I'm dialed in
After a long dry spell, I've got a nice thick DSL cable plugged into the back of my machine. My workspace is somewhat less than ergonomically sound. I've got a pair of boxes stacked up to make a desk and a kitchen stool for a chair. I'm hiding out in a back corner of the basement. But I'm online from home, which means pictures soon.
I rushed my woofer off to the vet for a biopsy this morning. I'm expecting bad news. We've had our ups and downs but he has been a wonderful dog for us. We adopted Gilbert about 7 years ago. He was a ten-month old puppy who had been a control animal in an experiment at the local vet school. The experiment had involved a trial of a new chemotherapy drug. Gilbert had not received the drug, just a painful series of hip bone biopsies to retrieve marrow. When he came to us, he had lived all of his life in an enclosure with a concrete floor, along with his sister Gillian. Gilbert was well cared for at the school, walked daily by volunteers, and showered with affection by the animal health technicians who cared for him. But he had no family, and he went to sleep every night on that hard floor wondering whether he'd be facing a procedure the next day. He's a hero for what he did. The experiment that he was involved in will ease many other lives, both human and animal.
We chose Gilbert from a large number of dogs because he was about the oldest one who was available for adoption. We reasoned that the adorable little puppies would have no problems finding homes, but an older dog might be cast aside. We didn't like to think of where that might lead. We've always rooted for the underdog, so to speak. Also, I could tell that there was something special about "Gillie Boy" as our kids call him. He's a very gentle soul who is completely happy provided that he has one eye cast in my direction. It used to drive me crazy. Wherever I went in the house, Gilbert would follow, positioning himself in such a way that he could watch my every move. When I worked on the computer in the basement, there was a game we used to play. Gilbert hated being in the basement by himself. When I logged off, and the computer emitted a short tone, Gilbert learned that this was usually followed by my going up the stairs. He learned to listen for the tone, leaping up the stairs as soon as he heard it. We often raced. He always won, knocking me sideways if necessary, tongue waggling all the way.
We went through some hard times, Gilbert and I. I spent a few months cleaning up daily floods of diarrhea while we slowly diagnosed his food allergies. We braved a frightening period of adolescent aggression in which he bit two people hard enough to draw blood. Our vet predicted it would worsen and urged us to euthanize him. We spent the necessary months shielding him carefully from our children and coaching him in gentleness.
Last year, Gilbert had the best year of his life. He went from being a house dog who spent at least 8 hours a day by himself in the house to a beach dog who spent virtually every waking moment within striking distance of his unlikely god, me. With every long wander along the beach, the years fell away from Gilbert. He was as spry and silly as a puppy, grabbing sticks of driftwood, daring me to chase him down to steal them from him, meeting up with a regular assortment of other beach dogs. When he wasn't at the beach, he was usually stretched out on the back porch, watching the river water flow past and listening to the birds.
A few weeks ago, Gilbert left food untouched for the first time in his life. He has lost almost half of his body weight over the course of a year, and all of his lymph nodes are swollen and hard as rocks. He still manages a gentle tail wag and an occasional silly dart around our small yard, but he's become an old man before my eyes. We think we know what's wrong, and if we're right he's going to go very quickly. Perhaps, like us, he didn't want to leave Nova Scotia. We'll go back there someday, but he won't get that chance.
I watched my kids standing in the doorway this morning as I took him to the vet. Their little brows were furrowed with worry, but they all looked fiercely brave. Gilbert's coming home tonight to what I expect will be a tumultuous greeting. And then, after the kids are all in bed, he and I are going to take a walk through that beautiful cemetery and have a talk about old times.
I rushed my woofer off to the vet for a biopsy this morning. I'm expecting bad news. We've had our ups and downs but he has been a wonderful dog for us. We adopted Gilbert about 7 years ago. He was a ten-month old puppy who had been a control animal in an experiment at the local vet school. The experiment had involved a trial of a new chemotherapy drug. Gilbert had not received the drug, just a painful series of hip bone biopsies to retrieve marrow. When he came to us, he had lived all of his life in an enclosure with a concrete floor, along with his sister Gillian. Gilbert was well cared for at the school, walked daily by volunteers, and showered with affection by the animal health technicians who cared for him. But he had no family, and he went to sleep every night on that hard floor wondering whether he'd be facing a procedure the next day. He's a hero for what he did. The experiment that he was involved in will ease many other lives, both human and animal.
We chose Gilbert from a large number of dogs because he was about the oldest one who was available for adoption. We reasoned that the adorable little puppies would have no problems finding homes, but an older dog might be cast aside. We didn't like to think of where that might lead. We've always rooted for the underdog, so to speak. Also, I could tell that there was something special about "Gillie Boy" as our kids call him. He's a very gentle soul who is completely happy provided that he has one eye cast in my direction. It used to drive me crazy. Wherever I went in the house, Gilbert would follow, positioning himself in such a way that he could watch my every move. When I worked on the computer in the basement, there was a game we used to play. Gilbert hated being in the basement by himself. When I logged off, and the computer emitted a short tone, Gilbert learned that this was usually followed by my going up the stairs. He learned to listen for the tone, leaping up the stairs as soon as he heard it. We often raced. He always won, knocking me sideways if necessary, tongue waggling all the way.
We went through some hard times, Gilbert and I. I spent a few months cleaning up daily floods of diarrhea while we slowly diagnosed his food allergies. We braved a frightening period of adolescent aggression in which he bit two people hard enough to draw blood. Our vet predicted it would worsen and urged us to euthanize him. We spent the necessary months shielding him carefully from our children and coaching him in gentleness.
Last year, Gilbert had the best year of his life. He went from being a house dog who spent at least 8 hours a day by himself in the house to a beach dog who spent virtually every waking moment within striking distance of his unlikely god, me. With every long wander along the beach, the years fell away from Gilbert. He was as spry and silly as a puppy, grabbing sticks of driftwood, daring me to chase him down to steal them from him, meeting up with a regular assortment of other beach dogs. When he wasn't at the beach, he was usually stretched out on the back porch, watching the river water flow past and listening to the birds.
A few weeks ago, Gilbert left food untouched for the first time in his life. He has lost almost half of his body weight over the course of a year, and all of his lymph nodes are swollen and hard as rocks. He still manages a gentle tail wag and an occasional silly dart around our small yard, but he's become an old man before my eyes. We think we know what's wrong, and if we're right he's going to go very quickly. Perhaps, like us, he didn't want to leave Nova Scotia. We'll go back there someday, but he won't get that chance.
I watched my kids standing in the doorway this morning as I took him to the vet. Their little brows were furrowed with worry, but they all looked fiercely brave. Gilbert's coming home tonight to what I expect will be a tumultuous greeting. And then, after the kids are all in bed, he and I are going to take a walk through that beautiful cemetery and have a talk about old times.
posted by Colin at 9:21 AM
2 Comments:
I could barely scan your words as the loss of our Golden, Casey is still so raw for me. He had cancer everywhere....God it was awful. Like your pup, Casey got a taste of the great outdoors when we stayed in a cabin for 2 weeks in Door Co. Wisconsin and then again at Christmas. We had him cremated and Jay insists that when we go back to Door Co. either to live or visit that Casey will go with us and stay there. Maybe you could do that, too? I'm so sorry.
Thanks Robin.
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