It started a week ago; Friday, January 30, 2015. When Bill rubbed his head to say goodbye on his way out the door for work, he found a hematoma on Toller's ear. We are familiar with these, as our cat Fred had one. We could have lived with a cauliflower ear, but I decided to take him to see Dr. Cook anyway. As he examined Toller and made his ear recommendations - four to six treatments of removing blood and giving him anti-inflamatories and steroids and the like, I mentioned that I didn't like the way he was breathing, and that he was coughing and hacking a lot. He seemed to be catching his breath, and Dr. Cook listened to his chest for a good long while.
He recommended that we deal with the ear and then discuss the much increased heart murmer. We agreed to that, and made an appointment to have his ear drained on Monday, February 2. Dr. Dooer was well experienced in draining ears, he said. She decided to do it in the front room. Big mistake. Toller, it seems, was a head-shaker. He shook blood all over the room. I think he missed the ceiling but not much else. He stayed for an extra hour, as his blood didn't clot. We made an appointment for Thursday. That night, he drank a lot of water, and after every drink, threw it up. I followed him around with paper towels for several hours.
On Wednesday, they called me from the office and asked if I wanted to reschedule because of the impending storm. I said no, but I'd call early if I needed to change the time. I told her that Toller's breathing was more labored, and about all the vomiting. She said she would write it down. I was supposed to go to church to volunteer, but Toller appeared weak and tired. I decided that I'd better stay home. I didn't want him to die alone in his kennel. He rallied, and we went for a walk, two times up and down the street. He enjoyed sniffing, marking, and getting out, I do believe.
The storm was not too bad, so I kept my morning appointment. I thought Dr. Dooer might have read my concerns, but I don't think she had. Before the procedure, I explained my concerns again, and said that all he had for breakfast was a few mini-wheats. She proceded to give him some sample dental kibble which Toller gobbled up like a good boy. He had no bleeding issues, and she thought one more visit would take care of his ear. I told her again that he would not eat his food, and she told me to get him some new food. I knew better. I guess we just know our dogs. I bought him some canned dog food and mixed his kibble in it and he ate some - not his normal amount, but some. He seemed happier. We felt better.
In the morning, he was just not himself. He ate bits of canned food with kibble in it, a wee bit every hour or so, until mid-afternoon. The last time, he did not finish it. He did not want his pill or a piece of cheese. He did lick up the bit of ice cream in the bottom of Bill's dish. He continued to drink. He went outside for a while in the afternoon. His bowels were very loose. Late afternoon, he laid down in the grey room, and they he stayed, on the bare floor. Bill said that he didn't think he could get up. After a while, I asked if we could at least get him on his blanket on his couch. Bill carried him. He felt cold to me. I covered his back end up with the blanket I had over me. By this time, we decided that he should not come home tomorrow. I recommended that we call the Riverview Animal Hospital, but Bill wanted to sit vigil with him and wait so he could have it done at the Moncton Clinic. At 10:30, he lifted his head and coughed and couldn't get his breath well at all. His third eyelids were showing. His chest was rising and falling, rising and falling. I called the Riverview Hospital and they told me to bring him in. The vet on call, Dr. Coleman, said that he probably had heart disease or cancer, maybe both. His lungs were full of fluid. He was uncomfortable.
He never complained about anything. Bill had to carry him everywhere. We held him across our laps as the doctor inserted first something white to relax him, and then something blue to euthanise him. While he was still alive, he still trusted us with his big, brown cataract eyes. His chest stopped rising and falling and he was gone.
But not forgotten.
Update February 22. Yesterday I brought Toller home. We both shed more tears; me, at the clinic and Bill, when he unwrapped his wee coffin. But he is home, at the only home he ever knew, the home he managed to manouver with his very limited eyesight. In the spring, we will place his coffin with Raleigh's and Fred's. But for now, we sit and glance at him every now and then. I try to remember him, sitting in his familiar places, cosy and trusting with his family. I could not wish him back, knowing how every breath was a struggle and every step became more difficult ~ that is my head. My heart, oh how my heart longs to see him again.
Rest peacefully, my doggie.
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