On Expectations

SUMMARY: Getting a dog who wasn't as successful as a previous dog

Originally posted in a Facebook comment on June 19, 2019

A friend asked (and I shortened this):

I was just wondering if people had a similar experience. I had/have an amazing agility dog who was/is getting older so I got a new puppy. [...] Unfortunately, my dreams that the pup [now 4 years old] and I would supersede the success of my first dog were unrealized and I let my disappointment rob dog and handler of the joy that should have been ours.

Has anyone else had an experience that the subsequent dog never met the greatness of the first dog? How did you handle the emotions?

Here's my first perspective:

As someone who lost an amazing companion (Boost) to cancer when she was barely 10 and *forever* one superQ away from her ADCH--something that we all *try* to do and some are more successful than others: Just have fun with him! Live every day for joy, whether your agility goals are being met yet or not! How you'd hate yourself if your last agility training or trialing experience with the dog was being upset about not doing well on course, whether at yourself or at the dog. I can think of many runs and many days that I wish I could have a do-over for, not to fix the run, but to fix my attitude. Seriously. Lots of people appear to be successful at it, but Sarah George Johnson in particular leaps out at me at this moment--she whoops and hollers and rewards every run as if they'd just won the world championship.

Here's my second perspective:

Remington, my first dog, was good... started out very good, deteriorated rapidly, and didn't get better again until I was able to truly own that preceding perspective for him (I just kept running full out whether he was off course or not and whether or not the error was fixable, and just whooped it up at the end). So, he ended up a pretty good but not great dog. 

My 2nd dog, Jake, was very good to excellent. My third dog, Tika, was super duper awesome. 

So it wasn't first-dog-itis when I got my 4th agility dog and we couldn't be consistently successful for the world. I tried to embrace the first perspective above, but she was SO fast and SO smart, and I really did expect that she would be even better than my 3rd dog. Damn expectations. I could've practiced more on our weaknesses, for sure, but I didn't always understand why things that worked fine in drills and practices fell apart on the course. 

I understood in many cases that it became my own level of stress--we started failing super-Qs that were gimmees for the skill set that we did have (e.g., "all I need to guarantee a super-Q today is for her to get to the #6 aframe--and she ALWAYS sends ahead to aframes and ALWAYS gets the contact" I mean, literally always... and then a refusal at the aframe. I KNEW how stressed I was by then and wasn't good at choking it down.). 

But I wish every day that I had her back in my life (fuck cancer) and wouldn't care about agility, I swear it. The irony for me was that, the more I cared about agility instead of simply loving running with my dog (which is why I started agility originally), the worse we did (both my 1st and 4th dogs). Jake and Tika dealt with it, but I was so seldom unhappy with them... I dunno which came first, success or happiness. 

So, your question, how did I handle these emotions? Answer: Badly. I try to atone for the times she knew I was unhappy (or people watching me on course knew I was on happy) by saying, See my first perspective above, please please please. Find a way to embrace it. I can't promise that it will improve your agility. But you'll be much happier and so will your dog.

Last night a year ago last night a year ago today

SUMMARY: Oh my little Booster. And everyone else.

This is not a happy post.

Today is Monday.

Saturday night I dreamed. I hurried from place to place in the yard and then out into the neighborhood and then back to the yard to places that I suddenly remembered existed there although they hadn't necessarily existed before, searching desperately, knowing she was gone but wanting to find her.

A year ago yesterday, I put together all the pieces that I had stupidly not realized the significance of and insisted that we had to see the vet TODAY. We saw the vet. Everything was completely normal as far as the vet could tell. Took blood and urine samples, and then we went home for the weekend.

In two weeks, she'll be dead.

Saturday night, I dreamed. I asked the neighbors if they had seen her. I said that she'd been looking for a place to hide away from everyone and it could be anywhere, any dark, quiet, out-of-the-way spot. I knew that she was gone, but I wanted to know where she was, even though it was too late.

A year ago in 48 hours from now, I learned that what the blood test found was that every indicator of a body in full destruction existed therein. All that we had left was to learn what it was that was killing her.

Yesterday, after dreaming, I woke up and cried and cried and cried.

A year and one month ago: Tika died.

A year and two weeks ago: Dad's cancer, thought to be in remission, the doc comes into the room and explains that it's determined to be stage 4 metastasized colon cancer. In several places in his body, liver, lungs, kidney...

Today I'm crying. Luke is trying to hug me.

Saturday night, I dreamed: I knew where Boost had hidden the last time she died, but she wasn't there, although I kept looking there over and over.

In two weeks, I tried to stay up with her all night, would doze off slightly and she'd be gone and I'd hurry outside to find her, and she'd be slowly, droopily, examining some dark hidden spot or other. I'd say her name, and her ears and head would come up, and she'd come back inside and lie down with me in the living room again.

In four days, the vet comes into the room and says, it's bad. It's the worst it could be. It's stage 4 metastasized cancer. In several places in her body. liver, lungs, kidney, lymph nodes...

A year and two weeks ago, Dad opted to try some mild chemotherapy, on the advice of his oncologist and doctor, since he had other issues that anything more intense his body likely couldn't handle.

A year and two weeks ago, Tika's ashes in their decorated wooden box are ready, and I bring her home again.

Saturday night, I dreamed: I kept looking at that little concrete pad under that little shelf next to the stairs, somewhere where neither the dogs nor I ever went, a cool spot out of the sun, away from the traffic and the activity of life.

I opted not to try to treat Boost. It was so advanced and her blood count so low that simply doing a biopsy could kill her. And I'd been through Remington's cancer. And yet, when a tiny glimmer of hope arises, in six days, I take her to the specialists on the chance that they might have some other news. But they don't.

In about 2 months, my dad is so miserable with the chemo side effects, and there's so little indication that it's doing anything, that he elects to stop treatment. He is adamant that he won't die at home. He doesn't want to be a burden to his family and he doesn't want them to see him die. We'd be fine with both, but he isn't. There are no options, however.

In two weeks, when I doze off near morning, she goes to that concrete pad that I'm now seeing empty in my dream, away from the traffic and noise and the responsibilities to people who love her, and slips away, alone and on her own terms.

Four months from yesterday, after a 911 emergency call involving the dying body giving up its blood, the ambulance took Dad to the hospital just for overnight, because the in-patient hospice unit had a bed for him and would be able to check him in there in the morning. The emergency room doc agreed to admit Dad with just the care of keeping him comfortable and out of pain until the morning, not to treat beyond that, per his own signed wishes. We tell Dad, although pretty sure that he can't hear us or understand us or even knows that we're there, that we'll be back in the morning.

In the living room, in two weeks I fall asleep from exhaustion even though I'm trying trying trying to stay up because I know that she's dying, I know it, and maybe today. I don't know why I want to be with her at the end, but I do, I don't want her to be alone ever. And the vet is coming in the morning to help her out of her pain. And she has a different idea.

At home, in fourth months I fall asleep easily for the first time in weeks, knowing that he won't die at home and that that was his wish, since I'd been afraid he'd die at home and I had known that it was coming, maybe today, maybe tomorrow, but we were out of time. At one in the morning, while we slept at home, the call comes. In his quiet hospital bed, away from the traffic and noise and the responsibilities to people who love him, he slips away, alone and on his own terms.

Tika, Boost, Dad. It has been a hard year for me and this past week began pummelling me in all the raw places that have barely begun thinking about a start on healing.

In two weeks the vet will come and take Boost away for cremation. In four months the mortuary will come and take Dad away for cremation. Tika's ashes are already on my shelf with Jake and Remington.

In a year, I will remember everything, all the details, all the sounds and expressions and suffering and release, and it will be today, and I will be crying because it's only yesterday.

Saturday I dreamed, and even awake, it's so hard.

Gone

SUMMARY: On her own.

Who knew such perfect timing was needed? The appt wednesday was a day too early. The appt that I made yesterday evening for this afternoon, after a bad day yesterday, was a day too late. I stayed awake most of the night, downstairs, trying to keep an eye on her, but I fell asleep around 5 and when a phone call woke me up about 8:30, she was nowhere to be seen. Took me two passes around the house and yard to find her in a nook where they never rest or sleep. It had to have been right after I feel asleep--she's still warm but stiff.

Maybe too clinical. So. I am broken apart. I will go on, of course.

More photos to come. Many many many photos. How to choose?

Boost -- Jan 31, 2005 - April 24, 2015

Boost Today

SUMMARY: Life continues.

Boost has so far today eaten:

• One whole jar of Gerber chicken & chicken gravy (basically chicken and cornstarch). Yay!  (This was in half spoonfuls about 1-2 minutes apart, and the second half of the jar the same way a couple of hours after the first half.)
• Two CharlieBears, about five minutes apart.
• Half a container of Gerber chicken noodle goop.  (All in one slow sitting, but then done with it.)
• Ah! She just finished all but a spoonful of the chicken noodle goop! (9:40pm)

Today's Boost activities:

• Morning, still pretty zombieish, no eating, just standing standing standing.
  
  
• An hour or two after her meds, played catch with her lattice toy (just standing there) and even some tug. (Although not super-tough tug)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
• An hour or so after that, some readyyyy.... annnnd.... go! kicking the ball in the yard. Kicking just a couple or few feet. She did it only a couple of times. Then stood in the shade while I did entertaining things with the ball for a while.
• Napping, finally lying down a little after "breakfast" and a little early afternoon.
• Sitting/standing and staring intently when I play with Chip. An old favorite. But now not so much footwork as she used to have.
  
• Going for an hour ride in the car while I ran errands. She climbed into the front seat again on her own. Very droopy and maybe a little confused looking by the end (during the trip is when she ate the CharlieBears)
• Around 6:30, went into the yard and played ready-and-go again for a long, long time. Same strategy as before: I kick it, she zooms to grab it, then stands there. Every few little tiny zooms, i pull some weeds or work on the irrigation problems to let her catch her breath.  She does not lie down. I finally go inside as it starts getting dark.
• Pretty much napping since then (it's now closing in on 9:30).

Had to put her morning pills down her throat. That video I found when I need to do it for Tika was very easy to follow for Tika--push thumb between teeth and against the roof of the mouth and she'll open her mouth. Worked like a charm.

For Boost, not so much: Can't force thumb between teeth without a big battle. Finally get it through and press against roof of mouth: Teeth continue to press hard on thumb. Erg.  Finally she does open her mouth slightly, and I can barely get the pills down--Tika seemed to have a much wider area in which to get the pills over the back of her tongue; Boost's is narrow.  A real challenge.


I bought a bag of Pill Pockets to try with her, but of course she's eating so very little (or nothing) that it's foolish to expect that she would actually eat the pill pockets. Doh.

Tomorrow, more of the same? How can I leave her to go to work when she's feeling at her worst? Or when she eats food so slowly and needs to be fed every hour or maybe two?  When she's feeling better for those precious small times when she can play?

I am so glad that I canceled the appointment for this afternoon. A few hours of OKness is worth so much to me and, I hope, to her.

I have so many friends, from casual agility friends to deep,long-term friends, from heavily dog-people to not-dog people, who are being so supportive through these rough times. At the moment, must mention:

• Sarah photographer friend came over Sunday to take some photos of me and Boost
  
• The Other Ellen agility friend came over yesterday to try to tempt boost into eating--brought pizza and special ice cream and other stuff--and to take more photos.
  

I'm Struggling

SUMMARY: How to make the decision.

Boost was such a zombie, clearly uncomfortable, not lying down all morning until maybe 3:00, walking from place to place glacially, as in one step and stand there for a while, not wanting to play, not eating anything. She really did seem like she was done.

Around 1:00 I called the vet and made an appointment for euthanasia for tomorrow afternoon.

But now, I just called and cancelled the euthanizing appt for tomorrow afternoon.

Because, as has been happening, boost perked up a bit between mid-afternoon and mid-evening.

An agility friend brought Ben and Jerry's vanilla ice cream and boost ate a bit of that over a couple of hours, but not really enough to sustain a dog. After about 5:00, she was walking around (Boost, not the friend) a bit more normally, ate another small handful of zukes and a few partial strings of string cheese and a big pinch of shredded cheddar, a noodle from my dinner, but nothing else. However, when we went out to the yard, she grabbed her ball and when I kicked it, she chased it (and grabbed it and then stood there panting heavily). So I'd kick it about 5 feet and she'd pounce on it and stand there with the handle in her mouth while I pulled a couple of weeds to give her recovery time, and repeat repeat repeat for 45 minutes. She was ready to keep going but I wasn't. That is so much different from last night, all morning, and the first half of the afternoon.

She perked up when I asked if she wanted to go for a ride around 8:30 this evening. Clambered into the low center of my van (wasn't going to even try to get her into the crates in the back), and then she struggled--with help from me after she got halfway up--into the front seat, which is where she likes to be.

I bought some cooked shredded chicken at Safeway and just now she ate a whole bunch of it. Well--"a whole bunch" being relative, really maybe an ounce of chicken if that. All of this is not going to sustain her long-term. But that's more at one time than she's eaten of anything in a few days. I guess I should be weighing things to see how much she's really eating. (Hasn't wanted any more ice cream, btw, another typical pattern.)

So I cancelled the appt.

I have no idea how things are going to go again overnight and tomorrow morning. I hope I'm not making a mistake, because for most of the day she did not look like a dog who was ready to keep going, nor did she seem to be enjoying herself much. But, nope, I can't do it yet after this evening.

Not a "miracle recovery" at all, actually a fairly typical pattern, except that every day the not-well portion lasts longer and the somewhat-functioning-and-eating portion grows shorter.

I don't know how I'm going to get work done. I haven't been in to the office since last Tuesday, I think, and I know that they'd like to have me there as much as I can manage. Maybe drag myself out of bed early, give Boost her meds, let her be unwell at home alone thru morning and early afternoon and then come back for when I'd expect her to be perked up a little?

Damnit, this is hard. I was sure it was time by early afternoon today. Now, not sure. Keeping fingers crossed that this isn't a mistake.

Things Are Falling Apart

SUMMARY: Energy, appetite, stamina, interest, jaundice

Up until maybe 3 weeks ago, getting the paper in the morning was one of Boost's favorite things. She'd remind me it was time if I forgot. A year or so ago, she developed an excited single sharp bark as I approached the door. That was something that she didn't do for anything else.

But about 3 weeks ago, it started being variable--one enthusiastic retrieve, one lackadaisical, one she looked like she'd forgotten about it. Mix those up.

Over the last week, it has progressed rapidly-- she wouldn't go out on her own but was glad to be invited to go out with me, and would pick up the paper when I suggested it. Then she wouldn't pick it up but would take it if I offered it and carried it into the house. Yesterday she walked only halfway out to the end of the driveway and showed no interest in taking it.

She's gone from eating her dish of kibble very very very slowly just one weekend ago (before her diagnosis), to eating very little of anything, and only after her meds have had an hour or two to kick in. Might eat a couple of kibbles. A string or two or five of string cheese. Three or four freeze-dried chicken concoctions. Lots of Zuke's minis--or none. A teaspoonful of applesauce.

Yesterday at lunch I offered her a couple of tablespoons of my frozen entree (heated up) of rice and chicken, and she ate that, and I wished that I had let her have the whole thing but I had already eaten it. So, at dinner, I heated up a big batch of butternut squash ravioli--and she had no interest at all in that.

A couple of days ago had maybe a half inch of Nutri-Cal. Liked the Zuke's beef patties for a few days and then not no more.  The special little-dog patés, yep, ate half of one Saturday but hasn't been interested since. Won't eat any of the canned dogfoods I've tried. Not interested in my breakfast cereal. Not eggs. Not chicken. Not liver treats.

This morning so far she had a few tiny shreds of shredded cheddar.  Oh--twenty minutes later (now) she just came in and at about half a dozen zuke's over a 5-minute period. Not interested in anything else I've offered so far.

Chasing a toy for her is--I dunno, atavistic? obsessive?--no matter how she's feeling, if a toy is about to be kicked or thrown, her eyes get big, her ears come forward, and she throws herself after it in the same jet-packed way that she always has.

Jaundice is pretty bad. Yellow eyes, yellow ears, yellow gums.

Last night she might have had a little seizure.

Today, no energy. Will still zoom after a ball that i kicked about 6 feet. But now just standing there.

In fact, that's the word for this morning: Just standing there. Looking at me, or just staring  in front of her.

she likes me to have my hand on her but still not snuggle.   Will see whether she eats.  maybe i'll go get her a pizza.

She might be pretty much done.

Guess I'm not going to work today either.

And more firedrills

SUMMARY: Continuing the timeline.

I'm wiped out, crushed, bruised, stabbed, thoroughly broken-hearted, and struggling to even breathe. Still in shock and grieving 20 ways. I can barely believe any of this.

I've gone from losing my wonderful Tika a month ago, to the diagnosis of stage 4 cancer 3 weeks ago in my Dad (for whom I've attended some oncology appts), to finding that I'm losing my wonderful Boost to cancer.

A week one wouldn't want:

I went from Friday
--Boost has some things going on that are odd but doc can't find a thing wrong with her so let's do some tests--
to Saturday and Sunday
--Boost eating slower and slower and acting slower and slower--
to Monday
--Boost's liver, kidney, pancreas, and blood numbers are bad--
to Tuesday
--Boost definitely has liver disease that can be eased somewhat depending on the cause but it's not good, oh and the chest X-ray shows some things that could be bad or maybe not--
to Wednesday
--yes she has cancer in multiple organs but her blood clotting is too bad to take a biopsy so it's my choice that that's the end of it--


to Thursday.

First thing in the morning, a friend through agility who's a vet offered to look at Boost's info if I wanted. So, sure, of course I would (grasping at straws, indeed).  I called my vet to ask them to fax Boost's info to my vet friend. Late in the morning, i called her to confirm that she'd received the info. She thought that there's a chance that it could be lymphoma rather than the other bad thing that's been diagnosed (and everyone's guessing w/out a biopsy). And lymphoma--if Boost can tolerate the treatment--she says can be slowed way down with an excellent (yes excellent) quality of life for maybe 6-7 more months.  Which is a good percentage for a 10-yr-old life.

So I call the recommended oncology place. They can't get me in until Monday without a vet calling them.

So I call my vet friend, who calls them, who then calls me back, and I call them to confirm the appt that she set up for 9:00 tomorrow morning.

All of that takes me to about 1:00.  And I'm having periods where I'm having trouble breathing.  This is not asthma.  I tried to work but couldn't. Sat in the car and did some deep-breathing relaxation exercises, some mindful meditation (OHHHH that was hard to do) and finally slept for an hour.

Then, to wrap up the afternoon, a visit with Dad and his oncologist where they're going to up the chemo dose since it's being tolerated OK at a minimum dose.

I'm useless for any purpose. Play with Boost, who still drives to the ball but wants to stop and rest quickly and often.

I barely slept.  Mind whirling around my choice to go see the oncologist. I had said that I wasn't going to. And then gave in to my own despair, and I'm not sure that's the right choice. But I'll go. And this makes me clearer--if it requires too much medical commitment for Boost, we're not doing it. She's not going to spend a lot of time in vet's offices or hospitals. And I don't really think that I want to spend many thousands of dollars for that little return for her or me. This actually is helping me to clarify my feelings and thinking.

Friday.

This place's parking lot has a lovely, peaceful setting with benches and lawn. 

And, Chip wants to mention, many, many, many trees.

The specialty vet place has more very busy receptionists
 than my vet has employees in his entire practice.

A very nice other patient who was waiting for her cancerous cat said
she loves taking photos, too, and would I like her to take a photo of both of us?

Another vet visit? When will the inhumanity end?

Met with the oncologist, who reviewed the records and Boost's history and symptoms up to now. We talked for a while.

Basically, she came back with what I went over with my vet--Boost's clotting factor is too low to do a biopsy without the risk that Boost would bleed out and die right there. She added this-- that they'd have to do probably 2 platelet transfusions just to get to where they could do the biopsy.  She also confirmed my vet's feeling that anyway Boost's condition is pretty far advanced, so it's likely that the treatment wouldn't be effective at this point.

Because, not only everything else, but Boost's body is breaking down more all the time, as now she has some jaundice which she didn't on Wednesday when my vet checked, and now she has a heart murmur (likely result of low red blood count) which she hasn't had with both of my regular vets checking her Friday/Tuesday/Wednesday.

Oncologist wasn't enthused about doing transfusions or attempting treatment, and I was absolutely not even interested in doing that. We left with a prescription for prednisone. This is supposed to actually ease some of the problems with and symptoms with the liver and her appetite. For a while.

In other words, essentially she's in hospice care. Besides the prednisone, I have that prescription for tramadol (same as me) and famotadine (pepsid) and the antinausea drug. And that's it. Might or might not take her in again if some specific thing seems to go awry that might be something they could ease or fix, but I'm leaning towards not.

Today, I cannot work or do much of anything. I'm going to try to sleep and do more relaxing and meditation.

MAGIC.

Over the last week, smooth floors have suddenly lost their evilness.  Apparently feeling ill leaves one with no energy to concern oneself with demon-spawned floor coverings, since obviously they can no longer hurt you more than you're already hurting. Dammit demons of all kinds.

Lobby--evil floor? Not. But Boost would like to mention that there is
a perfectly serviceable exit door that seems to be available for immediate use.

Examination room--evil floor? Not. But Boost would like me to notice that there is a perfectly serviceable exit door that we don't seem to be currently using at its highest utility value.

Oh my little Booster

SUMMARY: Cancer

Boost is dying. You wouldn't know it from this video today.

This was all so fast. And I haven't been posting here.

Timeline--

Last July, when Boost started scratching uncontrollably again, I put her on prednisone again for a short while.  Which meant that she wanted to go out once or twice a night. At that point, my back was seriously awful, and the pain associated with getting out of bed, downstairs, opening the door, and all that, was too much to bear. So I left my bedroom door open and left her with access to the yard. Tika was delighted with this arrangement; she almost always had wanted to sleep out on the deck or downstairs on the cooler floor.

Fast forward to Tika's death on March 9th.  I returned to the old standard of having the dogs closed in my room and everything closed up.  But Boost--who hasn't been on pred since that time last year--still wanted to go out anywhere from once to three times a night.

I wasn't sure whether it was just because she was used to doing that, after all these months, or whether maybe she had a bladder infection again (she's had a few in the past).  I was too tired to get up with her and see what she was doing, so I went back to the open door policy.

I did watch her a few times. She'd sniff slowly all across the yard, pee, and sniff slowly all the way back across the yard. I felt sad for her--I'd always wondered how she'd figure out where to pee after Tika was gone, because Boost ALWAYS peed where Tika had peed.

Too tired all the time to want to see whether it was a get-used-to-having-the-door-shut issue or a real issue, so I let it slide--and, of course, once I had given her free access, I had no idea at all whether she was going out at night, except once or twice where she whine/moaned insistently until I woke up and went downstairs with her.   So I really let it slide.

A few odd things happened from time to time over the last month:

  Once she went upstairs one...step...at...a...time. We had played a lot, but I didn't think more than usual, but assumed maybe she's got a little arthritis.  But shortly after that, she might be racing down the stairs full speed. Then some other time she'd go up or down slowly again.

   She'd act often as if she had little energy---she'd play intensely, but then want to lie down after each ball retrieval.  Well, she's out of shape, and so am I, because of my pain levels and not getting out and about.  So, whatever.

   Her main job has always been to bring in the paper in the morning.  A few times,  she'd walk out instead of dashing out, but the next day she'd dash. One day last week she walked out...like...a...funeral...procession...  brought it back slowly to the front door and dropped it there instead of taking it into the kitchen. The next couple of days she was OK at it, but wandered around on her way to the paper as if she didn't really want to do it, or even had forgotten.

  She's been really avoiding playing with Chip. She has usually played enthusiastically with him at least once a day, but now didn't want to.  I thought, maybe all of this is arthritis, don't know.

 A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that she was eating her food at about Chip's speed. When Chip first came home, here's how the eating speed went:  Tika sucked down her food before Boost was half done. Then Boost finished. Then I'd watch...Chip...eat... and wonder how a healthy dog could possibly be so slow at it. I mean, really, it took him a full minute to eat 2/3 cup of food.

   And then Boost ate slower than he did. And slower. And slower.

Wednesday and Thursday last week.

She had uncomfortably soft poops.  Eating even slower.

Friday.

In the  morning after we got up she threw up (nothing much in her tummy) out on the lawn.  And then it took her FOUR minutes to eat her food.

So it was just too much. I called to see whether we could see the vet. My regular guy was out until Monday, and the receptionist asked whether it could wait until then.  Wellllllll  all those little things, but particularly the eating slowly..... no, I didn't want to wait. Suddenly it felt very important to get her in for a checkup.  They were able to squeeze us in around 4:00 that afternoon with the other vet in the office.

I hustled the dogs into the car without giving them the usual opportunity to pee in the yard, hoping that Boost had enough in her for a urine test. The vet checked everything about Boost. No signs of pain or swelling or bad temperature or bad heart or bad eyes or arthritis or anything in her mouth that might be slowing her eating. Was able to get urine and blood samples, but said that the poop currently cued up inside Boost (she stuck a finger in to see) looked perfectly normal, so she didn't think that a stool sample would be warranted.   So everything looked completely healthy.

I hope that meant maybe a urine infection, even though I wasn't sure how that would explain everything else.

Told me that my regular vet, Dr. K, would call me with the results Monday afternoon.

Took the dogs for a short walk at one nearby park, and sure enough, Boost had a completely normal poop.  Everything else, completely normal walk.

Weekend.

One day, when she went out to get the paper, she was so randomly distracted by things that it looked like she had forgotten all about her favorite morning thing.  I finally called her back, then sent her out again, and she rambled around.  Finally with coaxing she brought in the paper.  Like she had completely forgotten how to do it.

One of the mornings, I put down their food bowls with their 2/3 cups of kibble, left them eating, and went upstairs.  I took off and put away my nightclothes. Washed my face.  Took out all my pill bottles and counted/sorted an entire week of morning & afternoon pills into my pillbox. Finished my morning ablutions. Poked around in my t-shirt drawers trying to decide which to wear that day.  Chip had appeared somewhere in there. Picked out socks and underwear to match, got dressed head to toe, found my watch and put it on, and went downstairs. Boost was STILL eating.  Yikes.

Monday.

Dr. K left a message while I was at work. I had raced home in hopes of catching his call ("race"--hah--took me an hour in nasty traffic because some guy was standing on a key overpass and two freeways were blocked so everything in the valley was at a near standstill).  They close at 5:00, and I was able to call just after 4:30.

He squeezed in a quick talk with me, where he said that her liver and pancreas numbers were very ugly, also white blood cell count high (infection or inflammation of some sort) and her red blood cells low (anemia) and some other bad numbers that I tried to scribble down while he talked.

He said, if you rate the level of complications that this could add to my and your life, this is about 10 out of 10. He said, I need about an hour to talk with you, as soon as possible.  Can you come in tomorrow morning at 8:00? Bring her and we'll do some screening x-rays.

Not much sleep that night, you betcha.

Tuesday.

Sent her out for the newspaper. She was somewhat excited about it and did it fairly well.

8:00 -- She definitely has liver disease and pancreatitis, but these things can easily be symptoms of something else. (Yes yes ys, I did spend time last night reading and reading and reading and the list of things that these could be symptoms of was very long and mostly bad.)  He said, oh, don't read all that, it'll make you crazy. Let's get the x-rays done.  (This is a summary of a Reader's Digest version of the hour-long conversation.)  To save me a hundred bucks or so, I said, just do the chest x-ray and let's do ultrasound on her abdomen instead of x-ray.  He said that he thought that he could get the ultrasound guy in on Wednesday.  He kept Boost and said, come back at 2:30.

2:30 -- She was a good girl about lying mostly still and they were able to get chest x-rays without any sedative.  But they were a bit ambiguous.  Vet thought that there was either a swollen lymph node or maybe it was just a muscle overlapping a bone.  And a gray spot that shouldn't be there, but to me it looked just like the gray spots that he said were blood vessels or other things.  he said it could all be nothing; he'd want the radiologist's opinion (the guy who comes in to do ultrasounds.)

He took a blood sample to test its clotting ability in case there was something that they'd need to do a biopsy for.

So bring her back first thing in the morning.

Not much sleep that night, you betcha.

Wednesday (today).

Sent her out for the newspaper. Or--rather--tried to. She just stood in the doorway. I walked out to the driveway and she walked next to me. This is not normal. I picked up the newspaper and offered it to her.  She took it as if it belonged to her and trotted--not ran, just trotted--back into the house just ahead of me. Sigh. Poor goorlie.

8:00 a.m. Dropped Boost off for her ultrasound.  Doc wasn't sure when they'd be finish, but he'd keep me updated.

Cried a bit as I drove Chip to another nearby park. There, we practiced some things -- with a pocket full of Zuke's mini treats-- such as walking on a loose leash, looking at me regularly, coming to me when I said Come (that was mostly a failure, dangit).

Got home, and just after I walked in the door, the vet's receptionist called and said that Dr. K would like me to come in at noon so he could talk to me.

Noon.

Doc came into the room and said, it's bad. It's the worst it could be.

She has lesions in her kidney, liver, lungs, and lymph nodes. In other words, whatever cancer she has, has already metastasized--spread throughout her body.  It could be in other places, too--like, maybe, the brain.

Her blood clotting test went poorly--apparently the liver makes the blood-clotting factor, and it's malfunctioning, as we already knew, so they decided not to take a biopsy at that time.

We talked a bit but there wasn't much to talk about.  Keep her happy and comfortable. Make sure she's eating and drinking and eliminating properly.  He'd be glad to refer me to an oncologist but thought that any treatment could make Boost sick and probably wouldn't gain much time anyway.

I had already made that decision, not going that way for Stage 4 (incurable) cancer that's all through her body.

The warning is--she could go at any time, depending on what tumor did what and when. Could be a stroke, even.  Or I said some major seizures like Jake had that fried his brain (or vice-versa).  Could be tomorrow.  Could be a month or more. Maybe.

l am sick and numb and stunned and angry and miserable and heartbroken.

At home, we went into the yard and I took that video. She still looks alert and attentive. She still goes after the ball like a rocket, still plays tug.

That is most likely her last visit to the vet. I've got tramadol now in case she looks like she's in discomfort. famotadine to ease her stomach and help her eat, and an antinausea drug as well.

I'll be doing one day of score table for SMART this week, and I'll take Boost, and people can say goodbye.

And I'll try not to neglect Chip, who has looked very worried and followed me closely everywhere the two times I left Boost at the vet yesterday and today. Damn.