R.I.P.

This picture was taken on Monday.



The vet gave him two to six months. He took a few more.

It's been a hard year.

When I let him out on Sunday, he lay down in the back yard and had a look in his eyes that said "I'm never getting up again."

There was a scene in Little Big Man where Old Lodge Skins (Chief Dan George) says "It is a good day to die" and lies down in the to die, but nothing happens. "Sometimes the magic works; sometimes it doesn't."

That time, it didn't.

And eventually he got up and came in the house.

But I knew it was time, and on Monday I called the vet and made an appointment for Tuesday afternoon. I took the day off work on Tuesday.

Tuesday was a very long day. He hadn't been eating much for the past couple weeks, and he hadn't eaten anything since Friday. But that didn't stop him from throwing up whatever was left in his stomach, nor did the fact that nothing was left in his stomach stop him. And it was strangely vocalized; it was a human sort of sound that I've never heard from a dog before.

On Sunday, I tried to pick him up and bring him into the house. He growled at me like he'd never growled at me before, and I put him down and let him be until he was ready to come in on his own. On Tuesday, when it was time, he didn't seem to care anymore. He didn't react at all when the vet stuck the needle in.

It was the hardest thing I ever did.

Is that nasty, or what?

You may remember that my dog has cancer. More specifically, it was a skin cancer in the nail bed that metastasized and spread to his lungs. He was going to have his toe cut off, but when the x-rays showed that one lung was pretty much gone, the vet recommended against it.

I'm posting this so that if anyone else finds him or her self in a similar position, he or she will go ahead and whack off the toe. It's been a constant source of pain for him, and now it looks like this:

He still hasn't told me that he wants his life to be over, but I think it's getting pretty close. Closer than it might have been if all he had to worry about was a bit of trouble breathing.

Baby

This is my dog. His name is baby. I don't know why we named him that. I guess someone thought it was funny at the time.



Anyway, few weeks ago, Baby started limping around. I thought he'd cut his paw or something, but when it didn't seem to be getting better, I took him to the vet. The nail bed was infected, so the vet cleaned it out, wrapped it up, and gave me a pain killer and some antibiotics. After a few days, it seemed to be all better.

Then a week or so later, he started limping around again. I took him back to the vet, and this time he removed the claw and took a tissue sample to have it analyzed. A couple days later, he called and said that it was squamous cell carcinoma, which, apparently, is something that Rottweilers are prone to get. Assuming it's caught early enough, the treatment is to remove the digit.

I took him in this morning for the operation along with x-rays and a needle biopsy of the lymph nodes to make sure the cancer hadn't spread. Unfortunately, the dog came home with all his toes intact.

Here's why:



A healthy lung shows black on an x-ray (presumably because there's nothing in it but air). This is a low quality cell phone picture, but that's still pretty much what the x-ray looked like--one lung riddled with cancer.

The vet said he's got maybe two months, maybe six months, and there's really nothing left to do but try to make him as comfortable as possible and treat the pain.

I never wanted a dog. My ex- brought him home about seven years ago, and he stayed when she left. But apart from his annoying tendency to take himself for walks when I was too busy or too tired or whatever (which has resulted in a couple run-ins with the dog catcher), he's been a pretty darned good dog. I really had no idea how attached I'd become to him. I'm sure going to miss him.

Beggin'® Strips vs. Milk Bones®

In case anyone was wondering, given the choice, the Rottweiler picks Milk Bones® over Beggin'® Strips every time. And it's not even a close call. He'll drop the Beggin'® Strip if he thinks there's even a possibility that he'll get a Milk Bone®. So don't waste your money on the more expensive (and seemingly more attractive) doggie treat.

But, of course, he'll pick hard-boiled eggs over either, and genuine pig ears are preferred over anything and everything.

The Roomba versus the Rottweiler

This is a Roomba:



This is a Rottweiler:



This is not my Roomba, nor is it my Rottweiler; they're pictures I got from Google Images. But that is what my Roomba and my Rottweiler look like. He's a damned handsome dog. And it's not a bad looking vacuum cleaner.

You are no doubt wondering what they have in common, apart from their good looks. And the answer to that is "the kitchen."

Rottweilers shed a considerable quantity of hair and also tend to track in dirt. And since the Rott lives in the kitchen, that's where it accumulates.

The Roomba is a robotic vacuum cleaner designed to pick up such things as dirt and dog hair.

Obviously, a match made in heaven.

Or not.

It seemed to me like a good idea to let the Roomba sweep the kitchen floor. The dogs weren't so sure about that. (I say "dogs" plural because there's also my ex-wife's Toy Poodle Pomeranian mix that also lives in the kitchen for the time being.)

So I started the thing going and left it. I checked in now and then, and the dogs were just avoiding it. When it approached, they moved. No problem.

But then they started barking at it. The Rott's as mild-mannered as Clark Kent, so I suspect the yappy little punting dog was the instigator. But whichever it was, it prompted me to divide the room into their part and the Roomba's part. Problem solved, I thought.

But then the barking started again. I ignored it at first, but when it didn't stop, I got annoyed.

So I went into the kitchen to quiet things down, and when I opened the door, it looked like Freddy Krueger had paid a visit. This is what Freddy Krueger looks like:



There was blood spattered everywhere, one no longer vacuuming robotic vacuum cleaner, and one Rottweiler licking his paw. I wish I'd had a working camera so I could post a picture.

In the end, there was no harm done to the Roomba and it started right up again when I pressed the start button, but the victory goes to the Rott. And the big looser was me, who spent way more time cleaning up the blood than I ever would have sweeping the floor. No more Roomba in the kitchen.