Mostly about the dog

We've all been moping around coughing and blowing our noses all weekend. Yes, we have colds. But how lucky we are that a cold is such an inconsequential thing, requiring only ginger tea and chicken soup as palliatives, and patience until it is over.

In the meantime, Walter is now just skin and bones and diaper. He stumbles and slides around the house, having lost a lot of control of his legs. He can get upstairs by himself, but if we don't notice when he wants to go down again, he'll attempt it on his own, which most often ends in a tumble down the stairs (actually, he slides down butt-first, and seems to be completely unfazed by the experience). But he still eats with gusto (most comfortably, while he's lying down, Roman-style), and he likes to be with us and to be petted and hugged. He's not quite ready to give it all up. And I haven't explored my feelings deeply enough to know if I'm ready to let him go.

A few months ago, for the first time ever, Walter got skunked. He was blissfully snacking on compost, I think, and so was the skunk. I'm sure the skunk noticed Walter, and stamped his or her feet and hissed and raised his or her tail, and gave him ample warning to back off, buster. And I'm equally sure that Walter was utterly oblivious to the presence of any other creature on the compost pile until he got hit full in the face with skunk spray. Poor old guy. Even after several trips to the Dog-o-Mat for their special anti-skunk rinse, he was still pretty darn stinky, and it's only recently that he's gotten back a little of his toasty smell.

Comments

[Marianne]

Oh, my dear, how I feel for you, Henry, and Joe. Yes, even with sibling issues, I suspect Joe is affected too. Those decisions have been the hardest in my life so far (for which I'm thankful). All anyone can do is offer a big hug and a soft shoulder. Call on me anytime.

[Emily]

Poor Walter! The dog-o-mat sounds like fun -- when I first heard about it, I told David we should get a dog so we could try it out. But dogs are a lot of work and, unlike children, they never get potty trained or grow up and move out.

[Vicki in Michigan]

I know you will remember, as the time comes, that it isn't about whether you can bear to let him go, but rather about when his quality of life is gone.

Then, as someone on Corgi-L said, we do the last loving thing we can do for them -- take their pain and make it our own.....

About Joe -- Val was 6 when Molly had to be put down (at almost 16.5). Molly had been senile, deaf, and mostly blind, and incontinent (both kinds) for months and months. Val didn't remember Molly as "a real dog" at all. V was sad because I was sad, until I reminded her that while it was nice for her to be sympathetic to my sadness, me being sad did *not* mean she had to be sad, too.

Oh. Well, then. And she wasn't sad any more.

[Elizabeth]

Walter's job is to take care of us. Our job is to take care of him. And so part of my job is to tell him when he can stop worrying about his job and let go.