[Dailydrool] A staged intervention for Elsinore

[Elizabeth Lindsey]

When we had the tumor on our Elsinore’s haunch debulked, we knew the cancer would still be lurking and growing inside her. Our hope, though, was that the surgery would buy her more time, maybe even enough that she might die of an age-related illness and not cancer. At the moment, kidney failure is the forerunner in her race to the end. Which, let me hasten to reassure her friends, is far enough off yet that there’s no need for any haste for her to get her affairs in order. But compromised kidney function can be counted as another nail in her coffin, joining the nail that's the soft-tissue sarcoma quietly doing its thing somewhere in the subterranean reaches of her left haunch.

At first I thought it was just my imagination that I was refilling the water bowl more frequently. Then I realized I really was filling it upwards of four times a day when in the past I’d been filling it only twice. 

Several weeks ago somebody got up in the night and emptied a full bladder all over the best rug in the house. I blamed young Charlie because the pee splatter looked more like one a little boy dog would leave, not a little girl dog. It also didn’t look like anything Ken would do, and his protests of innocence sound genuine to me. The last time Charlie soaked that rug it turned out he had a UTI. So I ran a sample to the vet’s, who said it showed no sign of infection. That meant either Charlie had decided to take his prank playing a step too far, or I’d taken in pee from the wrong dog. But no more accidents happened anywhere in the house (I’m now closing off the room with the best rug when I’m not in it).

However, Elsinore’s drinking habit persisted and seemed to be getting worse. She really tanks up at the water bowl these days. But was I seeing a health problem, or was her behavior simply an age-related intensification of the rather obsessive-compulsive disposition she’s always had? As her drinking increased, her appetite dwindled. More mornings than not she’s been refusing to eat breakfast, even when I put meat or cheese sprinkles on it. Most nights she eats dinner, and she never misses the chance to remind me when it’s time for her afternoon snacks, which she always eats with gusto. Was her diminished morning appetite because of a change in metabolism due to the aging process (we’re guessing she’s 12 or 13)? I had to go away for a long weekend to see my mother but decided I’d call the vet for an appointment as soon as I got home.  

I had to be away during my first morning back home. I was gone for no more than three hours. When I returned, I found Elsinore—who is now allowed the run of a small room while Charlie, whose middle name is Trouble, is crated—had had an accident of the puddle variety on the floor by one of the puppy gates. She used to have a twelve-hour bladder. 

I called the vet and got an appointment for that afternoon to stage an intervention. It was obviously past time to address Elsinore’s drinking problem. Things were clearly getting out of hand, and I knew it’d only be a matter of time before I’d start stumbling over stashes of bottled water in the far back reaches of her crate or hidden under the mulch in the backyard.

The vet tested the urine sample I brought in and found nothing (pH of 5). She took blood and found everything within normal ranges except for Elsinore's BUN (19 mg/dL) and ALT (129 u/l). Elsinore has also gone from 51 pounds to 48 in the last three months. She was even less tolerant of the heat this summer. And her breath is toe-curlingly foul. The vet said all of these are indicators of the beginning of kidney failure with an indication of a touch of poor liver function. (No HIPAA regulations for dogs, so I can freely divulge all Elsinore’s medical information here.) 

The vet said I had caught the problem early, so we should be able to stabilize and manage it for some time. To do this, we’re to put her on a low-protein diet in the form of the renal formulation of either Hill’s, Purina, or Royal Canin (the one we’ve decided to try). No more peanut butter. No more cheese. No more delicious meat-based chew treats. No more small, surreptitiously given pieces of chicken while I’m picking the carcass clean. Poor Elsinore. And poor young Charlie, too, since he won’t be allowed to eat any of those things either, at least as long as Elsinore’s in the vicinity.

Elsinore’s also supposed to take an omega-3 supplement once a day—Free Form Snip Tips, which are loaded with fish oil. I know they’re loaded with fish oil because I’ve been smelling fish oil on Elsinore all day long today. I don’t know which is worse, her foul declining-kidneys breath or the odor of fish oil exuding from every pore. I tried taking fish oil capsules myself several years ago. Good for the heart and all that. That health kick lasted only a couple of days because I couldn’t stand the persistent after taste. It was nauseating.

But Elsinore’s enjoying this fish oil tremendously. I squirted a capsule’s contents onto her dinner last night and then again this morning, and she suddenly was very interested in her meal. Fortunately she also seems to be okay with the taste of Royal Canin, which I think is only marginally better smelling than the Snip Tips.

I don’t know what will happen next with her. I don’t know if we’ll be able to stave off the kidney failure long enough for another old-age type of ailment to carry her off. But for the moment all is well. Elsinore may be sleeping more as she ages, but when she’s awake, she lives life as large and loud as ever. When awake, she continues to have the same enthusiasm she had seven years ago. So life is good. 

Wait a minute. 

Elsinore has just charged into the room to tell me in an eager, urgent whine that “good” could become “significantly better” if I’d only get her something to eat. I fear she’s going to be sorely disappointed to learn that fish oil stuff is going to happen only at breakfast time. I, however, am okay with that. Phew!

Elizabeth