plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose - deux

Thirteen Years in Three Photos

11 months -- with Fred

4 years-5 months -- with Mabel and Milo

12 years-9months -- with Mabel
(only one kitty fits comfortably now)

Goldens' Rule

True to her breed, Bailey naturally subscribes to the Golden Rule. She further believes that it is within her realm of expertise to elaborate and expand upon the rule, and that it is her obligation to share with the Blogoshpere what she has learned during her many years.  She therefore offers the following Golden Rules for living a long, happy and treat-filled life.

1. Love everyone without question or hesitation. Continue to love them even if (especially if) they do not accept your love or they fail to return it. Just keep licking, jumping on, and otherwise loving them.
2. Approach every new situation with joy, exuberance and abandon. Many, perhaps most situations will not warrant such exuberance, but the rewards gained by being open to joy will be worth it.
3. Be ridiculously excited by everything, no matter how simple or mundane it may seem. The excitement you bring will make it exciting. 
4. Get as many pets and hugs as you can, and seek them whenever possible. It is fine to coax a pet by nudging your head into a person’s hand or leaning against their legs. If the person should become distracted and stop petting you, it is only polite to help refocus them by gently placing a paw on their hand or lap while looking with wide, longing eyes.
5. Be loyal to those that are loyal to you (even if someone else has tastier treats).
6. Defend yourself vigorously when threatened, while never compromising rule #1.
7. Sniff others, as you would have them sniff you. Inhale them deeply knowing that the path to their soul is through their anal glands.
8. Farting is the ideal way to express joy. Fart when you are excited; fart when you are happy; fart in the middle of a really good dream; fart to greet a beautiful new day.
9. Seek out all things humans hold to be gross and disgusting. The grosser they find it, the better it is likely to be.
10. Make someone happy whenever you can. Knowing that your person is happiest when you are happy, be sure to show them the gross thing you are so thoroughly enjoying.  Flaunt it, spread it, smear it, roll in it and, by all means, don’t be greedy—push it into their hands or leave some in their bed. 

Finally, having been raised by me, Bailey wishes to remind you of the Lennon-McCartney axiom, to which she also subscribes:

And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.

plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose

Thirteen years in three photos.

9 weeks

6 months

12 years - 9 months

Four Weeks

It has now been four weeks since her fortune was foretold.  Four weeks since the forecast of “most likely no more than four-to-six weeks.” Four weeks since being forewarned of her forthcoming doom.

It has been four weeks since learning her prognosis, but it has been four wonderful weeks.  Four joyous weeks.  Four buoyant weeks.   Four weeks filled with friends and playmates, packed with favorite activities and foods and treats and more treats and more treats.  Four weeks to recall nearly thirteen years of memories, to relive nearly thirteen years of experiences, and to rejoice in nearly thirteen years of life. 

Of course there have been a few scary moments. Times when I would look and wait… and wait… and wait. Listening for any sound to fill the silence. Watching for any motion to break the stillness. And for a fraction of a moment that seemed like many minutes, feeling the dread of the thought that it might not come… until her chest finally would swell and recede, and swell and recede again, as she breathed life and I breathed a sigh of relief. 

February 2013

It has been four weeks since being told to make the most of what could well be no more than four weeks--and we did. During those four weeks, I was able to accomplish nearly all that I had hoped. I was able to give Bailey most of the things that I knew brought her joy, and far more treats than likely should have been provided.  I was able to bring her together with many of her favorite canine and human friends, and at least talk to many others.  In those four weeks, and aided by some freakish weather, I was able to provide her the opportunities to enjoy her most favored activities—frolicking in snow, swimming in a creek, and rolling in mud. In those four weeks I was able to ease what little pain she felt, and provide comfort on the very few bad days she had. 

It has now been four weeks since the diagnosis, and we have entered the period of “most likely no more than four-to-six weeks.”  I could take comfort in the implied hope that is left by most likely, or I could wallow in self-pity as we await the inevitable.  But, most of the time, I feel neither hope nor forlorn.  What will come will come, and my hope or fear can have no sway on that.  I am thankful for each new day that is added to Bailey’s life, however many days may come, but not even that is really significant any longer.  More important to me now is that we had those four weeks.  More important is that we lived—fully lived—in those four weeks.  And most important is that we were fully conscious of living in those four weeks.

It has now been four weeks since her fate was foretold, and I feel fortunate for four weeks that I will never forget.

Well done, Bailey. Well lived, Bailey.

A Good Tug

Bailey has always taken two distinct approaches to tug-o-war.  Either she vigorously drives the game until she captures the object of prey, or she hangs on and enjoys the ride until the driver runs out of gas from boredom or exhaustion. In either case, she enjoys the game thoroughly and almost always wins.

When she was still a very young, very small pup, an adult dog cajoled Bailey to play tug with it—patiently showing her that it was ok to take hold of the same stick onto which his much larger and much more frightening teeth were also attached.  He showed her the joys of pulling and tugging, and even flying through the air when he lifted his head as Bailey held on, her still un-plumed tail pointing the way and her ears flopping like under-developed wings.  He showed her that growling is sometimes laughing, that snarling is sometimes smiling, and that fighting is sometimes playing.  And, most important, he showed her how to recognize the difference.

From then on, Bailey refined her tug-o-war strategies and mastered her technique.  She soon developed two distinct approaches.  With some dogs (and all humans), Bailey grabs on and takes charge—yanking, bucking, pulling, growling and shaking vigorously in all directions.  She does the driving and she goes full throttle.  With other dogs, however, Bailey simply holds on and enjoys the ride.  She poses no resistance; instead allowing her opponent and gravity to do the work.  Eventually, after many long minutes or only a few seconds, one of two things will happen. Many dogs simply become bored or distracted with Bailey’s lame stance, leading them to loosen their grip to discover whatever sound or sight captured their attention. Bailey instantly seizes the moment and the desired object. Or they will exert all of their energy pulling 65 pounds of Bailey weight around the park, until they wear themselves out and fall from exhaustion.  In either case her opponents, be they canine or human, will eventually release or lose their grip, as Bailey takes off gleefully in a lap of victory, waiving what is now her stick or rope or strip of fleece proudly in the air like a flag. All hail the victor.

I have never been able to determine how Bailey makes the decision of whether to drive or ride.  It may be something she sees in her playmates’ eyes, or how they grip the object, or their first pull, or some vibe they give off.  I am clueless to how she reaches this decision or even if the choice is conscious.  But I do know that she makes the choice and that it is the correct choice far more times than not.  

Many years and countless tugs of war have passed since the day Bailey first learned to play the game, and she is now older than was the dog that taught her. Her grip is no longer as tight and she is unable to endure nearly as many rounds as when she was young. Still, to this day, Bailey enjoys a good tug and she continues to employ the strategies that she developed as a pup, and refined through her many years.  She continues to demonstrate what is important about tug—to grab on, hold on and enjoy the game—and life—to the end.  To drive with as much vigor as can be mustered when you drive, and to enjoy the ride without resistance when you ride. And, perhaps most important of all, to know when to drive and when to ride.

Well done Bailey.

Bliss

I am so grateful for a freakishly warm day in January allowing me to take Bailey to enjoy one last swim--her favorite activity in life. I am not sure if Bailey or I am happier, but we are still basking in the joy.

Bailey knew exactly what was down the road, even
though we have not been to Dumbarton in several years. 

A little impatient that I was lagging behind.

Picking up the pace as we got closer, and then...

Bliss

There's only one thing as good as swimming...

Making mud!

Making sure to bring some of the beach home as a memento

Still excited after the swim

One more roll before leaving

Pure joy

And we're outta there

Bounce

Bailey bounced into the hospital waiting room with an exuberance that I have not seen in months.  Freed from the grasp of arthritis and constricted blood flow, she has been so energetic and enthusiastic the last couple of weeks, since starting on the doggie equivalent to Ibuprofen. She raced to the 7-year-old Burmese who greeted her politely, but declined her invitation to dance.  The Burmese had completed its course of traditional chemotherapy, and was now starting metronomic oral chemo (two of the options I would soon be offered for Bailey).  Onto the Dachshund-Beagle-Chihuahua (?) mix—no, there is no play to be had here either.  How about the Rottie-mix with the wagging tail and the telltale injection sites?  A pleasant if uninspired sniff, but nothing more.

Bailey playing (Sunday 26-Jan-13)

The humans were far more responsive as Bailey shifted her sights to the receptionists, techs, nurses and vets.  Hugs and smiles and verbal greetings in high-pitched voices were freely given as Bailey exploded into their arms.  She was feeling more than well, more than happy and far more than comfortable.  She was thrilled.  She was enthused.  She was exuberant as she bounced from one person to the next. 

Palliative.  Such a nice sounding word.  Gentle and kind.  Palliative--downright palatable.  But I was about to discover the different shades of palliative care, some of which are less kind and much more aggressive.  And which approach is kinder is not a priori to the concept of palliative care, but is a judgment you make—no, a judgement I had to make.  And in a race with a very aggressive, very fast cancer, I had to make it soon.

I had thought the choice would be between comfort and duration, but I was wrong.  Most of the approaches that offer the best (although small) chance of extending Bailey’s life, would likely keep her comfortable, or at least be tolerable--as in “tolerated reasonably well.”  All of the chemo-dogs we encountered seemed comfortable and even happy.  Their humans reported little signs of pain, a satisfactory quality of life, and only some ill effects from the therapy.  I could keep Bailey comfortable and provide a chance (although a small chance) of extending her life a few weeks.

Bailey Playing (Sunday 26-Jan-13)

It was now clear that the choice was not between duration and comfort—they are on the same side.  The actual choice is between duration and joy, between rolling and bouncing.

Is it better to bounce highly and freely for a shorter time, or to roll slowly and calmly for a longer course?  Is it better to bounce and bounce and bounce until you suddenly drop and deflate with a frightening, likely painful, but rapid thud? Or, would it be better to roll on a course of leveled ground, watching the surroundings slowly pass by, and losing speed as you gradually deflate with only minor discomfort until someone kindly ends it for you? Is it better to extract every sap of joy from a fewer moments, greeting each with all the exuberance you have, or to more calmly receive some unknown number of additional gentle moments, appreciating and feeling satisfied with each.

Struggling to keep up with Bailey as she bounded about the hospital waiting room, the choice became clear.  Realizing that this is how she had always lived her life, that this is how she always approached each new situation, the answer also became clear.  We will bounce.  We will bounce highly and freely and wildly and exuberantly until Bailey has no bounce left.  I will occasionally fear the thud that I know could come with any of the next bounces and without any foretelling, but I will then catch my breath, dry my tears, throw out my arms and bounce again with my very exuberant, very happy dog. 

Bailey Playing (Sunday 26-Jan-13)

So, thank you, but no to chemotherapy. No thank you to a satisfactory quality of life. No to reasonably tolerate. And, with great sadness, no to the 30% chance for a few more weeks of gentle rolling.  For a more reserved dog that choice might be ultimately right, but not for Bailey.  I choose to allow her to be exuberant without moderation; to get excited by the stupidest things; to explode into each new situation with unbounded joy.  I choose to watch her bounce with glee until there is no more bounce in her.  And I will be right there throughout, bouncing with her.