A Close Call

Our fourteen-year-old pup, Scout, survived a close call over Thanksgiving weekend.

He frightened us on Thanksgiving Day by

• vomiting a few times
• not responding to loves or pets whatsoever
• lying like a big ol' lump on the floor in spite of all the guests and commotion around him
• drinking very little and eating even less
• and the ultimate in scary--not snarfing up the few pieces of turkey that we always put in his bowl each year after the Big Meal

Normally these disappear in 2.4 seconds, tops, and it served as the ultimate clue that something was extremely very wrong with our furry friend.

I'm not gonna lie. It seemed like it could be the end.

Or could it have been something that he ate? After Scout's treatable decline last Christmas, we determined that we will not go to extraordinary lengths to save him if death is imminent. For example, if he gets cancer, we will only do what we can to make him comfortable until the end. We won't treat it. He's lived a good, long life. When it's time, it's time. 

But in the face of Scout being the exact opposite of himself on Thanksgiving, we were troubled with the question du jour: Is death imminent? We searched our hearts and determined that we couldn't live with ourselves if we didn't at least find out what was going on with him. So on Friday we took him to the vet.

It was a very long wait as they did their tests. We were very afraid of the outcome. I distracted myself by playing with my new iPhone. Mark focused on Scout.

$650 worth of X-rays, bloodwork, and urinalysis later, it was determined that he needed to stay overnight for rehydration. We'd see how he had responded by morning, then go from there--which was a $350 ultrasound by a specialist. Great. Yet another decision that would prove to test our resolve and all that that could mean. We hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Scout was whisked away to the nether regions of the hospital and we went home without him.

He's in good hands, I told myself. They will take good care of him. We won't have to wake up in the middle of the night to see if he is still breathing.

But still, the only times that Scout is not in our home is when he's gone for the four or so hours every six weeks or so to be groomed. Overnight is supremely strange. I found myself surprised when he wasn't lying by my feet in the TV room. Or instinctively, I'd think I should let him out, then I would have to remember that he wasn't home to be let out.

Knowing how miserable he was in that cage, assuming he'd have to don the Cone of Shame so he wouldn't pull out his lines.  Knowing that he thinks we've abandoned him.

When we got the call the next day saying that he had responded well to the treatment, that he was much more chipper and bright-eyed, I said a silent prayer while at the same time saying to myself so the little sh** ate something that he shouldn't have. It's happened before. Perhaps it will happen again. After all, this is pretty much this dog's MO. And every time it happens it costs us at least $600--and a ton of worry and heartache.

Ahh, dogs.

He's on a bunch of different meds to help clear up whatever has been going on in his tummy, a special bland diet in which I now get to cook for him (rice and eggs, mostly), and we've got to go out with him each time now to be sure he doesn't get into something else he shouldn't.

But I'm arming myself with information as a result. What is it going to look like if Scout is lucky enough to die from old age? His age-related "issues" (incontinence and arthritis) are currently sort of under control, so unless he gets cancer or something else just as awful, which should have symptoms of their own, what will "the end" look like? Here's what systemic organ failure in dogs looks like according to eHow.com under "Common Signs of Organ Failure":

In a dog, each major organ, the heart, kidneys, and the liver, will have its own signs and symptoms of failure. These specific signs of organ failure in a dog, will occur as they are prevalent to a particular organ. However, there are common signs, which will pertain to all dogs experiencing failure of any major organ. These common signs will include vomiting, diarrhea, weakness and loss of appetite.

Which were the exact symptoms he'd had on Thanksgiving.

So, not only did I discover that I wasn't being dramatic this past weekend when it seemed like this could be the end for our beloved Scout, I also learned that when the end is near, we will take him to our compassionate friends at the Lone Peak Veterinary Hospital, and they will help us through the process.

In the meantime, I'm just so glad that my ol' pal is here to live another day.  And while we have survived this close call, I'm sure that another is not far behind. Each one prepares us for the next. As Edward Gibbon says, "I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know no way of judging of the future but by the past."

My lamp is on, and it's lighting the way for my buddy, Scout.

Comments

[Tanis]

That was a sad read. Our neighbours had to put their 14 year old dalmation, Lucky, down last week. We've know that sweet girl for 10 years and loved every moment of her bounding into our yard to play. I'm still sad about Lucky, and she's not even mine! I can imagine the heartbreak you're feeling. It's not an easy time. But you're SO blessed to have had 14 good years with your little sweetie. Enjoy your moments together :)

[Marilyn Moore]

I really enjoyed your thoughts on your beloved pet Scout. It is very hard to watch an animal getting older and having health challenges (same goes for humans).

[jo]

As much as we love our family, our friends, our colleagues, there is nothing quite like the "unconditional" love of our pets, is there?

[Bethany]

Oh Scout! I love that dog :) Glad he is doing a little better.

[Andi Sexton]

Scout! What a Stinker... but he's your stinker and you love him!!
What a scary event...

[Pamm]

So glad that Scout is ok. We love our pets as if they are our perpetual children. I have a fur baby, Rowdy, who I have had since he was two and now he is 17. Horses can live to be 40 or 50 these days, so hopefully he will live many more years. I couldn't bear to think of going into the barn and not see his nodding head(he thinks he's gonna get a cookie!) and beautiful soft eyes as he rubs his head on my shoulder.

[Terrie]

I know the loss of a treasured companion. It will not be an easy decision when the time will come, but it is best to love them and be with them. I also recommend that if you can have a vet come to your home that may be better for all.

In the mean time, thanks for loving your dog and caring for him.