Having the same roommate for 7 years can be tedious. There are often clashes on many fronts. I, however, have been blessed to live with one of the greatest roommates of all time. She's hairy, never cleans up after herself, and sadly, she's not going to be living with me for very much longer.
I've lived with Rosie, my German-Shepherd-Rottweiler mix, for nearly 7 years now. It is only within the past few days that I have come to realize how very precious our time has been together, and also how little time there is left for us to share together.
A little history, perhaps?
While living in Goshen, IN during my second to last year of nursing school, I decided that I needed a dog. Did I live in dog-friendly housing? No. Did that stop me? Of course not. After a trip to a local animal shelter, I came back with an 80-ish pound 5 yr old mutt in tow. She had huge paws, lovely markings, soft, thick fur, and *bonus* she knew how to shake/sit/lie down and was already house trained!
Since that time, we've been inseparable. She's lived with me all over: Portland, OR, Wichita, KS, Dallas, TX, Tucson, AZ and many places in between. I've spent more money on this dog than I have on myself, and I have the credit card receipts to prove it.
I'm writing this blog as a method to come to terms with my grief and soon to come "lack of dog".
My decision to euthanize my best friend came following my return from a recent bike trip. I had been away from my house for a week, and my mom had been kind enough to watch over Rosie while I was away. Perhaps upon returning after a week away, I was seeing my dog with fresh eyes, or maybe Rosie really did lose 15 pounds while I was away. Maybe mom didn't feed her the whole week. Regardless, I can no longer ignore her lack of health.
Why now?
There is nothing in the world that will make you feel as guilty as making an appointment to euthanize your best friend.
The call to the vet's office went something like this--
Me: "Yeah, I need to make an appointment."
Vet's Secretary: "What for?"
Me: "Well, my dog is really old (holding back sobs at this point), and she can't not pee in the house anymore, and she's lost a lot of weight, and she just doesn't seem comfortable anymo..(trails off, biting bottom lip)"
VS: "I'm sorry to hear that. Is there any time in particular that you'd like to do this?"
Me: "Well, ... I have more free time on Mondays. Is there anything in the afternoon?"
VS: "How about 430?"
Me: (faintly) "Okay."
VS: "Do you know what you'd like to do with the body? We do do cremations."
Me: (having worked at a vet clinic before and knowing full well that this does NOT come cheap..) "How much?"
VS: "120$."
Me: "I'd like to think about it a while if that's okay."
VS: "Of course. You can contact us late as the appointment before you make this decision." --end of conversation.
A more complete version of this story should include some information regarding Rosie's relatively rapid decline starting last March (2008) when she popped an Anterior Cruciate Ligament while pooping. Who knew dogs were so good at alliteration?
For a significant amount of money, I fixed that ligament. The vet told me then that there was a good chance that the opposite one would tear within the next year. He should have laid a bet on it. Within a year and a week, Rosie tore her opposite rear ACL.
At around the same time (also March 2008), I was noticing that Rosie was drinking an awful lot of water. I blamed it on the Texas heat, the recent stress of surgery and all of her thick fur, and thought that maybe there was a chance that she was diabetic, but overall, I ignored it. She seemed happy, I shaved the fur, had an electrolyte panel checked, problem ignored!
At this point, I moved to Tucson, AZ for the summer. My dog had short hair, and I already knew she'd drink well and not get dehydrated. Little did I realize that her hair was not going to grow back. Ever. To this day, she still has the botched summer cut I gave her in March of 2008. I know it shouldn't really have bothered me, but when your dog looks sort of mangy, you feel like a bad dog-mom. (Am I giving her bad/poor/cheap food? Can she really not handle the heat? Am I moving around too much? Is this stressing her out? etc.) Finally, a few months ago, I decided to look into a potential hormone imbalance. Glory Hallelujah! She has hypothyroidism! A quick and cheap fix. Sort of.
Since April, when we started the thyroid pills, Rosie has had some fur grow back in. She seems to have a little more energy, and she doesn't seem to be slowed down by her torn ACL (I opted not to get it fixed this time...). Yet, as we all know, the purpose of the thyroid is to maintain the body in a constant metabolic state.
Rosie's was depressed for who knows how long, and now, with the appropriate amount of thyroid hormone coursing through her veins, she's growing hair, but also losing weight. A lot of weight. And, she's still drinking like a fish. Oh, and did I mention that she pees like one too? I measured it once: a liter and a half in one go. No wonder she's so desperate to get outside.
After a heartfelt discussion with my vet, we came to the conclusion that Rosie likely has Cushing's syndrome. It does exist in humans, but is exceedingly rare. In dogs, however, the story is quite different. I won't go into any details, because this website sums it up much more clearly than I ever could: http://www.kateconnick.com/library/cushingsdisease.html The picture that they paint is quite rosy, yet, I lack the time (FT student), energy (I'm getting up at 545 or earlier 4 days a week), money (did I mention student?), to do frequent unusual and expensive blood tests on my dog to get her "optimized".
So, I'm not doing neurosurgery/radiation on my dog to fix her pin-head sized tumor. I'm done cleaning up pee. She's done asking me to go out -- she has designated the nasty carpet in the basement to do her business when we're not around. I've called my boyfriend, and he is going to help me make a cement paw-print for me to keep. My brother will be in town the weekend of the "appointment", and I'd like to have a bonfire and do a little cremation of my own. (I want the prosthesis I paid beaucoup bucks for back.)
What would you do if you were in my shoes?
