Learning to Accept It

Last week, I talked about our new daily ritual, taking a walk as a family.  It's nice bonding time for Jim and I and the dogs, plus it's good for Indiana's arthritis and Isis'...ummmm...winter weight.  The only problem is that Indy can't walk as far as Isis, so she and I turn around and sit in the grass and wait for Jim and Isis to come back.  I love watching Indy watch for Isis, and it makes me feel special, getting to spend time all alone with my girl. 

Indy usually is happy to turn around, because walking is hard work for her.  It usually takes a little coaxing to get her to actually turn back.  She wants to continue with Jim but knows she can't.  Most days I take this in stride, but yesterday, it broke my heart. 

Indy turned around willingly, but then she turned back to watch Jim and Isis, who were at that point running off down the road.  I could tell that Indy wanted desperately to follow, to be able to run along side Isis as she used to.  But I could also tell that she knew it was impossible.  I wanted nothing more, in that moment, more than I've wanted anything in a long time, for her to be able to continue after her sister.  My heart was breaking for her, and I was helpless to make it better.  I bent down and hugged her and said, "I'm so sorry you can't go with." 

We made our way over to the grass and sat down and watched for their return.  I gave Indy a massage while we waited, and she seemed content to sit there and wait.  (She's always engrossed in watching for them, obsessed really)   

Jim and I work really hard to make sure that Indiana is at peace with her aging body.  Our vet warned us that frustration could be the worst thing for her; a frustrated dog is a miserable dog.  So we take great pains to bring her comfort and keep her mind occupied.  In that moment yesterday, I wondered what she was thinking.  Did she understand why her body wouldn't move the way she wanted it to?  Did she understand that we're doing everything under the sun for her?  Did she know that I would give anything, anything, to make it better? 

I don't want to sound ungrateful.  In less than a month, my girl will reach the huge milestone of turning 13 years old, a feat for any large-breed dog, let alone one who was supposed to die at 8.  I know that this is a miracle, and that every day with her is a gift.  I really do.  But some days, I am selfish.  I want more, more more.  I want Indy to be able to walk like a normal dog, to get up at every whim, to wander around the yard aimlessly and with no purpose. 

Aging is a process, both mental and physical, for the pet as well as the caretaker.  We as parents have to come to terms with aging, to fight it and stall it the best we can, but ultimately, to accept that it is a part of living.  Because the alternative isn't something we want.  I am thankful that Indiana is still alive to age, and I will spend the rest of her living days making them the best they can be.

Take A Walk With Us

Yesterday was the first truly beautiful day of the year, a day when I could finally believe that maybe, just maybe, spring is on its way.  We took that opportunity to take the girls for a walk.  Our vet didn't want us walking Indy during the winter, where she could slip on the ice and snow, so we've been waiting for good weather to come our way. 

Indy's stamina isn't very high, but the exercise will do her arthritis good, so we knew we needed to start slow.  It's tempting to let our stiff, arthritic animals just sit around, which is kind of what they want to do, but if you think about it, moving those joints is the best thing you can do for them.  Moving the joints encourages the production of synovial fluid, the natural lubricant in our joints that prevents bone from rubbing against bone. 

Indy was eager to get outside, as was Isis.  Indy was also moving pretty well, which was heartwarming.  The past year or so, she's had a hugely pronounced limp, which was significantly diminished yesterday.  Hooray!  We only walked her a few hundred feet before turning her around, so as not to overdo it.  She seemed ready.

Isis, however, was not, so Jim continued on with Isis while I went back with Indiana.  Indy's usually pretty uncomfortable with this arrangement, because (a) she is left out and (b) she can't keep track of her "pack."  So I was surprised that she only looked back a few times on the walk back home.  When I got her into the driveway, I turned around to look at her, and I see this:



She had gotten to the top of the driveway (our house is on a little hill, sort of), turned around, and laid down to watch for Jim and Isis.  My heart died at the adorableness of it.  So I walked back and sat next to her to wait.  We spent a lot of time snuggling, with me petting and kissing her.  She was ignoring me, instead choosing to focus her attention on the impending return of her Dad and sister.

Then, oh glorious day, she saw Daddy emerge from the trees, with Isis in tow.



See the intensity in her eyes?  That cracks me up.  She's staring at her Dad and sister to make sure they're actually headed home.  When they got close, Indy stood up to greet them.  She was pretty happy (and relieved) to have them back.  It was ok to head into the house now.



There's my sweet family, headed in from a great afternoon together.  I love how Isis' tongue is practically falling on the ground.  She definitely needs more exercise .  We're planning on daily walks now that the weather is good.  It will benefit us all, not just physically, but mentally too.

Introducing The Princess

On most mornings, when time allows and Jim is on the day shift, I get up at 5:00am with Jim, eat breakfast, feed the dogs, and go back to bed for a while. Sometimes it's the highlight of my day, having the warm bed all to myself. But today I woke up before my alarm, unable to sleep. I felt panicked, with a heavy weight on my chest. I feel the weight of what lies ahead of me, of getting through this in the most positive manner, of not writing my dog off as dead already. I have to learn to look at every day as a gift, and at my dog as, well, a dog. Not a patient. That's kind of the point of all I'm doing. I want her to enjoy every day. I want her to still remain a dog, and not be fussed over every second. Her mental wellbeing is as fragile as her joints at this point, and I have to find the balance of protecting the two. It seems like a huge task, but I've been preparing for it my whole life. I think I'm just afraid of it.

So today is Tuesday, which means it's underwater treadmill day. We do underwater treadmill twice a week. We've been doing it for over 3 years now. We started off at twice a week in the beginning then went down to once a week after about six months. Then about six months ago, when Indy started having trouble getting up, we went back to twice a week. We drive an hour and ten minutes each way to a wonderful place called Chicago Animal Rehab, in Chicago Ridge. The therapists there have become our friends, as have the staff at the facility CARE shares space with. Indiana really loves everyone there, because they treat her like a princess and feed her treats. Indy gets loaded into the treadmill and does 25 minutes, uphill, with the resistance jets on.

Last week didn't go well. When the treadmill started, she took a header into the water, which I think freaked her out. She never got her groove, and kind of refused to walk. So today I'm bringing her life jacket along, hoping it will provide a little extra security and buoyancy for her, if not a handle for us to guide her along if we get desperate.

I think I'll give her a massage and do some joint manipulation before we go too, to see if it loosens her up.

She's been eating well lately, now that we've learned all of her "rules" (which are strict, indeed). Her not eating is always a concern, and it's almost a barometer to how she's feeling. We can get her to eat every meal these days, though sometimes we have to hand feed her with a spoon; The Princess doesn't like to get her snout covered in food. I figure she's earned the right to be picky, and if spoon feeding is what The Princess wants, it's spoon feeding The Princess will get. At your service, Your Highness.