I’m currently dealing with a peculiar type of loss. My baby dog Rocky—a silky terrier—turned 12 this year. I am so very lucky to have a dog that has lived so long and has been relativity healthy. In 2013, we lost his sister, Foxy. Now, a year later, my heart is breaking in a way I didn’t ever consider back then. My Rocky—my baby boy, my little man, my pup—had grown senile. He is suffering from a canine version of Alzheimer’s disease. When a parent or grandparent endures the illness it’s devastating. When dealing with a dog it’s more difficult to detect. Rocky’s eyes have become cloudy and blue. His joints are sore and he limps when he walks. More than a dozen times in the past few months he has accidentally peed in our bed (he hasn’t peed in the house in more than a decade). At night he devours his dinner and shortly after seems to forget he has already eaten. He barks to be fed again and sits in the kitchen for hours like he is waiting for his food. Sometimes he gets so disoriented that when I try and pick him up he snaps at me furiously. He also snaps at his brother and sister. He has bit me twice. It bothers me that Rocky is not himself. I love him so much. This morning I held him in my arms, with tears trickling down my cheeks. I squeezed so tightly, thinking if I only I comforted him enough he’d become subdued at peace. But I can’t turn back time. Rocky is “old” in dog years. So that means Im grateful for 10 wonderful years—which I am. I will squeeze my baby boy as long as he’s here. I wont end his life prematurely (even if keeping him is selfish). This morning I will bring him his breakfast, mixed with the medicine for his joints. I will rub his paws cause it seems to provide relief. Later I will play with him and bring him treats. Cause he’s my baby. And I love him dearly. My Rocky.
Posted on: Wed, 16 Jul 2014 15:42:51 +0000
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