Accepting Reality
While I have known that Chaco is slowing down– he is almost fifteen– I got smacked with reality over Labor Day weekend.
That Sunday we were having a pool party and about 90 minutes before it started, I was busy in the kitchen preparing prickly pear punch and lemonade. I typically give the dogs a treat around 10 am (although Nestle believes that all hours of the day are 10 am) and he is usually sleeping in a bedroom so I put the treat aside and when he wakes up and comes out to see the rest of us, I give it to him then. That's exactly what I did that morning.
The problem was that Chaco couldn't take the treat. It was almost as if the rug he stood on were a boat and he couldn't steady himself. He couldn't get the treat to his mouth and he was having trouble using his back legs.
This went on for several minutes until he finally regained his legs and was able to take a treat (not that giving him one was the smartest thing to do on my part). He returned to the bedroom where he likes to sleep and I tried to turn my attention back to the party.
It wasn't easy. I kept thinking; while 30 people are at my house, was Chaco going to die? Would I find him dead later in the bedroom? I interrupted my preparations and walked down the hall where I sat on the floor with him, running my hands across his fur and talking to him. By then we had figured he'd had a mini stroke. One of my mom's dogs had a stroke and died within the hour. Mom knew what was happening and sat with Daisy as her life came to an end.
If Chaco had the chance to list things he hates in the world (which would include anything on wheels and being given pills), he would also add when I cry. He leaves the room as soon as I start. Not so this time. However, I finally got the courage up– simply because I wasn't ready to let him go– to tell him if he needed to go, it was okay, that I knew Mom and everyone else would greet him.
As soon as I said it? Chaco got up and left the room.
It was as if he were saying, "Not my time to go. Get over it."
The party went on, he's been fine since– although he's slowed down so much this past year. And for me, I try to enjoy each day with him and spend time with him. While it's always possible one of the younger dogs could died before him (Nestle is next in line at 12 and then Hattie at 10), I also realize it's more than likely he'll be next.
It doesn't mean I'm ready and I doubt I ever will be. More than anything, I want to allow him to age gracefully and died just as gracefully. At 14 he's had a great life and anything else will be frosting on the cake.
