This is off-topic and doesn't really fit into the idea of TK. And a friend on FB was unfortunate enough to message me and get caught where I dumped a bunch of this, but there are a few other things I want to touch on.
My dog isn't doing well.
She's almost 12 and in the last year or so it's like the freaking warranty ran out. I got her at 2. She had a back injury at 3 that left her with some loss of fine motor skills in her back legs. Then she broke a nail around 8 that never healed. Vets told me there was nothing wrong until January 2020, by which time the nail had completely fallen off and the vet told me the toe had a tumor on it and would have to be removed. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Fairly boring regularly shaped small soft fatty deposit on her chest around the same time, one on her belly a year or two later, but other than that, a long and healthy life.
Until this year. At a little over 10, she lost a toe to a tumor. 6 months later she got another tumor (benign) on the same foot. That one took forever and a trip to an ER vet to heal. In the last month or two the lumps and bumps have been like crazy. One on the shoulder (on the same side as the chest one). Another pretty good sized one under the ear on that side. Then she started getting them along the collar--this is around the time we moved, so I worry/wonder if there's something she's allergic to or a seed that is getting under the skin. On top of that, there's steps to the yard. Nothing major--a back deck and then 3 steps down (5 if you count the deck and the ground as steps) but it's a challenge to her. A challenge she seemed to be having more and more trouble with. I made a plan to address it with a terraced deck that could be climbed gradually, but fast-tracked a makeshift ramp this week--before abandoning that after she vehemently refused to use it (again, lab/border collie so she's smart and stubborn).
Well Wednesday afternoon she starts favoring the last good leg she has. I can't find any thorns or glass or anything in the paw. In the evening I think I might've found some tar or something sticking some of the fur together that might have caused the reaction and cut that away. Also trim back the nails a bit and on Thursday she seems to have gotten over it. Until Thursday night/Friday morning. She's staggering around like she's drunk. (And a pandemic is a crap time for the warranty to run out on your dog. Level of care drops even farther and effort to get her seen goes through the roof.) I'd gotten an appointment for the 12th for the bumps, but this seems bigger. Also, the bump on the shoulder is on the leg she was favoring. And it has gotten much larger and more irregular than any of her other bumps.
There's a vet here that does same-day appointments. While I'm grateful for them and no one else seems to be able to do it (best my vet could do was move the appointment up to Monday--not really enough if your dog suddenly doesn't know how to walk--they have the most frustrating and badly administered clinic in the universe. OK. You show up, say at 9:30am. You wait in line to "check in." The desk person writes down some notes and your phone number. Then you wait. And wait.
And wait.
8 hours later you get a call that you should come back to the clinic for your consultation. So you get there and call in from your car to tell them you're there. And wait. And wait.
And wait.
2 hours (and 3-4 phone calls--because the actual door is now locked) later you finally are allowed into the building. They get your info relatively quickly and get you to an exam room. Where you wait. And wait.
And wait.
I forget how long that took before we finally got to see the vet. She proceeded to declare 3/4 of her lumps and bumps normal for an old dog and 1/4 of them cysts before discovering a huge bloody hemorrhoid/tumor while taking her temperature--which, shockingly, isn't apparently a serious problem. Then, once The Dog gets up to demonstrate her symptoms (and by this point it was so bad I had to carry her in) and immediately recognizes it as a "vestibular disorder." Which I guess is fairly common in older dogs and she's presenting classic symptoms.
After a night in the hospital, you finally get a call the next afternoon that she's ready to be picked up. So you go to the vet, check in, and wait. And wait.
And wait.
Eventually everything gets figured out and they let you have your dog back--doing much better, apart from the swollen bleeding ass wound. You obey instructions (mostly) to the letter, sleep on the floor with her, and she seems to be doing better. That said, she seems kind of clingy the next day, so you decide to sleep on the floor in the room you've got her recovering in to keep her company. By the morning she's doing so well that you venture a very short walk (partly to ensure she's pooping OK with her bleeding ass wound). You've got work that night and no easy way to take the day off so you grudgingly go. But it's fine. The Dog handles the separation anxiety like a champ, although she's still visibly worked up when you get home so you decide to take her for a midnight patrol. It goes amazingly well and she seems well on the road to recovery.
Until you have to get up to let her out in the morning and something seems "off," but you're too groggy to really know. By the time you're ready to take her for a very short morning walk, she's staggering so badly that you cut the walk short before you're past the first house--and she's actually pretty OK with this. By time for the afternoon walk, she's laying flat and motionless in the middle of the yard. She won't eat. She won't drink. She won't move. A call to the vet is about as useful as you thought it would be. There's some brief sign of improvement in the evening before we're back to laying flat and motionless with the eyes open, staring off at nothing. At least you got some food and water and her meds in her. There's still plenty of time for signs of improvement and she seems alert and not in pain--just freaked out and motionless because she can't control her body, but you still keep going "shit, well that's it, my dog's dying." And that is where we are.
Rationally, I tell myself "don't worry, be happy." The Bobby McFerrin song is great, simple advice; there's no point in worrying about something you can't control. And if it is something you *can* control, then do what needs to be done and don't worry. But simple isn't the same as easy and it's hard not to worry about your sick dog. Rationally, she's an active dog and I let her do things that make her happy--even if they're dangerous. And the lifespan for labs is around 10 and around 15 for border collies, so really, she's in the window, so everything in the past few years has been gravy. Hell, since the back injury at 3--a year after getting her--everything is basically gravy but it's hard to be rational.
When she was laying in the yard with no interest in going for a walk, I headed to the local market down the street and picked up a couple chicken breasts for my hail Mary sick dog that won't eat cure. A cup of rice for each chicken part you've got. Add extra water to try to make it a broth/soup/stew--but the rice will soak it up anyway. Ladle it into the bowl.
During the return trip I'd resolved to bring her in where I could better supervise her and she'd be less exposed to the elements. Amazingly, she was willing to get up on her own, so I got a harness on her (some of the literature suggests collar leads could exacerbate this condition--and that letting her walk instead of carrying her helps with the recovery) and got her inside. Got her down and comfortable. Got some food and water in her. Started a pizza for dinner.
I picked my brand of frozen pizza because it was smaller than the major brands, so I could eat one without getting as many calories. Unfortunately they kept "improving" it by making it larger so at some point I started carving out a slice for The Dog. So along with the dry dogfood and water, I could get some pizza in her (and hide her evening meds).
The problem is, the new oven beeps. A lot. And The Dog does NOT like beeps. Of any kind. When I was troubleshooting a light circuit on the badly labeled (is there any other kind?) breaker box, the chirps from the voltage detector, along with my trips to the basement "STAIRS BAD!" had her so worked up she was literally shaking. And by the time the pizza was getting ready, she was so worked up that I had to help her get into the living room.
She hasn't been keen on the living room here. The living room couch used to be her favorite place to rest, and even though there is a lot less hard surface floor in this place, she doesn't seem interested in the living room couch. (I've been adding more and more rugs to accommodate her.) But she seemed relatively normal while I ate my pizza and watched the local news. Got her slice in her (with its medicine payload) and decided to tackle some stuff from the move-in list, since Katie Couric is hosting "Jeopardy!" and I refuse to watch her after her bit on Bill Maher, but I digress. While I was doing this, she decided to get up. So I went over and grabbed her "handle" and helped her negotiate her way to the carpeted back room. At this point she was so bad she would've just spun in tight little counterclockwise circles until she fell over if I wasn't helping her. Once she got on her bed, she proceeded to lay there motionless, staring at nothing. And that is where we were.
But as I typed this, I decided I needed another drink and as I went to get it, I saw that she'd moved. And she picked her head up as I came into the room. So I got my big vat of boiled chicken and rice out of the fridge, stripped out the ribcage, mixed it all up (with my hands) and ladled (again, with my hands) it into her bowl, mixing it up with the remaining kibble. After she licked off my fingers, I brought her the dish and she proceeded to wolf most of it down. Wouldn't take any water, but that's why I added water to the recipe. I'm feeling slightly better as I finish typing this than I did when I started.