AlderMountin

On Not-Thanksgiving-in-Canada I decided to take the pups to the local regional park down by the border. Fips seemed interested in going out and Rosco was eager. But they haven't been all that interested in poking around the horse-farm, so I figured they wanted to go somewhere.

I had taken them to this park before. Although Fips had been unenthusiastic, I thought he might perhaps react better if we explored some other trail. And so, instead of heading across a small field and up a hill, we headed off down through a wooded trail.

Rosci knows his business and led the way -- or better said, chased off on his own to sniff the trail's edge. Fips overtook him and then lagged behind. When I turned back, he seemed lost in thought or suddenly just lost.


I called after him --- Fiiiiipsie! -- and with a skip, turn and jump,

he chased after my voice, regaining his "location"

but also proving, once again, that he is not to be written off.

And so the three of us proceeded at our related paces, along the curves through the trees and the mossy underbrush. Rosco is a sniffer, his nose all but fastened to an invisible track on the ground. Fips likes to run. He will suddenly stop, as if detained by a smell; but then he will pick up again and sprint on forward. To be sure, his sprints are short and he also stops to regain his breath, but there is no question that he enjoys running and that he was enjoying himself today.

After a ways the trail began a slow descent, through a steep ravine on either side. Fips was all eager to chase on down, but I felt it was better to turn back. From what I've gathered of the park topography, the descent would go on for a ways and would require a tiring trudge back up, which Fips would doggedly brave but not enjoy.

At just this moment, he scampered too close to the trail edge, lost his footing and hovered a little too close for comfort next to a perilous drop.

I ran toward him and gently turned him around. "I think we go back-now" I said. Fips was still intent on going the other way, but I prevailed upon to change his direction. Rosco turned around and gave me an "aren't you coming" look. "No Rosci, komm." I don't know anyone who has more cheerfulness-in-disappointment than Rosco, but he turned around and followed back with the other two of us.

"Hey guys," I said, "it's just like Mountin isn't it? Only it's flat." "Mountin" Did Fipsie hear me? I think he did and, if so, I pretty sure it evoked a registered memory - of moist, mossy, humus scented trails under dripping trees with wet bark. He always liked Mountin and I'm sure he appreciated that it had gotten flat, even if he had wanted to do a scamper-down.

On our way back, Rosco once again takes the lead...

... and then slows down to a leisurely amble.

Lurking, Fips suddenly dashes out from behind and, chasing in a wide arc through the adjacent field, triumphantly overtakes his little brother.

After some joint sniffing at the gate, Rosco once again leads the way toward the truck... and home now.

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Fading & Holding

Fips is slowly going. Sometimes he is remarkably chipper and seemingly in control of his faculties, but the more persistent undercurrent is a gradual shutting down. To add uncertainty, what seems to be playfulness may in fact be a sign of senility.

Earlier this year, in Middletown, Fips started a habit of running along the back fence when we arrived home. He’d run down to apartment at the end and then run back down to the left, each time by-passing our gate. Eventually I’d either grab him or (more usually) give a sharp shout by the gate, at which point he’d turn inside.

What made it difficult to assess was that the chip-patch at the far end off to the right had smells that did interest both dogs, who would sniff around and piss there. There was also a definite sense that Fips was playing domi-games (and getting a kick out of it).

About two weeks ago, Fips started running around in one of the shallow fields around here. I had the definite sense that he had lost his orientation and was panicking. But moments later, he recovered and ran quite purposely in the other direction, seeing all obstacles and manoeuvering all changes in the lay of the land while heading toward the upper gate and the road... which is his new “established circuit.”

This past Saturday, during a night walk, he stumbled out into the neighbour’s field and started running back and forth. I called at him and shined my light into his face. He stopped, stared back impassively and then started to run away. I was quite panicked because if I lost sight of him in that vast and dark field, he would be gone forever -- he lost and him lost to me. Splashing in gushy puddles, I crawled under the fence and grabbed. He began to run helter-skelter again. I grabbed him more violently and all but threw him back under the fence. (Then I petted him, of course).

Was the dream last July a harbinger of this place here? The rolling fields, the shallow puddles of water, a Fips running and looking for me, the adjacent barn with its open bay doors and all the jagged jumble of wood and farm machinery, mountains rising in the distance, is certainly similar to the setting of the dream.

Inside, Fips just seems to loose orientation. He will stop and stare for a long time into a wall or corner. On the other hand, he seems to know where I am, follows to places with specificity and is not bumping into walls and things.

I took him to the Blaine vet yesterday. Fips got out of the car and pretty much followed me to the front door through the rain. Once inside, he walked a little further on and piddled on the floor. His latest “habit” is to make sure he piddles inside.

Dr. Jack said that he did not have cataracts but was developing scelerosis. A gradual occulsion within the eyeball, although he still saw and reacted to light. He said there was nothing that could be done about this.

As for the stop-and-stare, Jack agreed it could also be doggie-mentia, which was also the assessment of the emergency vet in Santa Rosa who said that Fips may have suffered mini-strokes which impact his brain-functions so as to produce intermittent lapses.

Two days ago, I lifted the dogs into the truck to go to the athletic field. All of a sudden Fips started a strong trembling, turning around and trying to get out. Was he blind and freaked? My sense was that his vision was no worse than it had been moments before and that something had “tripped” inside his mind causing him to panick at nothing. So I grabbed him and held him very firmly and close, and he eventually calmed down.

I am giving him his vitamins and pedialite, but otherwise there is little one can do.

Nor do I think that there is anything that can be done about his incresingly weak hind legs. At times, Fips will loose it, and just sway out in back. At times his walk is pretty stiff. But... his forward propulsion is basically good, and at times astonshingly vigorous. Whether they call it a “back problem” or a neurological problem, the consensus among the vets has been that, at this point, there is nothing that can be done and that when there is some kind of operation to be done he will be far too old. The stumbling doesn’t seem to bother him; at least I don’t get any helpless “what’s wrong?” looks. The important thing is that he is not in any evident pain and is still basically ambulatory.

And so... it is clear that Fips is gradually shutting down, although it is not always clear how fast or how far along he is. Conceivably, he could adapt to whatever finally fails and live on for a further year or two -- although I doubt he will or will want to persist that long. Of course, at times it is distressing, but the broader picture is that it is blessedly natural. Slow degeneration seems to me (at least at this point) to be better than some sudden onset disease. I think it would be most blessed if he just went in his sleep at some God-appointed moment. If not, it will be up to meet to determine when the time has come.

Most important of all, Fips knows. He wants closeness and contact. In bed, he will hug into me, snuggling into my arm pit, pressing his body into the cavity of my abdomen, or lying cheek to cheek. I don't get a sense urgency or desperation, but rather a need for affirming closeness.

I don’t know exactly how much he hears or (now) sees. But I know he feels, and so I hug him back and caress him and give him doggie massages. And this, after all, is how it began many years ago when I fell to the floor and took him into my arms and heart.

I remember the first time I gave him a doggie-massach in my office. He must have been about six months and was showing signs of tensing up. At first he was suspicious, but he soon got the sense and pleasure of it.

Fips still gives me kissie poohs. The other day, as on many occasions, he came up to my face as I lay on the bed and poked and licked. At times he will turn to give me a kissie pooh after or while I am stroking him. But I think that the more primal and longer standing sign of affection -- both needing and giving -- is the huggie pooh.

I know that the one thing he will always understand and from which he will always take pleasure and solace, is petting, doggie-masach and huggie poohs. That is good, because when the time comes, he might not see or hear anything, but he will feel and know that I am hugging him, in my arms.... at the last.

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