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Of Quick Effluvia

It was a rough night. Fips had a seizure at eleven and another at three-thirty. I held him tight and stroked his head, which seemed to help. I gave him added medicine-meat which he devoured as if starved, and this allowed us both to get some rest with his chin resting on my chest or shoulder.

With but little murmurs, he was pretty quiescent in the morning as I deliberately packed everything I had laid out for the trip to Blaine. The border agent, a nice woman, handed my passport back in an awkward flat-handed way. She had placed a little cookie-bone on top.

I have loved this rolling country road through thick woods and undulating fields of green since I got here. It was a beautiful morning to go.

-oOo-

On being lifted out of the truck, Fips couldn't make it and stumbled over his front paws. So I carried him to his hospital kennel where he curled up quietly on a fresh towel and one of my flannel shirts.

There is understanding and there is knowing; and so as we awaited the results of his blood work, I went for a drive.

On my return Fips was snoozing quietly. I walked over to his cage and with a "Hello Little Fipsie" began to stroke his fuzzy body. Suddenly, he began to shake and to emit throaty pain murmurs. I looked at Dr. Jack. "What did I do?" "It's an adrenalin rush," Jack explained, "He's happy to see you but it triggers an overload in his brain."

Say what the use... If quick effluvia darting through the brain;

to die of a rose in aromatic pain? ...

How would we wish that Heaven had left him still...

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Grand Ol' Moxy

Fips is such a champ. He's been on and off pain all day depending on how well the meds work or perhaps not depending on the meds at all. Most of the afternoon he was quiet and seemed comfortable enough.

A little after four, he wanted to go out and began to make murmur noises (that sounded like pain noises) to that effect. He began to drag himself to the door. It was obvious that he need to pee or poop and he wanted to go outside to do it like a dignified dog.

I stabilized him by holding his tail and walked him to the door. He was determined to step up onto the platform and over the door jam on his own (tail-held) steam. I squealed encouragement and praise and even more so when on the outside ramp he crashed landed on his chin.

He then wanted to walk all over the front yard... so, holding onto his tail, I followed him and was amazed at how well, in a matter of one day, he has been able to coordinate his forward motion with my lateral stabilising. He had very few forward stumbles or backside keel-overs.

After a while my own back started to ache, so I left him under a seat on the grass and ran back to the house for one my long terry cloth towel scarves. This enabled me to support his abdomen without breaking my back.

So equipped, following the loops of his scents, he walked all over the front green and down the slope where he pooped. He walked back up half way and then I carried him up the driveway level the rest of the way. He then made it triumphantly back to the house up the step ramp and over the door hump.

Once inside I left off and his backside slid back down.

It's sad. This is the little doggie that walked 10 miles with Michael to the Golden Gate Bridge, and back; and it is now something that he has a few minutes slow stepping in the fresh air. But his doxy moxy is just as grand now as it ever was.

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Stumbling On

Fips' stumbling is getting worse. His gait is very stiff on the rear right and that same leg often just gives out from under him, causing him to slide down onto his butt, as if keeling over on the right rear side. Once down it is difficult for him to stand up again, although eventually he still manages.

This has been building up, but since the seizure it is radically worse. On the Alderpark trail walks, in December or January, I was able to "massage out" his hips and this would cause the curving back and the bias to the right to correct itself.

In the morning he would be stiff, and stumble a bit but as the day wore on he would get better.

The walk before the last one at the athletic field, which was either Sunday or Monday, he was quite okay. Stiff in the rear with a very slight right bias but otherwise pretty good. His hesitation and reluctance had more to do with blindness than with lameness.

Immediately after the seizure he was collapsing on his rear a lot. But once home, that night, he was walking around and around in a circle. Stiffly but walking.

However since then it has gotten worse... and it seems to get progressively worse. Even if he can manage to walk stiffly and straight, the slightest turn causes him to collapse. He is not dragging his leg, it just doesn't hold him up.

So I took him to Dr. Jack who looked at the December X-rays. Jack says L2, L4 disks have growth and this is the disk through which the nerve trunk line to the rear leg runs. He gave him a shot a cortisone and said to put him back on the previcox and that he would be up and running again. Come Monday when we do the blood test, he wants to put him on steroids.

I'm getting different diagnoses here. Back in December, Rana said he had no significant spurs on his vertebrae and that I could take him off previcox. Two doctors down in California said that if hadn't developed back problems by this age, he was basically free and clear. Could the phenobarbitol interfere with his brain control of the hind leg?

As for the eyes. Jack said he does react to light (the lens closes) but that he is effectively blind. He doesn't think the carnosine will work for this type of "cataract"

-oOo-

This degeneration is pathetic to watch. Fips does seem confused or at a loss and does struggle with his failing gait. Sometimes he just gives up and curls up on the floor where he is... for a pseudo "nap" before lifting himself up and then stiffly walking about and stumbling. He doesn't see things (like his bowl) and so he walks into it and then falls over it. He walks himself into corners and then just stares. None of this strikes me as happy.

I watched him very closely during our walk down mainstreet in Blaine before taking him to the vet. He actually managed better on the street than in the house or around this farm. In fact he managed OK on the gravel. He stumbled but was actually able to lift himself up. He also crossed the street slowly but without collapsing as cars patiently waited.

Most important, he was interested in smelling the bushes and posts and this much he seemed to enjoy, albeit in a quiet elder way.

He still has appetite and although he eats slowly he clearly wants and to still enjoys food (especially meat and mush).

Coming back home this afternoon, he did bounce over and down the door ledge and took a challenge poke at Rosco. (Jack said he would do this).

He enjoys cuddling with me along my side.

With Fips the stumbles don't just produce perplexity. I have a clear sense that he is disappointed and perhaps even humiliated. It is also clear that he is in at least SOME discomfort but not so much that he doesn't want to walk at all. But although he may be frustrated, he has not given up.

He also knows that I am trying to do something about the eyes.

It's pointless to prognosticate, since time will tell shortly enough. What matters is that he not suffer pain, humiliation or demoralization and that he still have moments of enjoyment in life.

My job is to care for him and watch and be patient. I get exasperated when he stumbles into a bowl and sets of a big CLANG. But I take a deep breath, walk over, lift him up and stroke him. I should try to crank up some "cheerfulness" from within me to impart to him. Patience and stroking is fine and good, but it is also sorrowful, and I think I need to find a way to inject some emotional happiness into him, if I can.

There will be time enough in the future to think back to brighter puppier days.

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Fips Shortcircuits

Fips had a seizure today, on the way back from the gym, just as I turned the corner down 64th Street. At first, I thought he had lost his balance on account of the turn, but I quickly noticed he was seizing up all over. I turned into the first driveway I could and just held him tight as he shook, flailed and trembled.

Once the seizure was over I drove to Dr. Rana's up in Langley. I'm amazed at how less than hysterical I was. Fips sat in the chair panting hard and half-pooping.

Rana wasn't there, only the "other" vet, who is in fact no more than an assistant wearing "Rana DVM"'s coat. The "vet" checked Fips out, and the important point is that all his vital signs were basically the same as they have been, except that Fips gained two pounds! The "vet" decided Fips had had a seizure, for which he recommended Phenobarbitol. I mentioned the September incident and the possibility of doing blood work, to which the "vet" said that "seizures have nothing to do with the blood; they're in the brain."

At this point I realized that this visit was almost pointless, a conclusion which was underscored by the "vet's" recommendation I have Fips's teeth cleaned (for a "discounted" price of $450.00) And at that point I asked for the x-rays, took the meds and left, figuring I got basically what was needed for now.

Back home Fips was restless and walked around and around in a circle, but otherwise seemed okay. I decided to call Dr. Jack in the morning.

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Getting Wet to Prove It's Dry.

It would be an understatement to say that the dogs do not like the rain. How many times have they rushed to the door only to be stopped dead in their tracks by The Disappointment. All things considered, BC hasn't been that wet, but there have been disappointments.... and restlessness.

Tonight Rosco was wanting to go out, and was sitting by the door making his sentiments known. I opened the door and out he char'..... / stopped and turned on a dime. I shut the door in his snout but, as he just huddled in the doorway, I let him back in.

It wasn't really raining --- more like a thick but slow drizzle. So I stepped outside myself and stood several paces away from the doorway, as two doggie faces peered at me from inside.

I stood.

They peered.

I've tried this a few times before, and I knew from experience that I would have to stand there until my example proved the point.

It's ok, doggies, c'mon ,

I said, as I stood there amid the droplets in my flip flops and tee shirt, wondering how long it would take to really really prove the case to canine satisfaction.

Fips was the first to slowly climb over the door step and hop on out. Rosco, who apparently has a higher threshold of proof -- beyond a reasonable doggie doubt -- took note of his brother and then again of me. At last he cautiously followed suit and hopped on out.

I stood there is the rain and watched as the doggies did what they wanted to do before trotting back inside.

Sometimes the leader has to get wet.

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Modes

After an early rise, I returned to bed for a mid morning snooze. Fips crawled in after me and snuggled into my side, resting his snout on my left shoulder and placing his right paw over my bicep, as I petted his head and draped my right arm over his haunchies. And there we lay for quite a while, in Cuddle Mode, the smooth and the fuzzy in their presence.

My mind always wants to know, what is he thinking? But what am I thinking? About this? Not much of anything because there isn't anything really to think about. I simply am pleased to feel the warm, and gently heaving presence of his fuzzy-wuzziness and there is no reason to think he is not other than pleased at having my fleshly warmth envelope him. And so, we shared our contements.

It had stopped raining and so at mid afternoon I drove over to the athletic field. As usual no one was there. The air was chill and brisk with a hint of damp and a slight breeze. I walked over to the area which has been cleared of trees and which now lay covered with wet chips and mulch. Rosco forged on up the trail while Fips engaged in some slow poking and precision sniffing. I rolled my eyes, and guessed it was going to be another one of those walks.

Then all of a sudden Fips picked up a trot and from a trot to a canter. From time to time he'd come to an abrupt stop, not to rest, but to sniff something before giving a little up and trotting on forward. He was clearly in Friskie-Mode. At one point, I turned around and caught him balancing himself on the cement base of something, like a fuzzy statue on its pedestal. He then hopped off and charged at me, his ears flapping like wings.

After that, he went full bore, running around and across the field, with virtually no stopping either for sniffs or breaths. Rosco would fall back and catch up, and every once and a while the two brothers would run alongside one another. But the real energy was with Fips and it was amazing to behold.



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