Alanis this morning

This morning Alanis did not want to get up, eat, or drink. Panting with anxiety and sounding just like her, I efficiently offered the cooked mix she had been enjoying, kibble, sardines, water, broth, and finally peanut butter. She sniffed at each as if interested but would eat only the peanut butter, which I mixed with a little water and put on bread. Miro stood by drooling puddles on the carpet.

When I got Alanis up with the aid of a towel like a sling under her belly, all she did was stumble to the other bed across the room and lie down. Instead of crawling under the table and curling up in a ball, I made rational decisions.

When I called the vet, I burst into tears as soon as the receptionist answered. Fortunately, she understands that language. I'm about to leave to bring Alanis in for an evaluation.

Thanks for your kind support so far. How did we used to get through without this community?

Alanis's illness

I have not wanted to write about this, but it's the elephant in the room. If you don't confront it, you're stuck. During Labor Day weekend, I noticed that Alanis was panting and drinking more water than usual. Since she's an old dog, I worried that she had developed Cushing's disease. The news on May 28 was far worse; she has lymphosarcoma, also known as lymphoma. It is fatal in all dogs. Chemotherapy extends the dog's life an average of 9 to 12 months. The general lifespan for an Airedale is twelve and Alanis is now twelve-and-a-half  I opted for the palliative therapy of Prednisone. 

 What does a person say to herself? Alanis has been a healthy dog up until now; she has reached the average lifespan for an Airedale. But however old the dog, when she's ill and dying, you live every moment in tension. I hear the panting day and night. It's not labored breathing yet, just panting, a usual symptom of the disease. Supposedly she's not in pain (a friend told me to watch for a hunched back or other tension in the body) but she's clearly not comfortable. She has lost weight and grows more frail. She's still eating. In fact, she's happy to eat because she's getting cooked meals instead of kibble, but she can't metabolize the food the way she used to.

I searched for, and found, a lot of information but not the information I wanted. It's worth reading about, though, because lymphoma is the most common cancer in all dogs. I'll sum it up in a future post.

The score

Sherry--9; birds and slugs--1

Visit to Victoria

Last week I went to Victoria, B.C. for a conference, but here's the city's prime attraction.

 

I didn't actually go inside. I like the idea of a bug zoo; I don't like bugs, not even butterflies. (Don't let those pretty wings fool you. Butterflies still have crawly feet!)

 

Living in Seattle, we don't think of Victoria as being very far away; but it's a schlep to get there if you drive and take a ferry, especially if you drive north in I-5 where the Skagit River bridge collapsed. I took the 3-hr Clipper ride, which is actually a 5-hr trip when you factor in the drive to the pier and the hour wait to get on the boat. Before going to the conference and meeting up with friends after, I focused on the important stuff.

Cute ducklings resting on lily pads in the ornamental pool in front of a hotel.

 

 

After the conference, spectacular views were de rigueur.

 

 

But look at this view. I visited Joanne Helm and her husband Jon, who gave me Alanis nearly five years ago.

 

Airedale Mary, Irish Kelly and Cairn whose-name-I forget.

 

Spree. Alanis' granddaughter (if I've kept them properly sorted out).

Dazzle.

Gypsy, my most admired. Sired by Joanne Helm's  Harry Potter from a bitch in Romania, she has that indefinable Airedale presence. Some refer to it as Airedale mind-meld because you only have to look at the dog for her to take over your brain. I took the photo from a distance because Gypsy insisted on staying on her rock.

 

As an anti-climax, Blogger is refusing to load any other photos. There's also Mary, she-who-must-be-obeyed, lounging with her Armadillo stuffie. I was amazed to see a stuffie that still had all its guts intact.

 

 

Mean girls

When I checked on the chickens tonight, I found Bazooka alone in the main house

 

and the other three huddled together in the old, falling-apart shelter that doesn't have a perch.

Surprised on camera!

Edna has been going alone into the shelter for some time because Bazooka picks on her. Now everybody is avoiding Bazooka. Junior high all over again.



a little something about eggs

Bazooka shoots 'em out daily. They're not usually like that colossus on the left, which must be a double-yolker. The one on the right is a normal sized blue-green egg from Bran.

You lookin' at me?

 

A group effort. Too bad there isn't a way to convince them to take turns. Even Edna is laying eggs now.

Edna eggs make a nice little garnish on top of dog kibble.

 

 

 



The mother's day dilemma

What can you give Mom when you don't have opposable thumbs or money to buy flowers? And who wants flowers, anyway, since they don't taste good? First I thought of giving her a day without chewing on the bed, but kind of forgot.

 Or I could share my favorite antler chew, but it got slobbery.

Can you blame a guy for wanting to clean his teeth?

Oh yeah, the gift thing. Well, moms like treats just as much as the rest of us. I got hold of a package of delicious liver treats. If I'd do just about anything for one of those, wouldn't she?  I had to check by smell that I had the right stuff.

 Oops. I guess that wasn't such a good idea.

At last resort, there's just me, unadorned.

She said I'm more than enough. Is that a compliment?

She feels bad about my nose

Mom says my black nose is fading and she's sad about it 'cause she loves the big black plastic look of an Airedale nose. She has never seen an Airedale nose fade like that before, so she researched dog noses and found out that the cause is---

no cause at all.

It just happens. All I care about is that the sniffer works as well as ever and I am certainly no less handsome than usual. I mean, is that a noble face or what? Don't I look like a dog that'll say, "Bark, BARK, Sherry's down the well," if she falls into a hole in the ground (while carrying a steak dinner)?

 

 

 

 

 



Pastoral

A leisurely walk on a perfect spring evening when the air is still and perfumed with blossoms before they've released the pollen that makes me sneeze. Lilacs, apple trees, rhododendrons, azaleas all in bloom. The dog stops and sniffs; I wait patiently. Onward we stroll, enjoying the peace.

He barfs in a driveway. While I'm fumbling with a handful of bags (eeewww, I'd rather pick up a nice, solid poop) and pulling Miro away from the pile, a cat saunters into the road as a car approaches. The cat ignores the car, which slows. Miro's head lifts; he freezes, watching the cat. The car finally has room to pass, leaving the cat on the other side of the street. Dog and cat stare at each other. I really need to clean up this pile of barf before the homeowner sees us and complains. Cat arches and hisses. Dog dances and bucks. Plastic bags in one hand, leash in the other, I'm trying to haul Miro away without him slithering out of his halti collar.

Three bags later--do you know how hard it is to clean up a pile of barf with plastic bags and no water?--we're marching toward home, Miro glancing back at the cat who still watches us like the  sheriff running the hero out of town.

Easy come, easy go, pardner.

Day and evening

 Awake.

Asleep.

Awake.

Asleep.

Why does a post that should take 45 seconds end up taking ten minutes because of Blogger's vagaries?