Somehow, my son has decided that Riley looks like a potato. "Seriously mom, look at him." When I look at Riley I see a confused looking puppy most days. "Mom, he's kinda round and kinda lumpy and he doesn't do much. Like a potato." He calls Riley "potato" now too, instead of using his name. It's almost funny, but only because I know that Riley can't hear him.
What do you think? Does Riley look like a potato?
What do you think? Does Riley look like a potato?
(Yes, he got a nail clipping after I got a good look at this picture!)
Last night at work I received a text from my son. He wasn't calling Riley "potato" so I knew something serious had happened. "Mom, Riley had a seizure." I gulped. Oh no. Was he OK, did I need to come home? "No, no, he's fine, things have returned to normal." The seizure and recovery lasted only a few minutes. I'm grateful that my son is a night owl so he was with Riley in the middle of the night when this happened. My son sent a picture, to prove that Riley was OK. Maybe more to reassure himself. Seizures are scary.
When I got home this morning Riley did not get out of his bed. I put my hands on him and he closed his eyes. That's as close as we get to a snuggle. I was happy that he was comfortable with my touch, but he wouldn't budge from his bed. I really needed to assess him, his movement, his pain level, all of it, so I needed him to stand up.
Knowing a thing or two about this dog, I decided to fry up a pan of bacon. He got right up and peeked around the table to be sure that this was going to be for him. All four legs are weight-bearing, everything is moving correctly, he's not leaning or dragging or unsteady, nothing appears to hurt. He's just an old dog hoping that he's going to get some bacon.
Last night at work I received a text from my son. He wasn't calling Riley "potato" so I knew something serious had happened. "Mom, Riley had a seizure." I gulped. Oh no. Was he OK, did I need to come home? "No, no, he's fine, things have returned to normal." The seizure and recovery lasted only a few minutes. I'm grateful that my son is a night owl so he was with Riley in the middle of the night when this happened. My son sent a picture, to prove that Riley was OK. Maybe more to reassure himself. Seizures are scary.
When I got home this morning Riley did not get out of his bed. I put my hands on him and he closed his eyes. That's as close as we get to a snuggle. I was happy that he was comfortable with my touch, but he wouldn't budge from his bed. I really needed to assess him, his movement, his pain level, all of it, so I needed him to stand up.
Knowing a thing or two about this dog, I decided to fry up a pan of bacon. He got right up and peeked around the table to be sure that this was going to be for him. All four legs are weight-bearing, everything is moving correctly, he's not leaning or dragging or unsteady, nothing appears to hurt. He's just an old dog hoping that he's going to get some bacon.
I gave him some bacon, and washed him up with a warm towel. As I type this I can hear him eating his kibble down in the kitchen. It looks and sounds like a typical Saturday morning, but it isn't anymore. I know that Riley is nearing the end of his amazing life. I wanted to stay in denial a little bit longer, but now I can't.
Our last dog was euthanized at home, in his spot on the couch. He stopped breathing, we wept all over him, the vet packed up her bag, and then he started breathing again. He actually had to be euthanized twice. It's hard putting your dog down once, but twice? I took comfort in knowing that for a few minutes he was a zombie Doberman.
Riley is not going to rage against the dying of the light. His life has had enough rage and fight. My hope for him is that he is going to go to sleep in his soft place, with a full belly, maybe with the smell of bacon lingering in his kitchen. He'll slip across the rainbow bridge quietly, he will be able to see again and he can find his zombie brother from another mother. We've all been in this place with our beloved dogs. It never gets easier, we simply have to be valiant and courageous.
Our last dog was euthanized at home, in his spot on the couch. He stopped breathing, we wept all over him, the vet packed up her bag, and then he started breathing again. He actually had to be euthanized twice. It's hard putting your dog down once, but twice? I took comfort in knowing that for a few minutes he was a zombie Doberman.
Riley is not going to rage against the dying of the light. His life has had enough rage and fight. My hope for him is that he is going to go to sleep in his soft place, with a full belly, maybe with the smell of bacon lingering in his kitchen. He'll slip across the rainbow bridge quietly, he will be able to see again and he can find his zombie brother from another mother. We've all been in this place with our beloved dogs. It never gets easier, we simply have to be valiant and courageous.