[Dailydrool] Elsinore's train is nearing its station

[Elizabeth via Dailydrool]

All good things must come to an end at some point, even the best of basset hounds, and it looks as if our Elsinore’s nearing her end.

Over the last nine months she’s had a variety of health issues. 

Last November she appeared to have a small stroke (a TIA?) and was diagnosed with kidney function and liver decline, which resulted in a switch to prescription dog food. 

In December she was treated for bacteria in her urine and had a penduncular mass, diagnosed as oral melanoma, removed from inside her mouth, near her jaw.

In February her rear went out of gear, probably the result of a stroke, or, as the vet called it, an embolism. She had x-rays, blood drawn—the works. At that time her lungs were clear, and her vet was amazed to see no sign of arthritis in her spine or anywhere else. Her kidney and liver functions were back to normal, though her pancreatic level was slightly elevated, so she was allowed to go off the prescription diet she never really liked. It took her a full week to become mostly ambulatory again. About this time her right eye completely clouded over, and I realized she was having difficulty seeing.

In March she started physical therapy, walking on an underwater treadmill, twice a week. Then halfway through the month she appeared to have another stroke. Her vet hypothesized it was most likely related to the first stroke, possibly the first embolism not fully dislodging the first time and doing so now. This time it took her a scant two days to regain the ground she’d lost, probably because of the PT she’d been doing. She returned to those sessions the week after the stroke.

By the end of April, which had her back on the underwater treadmill, she developed a UTI. This was also the month the vet sedated her to have another look inside her mouth to see if there was anything in there that could be informing Elsinore’s reluctance to eat. Everything in there checked out okay. Then Elsinore came down with another UTI in May, the day before the movers were to come to empty our house into a storage unit.

In June she was back at the vet for what I thought was just old-dog skin and coat but turned out to be an infection.

And now, here it is July, and as the month’s progressed it’s looking more and more as if she’s ready to be done with it all and move on to better, more enjoyable things. 

Our Elsinore has never been a good patient. She fights me, using nasty looks and nastier language. She loathed having my help when the strokes left her unable to stand up and walk on her own, and we were both relieved when her treadmill work paid off with improved leg strength and balance. I was sure she’d go to pieces and protest with the vilest language possible when the water started pouring into the tank she was standing in, but she ignored the water, focused on the treats being held in front of her, and got to work walking that treadmill in a very workmanlike, no-nonsense manner. Maybe she knew it would be her path to liberation from that sling with me on the other end of it, cramping her style? 

Elsinore hates taking pills when she doesn’t feel well, but getting pills into her has become increasingly difficult and dangerous for me as the year has progressed. She now bites, not snaps, and she means every ugly thing she says to me in between attempts to remove my fingers from my hand. 

I’ve been seeing a gradual personality change as the year’s progressed. She’s always lived her life large and loud in an exasperatingly endearing kind of way, but this year she’s increasingly become downright snarky. This new attitude is more pronounced in the evening, as if she’s experiencing the sundowning syndrome that’s common in people with Alzheimers disease. I would not be surprised if she had some degree of dementia going on. 

Feeding her started becoming an exercise in frustration after her February stroke. It seemed as if each new medication rendered the current diet suddenly, inexplicably disgusting, and Elsinore would stop eating it, never to eat it again, even if offered several months later. What has made this so difficult has been that, up until this weekend, she acted as if she did indeed have an appetite and really did want to have something to eat, but not that. Or that, or that, and definitely not that! My hearty, robust chow hound turned into a picky eater who turned her nose up at everything I offered her and then told me she was hungry. 

I started making almost daily trips to the grocery and pet-food stores, combing the aisles for things she might consider trying. Elsinore would eat my offerings for three or four meals and then reject them. You name it, and I’ve tried it with her. At least as far as your standard American Bistro menu goes. I was thinking I’d have to move on to international cuisine (Elsinore, dear, please do try this baba ganoush, or would you prefer some kimchi or moussaka?), but now it appears as if she’s done with food altogether. 

On Friday she picked an Egg McMuffin apart, leaving it looking the way unwanted peas on a child’s plate do at the end of a meal. On Saturday she tore into a McDonald’s hamburger, throwing pieces of it left and right, and ingesting maybe half of the beef patty, if that. It was almost as if she was frustrated by the food that had always been such a big treat for her. 

While I could ask the vet to check out the inside of her mouth again, I don’t see much point in putting her through it. Whatever the vet might find in there, we’re not going to go in and fix. Not at this age and stage in Elsinore’s life. She’s in the neighborhood of 13 or 14 years old, and you’ve got to go of something at some point. 

Over the weekend Elsinore seemed to turn a corner. In addition to not wanting what had once been her third favorite food (Pizza Hut comes in second, and in first place are M&Ms, which she had only once and that was by accident), she’s no longer singing with the other hounds in the house or joining in when they bark at something outside the house. She isn’t going outside at regular intervals to officiously patrol the perimeters of the backyard anymore. She’s started self-segregating by not sleeping on any of the dog beds throughout the house, preferring instead to lie on the dog bed in the bedroom or on the bedroom floor. She sleeps a lot now, getting up mostly just to get a drink or go outside to take care of things.

What used to interest her and give her pleasure no longer does. She has become diminished, which is the only word I can think of that describes what I’m seeing, diminished both physically and, well, her essence, I guess it is. This is not something the vet or I can change or fix. It’s just the natural winding down of a life well lived but ready to end.

So it’s time to let her go.

I’m waiting for her hospice vet to call about scheduling a time for this. I may not be able to respond to e-mails for some time, but I do appreciate the kind thoughts you send our Elsinore’s way as she prepares to head off to meet her predecessor, our Jane, and rejoin her basset friends Macy and Owen in the great hereafter. Where, I’ve assured her, there will be bottomless bowls of M&Ms and endless plates of pizza, and no one to stop her from eating as much of her favorite foods as she wants. 

Elizabeth