It's time

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

A Very Busy Day

We haven't updated in a long time. Partly because I find the Blogger interface really difficult to work with. I was trying to use a WYSIYG CSS generator to be able to paste in some posts already formatted, but I couldn't figure out how to do that, either. Ugh! 

There's another reason, though. I hadn't anticipated how hard it would be to document Nicki's slide away. It's ridiculous, but I actually didn't consider that I wasn't merely advocating for adoption anymore; I was chronicling the last year of my dog's life.

Yes, last year. She's still with us - some days more than others. It's becoming clear, though, That this will be Nicki's last summer. 

But that's for another post. For now, please enjoy Miss Nicki from October of 2021.

  When you're a super fancy lady, your pawrents take you to a French restaurant where you get to watch the world pass by.

I love Aunt Dani's froyo for doggies!! Bones is the best place on Earth, besides my house. Which is mine. For real. Nobody's ever making me live anywhere else ever again. I get to keep Momma and stinky Daddy furever! 

Aunt Dani has a stick library for us pups. How cool is that?!

If only we didn't have to ride in a car to get here. Momma says other dogs like car rides. Puhleez!!

Momma always takes me for a walk around the neighborhood when we visit Bones Bakery. I love walking in the city. There are so many different sniffs!

The Return of Chocolate Bunny

 When Nicki first came to us, she didn't know how to play. We didn't know it at the time, but that's common with dogs who are mostly left chained/tied or kept alone in a kennel (I use the word kennel loosely here). It would be two years before we could interest her in toys or playing - and then the gates were flung joyously open. The original post on that is here: An Easter Miracle. For those who want to skip to the "good part", here it is. Miss Nicki, playing for the first time. 

 

 

Of course we knew that toy wouldn't last long! So we went on the hunt for replacements immediately. This is the result:

 

That little chocolate bunny opened a wonderful world for our Nicki. Many toys of all different sizes and shapes followed. To keep things interesting, as other toys filled the house, I put these away to bring them out in rotation from time to time. That was six years ago!! 

Today I checked the back of the closet and found that we still had 2 brand new bunnies left. She hasn't had to do without toys all this time - she just had so many others!! Nonetheless, when she heard the "chocolate" bunny squeak, this was her reaction: 

 

 

It's been a really good day.

Be Here Now

 Dogs are so amazing at living in the moment. If you ever just watched a dog with its eyes closed, nose tilted upward, sniffing the air - that's pure zen. There is absolutely nothing else going on in that moment. That dog is enjoying that particular moment of life.

I talked before about how hard it is to not get my hopes up on Nicki's good days. It's also hard to remember that we're not done yet. I need to remember to try to let her play while she's still here, rather than watch videos of her playing in better times. I have to remember to let the chores go for a bit, and just pet the pupper. You'd think that's a no-brainer, but I think I know what's going on.

I've been extraordinarily lucky to have had two heart dogs. Daisy, my Border Collie, was the girl of my childhood dreams. Sometimes I thought she could read my mind. I have very few good pictures of her. Cell phone cameras were pretty new then, and I didn't have mine with me much of the time. Nonetheless, she was beautiful, smart, a dream dog in every way. Then she aged, became ill, and we eventually lost her. My grief was so bad that my husband actually begged me to look for another dog. That's what led us to Nicki. 

For Daisy, I got a plastic mattress cover and put it on our bed, where she always slept. Then I covered it with her special blanket. When the vet came to our home to help her for one last time, I placed her on her blanket on our bed, and bid her goodbye in the only home she ever knew, with all her people near at hand. Later on, I regretted not having some Reese's cups for her. On that day, she could have had chocolate.After that, there was nothing. Just mourning.

I have a similar plan for Nicki. This time, I have peanut butter cups. And her blog. I'll need to say goodbye to you for her. There will be something more to do. It will hurt {I'm crying as I write this} but there's an after to get to. Something beyond just the empty pain. It's tempting to think ahead to the something after, and skip right over the pain of loss. Of course, that's not how it works.

Her good days are far more muted now. When she first came to us, I had to take in my first deep breath upon waking very carefully. When she heard me breathe in, she'd leap up onto the bed, then lay across my face and head, wiggling on her back with excitement and joy at the prospect of a new day. Sometimes it was difficult to breathe because I was laughing so hard. Now, I usually have to wake her, and she naps a lot during the day. There are still energetic times, but I have to pace her. She wears herself out when she feels well, especially if I ask her to carry on as though everything's fine. It's not fine, but it is okay.

I need to leave those memories as memories and not drag them into the present to compare with the now. I need to let her be where and when and how she is. I need to be here now, with her.