Soapbox

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

As often is the case lately, Tucker woke me this morning with a nose under the blankets a 4:45 AM, hoping for breakfast.
I reached out blearily (hadn’t slept a lot since he got up to pee around 2) and rubbed his head. I opened my mouth to say “Not yet buddy- it’s too early or breakfast” but stopped myself.
Why not?  I said and got up to feed him.
Why not let him eat now, when he’s hungry now? It’s not going to make a difference.

I dropped his pain pill on top of the canned food we’ve been adding to his bowl: half a tablet, twice a day. More might start to hurt his kidneys.
Why not? I asked myself, and put in another piece. Why not give him a little less pain for the day he has left?
Tomorrow I’m going to cook him some bacon for breakfast. I’ve always been careful not to give him too much people food, because it’s not good for his digestion and I don’t want him to put on weight. But why the hell not?

His old buddy Patch came over after lunch. The dogs were clearly happy to see each other. Patch isn’t getting around so well either, and at over 100 lbs, his owner Traci can’t lift and carry him the way we have been helping Tucker. My boy seemed more energetic with his old wrestling partner around and even tried to play a little bit. The heart was willing but the body wasn’t up to it.

Traci hugged him for a long time before they left. “Thanks for being Patch’s friend.” she whispered. “I love you. We’re both going to miss you so much!” She was in tears when she left.
He has slept a lot since then.

The worst is the normal stuff: the way he lifts his head when I walk into the room. When he’s out sniffing dog smells at the corner, when he makes another casual sweep past the food bowl just to make sure nothing tasty got missed the last time he checked. That’s when I second-guess: am I doing this go get out of the inconvenience of having a dog who needs someone with him all the time?

Because let’s face it: we have all made big adjustments, and some sacrifices. Like all the times he was sleeping and I slipped offf to watch TV only to hear his toenails scraping on the kitchen floor and then a thud… and I never got to see the end of that show because, with a big sigh, I had to go pick him up again and sit with him til he fell asleep again.
And all the times when he wanted to go out at 2 AM in the snow, or the rain, and then just stood there, blinking, and there we were in our PJs with a coat thrown on top, hopping up and down and muttering “Come on dog- just pee!”
The places we couldn’t go because someone had to stay home with the dog. It used to be really frustrating. The last few weeks though, as I could see the end getting nearer, I found my patience expanding. One day Ted had to leave or an appointment before I got home from work. I got back as quickly as I could but as soon as I opened the garage door I could hear Tucker crying. He had fallen and couldn’t get up, and waited and waited, and finally started calling for me.
It broke my heart. He doesn’t want to be helpless and a burden.

Sometimes Ted and I would sit together in the dark, just being there, until we could tell he was deeply asleep. Then we’d tiptoe upstairs and I would sleep in my own bed for a few hours… until I heard him walking around in the kitchen- or was tired of waking up to listen, so I just went to the sofa to be there when he finally did.
(I wonder how long it will be before I stop waking up and listening for the sound of clicking toenails, and then remember I’ll never hear them again, and come downstairs anyway to cry without waking Ted.)

But when I think maybe it’s just too soon, then he stutter-steps on his painful front foot and his back legs cross and he falls down hard, again. And he looks at me. And I know it has to end. Tomorrow seems arbitrary, but it’s really not. If not tomorrow, then next weekend- but soon. He has to be in pain. He just never complains.

So I lean over and grab his back end and gently lift, saying, with false cheefulness “It’s ok buddy. I’ll help you. I will pick you up every time you fall from now to the end”

I spent a lot of the day continuing my sweep of dog items to remove from the house: the box by the front door where we keep poop bags, nail trimmer, shedding brush and leash. The bell he rings to go out and whistle we blew to get him to come in. The dog shampoo under the sink. It’s all in a bag in the garage, waiting for Ted to look over them and see if there’s anything he wants to keep.
They only thing I want is his collar, to go in the box with Rocket’s and Boomer’s.
Taking it off before we go to the vet will symbolize releasing him.

I’m trying really hard not to cry around him. Don’t want him to pick up my distress and get anxious. But I keep looking at the clock: 18 hours left. 13 hours more.
It’s absolute agony, this waiting. This final evening.
Tomorrow will be hideous. But then it will be done.

When he woke from his afternoon nap he looked around and didn’t see me at first and struggled to rise. I stood up and said I’m right here. I promised I wouldn’t leave you alone, and I keep my promises. I’m not sure Ted quite understands why I spent most of most nights for the last months- well, since he became unable to climb the stairs to sleep in our room- sleeping on the sofa. Part is convenience: it’s a lot easier to get up from the sofa, pick him up and lay right back down. And it’s easier to hear him when he falls down and needs help.

But mostly it’s because, when Rocket got too frail and confused to come upstairs with us- I LEFT HIM DOWNSTAIRS BY HIMSELF AT NIGHT. Sometimes I would see him standing, looking up the stairs, and I’d come down and sit quietly and stroke his silken head for a while. But when he wandered away, I went back to my own bed and left him to face the dark, and his growing confusion and the end of his life alone.
I loved him. I took care of him and cooked food for him and found tricks to keep his fluid intake up, but I feel like, in his last few weeks, I failed him in that way, and I still carry that with me.

I refused to repeat that mistake. I knew I couldn’t keep Tucker from declining. All I could do was keep him company on the way. Dogs, after all, weren’t made to be alone.

My crazy Rodeo clown. You were such a goof ball. Such a pain in the ass. Thank you for loving me.