The other piece of the tale

The other part of my fishing trip involves our dog Tommy, but first, the funny part.
When we got Molly last year, we liked to watch them play. Despite her being about three and Tommy about eleven, they did play. Molly used to run up to him, jump on his back, then start chewing on his ears and neck. Kinda reminded me of a young woman I once dated, but I digress.
As Tommy has gotten older, he plays with Molly less.

Two weeks before my fishing trip, Tommy suddenly started limping. His back legs seemed sore. We shortened the daily walk, but it got worse. So we took him to the vet and the vet gave him a shot of an NSAID and he got a little better. He had been on a low dose of aspirin and a glucosamine powder for the winter, just to keep him limber during the cold months.
The steps off the back deck were short, with two eight-inch drops. Tommy had difficulty going down and required help getting up. I built new steps that only dropped four inches and were two feet wide and a foot and a half deep. Tommy could manage them with only a little difficulty.
This worked for a week and then Tuesday morning Tommy could not get up. His back legs just didn’t work, he didn’t wag his tail and he wasn’t ticklish when you rubbed his tummy by his back legs. We suspected Molly had jumped on his back once too often, for there were times we heard him bark at her!
I rigged a sling to help get him up and walk him around, but he didn’t get better. Thursday morning I took him in to the vet again. It was obvious from the pinch tests, that Tommy had little or no feeling in his back end. However, he still had bladder and poop control. The vet gave me several options. The vet said that at Tommy’s age, it could be a number of things; a growth on his spine, an injury, arthritis or a degenerating vertebra. Sure, we could have X-rays taken, go see a specialist, spend lots of money to find out that there really isn’t much that they could do. Sure, if he was just a few years old, it might be worth it. But Tommy is an old dog.
I opted for another shot of a stronger NSAID, watch him and look up where to buy a doggy wheelchair, or make one.
For Tommy was still a happy dog. Wanted to go for his walks, patrolled the yard, barked at strangers and most importantly, did not appear to be in pain. But it was tough to watch him drag his butt around the room.
I was to leave for my fishing trip the next morning.

I got up early for my fishing trip, dreading leaving Tommy and also leaving WG to take care of him if things got worse. We didn’t talk much about what to do if he got worse, no one likes to talk about that!
But Tommy got himself up, and with the help of the sling, I got him outside to do his business. He seemed a little better, but I worried. The guys arrived and I gave Tommy an extra goodbye.
Five hours later, we were at Chester and I called WG, because the campsite had no cell phone coverage.
Tommy was doing better. He could get up and walk a little, but he still needed the sling to help him stay up.

It was nice being isolated at the campsite, but I worried. For I have always been the one to do the final caretaking of our dogs. The first time, with Celeste, WG and our son went with us, but WG just couldn’t stay and our son eventually had to leave also.
For our last dog Barney, I just went myself.
It’s tough to sit there next to your dog, waiting for the vet to give him the last shot. You pet your dog and he looks at you, trusting you to take care of him, you nod to the vet and the needle slides in, the plunger goes down. Slowly, the eyes seem to cloud over and his breathing slows, then stops.
I was not sure how I managed to make it out of there, nor drive home. Everybody Hurts by REM was on the radio and all the road signs were fuzzy.

So as I tried to fish and joke with the guys, but a pallor hung over the trip. I went through town once on Sunday and my cell phone said there were no messages. I was glad, hopeful, but could not bear to call.

On Monday, we headed home. I called WG when we passed through town and Tommy was much better. He no longer needed to use the sling, but still had trouble getting around.
I almost cried when I got home and Tommy met me at the door.

Several times since then, WG and I have talked a little about it. We both knew what might have to be done, if Tommy didn’t get better, but neither of us could say it at the time.

Tommy loves his walks and knows when they are. He knows when we are getting ready, no matter how we hide what we are doing. He knows when we take Molly without him.
A week later, I took him for his first walk. Walk to the next house, turn around, walk back. Several days later, two houses; then three. Bit by bit, slow progress.

It has been about seven weeks now and I take him and Molly for walk first thing in the morning. The same old routine that Tommy expects.
Only for one block and it is a short one. We have kept his weight down and he seems to be his old self again. A little limpy at times, but he is old. We take Molly for a separate, longer walk and Tommy knows.

We figure he will be about twelve in September and as long as we can keep Molly from jumping on him, I think he will last many more years.