to get her up to 21 pounds again and thought we might get another spring - but it wasn't to be. Now, knowing that our time together was very short, I eliminated everything but Lasix. On Enalapril, her heart would beat frighteningly against her chest. Now, without it, that heart calmed and beat quietly.
The day before the appointment, we all went to Home Depot where Nicki once again received all the pets and admiration from everyone nearby. It's amazing how one little dog could make so many people's days brighter. Nicki simply made everything better for everyone, everywhere she went, all the time. (She did that again one more time after she passed. Facebook doesn't allow posts offering to share medications [probably for their own legal protection] so instead I searched in Facebook for posts mentioning the medications I had to offer. When I found such posts, I PMd the poster, offering the meds. Several declined, but one lovely person who works with several rescues doing hospice work accepted. I highly recommend this method to not only help others, but to ease your grief. It does help.) On the way back, we stopped at a gas station to get a peanut butter cup for Nicki. Chocolate couldn't hurt her now. Heading home, I did something differently. I had Nicki ride shotgun instead of in the back seat. She sat upright, facing me, leaning against the seat back, gazing at me steadily. It almost seemed as though she didn't blink. She locked her eyes onto my face and stayed that way all the way home. I reached over and rubbed her chest the whole time. At one point she almost drifted off to sleep. I kept telling her that we were going to go home and go for a walk before we lost all the light. I wanted to catch "Golden Hour" with her. Then it dawned on me; this will be our last sunset together. I said it out loud. We had spent many evenings on the front porch, just watching the sun set together. Two old ladies, drinking in the days while we could.
Once home, we headed out on our walk immediately so as not to lose the light - but it was fading too quickly. As we headed down the street, Nicki did something unusual. She repeatedly stopped and looked back in the direction of the setting sun, which was now dipping behind bare trees. She just stopped and looked in that direction, as though taking in our final sunset together.
Nicki enjoyed that walk, and even went a little further than usual. When we got home, though, she had no interest in food at all. She mouthed a piece of the peanut butter cup, then abandoned it. At least I tried. She just wanted to cuddle, so we did. Then it was time for bed.
The following morning, I woke early. Nicki didn't stir; she was very soundly asleep. In recent months her hearing had dimmed, and the girl who startled at every sound even though asleep now slept peacefully through the nights. I wanted to get out for one more walk that morning, so we got ourselves together and headed out. This time we only got a short way down the street when Nicki turned to go home. Ordinarily I would've tried to coax her into going a little further, but not now.
We headed home to await the vet. Nicki did something in the last few weeks that was unusual for her; she actually came over to be picked up and held in my lap. She was affectionate and Velcro enough, as Aussies are, but she wasn't a lap dog. That changed, and although it made me kind of sad, I was grateful. Now she came over looking to be held, so I picked her up and settled in. She drifted off to sleep while I rubbed her neck and shoulders, which she always enjoyed. The house was quiet. No computers or TVs, just us. The phone rang - the vet was running late. Don't hurry. Take your time. I got to hold Miss Nicki like that for 45 minutes, feeling that calm little heartbeat, no longer furiously defying death.
Assuming the vet would want to verify for herself that this appointment was warranted for the animal and not just a convenience for the owners, I had Nicki's most recent medical records ready for her, including her chest x-rays displayed on my computer screen. She said that with that degree of disease to the heart, she was surprised Nicki had made it through a year. She assured me that, even though we could keep Nicki alive longer, she would be alive but not living. She already spent most of her days asleep and refused food. She hadn't played in many days. It was time.
We moved into the bedroom where she slept near her family every night. I had arranged her favorite flannel sheet atop a pee pad and a plastic sheet, just in case. When the spirit lets go of the body, the body lets go, too. The spot was where she would make herself at home whenever she got the chance - on my side of the bed, leaning on my pillow. Once she was settled, the vet administered the sedative shot. I'm not going to describe anything further now, because it didn't go as smoothly as I had hoped. Nicki did not suffer; it just wasn't the totally peaceful sendoff I had envisioned. I rubbed her chest as she slowly drifted off to sleep, kissing her head. In a little while after, she was gone.
It's been beautiful outside. The trees are budding and blooming. Birds are singing again. Perfect dog walking weather. Not too hot, and everything has yet to overgrow the trails.
And I miss my girl.
A while back I told you I'd come here again to say goodbye to you for Nicki.
Goodbye
