Wednesday, January 30, 2008
All he really wants
My old dog Winston has a lot of trouble getting around, but he drags himself from room to room following me and/or Dillon wherever we go. It’s so sweet. All he really wants in life is to be with us.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
"That's ten and a half good years"
2 p.m.
Jose the vet tech seemed somber after he gave Winston his Adequan injection today. He only has one more injection left in this series of 8. The mailman came to the door and Winston dragged his butt across the floor to bark at him.
As Jose watched, and his usual optimism faded. “How long have you had Winston?”
“Ten and a half years.”
“That’s ten and a half good years,” he affirmed. “You have to realize that he’s getting older, and there’s only so much you can do for him.”
Yes. There’s really nothing more to say after that.
Another person who watched Winston skeptically today was our new housekeeper, who happened to be cleaning the house next door when I took him out in our backyard this morning. She came out and asked if Winston would ever get better.
“He’ll never run around fast again like he used to…”
I sensed her puzzling over the two of us. Finally she got it. “He’s a good companion,” she affirmed.
***
Later, 7 p.m.
Winston seemed a bit more unsteady on his legs today, but I thought he could make it around the circle again. He couldn’t.
He collapsed in the street when we were almost home, and this time he couldn’t get up. He was willing to try dragging his butt along the pavement, but that didn’t seem like a good idea to me.
I left him near the curb, hurried back to our house to grab his harness, and enlisted the help of our neighbor’s friend, who happened to be out working in their garage. He used the harness to bring dear Winston home.
“I’d like to give you something to thank you,” I said.
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
The friend left us alone. Winston had a hangdog, resigned expression. After comforting him for a while, I took a walk on my own. I just had to. When I came home, I could hear Winston howling, really HOWLING from a high-pitched squeal that stretched into a low, bass moan.
I lay beside him on the floor, wondering what I should do if Winston could no longer walk around the house. Had he already reached that point? I thought maybe so, but then the doorbell rang and he clambered to his feet, barking.
It was our neighbor Wendy with her new baby. Wendy smiled at Winston. “That answers my question! I came over to see if Winston was able to walk.”
“I don’t think I can walk him around the circle again.”
“He’ll let you know,” she said confidently. She had just been through this with her dog Ro, who died in October. “Some days she couldn’t do it, and other days she could.”
Jose the vet tech seemed somber after he gave Winston his Adequan injection today. He only has one more injection left in this series of 8. The mailman came to the door and Winston dragged his butt across the floor to bark at him.
As Jose watched, and his usual optimism faded. “How long have you had Winston?”
“Ten and a half years.”
“That’s ten and a half good years,” he affirmed. “You have to realize that he’s getting older, and there’s only so much you can do for him.”
Yes. There’s really nothing more to say after that.
Another person who watched Winston skeptically today was our new housekeeper, who happened to be cleaning the house next door when I took him out in our backyard this morning. She came out and asked if Winston would ever get better.
“He’ll never run around fast again like he used to…”
I sensed her puzzling over the two of us. Finally she got it. “He’s a good companion,” she affirmed.
***
Later, 7 p.m.
Winston seemed a bit more unsteady on his legs today, but I thought he could make it around the circle again. He couldn’t.
He collapsed in the street when we were almost home, and this time he couldn’t get up. He was willing to try dragging his butt along the pavement, but that didn’t seem like a good idea to me.
I left him near the curb, hurried back to our house to grab his harness, and enlisted the help of our neighbor’s friend, who happened to be out working in their garage. He used the harness to bring dear Winston home.
“I’d like to give you something to thank you,” I said.
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
The friend left us alone. Winston had a hangdog, resigned expression. After comforting him for a while, I took a walk on my own. I just had to. When I came home, I could hear Winston howling, really HOWLING from a high-pitched squeal that stretched into a low, bass moan.
I lay beside him on the floor, wondering what I should do if Winston could no longer walk around the house. Had he already reached that point? I thought maybe so, but then the doorbell rang and he clambered to his feet, barking.
It was our neighbor Wendy with her new baby. Wendy smiled at Winston. “That answers my question! I came over to see if Winston was able to walk.”
“I don’t think I can walk him around the circle again.”
“He’ll let you know,” she said confidently. She had just been through this with her dog Ro, who died in October. “Some days she couldn’t do it, and other days she could.”
Monday, January 28, 2008
One more good walk
Last week I vowed I wouldn’t walk Winston around the circle alone again -- but he seemed so much better today that I couldn’t resist giving it another try. It went well! He easily walked past the place where he collapsed on our last walk, and his feet were only a little worse for wear. I ordered dog booties for him from the vet yesterday, but until they arrive I’ll have to start putting band-aids on BOTH sides of his left hind foot now.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Winston protects me during medical exam
A nurse came to our house to give me a physical exam for a life insurance policy. Winston seemed to understand as she weighed me and drew blood -- Winston underwent the same procedures 2 days earlier at the vet’s office.
But when the nurse started pumping the cuff on my arm to read my blood pressure, Winston got alarmed. The vet never measures his blood pressure. Winston rushed over and sat protectively near me. I petted him while she tested my blood pressure. Maybe it contributed to me getting a healthy blood pressure reading.
But when the nurse started pumping the cuff on my arm to read my blood pressure, Winston got alarmed. The vet never measures his blood pressure. Winston rushed over and sat protectively near me. I petted him while she tested my blood pressure. Maybe it contributed to me getting a healthy blood pressure reading.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Dog Passages
A must-see video for dog-lovers!
A friend urged me to check out this song, which is called “Dog Passages” by a singing group called “4 Friends: Who Are Vocal About It.” It talks about marking time by the dogs who have been in your life.
I deeply appreciate this beautiful, moving tribute to the dogs who bring such love and meaning to our lives. My Great Dane mix Winston is getting "long in the tooth," as the song says, and this video is helping me face my next “dog passage.”
That's my Winston!
Here’s Winston, my Harlequin Great Dane mix, smiling on a carefree sunny September day in 2008.
What a good kitty!
My cat Sapphire has been a very good kitty. She helps me keep smiling no matter what happens.
In this video she yawns, stretches, struts and watches my dog Winston take a nap.
Could this day get any worse? (Part 2)
Sometimes I worry that this blog is getting too depressing. But some people seem to like reading it, and writing it helps me. There has to be a place where it's OK to communicate about the hard stuff. I usually write these posts as events unfold, and then let them sit a few days so I can edit them before posting. This time I'm combining the events of 3 days into a single post... so it has a happy ending.
Jan. 20, 2008
Today I cried real tears for my dog. “I can’t take care of my Winston!”
This after he had diarrhea all night and all day, and me cleaning it up every few hours. With his advanced hip dysplasia, he can't move fast enough to get outside when the diarrhea hits. It’s a HUGE mess. My muscles ache. Honestly I don’t know where I found the strength. Musta been angels.
Dillon responded to my tears by fixing me lunch. A hamburger and a nap refreshed me for the next round of stinky mess. Dillon did the clean-up that night.
----
1/21/08
Could this day get any worse? (Part 2)
Today was another dismal day at the vet after a hard night.
Winston’s diarrhea got worse -- and bloody, too. So last night we had to have him sleep in the bathroom, the easiest room to clean up. It’s too cold for him to sleep outside. It was lonely not having him sleep near our bed, but I did sleep better and he didn’t cry, howl or whimper. Maybe it’s a preparation for the coming separation when he dies. But it was awful to open the bathroom door to a wave of stink and find him laying in his own filth.
Dillon and I took him to the vet in the morning. The “Walkabout” harness really helped Dillon lift him into the car.
“So he has diarrhea?” the vet asked innocently as he tried to insert a rectal thermometer -- provoking what he called “projectile diarrhea.”
The problem was painfully obvious to all. The vet thought it would be a good idea to move Winston to a clean exam room, where he tried again with the thermometer -- with the same result.
“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed.
“Literally,” Dillon piped up.
“Could this day get any worse?” I asked. That phrase from a previous blog has become a favorite for me and Dillon. “It probably can,” I added.
And it did. When the vet sent us home with more medicines, we discovered that the battery on our car had died! As we waited for AAA to give us a jump start, Dillon said, “It helps me to know that this will become a funny story on your blog.”
Finally we got home and I coaxed Winston into taking most of the prescribed pills. Then at sunset he vomited it all up, undigested. I called the vet, who said to try again tomorrow.
At dinnertime Winston refused to eat -- that’s never EVER happened before. My dog has always had a huge appetite.
A friend wrote a beautiful thought to me today about dogs: “I think it is better for us to outlive them because they would mourn too much were it the opposite.” I never thought of it that way before.
---
Jan. 22, 2008
Oh, happy day!
Last night I coaxed Winston into eating his antibiotic pill by putting it inside some hamburger meat -- and the diarrhea stopped.
Today he’s eating again, too.
Jan. 20, 2008
Today I cried real tears for my dog. “I can’t take care of my Winston!”
This after he had diarrhea all night and all day, and me cleaning it up every few hours. With his advanced hip dysplasia, he can't move fast enough to get outside when the diarrhea hits. It’s a HUGE mess. My muscles ache. Honestly I don’t know where I found the strength. Musta been angels.
Dillon responded to my tears by fixing me lunch. A hamburger and a nap refreshed me for the next round of stinky mess. Dillon did the clean-up that night.
----
1/21/08
Could this day get any worse? (Part 2)
Today was another dismal day at the vet after a hard night.
Winston’s diarrhea got worse -- and bloody, too. So last night we had to have him sleep in the bathroom, the easiest room to clean up. It’s too cold for him to sleep outside. It was lonely not having him sleep near our bed, but I did sleep better and he didn’t cry, howl or whimper. Maybe it’s a preparation for the coming separation when he dies. But it was awful to open the bathroom door to a wave of stink and find him laying in his own filth.
Dillon and I took him to the vet in the morning. The “Walkabout” harness really helped Dillon lift him into the car.
“So he has diarrhea?” the vet asked innocently as he tried to insert a rectal thermometer -- provoking what he called “projectile diarrhea.”
The problem was painfully obvious to all. The vet thought it would be a good idea to move Winston to a clean exam room, where he tried again with the thermometer -- with the same result.
“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed.
“Literally,” Dillon piped up.
“Could this day get any worse?” I asked. That phrase from a previous blog has become a favorite for me and Dillon. “It probably can,” I added.
And it did. When the vet sent us home with more medicines, we discovered that the battery on our car had died! As we waited for AAA to give us a jump start, Dillon said, “It helps me to know that this will become a funny story on your blog.”
Finally we got home and I coaxed Winston into taking most of the prescribed pills. Then at sunset he vomited it all up, undigested. I called the vet, who said to try again tomorrow.
At dinnertime Winston refused to eat -- that’s never EVER happened before. My dog has always had a huge appetite.
A friend wrote a beautiful thought to me today about dogs: “I think it is better for us to outlive them because they would mourn too much were it the opposite.” I never thought of it that way before.
---
Jan. 22, 2008
Oh, happy day!
Last night I coaxed Winston into eating his antibiotic pill by putting it inside some hamburger meat -- and the diarrhea stopped.
Today he’s eating again, too.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Winston walks his socks off
Today the vet tech Jose suggested that I could protect Winston’s feet on walks by putting my socks on his feet and then TAPING them to his fur so they wouldn’t fall off. I slipped one sock over his worst foot (left hind foot) for a trial run. The first time I tried it, the sock fell off before we even got out the door. I tried it again with more masking tape, and we were off! We had gone past a few houses when I realized that I had taped it onto the wrong foot the second time! Fortunately I had brought along a band-aid for emergencies.
But dragging that sock along was hard for my poor old Winston in his weakened condition. He quickly wore a hole in it. The sock stayed on, but seemed to weigh on his foot. He started to poop and then collapsed in the street with a shocked, ashamed, horrified look in his eyes. The sock seemed to prevent him from rising again.
I petted him til we were both calmer, then managed to get the sock off and the poop into a bag. Winston got back on his feet and made it home, but was literally dragging his butt on the sidewalk for the last few steps leading to our gate. I’m not going to try to walk him that far alone again. (And it wasn’t far… maybe 5 minutes at a normal pace.)
Last night I had a Winston nightmare that was bloodless but sad. I cut off Winston’s two hind feet, and then Audrey cut off his two front feet. In the nightmare, Winston was calm and his feet detached easily without blood.
I got a new camera so I can take some good photos of Winston at this point in his life. He’s still beautiful, especially his face. He has a new look on his face lately. Both Dillon and I have notice it. He often looks like he’s really THINKING about something, with a kind of noble expression.
But dragging that sock along was hard for my poor old Winston in his weakened condition. He quickly wore a hole in it. The sock stayed on, but seemed to weigh on his foot. He started to poop and then collapsed in the street with a shocked, ashamed, horrified look in his eyes. The sock seemed to prevent him from rising again.
I petted him til we were both calmer, then managed to get the sock off and the poop into a bag. Winston got back on his feet and made it home, but was literally dragging his butt on the sidewalk for the last few steps leading to our gate. I’m not going to try to walk him that far alone again. (And it wasn’t far… maybe 5 minutes at a normal pace.)
Last night I had a Winston nightmare that was bloodless but sad. I cut off Winston’s two hind feet, and then Audrey cut off his two front feet. In the nightmare, Winston was calm and his feet detached easily without blood.
I got a new camera so I can take some good photos of Winston at this point in his life. He’s still beautiful, especially his face. He has a new look on his face lately. Both Dillon and I have notice it. He often looks like he’s really THINKING about something, with a kind of noble expression.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Reflections on pet euthanasia
Most dogs with hip dysplasia end up being euthanized. That’s the most sobering fact that I learned from the holistic vet. He seemed to think that my hope that Winston would die naturally was unrealistic. “The legs go before the heart goes,” he said, explaining that most dogs with this condition are euthanized when they become incontinent or can’t walk anymore due to paralysis.
Sometimes I can’t bear thinking about euthanasia for dogs. At other times I feel compelled to seek out info on how others think about it. I keep thinking how nobody talked about killing me when I was almost bedridden, even though I myself didn’t really want to go on living and to me my prospects for improvement seemed dim. So why should Winston, who loves life so much, be killed? I know he’s an animal and I’m not, but he’s my best friend and he’s entrusted to my care.
Anyway, I found some interesting Buddhist perspectives:
Best Friends Network
An animal communicator asks the animals, who usually choose release over suffering longer in their bodies.
Buddha Chat
A vet tech wonders if euthanasia denies the creature the chance to prepare for its own death.
Sometimes I can’t bear thinking about euthanasia for dogs. At other times I feel compelled to seek out info on how others think about it. I keep thinking how nobody talked about killing me when I was almost bedridden, even though I myself didn’t really want to go on living and to me my prospects for improvement seemed dim. So why should Winston, who loves life so much, be killed? I know he’s an animal and I’m not, but he’s my best friend and he’s entrusted to my care.
Anyway, I found some interesting Buddhist perspectives:
Best Friends Network
An animal communicator asks the animals, who usually choose release over suffering longer in their bodies.
Buddha Chat
A vet tech wonders if euthanasia denies the creature the chance to prepare for its own death.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Holistic vet gives advice
I talked on the phone last week to a holistic vet. He had a lot to say. Some points that stick in my mind:
--Western medicine doesn’t have much to offer for nerve degeneration, but homeopathy, herbs and acupuncture do help.
--It’s NOT clear to know if and when to euthanize a dog. I heard it was “really clear,” but he said it wasn’t, that dogs have good and bad days, and different people have different limits.
--Get booties now to try to prevent sores from developing on the feet from being dragged. Once the sores start, they are almost impossible to heal.
--Walking is good for a dog with hip dysplasia and nerve degeneration. Don’t worry about it injuring him further -- it won’t. Walk him as far as he will go.
--Regular pharmaceutical medicines speed up the dog’s demise.
He prescribed 2 herbal formulas and 2 homeopathic formulas -- one of each for arthritis and one of each for his spine/nerves. I started giving him the new remedies 2 days ago.
And all this effort is paying off!
He’s been acting like he can’t feel or move his hind legs at all, but today he yanked his hind foot away when I was trying to pull a Band-Aid off his toe! I know it seems like a small victory, but it could be a sign of more to come. I know that all this is colored by my own experience of losing a lot of my walking ability, using a wheelchair, and bouncing back. It makes it impossible for me to give up on my dog the way that I probably would if I had always been an able-bodied person, or as we say, a TAB (“temporarily able-bodied”).
--Western medicine doesn’t have much to offer for nerve degeneration, but homeopathy, herbs and acupuncture do help.
--It’s NOT clear to know if and when to euthanize a dog. I heard it was “really clear,” but he said it wasn’t, that dogs have good and bad days, and different people have different limits.
--Get booties now to try to prevent sores from developing on the feet from being dragged. Once the sores start, they are almost impossible to heal.
--Walking is good for a dog with hip dysplasia and nerve degeneration. Don’t worry about it injuring him further -- it won’t. Walk him as far as he will go.
--Regular pharmaceutical medicines speed up the dog’s demise.
He prescribed 2 herbal formulas and 2 homeopathic formulas -- one of each for arthritis and one of each for his spine/nerves. I started giving him the new remedies 2 days ago.
And all this effort is paying off!
He’s been acting like he can’t feel or move his hind legs at all, but today he yanked his hind foot away when I was trying to pull a Band-Aid off his toe! I know it seems like a small victory, but it could be a sign of more to come. I know that all this is colored by my own experience of losing a lot of my walking ability, using a wheelchair, and bouncing back. It makes it impossible for me to give up on my dog the way that I probably would if I had always been an able-bodied person, or as we say, a TAB (“temporarily able-bodied”).
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Scooby-Doo Bandaids don't work for real Great Dane
Every time I take Winston for a walk, I have to put a Band-Aid on his outside left hind toenail to keep it from bleeding as he drags it along. I tried using our cute Band-Aids with cartoons pictures of “Scooby-Doo.” That didn’t work at all, with the Band-Aid ripped apart before we even crossed the porch. But “Flexible Fabric” Band-Aids last all the way around the Circle. I was a bit upset by the whole Band-Aid drama, but Dillon helped me see the humor in it. “Scooby-Doo Band-Aids don’t work on Danes!” she laughed. “That’s funny!”
I’ve been treated very kindly by all the many people who have been helping help me at the various vet clinics and dog supply places. I’d say that I’m being treated better than when I deal with medical folk about my own health. Somehow fighting for my own health comes across as obnoxious or irritating, whereas fighting for my beloved dog’s health seems to evoke more compassion. Or is it just that veterinary care is more personal and less driven by the insurance industry?
I’ve been treated very kindly by all the many people who have been helping help me at the various vet clinics and dog supply places. I’d say that I’m being treated better than when I deal with medical folk about my own health. Somehow fighting for my own health comes across as obnoxious or irritating, whereas fighting for my beloved dog’s health seems to evoke more compassion. Or is it just that veterinary care is more personal and less driven by the insurance industry?
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Back in the saddle
Jose, the vet tech, has started making house calls twice a week to give Winston his Adequan shots. He’s a big guy, and he says he can identify with how Winston feels. “I’m on my feet all day, and sometimes my bones just begin to ache.” This will continue for 3 weeks.
On his second visit he brought Winston’s new “Walk About” harness for his hips. Jose said he uses this type of equipment all the time to walk dogs after surgery. He was quite adept at putting it on and using it to hold Winston’s rear end up while he walked. Winston was thrilled when it enabled him to up and down our front porch steps again.
Winston was NOT thrilled that night when Dillon tried to use it with him. It’s going to take practice to make it work. Also, they ordered extra large size. Winston does seem larger than life, but it’s a bit too big.
On his second visit he brought Winston’s new “Walk About” harness for his hips. Jose said he uses this type of equipment all the time to walk dogs after surgery. He was quite adept at putting it on and using it to hold Winston’s rear end up while he walked. Winston was thrilled when it enabled him to up and down our front porch steps again.
Winston was NOT thrilled that night when Dillon tried to use it with him. It’s going to take practice to make it work. Also, they ordered extra large size. Winston does seem larger than life, but it’s a bit too big.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Could this day get any worse?!
Taking Winston to the vet yesterday was a major ordeal, and yet we got through it with the kindness of the staff at the vet clinic.
I woke up with the bright idea of pulling the car to the curb so Winston could step inside without the challenge of having to go up a step. It sounded good in theory, but Dillon and I got in a fight about it after she parked her car at the curb in front of our house. A rim at the bottom of the doorway was still going to make it impossible for Winston to drag himself inside. Maybe my smaller car would be better? No. Maybe Winston would be able to move better if Dillon stopped yelling at me?
“Let’s just GO!”
With a huge effort, Dillon heaved Winston’s butt into her car and off we went. Later she told me that this trip is when it hit her how bad Winston’s health really is, bringing back unhappy memories of when I first needed a wheelchair. On the way to the vet, we were both thinking that we can’t take Winston to the vet twice a week for shots. We had reached our limit.
“I’ll go in and see if a tech can give him his shot in the car,” I offered.
“Good idea!” Finally Dillon and I were in agreement again.
The vet’s receptionist, a young pregnant woman, readily agreed to send a tech out.
“We can’t keep driving him here twice a week. Our dog weighs more than 100 pounds and he can’t get into the car on his own! Do you make house calls?” I asked in desperation.
The answer was yes -- but we would have to pay for the remaining three weeks of shots upfront.
I don't know what got into me, but here’s what I blurted out: “Will we get a refund if he dies before then?”
The receptionist focused on me in a new way, with a look of deep kindness.
“Is it really that bad?”
“Well, he can’t walk! When I tried to walk him a few days ago he dragged his foot until his toenail started bleeding”
She listened while I described more of the horror. Then she arranged for a tech to come to our house to give the injections, assured me that it was too soon to tell if the shots would help, promised a refund on unused shots if Winston died, and offered me stronger pain pills (Tramadol) for Winston at a discount. I was reluctant to accept the drugs.
“You seem upset,” she noted.
“Maybe I should take the pills.”
“You’ll feel better if your dog isn’t in pain.” True. I could always decided later whether to actually give Winston the drugs.
Pills in hand, I led the tech to the car. He was a big, jolly young Latino who had worked with Winston before. He introduced himself as Jose.
“Thank you SO much!” Dillon exclaimed when he came out to give Winston the shot. To our relief, Jose promised to come to our house for all future shots for a mere $20 per visit.
We all felt better on the ride home, but one obstacle remained. We still had to get Winston back out of the car.
Dillon pulled to the curb and opened the back door. Winston put his front feet on the grass and looked up at us, confused, as his hind end refused to follow. He was firmly seated on the floor of the car. Dillon tried to pull him out. No go.
Dillon brought some plywood boards from the garage to make a ramp for him. No amount of coaxing would even make him put his front paws on that contraption.
I went in the house to get some treats. Dillon reported later that she and Winston sank to a new emotional low while I was gone.
I returned with the treats and Dillon removed the boards, stepping in some other dog’s poop on our lawn in the process. Could this day get any worse?
Finally Dillon got in the car, pushing and lifting Winston from behind while I lured him forward with the treats. It worked. We were home free.
When we got back in the house, Winston and I both lay down to rest on the floor. He gave me a tragic look that I seemed to recognize from my own days in a wheelchair: “I don’t want to be a burden.”
I woke up with the bright idea of pulling the car to the curb so Winston could step inside without the challenge of having to go up a step. It sounded good in theory, but Dillon and I got in a fight about it after she parked her car at the curb in front of our house. A rim at the bottom of the doorway was still going to make it impossible for Winston to drag himself inside. Maybe my smaller car would be better? No. Maybe Winston would be able to move better if Dillon stopped yelling at me?
“Let’s just GO!”
With a huge effort, Dillon heaved Winston’s butt into her car and off we went. Later she told me that this trip is when it hit her how bad Winston’s health really is, bringing back unhappy memories of when I first needed a wheelchair. On the way to the vet, we were both thinking that we can’t take Winston to the vet twice a week for shots. We had reached our limit.
“I’ll go in and see if a tech can give him his shot in the car,” I offered.
“Good idea!” Finally Dillon and I were in agreement again.
The vet’s receptionist, a young pregnant woman, readily agreed to send a tech out.
“We can’t keep driving him here twice a week. Our dog weighs more than 100 pounds and he can’t get into the car on his own! Do you make house calls?” I asked in desperation.
The answer was yes -- but we would have to pay for the remaining three weeks of shots upfront.
I don't know what got into me, but here’s what I blurted out: “Will we get a refund if he dies before then?”
The receptionist focused on me in a new way, with a look of deep kindness.
“Is it really that bad?”
“Well, he can’t walk! When I tried to walk him a few days ago he dragged his foot until his toenail started bleeding”
She listened while I described more of the horror. Then she arranged for a tech to come to our house to give the injections, assured me that it was too soon to tell if the shots would help, promised a refund on unused shots if Winston died, and offered me stronger pain pills (Tramadol) for Winston at a discount. I was reluctant to accept the drugs.
“You seem upset,” she noted.
“Maybe I should take the pills.”
“You’ll feel better if your dog isn’t in pain.” True. I could always decided later whether to actually give Winston the drugs.
Pills in hand, I led the tech to the car. He was a big, jolly young Latino who had worked with Winston before. He introduced himself as Jose.
“Thank you SO much!” Dillon exclaimed when he came out to give Winston the shot. To our relief, Jose promised to come to our house for all future shots for a mere $20 per visit.
We all felt better on the ride home, but one obstacle remained. We still had to get Winston back out of the car.
Dillon pulled to the curb and opened the back door. Winston put his front feet on the grass and looked up at us, confused, as his hind end refused to follow. He was firmly seated on the floor of the car. Dillon tried to pull him out. No go.
Dillon brought some plywood boards from the garage to make a ramp for him. No amount of coaxing would even make him put his front paws on that contraption.
I went in the house to get some treats. Dillon reported later that she and Winston sank to a new emotional low while I was gone.
I returned with the treats and Dillon removed the boards, stepping in some other dog’s poop on our lawn in the process. Could this day get any worse?
Finally Dillon got in the car, pushing and lifting Winston from behind while I lured him forward with the treats. It worked. We were home free.
When we got back in the house, Winston and I both lay down to rest on the floor. He gave me a tragic look that I seemed to recognize from my own days in a wheelchair: “I don’t want to be a burden.”
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Vet says there’s hope
Jan. 4, 2008
Today we took Winston for an x-ray and saw a wonderful vet who says there is hope for Winston to get better.
The day started out dreary. The sky was cloudy with a big rainstorm predicted. Dillon and I had heavy hearts, trying to prepare ourselves for the worst when we met the vet. We weren’t supposed to feed Winston so he could be sedated for the x-ray, so he was also in a gloomy mood. Any day without breakfast is a bad day to Winston.
He cheered up at the prospect of going for a ride -- but for the first time, he couldn’t step up into my car. His front legs went in just fine, but his hind end just stayed plopped on the driveway. The look in his eyes was shock and sorrow.
Dillon came to the rescue, using a towel as a sling under Winston’s belly to lift the dog into the car. Instead of riding on the seat with his nose happily out the window, he rode on the floor of the car, looking forlorn. I rode on the back seat beside him.
Things began looking up as soon as we saw Dr. Beasley. Her smile and warm personality lit up the small exam room.
“He’s having trouble standing up,” I said and summarized his symptoms.
“If only we could give him a new skeleton!” Dr. Beasley exclaimed. Then she got right down on the floor where Winston was sitting and welcomed all of his many dog kisses.
“I was in a wheelchair for four years, and he took care of me the whole time,” I explained.
“Did you do that?” she asked Winston lovingly. She examined him with her hands, then put a stethoscope against his chest to listen. “You have a strong heart,” she told him.
She wanted him to stand up so she could check his hind legs, but he was having too much of a good time on the floor with Dr. Beasley. He wasn’t about to get up.
“Maybe if you moved across the room,” I suggested.
“I have trouble standing up, too!” she laughed.
Where another vet had wanted to redo a painful x-ray to re-confirm the hip dysplasia, Dr. Beasley saw no need. She did a lateral x-ray of his spine that required no sedation at all.
Winston had a triumphant look when he came back from his first x-ray without any sedation. His expression seemed to say, “I like having my picture taken. I know how to do it.”
The vet tech was impressed. “He’s a good patient.”
Dr. Beasley saw reason for optimism in the results. His spine is still basically in good shape, except for a kind of degeneration called “bridging spondylosis” between his L2 and L3 vertebrae. She didn’t see any “bone spurs.”
We thought Adequan injections had helped Winston in the past, but recently another vet had vetoed the idea of trying it again, saying, “I’ve never seen it work.”
In contrast, Dr. Beasley was enthusiastic about the idea. She gave Winston his first injection and said to continue with an injection twice a week for four weeks, then once a month. They cost $37 each.
She had lots of other ideas, too:
An orthopedic sling for lifting his butt.
Doubling the dose of his supplements of glucosamine and chondroitin, continuing MSM, possibly adding fish oil.
Acupuncture. “Acupuncture works really well on dogs with this condition.” She gave us the names and numbers of three practitioners and said they might make house calls.
Doubling his dose of Rimadyl, a pain reliever and anti-inflammatory.
Putting an ice pack on his hips after exercise.
Reducing his weight by 10 pounds.
A pet ramp to help him get in and out of the car.
Doing passive range of motion exercises on his hind legs.
Taking him swimming (in warm weather) or getting him to use an underwater treadmill.
I thought a doggie wheelchair might be a possibility, but Dr. Beasley thought I was too pessimistic. “He’s not at that point yet!”
Dillon and I went from feeling like there was nothing we could do to feeling overwhelmed by all the treatment options! It was a good feeling.
“Is there really a chance of improvement?” I asked.
“There’s a chance!” Dr. Beasley affirmed.
I don’t think we can do all of the above, but we will try some of it. Some of these would be useless without Dillon. Winston is way too heavy for me to lift his butt, even with a sling. I sensed the burden of responsibility that Dillon bears because of her physical strength. I give thanks for having her in my life, in my pack.
It started raining as we drove home, and rain tends to make Winston get stiff or start limping. When we got home, Winston was really pathetic: tired, hungry, needing Dillon’s help just to get into the house. I fed him and he curled up on the floor near the heater.
We thought he would stay there all day, but no. As soon as we left the room, he pulled himself up and followed. I took a nap in the bedroom while Winston joined Dillon in her office, grateful to the hero who kept him going.
Today we took Winston for an x-ray and saw a wonderful vet who says there is hope for Winston to get better.
The day started out dreary. The sky was cloudy with a big rainstorm predicted. Dillon and I had heavy hearts, trying to prepare ourselves for the worst when we met the vet. We weren’t supposed to feed Winston so he could be sedated for the x-ray, so he was also in a gloomy mood. Any day without breakfast is a bad day to Winston.
He cheered up at the prospect of going for a ride -- but for the first time, he couldn’t step up into my car. His front legs went in just fine, but his hind end just stayed plopped on the driveway. The look in his eyes was shock and sorrow.
Dillon came to the rescue, using a towel as a sling under Winston’s belly to lift the dog into the car. Instead of riding on the seat with his nose happily out the window, he rode on the floor of the car, looking forlorn. I rode on the back seat beside him.
Things began looking up as soon as we saw Dr. Beasley. Her smile and warm personality lit up the small exam room.
“He’s having trouble standing up,” I said and summarized his symptoms.
“If only we could give him a new skeleton!” Dr. Beasley exclaimed. Then she got right down on the floor where Winston was sitting and welcomed all of his many dog kisses.
“I was in a wheelchair for four years, and he took care of me the whole time,” I explained.
“Did you do that?” she asked Winston lovingly. She examined him with her hands, then put a stethoscope against his chest to listen. “You have a strong heart,” she told him.
She wanted him to stand up so she could check his hind legs, but he was having too much of a good time on the floor with Dr. Beasley. He wasn’t about to get up.
“Maybe if you moved across the room,” I suggested.
“I have trouble standing up, too!” she laughed.
Where another vet had wanted to redo a painful x-ray to re-confirm the hip dysplasia, Dr. Beasley saw no need. She did a lateral x-ray of his spine that required no sedation at all.
Winston had a triumphant look when he came back from his first x-ray without any sedation. His expression seemed to say, “I like having my picture taken. I know how to do it.”
The vet tech was impressed. “He’s a good patient.”
Dr. Beasley saw reason for optimism in the results. His spine is still basically in good shape, except for a kind of degeneration called “bridging spondylosis” between his L2 and L3 vertebrae. She didn’t see any “bone spurs.”
We thought Adequan injections had helped Winston in the past, but recently another vet had vetoed the idea of trying it again, saying, “I’ve never seen it work.”
In contrast, Dr. Beasley was enthusiastic about the idea. She gave Winston his first injection and said to continue with an injection twice a week for four weeks, then once a month. They cost $37 each.
She had lots of other ideas, too:
An orthopedic sling for lifting his butt.
Doubling the dose of his supplements of glucosamine and chondroitin, continuing MSM, possibly adding fish oil.
Acupuncture. “Acupuncture works really well on dogs with this condition.” She gave us the names and numbers of three practitioners and said they might make house calls.
Doubling his dose of Rimadyl, a pain reliever and anti-inflammatory.
Putting an ice pack on his hips after exercise.
Reducing his weight by 10 pounds.
A pet ramp to help him get in and out of the car.
Doing passive range of motion exercises on his hind legs.
Taking him swimming (in warm weather) or getting him to use an underwater treadmill.
I thought a doggie wheelchair might be a possibility, but Dr. Beasley thought I was too pessimistic. “He’s not at that point yet!”
Dillon and I went from feeling like there was nothing we could do to feeling overwhelmed by all the treatment options! It was a good feeling.
“Is there really a chance of improvement?” I asked.
“There’s a chance!” Dr. Beasley affirmed.
I don’t think we can do all of the above, but we will try some of it. Some of these would be useless without Dillon. Winston is way too heavy for me to lift his butt, even with a sling. I sensed the burden of responsibility that Dillon bears because of her physical strength. I give thanks for having her in my life, in my pack.
It started raining as we drove home, and rain tends to make Winston get stiff or start limping. When we got home, Winston was really pathetic: tired, hungry, needing Dillon’s help just to get into the house. I fed him and he curled up on the floor near the heater.
We thought he would stay there all day, but no. As soon as we left the room, he pulled himself up and followed. I took a nap in the bedroom while Winston joined Dillon in her office, grateful to the hero who kept him going.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Rolling out the red carpet -- or the green yoga mat
Slipping on our linoleum kitchen floor has become a real problem for Winston on his unsteady legs. He does OK in the rest of our house, which has carpet, and outside. Today he was even reluctant to walk into the kitchen to get a drink from his water dish.
Suddenly I had a brainstorm: I unrolled my old green yoga mat on the kitchen leading from the carpeted area to his food and water dishes.
Winston tried it out and moved easily to and from his water. Then he looked at me with such joy and gratitude.
We're also letting him out more often through our other door, the one that has wall-to-wall carpet leading up to it.
Suddenly I had a brainstorm: I unrolled my old green yoga mat on the kitchen leading from the carpeted area to his food and water dishes.
Winston tried it out and moved easily to and from his water. Then he looked at me with such joy and gratitude.
We're also letting him out more often through our other door, the one that has wall-to-wall carpet leading up to it.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Winston the whirling dervish
From Dec. 31, 2007
I keep having nightmares where the hind end of something collapses, as is happening to Winston. For example, I dreamed of a car whose rear tires were both flat.
He still loves to go for a walk. He used to dance in circles when we got out the leash. Now he leaves his butt on the floor and spins around! He's like a whirling dervish. It gives new meaning to the phrase, “Drag your butt over here.”
At least Winston is back to barking at the mailman.
I keep having nightmares where the hind end of something collapses, as is happening to Winston. For example, I dreamed of a car whose rear tires were both flat.
He still loves to go for a walk. He used to dance in circles when we got out the leash. Now he leaves his butt on the floor and spins around! He's like a whirling dervish. It gives new meaning to the phrase, “Drag your butt over here.”
At least Winston is back to barking at the mailman.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Role Reversal
from Dec. 23, 2007
How can it be that my health suddenly improved at the very same time that Winston’s health suddenly declined? And both of us have nervous system problems.
I was in a wheelchair whenever I left our yard for four years until this spring due to Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. My improvement accelerated when I began taking remedies specifically for the brain and central nervous system.
And now Winston has nerve degeneration in his lower back that may put him in a doggie wheelchair within a year. (Yes, there are wheelchairs for dogs!)
He has all the symptoms described on websites for canine degenerative myelopathy: loss of coordination in the hind limbs, wobbling when walking, knuckling over or dragging the hind feet, crossing the feet, buckling at the knees and difficulty standing
One university website goes on to make a recommendation about the end-stage:
My heart sank when I read that. I know that euthanasia is sometimes necessary, but to resort to that for an otherwise healthy dog -- only because a dog needs a wheelchair?
I tried to discuss it with Dillon last night during a TV commercial. “A lot of people kill their dogs when they need a wheelchair,” I said.
Dillon wasn’t even listening to me, but Winston was. He stared at me, striken.
“What did you say to Winston?! I’ve never seen him look like that,” Dillon exclaimed.
“I’d better not say it out loud again.” Winston was still staring at me in horror as I wrote it down for Dillon.
She read my note, then crumpled it up and threw it away. “How could you say that?”
“I wanted to discuss it with you. I didn’t think Winston knew the word ‘wheelchair.’”
“Of course, he does!”
Then I remembered how Winston used to walk beside me in my wheelchair on special occasions while Dillon or another friend pushed it.
Nobody “put me out of my misery” when I was in a wheelchair. Dillon did everything in her power to help and heal me. Winston’s constant companionship also helped me endure and eventually overcome that disability. Can I do any less for Winston if he gets into that state?
That gets back to the question of how we can have such a role reversal in the first place.
I keep thinking of a passage in my favorite medical reference book for pets: The Natural Remedy Book for Dogs and Cats by Diane Stein.
This is my favorite book for dog healing. I refer to it a lot. Some of its advice even works for humans!
How can it be that my health suddenly improved at the very same time that Winston’s health suddenly declined? And both of us have nervous system problems.
I was in a wheelchair whenever I left our yard for four years until this spring due to Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. My improvement accelerated when I began taking remedies specifically for the brain and central nervous system.
And now Winston has nerve degeneration in his lower back that may put him in a doggie wheelchair within a year. (Yes, there are wheelchairs for dogs!)
He has all the symptoms described on websites for canine degenerative myelopathy: loss of coordination in the hind limbs, wobbling when walking, knuckling over or dragging the hind feet, crossing the feet, buckling at the knees and difficulty standing
One university website goes on to make a recommendation about the end-stage:
“Your veterinarian will suggest ways to help you adjust to your dog's gradually
increasing limitations, and to recognize the point at which euthanasia becomes
the best option. This is usually within a year of the initial diagnosis, when
your dog is no longer able to walk.”
My heart sank when I read that. I know that euthanasia is sometimes necessary, but to resort to that for an otherwise healthy dog -- only because a dog needs a wheelchair?
I tried to discuss it with Dillon last night during a TV commercial. “A lot of people kill their dogs when they need a wheelchair,” I said.
Dillon wasn’t even listening to me, but Winston was. He stared at me, striken.
“What did you say to Winston?! I’ve never seen him look like that,” Dillon exclaimed.
“I’d better not say it out loud again.” Winston was still staring at me in horror as I wrote it down for Dillon.
She read my note, then crumpled it up and threw it away. “How could you say that?”
“I wanted to discuss it with you. I didn’t think Winston knew the word ‘wheelchair.’”
“Of course, he does!”
Then I remembered how Winston used to walk beside me in my wheelchair on special occasions while Dillon or another friend pushed it.
Nobody “put me out of my misery” when I was in a wheelchair. Dillon did everything in her power to help and heal me. Winston’s constant companionship also helped me endure and eventually overcome that disability. Can I do any less for Winston if he gets into that state?
That gets back to the question of how we can have such a role reversal in the first place.
I keep thinking of a passage in my favorite medical reference book for pets: The Natural Remedy Book for Dogs and Cats by Diane Stein.
Pets also sacrifice themselves for the well-being of the humans they have bonded
to. Animals take negative energy or situations into themselves and thereby
protect their people. Both cats and dogs act as buffers between their people and
the dangers and negativities of the world. Humans are aware of this on a
conscious level when a dog runs back into a burning house to save a child or
puts herself between her person and an attacker and dies. The same scenario
happens on an energy level daily although the humans involved may never be aware
of it. The cat in a troubled family may manifest her guardian’s cancer, clearing
the human’s aura and taking the dis-ease into her own body. Emotional level
healing includes helping the pet to release the negative energy and emotions she
has absorbed from her household, and having her own needs met in that household.
(page 4)
This is my favorite book for dog healing. I refer to it a lot. Some of its advice even works for humans!
Friday, January 4, 2008
Two jingle collars
Winston with his first jingle collar in 2001
Winston now has a choice of jingle collars. When we woke up Christmas morning, we discovered a gift for Winston hanging on our front doorknob. It was a jingle collar from our housekeeper.
He got his first jingle collar in 2001 from my parents.
Now I let him choose which one he wants to wear. Of course, he likes the new one.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Last Legs
From Dec. 21, 2007
For the first time I really understand the phrase, “He’s on his last legs.” Winston’s hind legs (and whole hind end) are no longer functioning properly. He gets up with tremendous effort using mostly his front legs. His hind feet kind of drag when he walks. Sometimes he curls his paw under and stands on the wrong side of his toes. His hind legs collapse under him if he gets bumped or -- as still happens -- if he gets excited and starts dancing in a circle. Then he becomes like a whirling dervish, spinning around with his muscular front legs while his butt stays on the floor.
Winston is definitely a “senior” dog with age-related health problems. Almost every day brings a new loss. Today when we let him out he started peeing on the porch as he walked to the grass -- he couldn’t hold it any longer. And when he stopped to pee on a walk, he kept peeing even after he started walking again, as if he couldn’t stop. None of this ever happened before.
My friend Deb came and brought the Christmas tree -- and great joy! We were all glad to see her, including Winston. But once again he wasn’t his usual patient gentle self. When he kissed her, she cried out in pain because somehow he caught his tooth on her lip. (It didn’t draw blood.) And when we posed for a photo with me holding a dog biscuit, it didn’t create his usual “cute look,” but rather a crazed expression that made me fear he would snap at me, so I quickly gave it to him.
Deb and I walked Winston around the neighborhood. I haven’t been strong enough to do that with them… ever since I met Deb almost 6 years ago. It was either Deb and Winston or Deb pushing me in the wheelchair.
It’s hard to accept that as I get stronger, Winston gets weaker, that our paths are diverging. It doesn’t seem fair that he stayed home with me for so many years while I slowly regained the ability to walk, and now that I am strong enough to walk him, it’s almost too late for Winston. It doesn’t seem fair that he had wait behind in the house, howling, while I took short walks until I was strong enough to hold him on the leash again. I promised him that I was doing it so I could get strong enough for us to walk together again. The dream of walking Winston again is part of what inspired me to keep trying to heal, against the odds and despite the difficulties.
Well, at least I did start walking Winston again this summer -- beginning on July 12, to be exact. So we have this special time together in his elder years.
Deb watched him walking today and judged that he is not in pain, but that there is nerve damage due to hip dysplasia. She has a lot of wisdom from years of working with dogs.
“For your sake, I wish he could keep going forever,” she said. “The thing to remember now is that he had a great life.”
“Yes, we had lots of adventures together. And even when we weren’t having adventures, we were together almost all the time.”
“That’s the main thing,” Deb said.
For the first time I really understand the phrase, “He’s on his last legs.” Winston’s hind legs (and whole hind end) are no longer functioning properly. He gets up with tremendous effort using mostly his front legs. His hind feet kind of drag when he walks. Sometimes he curls his paw under and stands on the wrong side of his toes. His hind legs collapse under him if he gets bumped or -- as still happens -- if he gets excited and starts dancing in a circle. Then he becomes like a whirling dervish, spinning around with his muscular front legs while his butt stays on the floor.
Winston is definitely a “senior” dog with age-related health problems. Almost every day brings a new loss. Today when we let him out he started peeing on the porch as he walked to the grass -- he couldn’t hold it any longer. And when he stopped to pee on a walk, he kept peeing even after he started walking again, as if he couldn’t stop. None of this ever happened before.
My friend Deb came and brought the Christmas tree -- and great joy! We were all glad to see her, including Winston. But once again he wasn’t his usual patient gentle self. When he kissed her, she cried out in pain because somehow he caught his tooth on her lip. (It didn’t draw blood.) And when we posed for a photo with me holding a dog biscuit, it didn’t create his usual “cute look,” but rather a crazed expression that made me fear he would snap at me, so I quickly gave it to him.
Deb and I walked Winston around the neighborhood. I haven’t been strong enough to do that with them… ever since I met Deb almost 6 years ago. It was either Deb and Winston or Deb pushing me in the wheelchair.
It’s hard to accept that as I get stronger, Winston gets weaker, that our paths are diverging. It doesn’t seem fair that he stayed home with me for so many years while I slowly regained the ability to walk, and now that I am strong enough to walk him, it’s almost too late for Winston. It doesn’t seem fair that he had wait behind in the house, howling, while I took short walks until I was strong enough to hold him on the leash again. I promised him that I was doing it so I could get strong enough for us to walk together again. The dream of walking Winston again is part of what inspired me to keep trying to heal, against the odds and despite the difficulties.
Well, at least I did start walking Winston again this summer -- beginning on July 12, to be exact. So we have this special time together in his elder years.
Deb watched him walking today and judged that he is not in pain, but that there is nerve damage due to hip dysplasia. She has a lot of wisdom from years of working with dogs.
“For your sake, I wish he could keep going forever,” she said. “The thing to remember now is that he had a great life.”
“Yes, we had lots of adventures together. And even when we weren’t having adventures, we were together almost all the time.”
“That’s the main thing,” Deb said.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Senior dog on pain meds
from Dec. 17, 2007
We took Winston to the vet who prescribed Rimadyl for his arthritis pain and hip dysplasia. We started Winston on Rimadyl on Saturday night, Dec. 15 -- half a pill instead of a whole one because I think they tend to make the doses too high. He certainly seemed to be feeling less pain. It was great when he got up to be petted when I woke up. But not so great at dinnertime when he overdid.
Our usual routine is for me to go out in the backyard with him and be a cheerleader while he runs around the edge of the yard 6 times: “Go, go, go! All the way! One more time! Last time! Let’s go eat!”
The vet had told me not to make him run anymore, but just to walk him. For the last month or so he didn’t run no matter how much I cheered, but it did encourage him to walk around the yard. Loaded with pain meds, Winston WANTED to run. Without any encouragement from me, he dashed around the yard 4 times. The sound of his footsteps was off, like two legs and a stump. He must have been running with his 2 hind feet together. He came in and ate really fast. He had a crazed look in his eye as he stumbled some on his hind legs. Perhaps he was thinking, “My legs don’t hurt, but they don’t work, either.”
He rested few minutes, then heard me chopping a tomato and came for a handout as he often does. I held a piece out for him. He always takes it gently, but for the first time ever he snapped at me, biting down on my fingers til it hurt as he took the treat. I’ve never felt afraid of Winston until then. I scolded him and he didn’t even look guilty, just dazed.
After he rested an hour he seemed back to normal -- that is, the new normal of slow, stiff movement. But I didn’t feel normal inside. It upset me to think that Winston’s running days may be over. “Winston has to get used to the fact that he’s crippled -- and so do we,” Andre said.
I’m not used to it and I haven’t given up yet. I had nightmares about it and I kept hearing the disturbing sound of his offbeat footsteps in my dreams.
We took Winston to the vet who prescribed Rimadyl for his arthritis pain and hip dysplasia. We started Winston on Rimadyl on Saturday night, Dec. 15 -- half a pill instead of a whole one because I think they tend to make the doses too high. He certainly seemed to be feeling less pain. It was great when he got up to be petted when I woke up. But not so great at dinnertime when he overdid.
Our usual routine is for me to go out in the backyard with him and be a cheerleader while he runs around the edge of the yard 6 times: “Go, go, go! All the way! One more time! Last time! Let’s go eat!”
The vet had told me not to make him run anymore, but just to walk him. For the last month or so he didn’t run no matter how much I cheered, but it did encourage him to walk around the yard. Loaded with pain meds, Winston WANTED to run. Without any encouragement from me, he dashed around the yard 4 times. The sound of his footsteps was off, like two legs and a stump. He must have been running with his 2 hind feet together. He came in and ate really fast. He had a crazed look in his eye as he stumbled some on his hind legs. Perhaps he was thinking, “My legs don’t hurt, but they don’t work, either.”
He rested few minutes, then heard me chopping a tomato and came for a handout as he often does. I held a piece out for him. He always takes it gently, but for the first time ever he snapped at me, biting down on my fingers til it hurt as he took the treat. I’ve never felt afraid of Winston until then. I scolded him and he didn’t even look guilty, just dazed.
After he rested an hour he seemed back to normal -- that is, the new normal of slow, stiff movement. But I didn’t feel normal inside. It upset me to think that Winston’s running days may be over. “Winston has to get used to the fact that he’s crippled -- and so do we,” Andre said.
I’m not used to it and I haven’t given up yet. I had nightmares about it and I kept hearing the disturbing sound of his offbeat footsteps in my dreams.
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