Hillbilly Resurrection

Last week, Indiana made the decision to stop underwater treadmill therapy. Well, actually, Jim and I made the decision, but she was telling us loud and clear that it's what she wants.

We've been doing underwater treadmill with Indy since 2007. She's always loved it and loves the staff even more. (We do too) Suddenly, about a month ago, she stopped cooperating in the treadmill. She freaks out and can barely walk. Though it appears that she's struggling physically (and she probably is, a little), I think a large part of the problem is mental. It's getting harder, and she's frustrated. I think the long commute is hard on her too (and we do it twice a week).

So as hard as it is to do, we're stopping underwater treadmill for the time-being. My initial reaction to all of this was to freak out. Treadmill could be the one thing that's allowing her to even walk at this point. What if, by stopping it, she goes downhill rapidly? This thought was quite fleeting though, as the even more important thought came to my mind: "She is telling us, unequivocally, that she's done with this." I cannot, and will not, force this dog to do something she doesn't want to do.

In the past four years, this dog has been to hell and back. Major surgery, involving 5 nights in the hospital and a 13" incision. Chemotherapy. Test after test for hypothyroidism and Cushing's disease. Two nights in the hospital for acute kidney failure. Sub-q fluids for her kidneys every day for the past year. Monthly acupuncture and chiropractic care. Underwater treadmill. Recurring skin infections and UTIs. Surgical biopsy without anaesthesia or sedation. Vet visit after vet visit. Pills upon pills. And with nary a complaint.

If she's telling me so clearly now to stop, how can I not listen? It terrifies me, but I love her too much not to. I get a sick feeling in my stomach when I think about it all, but I know in my heart that I'm doing what's right for her. I owe her that much.

That said, Jim and I got the crazy idea to build a therapy pool for her in our basement back in 2008. We used it for a while and then stopped, because of her skin infections. Now that she's done with treadmill, we're resurrecting what I like to call "the hillbilly pool." It's made of 2x4s, about 40 billion screws, carpet padding, and a pond liner. But it also has fancy things like a real pool pump, a heater, and an ozonator. Still, it ain't pretty. But it works. We're currently working to get it cleaned out, refilled, and ready to run. It'll probably take a few weeks to get it ready, but we're hoping Indiana will use it and that it will be at least a modest substitution for the treadmill. There are still some kinks to work out. For instance, how to get her down the flight of stairs and into the basement, along with how to get her into the pool itself (which wasn't easy back in 2008, when she had more mobility and confidence).

But if Jim and I can figure out how to build a pool in our basement, then surely we can figure out how to get a dog into it. There may be some complications, but love sure is a strong motivator.