Dog Days of Summer

It's been another summer, another dog, another summer of caring for a dog. Only instead of Shabbi, this time it's Kika.

Our little furry girl is now 15 1/2 years old, already a year older than Shabbi lived to, and her age is catching up with her. She is nearly at the point that Shabbi was when we said our final farewells to her--unable to walk, incontinent and generally unable to participate in life around her. The biggest difference, however, is that while Shabbi was also completely racked by the injustices of dementia, Kika is very much aware. She still recognizes us, lifting her head when Adam walks through the door in the evening, barking for someone to look in on her when we've left her in a room by herself. She's still got her druthers, even if her legs are so atrophied she can't even stand up on her own anymore.

As we watch her decline (or now, seemingly plateau at a general state of lethargy), we assume the frustrating burdens of caring for a geriatric dog--changing her diapers, cleaning up accidents, rearranging her position on the floor so she can reach her food and water bowls, holding her up so she can relieve herself. It kinda sucks, and on more than one occasion we've had "the talk"; the one where we contemplate how much longer we'll let her go on this way. It's not just the inconvenience to us that we think about, but also the sanitary and hygienic implications for Bryony, who crawls on the same floors where Kika's accidents occur. We also wonder what kind of life Kika is having now. Is she in pain? Is she enjoying life at all? Is it worth it to her to keep going? They say that a dog will let you know when it's time to say good-bye. Shabbi did. She started yelping in pain one night, and no amount of moving, massaging or comforting her alleviated her pain, and so we knew. Kika's musculature is non-existent, her joints pop out of joint from time to time, and she has slight sores caused from immobility. And yet, despite all this, she still seems to be in tuned to her world; even the veterinarian was impressed by her willingness to interact with the staff, her responsiveness to human affection, and her desire to eat and drink. We've taken her on our weekend getaways and she seems alert and attentive to the sights and people around us. We think she's telling us that it's not yet time.

As hard as it was to say good-bye to Shabbi (and it was probably the most difficult decision I have ever had to make and carry through on), there was some modicum of comfort in knowing that we were ending her pain, and that her senility shielded her from the sadness of leaving us. As much as her dementia had been a source of frustration for us in the last year of her life, it was a calming hand of comfort in her final moments as she slipped into darkness. Ads and I have both expressed how difficult the decision to let Kika go will be, considering how aware she still is. The thought of letting her go, and Kika knowing what we are doing, is a paralyzing fear. Will she think we are abandoning her? Will she know that it is her final moment and will she feel betrayed? It would almost be easier if she slipped into senility in her final hours so that our guilt could be alleviated, as awful as that sounds.

In the meantime, life goes on as normal. Our reality now is to enjoy every minute of our time with Kika as our days with her grow increasingly fewer.