The Day I Lost My Boy...
Like any other day, we got up and I went downstairs to see what surprises Pedro had left me during the night. He had been suffering with incontinence lately as a result of the steroids, but this morning there was nothing. At first, I didn't think much of it, but then I realised that this was the second morning in a row. Prior to this, it had been pretty much every morning without fail. He waited for me at the top of the stairs as usual, peering around the corner, waiting for me to call him or decide whether it was worth his while coming downstairs. But this morning, he didn't come when I called him. In fact, he stood and stared at me, not in his usual inquisitive and defiant way, but with his head down and looking sullen.
I went upstairs, carried him down and placed him gently on the grey laminate floor. Then I went back to the living room. Sure enough, I could hear the 'tap, tap, tap' of his paws on the floor behind me as he trundled along, but today they were slower and less energetic. At this point, I just put it down to 'another rough day' in his battle with multicentric lymphoma and pancreatitis. Even now, I wish this had been all it turned out to be.
It was my day off, and I'd decided that we were going to visit my mum and Kevin for brunch before heading over to Skipton to see Andrew. Everything went according to plan. Even though Pedro was slower and more lethargic than usual, he still managed to stare at my slice of toast on the way out of the door, trotting across the road and getting into the car. So all was well; nothing to worry about, or not much anyway. However, upon arrival at my mum's house, where he usually dashes for the ginnel and the freedom of the fields, today he only made it as far as the end, had a wee, and showed no interest in roaming free as he usually did. So we turned around and went back to the house.
We tried to sneak in without 'Screaming Mi' (Mia) noticing us. We made it as far as the porch before she hurled herself at the door. She jumped up and down excitedly at seeing her best friend and me in second place. However, when she went to greet Pedro, she was different. She didn't jump all over him like she usually did. Instead, she stopped, sniffed his head and licked him before racing back into the living room. After that, she left him alone, which was uncharacteristic.
Pedro spent most of the time in the doughnut basket — if you can imagine a furry doughnut, then you're halfway there — and only moved to walk to the water bowl. He wasn't interested in food at this point, but we did manage to get a few small pieces of chicken down him, which also contained his probiotics and steroids. He appeared to be in pain while eating and only opened his mouth slightly to take the food. This indicated that the lymph nodes in his mandible were causing him a great deal of pain, preventing him from opening his mouth wide enough to grab whatever treats or offerings were given to him. Today, he was more like a church mouse taking the last few crumbs than a hungry hippo.
After finishing brunch and saying goodbye, we made a quick stop to drop off some orange curd at Alex's before heading to Skipton. Pedro happily got out of the car and walked up the street to Alex's front door. However, he had to be lifted over the front step as he wouldn't jump up like he normally did.
When it was time to leave, he refused to move from his spot on the floor. Even now, I wonder if he was saying, 'No, I know what's happening, and I'm staying put'. Nevertheless, I carried him out and back down to the car. At this point, however, I had a feeling that today was going to be a particularly rough day. Of course, you always think things like 'how long have I got?' and 'how far is the cancer spreading?', but the vets had given him a good review only seven days prior, saying that the steroids were working and that he was doing really well. There was a great remission, so we didn't think there was anything major to be concerned about. However, we had noticed that the lymph nodes had started to swell in the last few days and Pedro was struggling to breathe. Had the steroids stopped working? If so, that was fast — very fast.
Over the course of the afternoon he began to deteriorate so quickly, his breathing became laboured and he wasn't able to toilet - eat, keep food down, drink water or do anything apart from attempt to hide. Knowing what I know, dogs often attempt to hide when they are in distress, and it got to such a point that with his breathing it became very clear that if he didn't pass that evening - we would have to assess our options. It was heartbreaking to see your best friend, who only that morning was after your toast and trotting around outside your house reduced to such agony, it was becoming apparent that this was the start of the end.
