Big Dog, Pig Dog

Ah, the moments and days seem long, but the weeks and months are so, so short. Yesterday marked Sam’s two-month post-op mark, and I can’t believe how quickly the time has gone.

Every once in awhile yesterday, I caught myself thinking “two months gone already. God, the odds say we probably don’t even have that much left in front of us. I’m not ready for that…it’s too soon.”

And then, of course, I have to stop, and say “Buck up, camper. Two weeks, eight weeks, 24 weeks. Whatever. Stop smearing the frosting, yo.” (A reference to an older blog post–which jerry so wonderfully shared yesterday, in a very unintentional, but well-timed moment–where we quoted a line from Doug and the B Boys… “I hope [you] recognize the days ahead are the icing on the cake of my life. Try not to smear the frosting.”)

As I’ve said before…Sam’s a dog, and dogs are notoriously shitty at math, so he doesn’t care about odds.

Where are we now…well, the S.A. is definitely getting worse (and the vet suspects he may also be Addisonian, as well), so his hair loss is getting worse and worse. (Except for the one wee patch that grew back on a section of his stump, and his face and legs) Trying to fight cancer makes fighting the other stuff all the harder, I guess. But the hair is cosmetic, and really not that much different. In fact, he probably would have lost it anyway–each time we blow our “coat”, more goes away and never comes back. John, our PT, calls him the world’s largest Chinese Crested :p

We are finally eating now, after switching to Prednisone over Piroxicam. We’ve lost the anti-tumour benefits of pirox., but if he’s not eating, he’s not living…so Pred. it is.

He continues to lose weight, however. Dropped to 70 lbs. post amp, then 10 days ago we were at 68. Two days ago, we were down to 63.5. BUT his bloodwork looks fine, so it is what it is, I suppose.

We do some PT every day…mostly walks, which he likes, and some modified weave poles and a couple other things, which he doesn’t. And, we go to therapy once a week. Again, not big on the “work” portion…but he does love the massage part, and getting attention from John and Sierra.

Here we are at PT…

on the wobbleboard

in the TM

And here is a video, should you want to see him in action:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/194erav9cy5usa9/2013-04-25%2017.24.57.mp4

And here he is being very unimpressed by our Annual Wii Bowling/Costume Extravaganza Trophy: The Sloth of Awesome (Yes, it’s a vegetable peeler. Yes, it’s actually an orangutang, and yes, Pat and I lead very, very exciting lives. :p And no…I didn’t win. )

We keep getting stopped by people who always ask A) did you rescue him? (Er, well, when he was a baby, I guess?) and B) is he a puppy? (Ahahahahahahahahahahaha. Yes, he is the world’s most crotchety 13-year-old puppy :p)). I think that the fact that he has no grey on his face, and the fact that he has lost so much weight his eyes stand out like a Keane painting gives him the appearance of puppyhood. Dorian Gray, eat your heart out.People also ask how long ago he lost his leg, and when I say eight weeks, they are like “OMG! He’s doing so well, so soon!!” And I am always surprised, b/c it’s like…Dude, he came HOME like this. Again, people are so much slower to react to changes like this than dogs are. For dogs…it is what it is.

All in all, I’d say we’re doing just fine. There have been some very trying moments–the not eating, and the dealing with all of this in really crappy weather (STILL SNOWING HERE, btw, in case anyone cares ), are probably the worst. And just the disruption to routine, as well, I suppose (weekly PT trips, having to go on regular walks, all the meds, etc.). But there have been some funny ones too… watching him learn to pee, the tripe sushi, some of his faceplants (okay, let’s admit it…while there are some “OH NOES!” moments when he takes a digger, for sure; there are also some really funny inadvertent pratfalls that make me giggle. When we went to chase a rabbit that like totally ran right in front of him yesterday, for one. I mean, it’s pure 3 stooges comedy gold, right there.)

But mostly, he is still Sampson. The same Sampson he has been in the almost 13 years we have been together, with all of his habits–good and bad, and with all of his personality quirks and peccidillos. The same Sampson who on some days is the most awesome dog since sliced bread and the one who everyone at therapy/the vet/work/the park thinks is something extra special…and who on other days you want to strangle the living shit out of.

Yes, it is hard watching him grow old, be sick. But he was always a remarkably easy dog, and for the most part, he has done his best to stay that way–he is, by and large, a remarkably easy hospice patient.

So, on we shall go…and we will continue to bemoan (then put aside) the frustrations, celebrate the successes, and live the everyday moments, because normal is as normal does, and what is, is…so get your fingers out of the frosting, and be more dog!