30-Day Blogging Challenge, Day 3: My Current Relationship
One of the only pictures in this post taken in the digital era!!A Dog-Gone Good Relationship
Today’s topic is supposed to be my current relationship. Honestly, that’s kind of boring. I’ve been happily married for twenty years now. In fact, we just celebrated our 20th anniversary in May by taking a road trip from Seattle to San Francisco.
After 20+ years (we dated for almost four years before tying the knot), we’re still great friends. If I had to choose one person to spend the rest of my life with on a deserted island, I’d still choose him. (Mostly because he drives me crazy less than most people.)
But rather than writing a whole post about hubby, I thought I’d talk about another relationship I have. One that, unfortunately, is drawing to a close, and so is constantly on my mind.
Jango
(Featuring pictures scanned in from an ancient scrapbook.)
I got Jango when he was just a puppy. It was one of those “friend of a friend” things. Somebody’s dog had given birth to a huge litter of puppies of questionable parentage which they were giving away for free. (The mother was also a mutt, so this was at least the second generation of mixed doggy heritage.)
Two of the puppies were red. Some obviously had been sired by a blue heeler. Most of the rest were black and white.
How To Choose?
My friend chose one of the two red puppies (who grew up to look very much like a fox). When I first walked into this yard full of rollicking puppy dogs, I pointed to the second red puppy and said, “I’m taking that one, but I want to play with the others for a while.”
Over the next half hour, that little red puppy ignored me completely. She wanted nothing to do with me. But one little black and white puppy decided he loved me on sight. He followed me all over the yard. He kept putting his little paw on my arm, as if to say, “choose me instead!” And so that’s what I did. Since all of our pets have Star Wars names, we named him Jango Fett.
One Bad Puppy
I have to say, that first year was rough. Jango destroyed multiple pairs of shoes. He liked to take phones and remotes and nibble the little rubbery buttons off, like eating corn off the cob. And it seemed to take him forever to get the hang of peeing outside. I remember crying one day to my husband that the dog would never be housebroken.
Of course, he proved me wrong. He eventually grew out of the chewing, and learned to only do his business outside. But one thing that has never changed — he follows me everywhere. Jango is a dedicated momma’s boy. He also has a very strong guarding instinct. He always positions himself between me and the door, and I’m quite sure he’d fight to the death to protect me, if he needed to. (I hope that never happens.)
What color is that dog, anyway?
Also, Jango didn’t exactly stay black and white. In that first year, he went from black to silver, then eventually settled in on a color I can’t even describe. His coat is an odd mixture of black, brown, and gray. He has a white chest, and the tips of his hind toes are white. The oddest part (and I don’t think you can see it on any of these photos): he has a thick, black stripe going straight down his spine. In the winter, he’ll get a fluffy undercoat under the multi-hued portion of his coat, but not on his spine. That black stripe stays sleek and shiny.
The Miracle Dog
Over the years, Jango’s had his share of trouble. Some of you may remember a few years ago, when a massive (9 pound!) tumor on his spleen ruptured. My veterinarian dubbed him “the miracle dog” after that episode. A couple of years ago, he tore his knee. Not long after that, he ate an entire bag of twelve lunchbox-portion yogurt-covered raisins. He’d somehow managed to carefully open each little box without tearing it to get the goodies inside, but raisins can be poisonous to dogs, so that little snack landed him in the hospital for three days.
(Thank goodness we have the CSU Veterinary Hospital here in town. CSU is one of the top veterinary schools in the country, and their hospital is first-rate.)
Last but not least, he was hit earlier this year with Idiopathic “Old Dog” Vestibular Disorder. It was scary as hell. I thought we’d come to the end, but he’s strong as an ox, and he pulled through.
The thing is, he’s now over fourteen years old. For a dog his age, that’s damned near ancient. And now, things aren’t looking good.
The Trouble with Dogs
One of the problems with pets is you can’t reason with them. If he were a person, I could say, “I know standing up is hard on your knees, so go ahead and stay sitting.” But Jango is ever alert to my activities. When I stand up, he stands too. If I leave the room, he follows. I try to tell him he doesn’t need to go with me while I’m vacuuming or putting away laundry, but he doesn’t listen. If I’m headed up or down the stairs, I can tell him to stay, and he will. But he still stands there, waiting, and if I’m not back in about two minutes flat, he comes looking.
Having a dog like this, I’ve come to appreciate the phrase “dogging my heels.” 
And all I can think about is how much it must hurt him now, with his arthritis and his bad hips and his torn knee.
Solutions?
I’ve tried putting up baby gates at the top or bottom of the stairs. That stops him from going up or down, but he stands there at the gate, getting more and more agitated, the longer I’m gone. He starts pacing back and forth, and sometimes gets so desperate, he tries jumping the gate (which is terrible for his knees). It almost seems better to just let him follow, even though I know it hurts him.
And now he’s started having seizures.
Going from Bad to Worse
The first seizure happened about ten days ago, in the middle of the night. He had a second one (much milder than the first, thank goodness) yesterday. And so today, I’m faced with the first of what may prove to be many hard decisions.
(Of course, I’m writing this post on September 7th, even though it isn’t scheduled to go live until the 14th or 15th. I imagine many revisions down the road.)
On one hand, I know he needs to see the vet about these seizures. On the other hand, he’s fourteen and a half years old. I know what will happen. They’ll do a bunch of tests. They’ll charge me hundreds (if not thousands) of dollars. And in the end, it’ll come down to “he’s old and he’s dying.”
That’s the worst part.
It doesn’t matter how good the medical care is. It doesn’t matter how much money I shell out. He’s old, and no matter how much I may wish for it, he simply can’t live forever.
Update
The veterinarian thinks these “seizures” aren’t in fact seizures at all, but relapses of the vestibular problem. That’s good news. She gave us some meds to try. Now we just watch and wait and hope he doesn’t have another episode.
If he does, well, time to start doing some serious testing.
In some ways, it feels like he’s been granted a reprieve, but unfortunately, I still know how this story will eventually end. Right now, I’m just hoping that whatever happens, it doesn’t involve suffering for him, or for me. I’m scared to death of facing days or weeks or months of wondering if and when to have him put to sleep. I know he has to go eventually. My only wish is that he goes naturally and peacefully. That’s the best I can hope for.
For now, I’ll just keep trying to enjoy every day with him by my side.
00000
The post 30-Day Blogging Challenge, Day 3: My Current Relationship appeared first on Marie Sexton.
