May 25
Fig is going to die soon. He weighs less than half what he weighed in September. He has diabetes, which means he cannot, without insulin shots (which he isn't getting), keep enough sugar in his bloodstream to keep his body alive. He has a heart malfunction called a murmur which means he can't pump enough blood through his lungs to keep them functioning well, so he coughs, but much more in the city than here. He has been hungry all the time because of the diabetes. But he stopped eating on Sunday. He even refuses the treats in which I used to put his pain medicine. Can he smell the medicine and does it taste yucky? I don't sense that he is in pain: I hope that he isn't. I understand now why some who care for old dogs don't put them down. They are waiting, hoping their loved one will die at home, or until they can say for sure: this is where it shall end. How can I tell? I have to wait until I know. Fig can't keep water down any more. This morning he is no longer walking. I carry him out to the lawn and I carry him back in. I took him to the stream in the baby sling and he stood and drank a bit, before collapsing into the water. I snuggled him back into the sling and brought him home.
Betty, our first dog, had cancer, which metastasized to her lungs and gave her pain. I had her put down. She was 12 years old and had lived a good life. We took Shy and Fig to her euthanizing so they would know she was gone. It seemed the right move. When Shy was seven she developed cancer which showed up suddenly. It was only two weeks before she stopped eating and I knew she should be put down. I could feel that she was wanting to go.
With Fig, I just don't know. If there wasn't a pandemic... If I was in Etobicoke where our vet is, whom Fig knows... So today I wait.
I will take the day off. I'll sit in the sun with Fig and not think about what I should do. If he was human, I would not have to decide. I would just wait. He is sleeping now. I have taken off his collar. He won't need it again.
Mumma Yaga
From Sunday: a robin in the rain. Well, mostly rain in the valley and a barely discernable robin on a fence post.
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