A Tough Month

I remember a bright summer day fifteen years ago. I was back in Jersey, and Farley, my puppy, had been horribly injured – or at least I thought he had. Like many rambunctious black lab youngsters, he had a penchant for digging in the back yard. There were hidden hazards all around the back yard that could cause twisted ankles, spilled drinks, etc – the reminders of other sunny afternoons and forgotten digging frenzies. On this day, I was inside and heard Farley crying in pain in the yard. I was home alone with him, and I ran outside to help. As he lay crumpled in the yard, he looked at me with eyes that said, “For the love of God, I am HURT! HURT BADLY! I CAN’T MOVE!” I called the veterinarian in a panic. “My dog! He’s injured! I need to bring him in right away!” I made arrangements to take him in and then steeled myself for the task of lifting him from the yard, through the house and into my car. I drove as if I were transporting a woman in the final stages of labor, pulling into the veterinary clinic in five minutes flat. I carried him in – he was probably 45 pounds at this point and very gangly. I explained the situation – “I think he tripped in one of his own holes, and he seems to be in a great deal of pain.” The staff just smiled at me, and I admit by this point, Farley was looking a bit sheepish. The vet explained that Farley probably had no memory of pain in the past and that he was just over-reacting a little. Relieved, we made the trip home a little slower – after I made him walk himself back to the car using the four paws that he’d been born with.

Years have passed, and Farley has outlived the average life-span of a big dog by quite a bit. His hips have bothered him for a long time, but he has soldiered on, even as his pace has slowed and his joints have stiffened. We give him a combination of medicines to ease his discomfort and to keep him as limber as possible. Intellectually, we know that he’s REALLY, REALLY OLD. But, he still gets a little bounce in his step when he sees my car pulling in the driveway and he ambles down to the neighbor’s house to visit his dog friends and mark a few trees. At least, he did all that until yesterday. I don’t know what happened – if he tripped in a hole or if he’s simply getting more and more lame, but now it’s not just his hips that are causing problems. His front leg at the “elbow” is swollen and he can’t really put any weight on that limb. It’s pathetic to watch a dog with stiff hips try to use his one good appendage to guide himself along on our slippery hard wood floors. He’s looking up at me with the same eyes as when he was a silly puppy, but there’s no panic in them now – just cataracts. He doesn’t look scared, and I do wonder if he’s trying to tell me something. He knows what getting old feels like now, and I guess it’s just a matter of trying to tell when he’s had enough. We had to put our cat to sleep last week. He was old, but spry and then got an illness that just sucked the joy out of him and replaced it with wheezing and discomfort. I think we had anticipated that Farley would be the next in the line of pet attrition, but that’s not how it went, and when you lose one you figure the others in line should get a bye for at least a while… I don’t know that that will be the case for us. Maggie, full of the curiosity and simplicity of a four-year old has started looking at stuffed animals and saying, “He’s dead. She’s dead.” Then she looks at Farley and says, “Mom, when is Farley going to die?” as if she wants to put it on her calendar. This morning she said, “Mom, Farley’s dead. Really, I’m not kidding.” And honestly, when I went back into the bedroom to check on him, I hoped she was right. Why do pets always seem to make us make the tough call? Why can’t they just die in their sleep in the middle of a dream about running through a sunny field or swimming after a Frisbee in a warm lake?

The weather’s just getting nice – days are longer and the sky is blue more than gray – not the truncated rainy days of winter that you’d expect to get under a dog’s fur and cause problems. Our schedules are busy with play dates and cookouts and the normal responsibilities and detritus that fill a family’s days. It’s hard to stop my normal running around and think “Am I going to have to make a tough decision about this dog today?” I have an appointment to take him in this afternoon to see what they recommend – maybe a shot of something to ease the pain in his elbow? Or maybe I’m just kidding myself. It’ll be all right whatever – as long as I can look into those cloudy old eyes and know as best as I can that we’re on the same page.