It’s been a shitty week around here, and I can only wish I
were being metaphorical.
I’ve mentioned before that we have a dog, a 14-year-old
yellow lab, and at his age, we fully realize we are running on gravy time. The average lab
lives 9-12 years, I’m told. He’s generally been fine up until now, slowing
down, but essentially the same dog he’s always been. But now, we can see the
endgame approaching.
He’s always been extremely reliable in that he never went
potty in the house. Ever. He always came to get one of us to let him out. Last
Monday changed all of that.
I woke up to find a serious shitstorm. He had left a big
pile on the throw rug right beside the back door (his usual route to go
outside). He must have done it between the time my wife left for work and when
I got up for the day.
Then every time I’d clean it up and leave the room, I’d
come back to another pile. I was about to have a meltdown. See, I’m not the one
who generally tends to the dog’s maintenance, aside from letting him out. This
was Sweetpea’s dog, and his care has remained under her domain. I’m
extreeeeemely squeamish about handling poop. In fact, I’ve only changed one
diaper in my lifetime and still remain traumatized by the experience. (It made
an entertaining post though.) But I
couldn’t leave it there on the floor for the next eight hours, so I had to do
something.
Sweetpea’s usual MO for poop detail (inside or outside)
is to put her hand in a plastic bag, pick up the offending matter, and pull the
bag down off her hand, thus encasing the poop. That would not work for me. I’m
not touching that stuff no matter how many layers of plastic are involved. She
seems to have infinite patience for this stuff; maybe it’s because she’s dealt
with small children all day for 30+ years.
Anyway, I took the rug outside and squirted it off with a
hose, then hung it up to dry over a railing.
When I came back in, there was more. After I cleaned
that, I finally got to sit down and peruse the internet, after which I came
back out of my office to find even more. I was pretty much losing it by that
point.
It took me a while to realize that it wasn’t
always fresh work. I noticed he had stepped in some with his back paw, so
what I was finding was where he had tracked it around. So I got him outside and
hosed off his foot, butt, and general hind area. That solved the immediate
problem.
The dog has gotten very weak lately. So when he goes to
squat, he can only hold the pose for so long. Then he tires and sort of slides
back down into his creation, thus doubling any cleanup efforts.
I was never so glad to see someone come in the door as I
was to see Sweetpea that evening. We needed to pow-wow to come up with some
solutions, because from what I could see, the entire focus of my retirement was now trying to keep the dog from shitting in the house.
One of the things we did was line a path through the
living room with old towels, so in case of an accident, we could remove the piles
quickly. Unfortunately, that wasn’t always easy; the boy is no longer simply
dropping logs. He’s had some degree of diarrhea for the last two weeks, which
was like one part Velcro, one part toxic waste, and smells like hot death. You
probably ought to go buy stock in Febreze, because we’re using that stuff like
crazy.
Of course, the towels never stay flat; they get rumpled up via dog and foot traffic, so our living room looks like a giant unmade bed. Add that to the area rugs we have all over the kitchen, because the dog has a hard time getting up (or even walking on) the tile floor. He’s prone to taking tremendous cartoon-like pratfalls where all four legs splay out as he thumps to the floor. He can still get back up, though. Sometimes he struggles, but he can do it when he’s sufficiently motivated (usually by food). But it’s a process.
Maybe we should just put down a tarp and make the whole thing look
like an indoor Slip-N-Slide.
One night in the middle of last week, after Sweetpea was
in bed, I saw the dog appear at the exit from the kitchen and assume the
position in the hallway. I leapt from the sofa, going, “NONONONONO-outsideoutsideoutsideoutside…” and hustled him to the
door. This was a big mistake because he left a trail of doots along the
towel-brick road. I should have left him be where he was, standing on a plastic
runner just inside the front door. That would have been a much easier cleanup.
But all I could think of was to reinforce the “outside” part of the process and
not tacitly signal that indoor pooping was OK.
Eventually, we realized that we could go buy some more
plastic runners and substitute them in for the towels. Sweetpea did that
yesterday. That makes cleanup easier, and the room looks much less rumpled.
All of this has led to a new normal.
Every morning, I get up to find a note from Sweetpea, informing me of the dog’s poop status, so I know what I might expect.
We found that, in discussing the subject and given the
ever-changing nature of what the dog is producing, I suggested that we create a poop
scale so that we needn’t get bogged down with descriptive details. So we
created a 1-5 scale, where:
1 = Chocolate milk
3 = Pudding
5 = Lincoln Logs
This week, the scale went into effect.
(The “pork” had nothing to do with our subject today, just a note telling me I don’t need to take tonight’s dinner out of the fridge.)To help with his stance, she bought a support strap,
about 10 inches wide, with handles on both ends and padded with fleece, so when
he hunches over outside, one of us can slip one end under him and pull up to keep
him from falling back into his mess. He doesn’t like it much, but he tolerates
it. So when he goes out, we have to go with him. I don’t know how this will
work in the winter. Suffice to say, he won’t be waiting around at the door
while we put on our coats and boots.
So now we have a dog who has trouble walking and getting
up, gets scabby protrusions through his fur, and he’s half incontinent. (I say
half because he never pees inside. I
guess he can hold that better.) He can hardly see, and his hearing is diminished
too. He sleeps about 22-23 hours a day.
I know what you may be thinking… that maybe it’s time to
put him out of his misery.
We’ve considered that too, and it might come to that
eventually. We’re keeping an eye out. He doesn’t seem to be suffering. He still
has a voracious appetite. For whatever is going wrong, he still wants to eat
all the time. And that brings its own problem because his “give me food” behavior is the same as his “let me out” behavior, so we don’t always know what he really wants.
We just treat every action as “let me out”
and go from there. This is how our typical evening’s activities play out:
·
After his and our dinners (and treats), we sit
down for the evening.
·
Dog signals us.
·
We go to let him out. He goes to the Treat Bar.
·
We tell him no; he’s had his dinner and treats.
·
We all sit down again.
·
He gets up and signals again.
·
We told you, NO MORE FOOD. (He knows what this
means.)
·
He takes the stance like he’s about to go.
See, NOW he wants to go out; he just wanted food first. Or,
he’s hoping for a treat when he comes in (which Sweetpea often provides). We
used to go through several rounds of this each night before he’d finally settle
in. Now he’s done after the first cycle.
So, he still seems to be “him.” Despite bumbling around,
he doesn’t seem to be in pain. He enjoys seeing his best human friends when
they come over, and he certainly enjoys every meal. We don’t think it’s time to
take any drastic measures yet.
But ask me again later if my quality of life is still so
intimately tied to dog shit in another month or two.
Maybe it should be ME getting put out of misery.
















