Interesting. I had been concerned that maybe 17-year-old Puppy Shadow had heartworm, since I had not consented to test for it at his regular vet appointment, telling them I preferred to periodically give him ivermectin.
And, this is interesting: not only was my comment there greeted with respect, even admiration, but when I took him for an appointment elsewhere yesterday, I again spoke of ivermectin, and again, my remark was greeted with that same respect, even admiration.
Huh? What gives? Has the MSM scuttlebutt on the horror of ivermectin completely dissolved?
Okay, back to Puppy Shadow. Over the past ten days or so, no more nighttime panting, though his cough has continued, though very sporadically, and may even be fading with time. Not sure. I have been giving him a teensy-tiny bit of ivermectin every other day. In any case, last Thursday I made an appointment with our local Pets Alive to get a heartworm test for him, deciding on that vet rather than my regular one because appointments are difficult either way, and Pets Alive would do it much more cheaply.
Our appointment was yesterday, 11:50 AM.
The vet, a middle-aged woman, decided to just listen to his heart with her stethoscope, which she did, long and thoroughly while he held his tail between his legs. Then, removing the stethoscope from her ears and his chest, she pronounced: I can detect nothing unusual going on with his heart. In other words, without saying it, she didn’t even think I needed to go through a heartworm test, which they do there, and the original reason for my appointment.
Then she went on. If you are concerned about his cough, and want to get to the bottom of it, then go to your regular vet and they will run a whole panel of blood work. Otherwise, she continued, looking straight at me, “given his age, you can work with Shadow as if he’s in hospice.”
Wow! I love this woman! Exactly: Shadow, of advancing age, is “in hospice.” I don’t really care what the diagnosis is, just so it isn’t heartworm, and he’s not in pain. Any battery of tests would just be for my information.
This morning, on my daily fast, long-stride, four-mile walk without Shadow (that silver lining again, of his not wanting to walk), I saw an older man I recognized coming towards me. He was walking with a standard poodle. I stopped and asked:
“Don’t you have two poodles?” I.e., where’s the other one? He looked at me, then startled, realized he hadn’t recognized me without a little dog by my side. It turns out he had owned two poodles, one of which, he said, “lasted until 14, and the other until 12. This is a new poodle.” I told him about Shadow, and asked, “How do you know when it’s time for a dog to die?” The question resonates. Not just dogs, but cats, and hell, humans!
He said the problem is, we tend to hold on to them longer than we should. “So do humans!” I countered. We both laughed to realize that yes, neither one of us wants to live longer than our sell-by date.
We spoke of two ways to know if it’s time for Shadow to go. One, if he’s obviously in pain. And, the man remarked, “He will likely be in pain long before it’s obvious. Dogs are stoic.” And the other: if he stops eating and drinking. That would be a sure sign. (I forgot to mention if starts urinating or pooping inside. That would be a sign for me, in order to keep my own sanity!)
“All I can say,” he continued, “is when it’s time, you will know.” Looking directly in my eyes, “You’ll know.”
“And maybe we’ll see each other again from time to time while out walking, and I can catch up on how Shadow is doing . . . You may have another two years with him!”
To this I kind of groaned — which he picked up on, and laughed. Not that I don’t love him and want him to lay at my feet and follow me from room to room forever, but that, even though walking alone is fun, I really love walking with a companion dog, despite that it slows me down.
All in all, I’m noticing how this new status for puppy Shadow has inaugurated a new opening for conversations with “strangers” that are not only interesting, but that subtly or blatantly walk right on through the supposedly fearful portal we call DEATH AND DYING.