Only dog in the universe

  In her first few years of life, Charly used to go to dog care, and play with other dogs in the off-leash park.  Her favourite game was chase; she didn’t like wrestling or fetching balls and sticks.  She and I lived in the downtown core of a city in her puppy days, and she became accustomed to all sorts of dogs, noises, and people.  Dogs downtown were aplenty – well-behaved dogs and badly behaved dogs.  Nips and aggressive acts by off-leash dogs towards Charly while she was on leash were not irregular.  She tolerated and submitted to that behaviour as a puppy and young dog.  Until she didn’t.

By around age five, Charly seemed to have had enough.  She would see another dog, and her tail would wag.  It seemed as though we could pass or they could meet without incident.  But out of nowhere, Charly would change her mind – and bark harshly.  We enlisted the help of many trainers, used a halti, but this behaviour would not abate.  It increased in severity with age.  Fortunately, we moved into the suburbs shortly after this onset of developing aggression.  We could easily avoid other canine contact.

 

Now in her golden years, Charly completely dislikes dogs, and we avoid any contact.  If Charly even sees another dog on her walks or something that looks like a dog through her less than average vision, she barks very loudly – even though her deafness prevents her from hearing her own voice.  She has no body or bite to back up her bark…her muscles have atrophied and she has lost a couple teeth.  Regardless, she declares herself to be the only dog in the universe.  It’s hard to tell her otherwise.

"The Sleepster"

  As with groomers, finding dog-sitters to care for Charly as a senior dog also became a challenge – especially when nighttime incontinence began.  So, for our first trip post-pandemic, Charly flew with us to see my parents.  She had always been a good traveller…provided there was some sedation.  But, on that last trip, she did not recover well.  It was apparent that less travelling was better for her.  The hunt for a senior dog-sitter resumed.  

I used a popular website, but was turned down repeatedly by everyone we contacted.  Then, finally, one couple said, “Yes”…even with full disclosure!  And, once they met Charly, and cared for her for a few days, they thought she was wonderful.  Although she required medication regularly, and was at risk of having a pee accident, she was sweet.  She was happy.  She ate.  She was loving.  She walked slowly.  She walked only short distances.  She didn’t bark inside.  She could be left alone.  She could travel in a car.  She didn’t chew or destroy.  She ignores cats.  And, she slept like none other.  The new sitters nicknamed her “the Sleepster”, and it seemed that she provided them some downtime in what otherwise must be an adventurous and demanding side-hustle.  

 

Slowly, after a few bookings with the new sitters, Charly’s ratings on the website seemed to increase or something.  When the new sitters were not available for our next family holiday, I cringed as I sent out request upon request for a sitter-out-of-our-house.  But everyone replied…quickly.  And everyone said, “Yes.”  Charly, the Sleepster, is a gem!

For Thomas

 

 Thomas was an old dog owned by workmate and my friend.  He was the inspiration for this blog (with Charly).  My workmate and I would discuss our daily tasks, and then end up sharing the latest story with each other about an old dog event recently experienced…the highs and the lows, the moments of sickness and periods of recovery.  “We should write this down,” I would say to her.  

Thomas was a well-groomed poodle with fur in a pretty shade of brown, but it wasn’t his looks that made you love him.  Thomas was sweet.  He was well-behaved.  He was a perfect role-model for his younger siblings (including his rather large feline brother).  He was the kind of dog that you meet and then say to yourself, “Oh, Iwant a Thomas!”  He put “poodle” on my list of dogs-to-consider-owning-in-the-future.

 

Old dog Thomas had arthritis, he was blind, he was more than frequently incontinent, and he had developing dementia.  These things happened slowly over the years, and Thomas still loved life…he happily wore his non-slip booties to assist his mobility and avoid “Bambi on ice” moments.  He eagerly attended Thanksgiving celebrations at friends’ even though his bladder emptied on the kitchen floor during dinner.  Thomas was a very amiable, loving old dog.  Very recently, his body just deteriorated to a point of no return, and my friend had to say good-bye to her furry family member…treasuring memories rather than real-life moments.  She keeps his ashes close – the last part of her invisible string with Thomas.

“Practically perfect” – quote from Mary Poppins

  Every dog has their attributes and their deficits.  Their talents and their challenges.  You have come to know Charly’s, and that with her age these have morphed…mostly into more deficits and more challenges.  Except for one characteristic:  her poo.  It is “practically perfect in every way”.  It’s well-formed.  It’s consistent.  It has a healthy consistency.  It’s regular.  It’s predictably placed in one of three usual spots – always about a block away from our house.  Even as a senior dog!  My list of brags about my old dog becomes more truncated with every passing year, but “blue ribbon pooper” remains near the top.  (Maybe at the top). 

Still wanted: Groomer for a senior dog (part two)

  As we left the vet’s office with Charly, the receptionist said that she’d reached out to a friend who would groom an old dog that could no longer stand.  Enter [centre stage] in our lives: “Laura”.  Laura wooed Charly with body rubs and ear scratches, then effortlessly scooped up her 23.7 kg mass and carried her to the grooming station.  Charly unabashedly folded into Laura’s loving arms and let her prop her up to complete the task in record time.  Charly was happy and she looked beautiful in a stylish fur cut.  And, I was exceedingly grateful enough to pay almost any sum of money and travel up to an hour for this to happen.   

Unfortunately for Charly, Laura moved on to pursue other dreams.  The grooming company allowed Charly to remain a client, but not for long.  No other groomer wanted or could handle having to adapt to Charly’s reduced mobility.  And Charly was not enjoying the new groomers – she was anxious.  Once again, the search for a senior dog groomer resumed…and continues.  I considered not trimming her, but she mats very easily and lays down at least for some of every walk.  The road grime is impossible to clean off her paws, especially when they’ve achieved their natural plump pillow-paw-state.

 

In the interim and with trepidation, I have assumed the job of dog groomer again.  But now I employ a comb between the scissors and Charly’s body for every snip so there’s almost no risk of injury.  Charly enjoys the combing and cuddling as we both become covered in fur for two hours…or she is just so glad to be rid of her thick winter coat!  Unlike Laura’s lovely fur coiffures, now Charly would likely be awarded “last in show” with her unevenly chopped exterior.  Neither of us cares.

Wanted: Groomer for a senior dog (part one)

  As a running dog – mostly on mountain trails – Charly loved to splash in the muddy ditches.  She was never on leash for runs, and had free rein to go wild and get dirty.  From a young age, Charly started going to the groomer’s so her fur could be trimmed to avoid matting and facilitate cleaning after her fun.  Once running ended, she still went to the groomer’s for trims and deep cleans, especially in the hot months.  But, when she was about 11 years old, that changed.  She was asked not to return to the groomer’s.  Their policy prohibited them from washing and trimming a dog who cannot stand for the process.  I called around to find a groomer specifically for senior dogs, but did not find any options close by.  Reluctantly, I started trimming her myself.  

I am hesitant to share this next part – my stomach feels sick about it to this day.  Charly did not like the clippers, and I was far from adept at using them.  She would only participate for a short time, but would sit or lay contentedly if I used scissors.  During the last scissor trim, I was leaning over, a bit upside down, trying to cut the undercarriage area when I slipped or she moved, and the scissors sliced her leg.  She yelped.  There was blood and a cut that was deep.  I drove her to the vet right away.  To add to my anguish, the vet cleaned the area, then brought me back to explain the treatment…thus showing me the damage I’d inflicted on my furry family member.  It was horrifying – the slice required a handful of stitches under sedation.  Hours later, we picked up our groggy old dog who cries and whimpers every time she comes out of sedation.  I deserved the torture, and Charly didn’t deserve the trauma.

Hot and cold

 

 Charly loved snow as a puppy and middle-aged dog.  She frolicked, she rolled, she bounced, and she ate.  Snow was snapped at and lapped up as we walked and played in winter.  Cold – ingested as food or water posed no issue.  Neither did hot.  However, as an old dog, although Charly still likes to eat snow, her stomach doesn’t like to receive it.  It revolts.  And, Charly vomits.  For quite a while, I assumed that any vomiting was due to her being sick or having eaten something mysterious and toxic.  But eventually, the connection became obvious:  anything too cold or too hot will only stay down for a minute or two.  Then, it’s heaved up.  Even refrigerated food sometimes is too cold.  

Last night, frozen corn kernels escaped from a bag as I was cooking dinner.  I forgot about this phenomenon as Charly eagerly cleaned up little niblets that had skirted all over the tiles.  So convenient to have a dog, I thought…for a short time.  Then I heard the heaving.  And, I raced into the living room with paper towel to catch the vomit before it hit the floor…and before it was eaten a second time (and potentially expelled a second time).  After that, I knelt in melting vegetable frantically trying to retrieve the rest of the spilled kernels before Charly resumed her clean up…accepting the proscription of this new rule for my old dog.