Goodbye to Simcha

Today marked two weeks since Simcha's diagnosis with an oral cancer. At his last visit, we had decided to spare him his regular shots, but we had started to treat him for hookworms. Immediately following his diagnosis we noticed that he had developed a mild discharge in his right eye. This past week, the right side of his face became swollen. At times blood was visible on his tongue. Still, he was his usual playful self and he appeared to be eating normally. Today he was to receive the second dose of wormer. Simcha was happy to be going out with me. He smiled broadly as we drove toward the vet's office.

I took my camera to the doctor's office in order to record the growth of his tumor. I could have photographed it at home as I did two weeks ago, but I did not want to cause him any unnecessary discomfort. As it turned out, the vet was unable to get Simcha to open his mouth without resorting to sedation.

The doc instilled the wormer paste into the unaffected side of the dog's mouth. I asked again for a run-down on the sort of pain that the progression of Simcha's cancer could be expected to produce. Dr. Grisoli said to expect continued swelling, difficulty eating, possible drooling, and probably incursion of the tumor into the orbit of the eye. Simcha's upper jaw might fracture.

I told the vet that if it were time to euthanize Simcha, I was prepared to do so. I said that every time I looked into his swollen face, I was reminded that it would soon be necessary and that Simcha would soon be in pain (if he were not already.) Still, I did not want to steal from him any happy time that was rightfully his. It would not be right to euthanize my dog today just to prevent MY sad feelings when I look at him. The vet responded that it was important to consider the effect that the dog's illness was having on my family, and that weighing that effect was reasonable and appropriate, but I insisted that only Simcha's needs mattered. The rest of us would have plenty of time to heal.

When I asked how soon he wanted Simcha to return for follow-up, he said to return in a week. The following week would be the Fourth of July, and clinic hours everywhere would be disrupted. It would be a shame to have difficulty contacting a vet should the dog's condition worsen suddenly. If he expected Simcha's status to deteriorate that quickly...

Simcha had already lost two lbs. since his weigh-in two weeks ago (to the extent that we can trust the doctor's scale). The lesion was painful enough that we could photograph it only from the outside with his lip raised. Separating the dog's jaws had already become impossible. I chose to euthanize today. The doctor left the room to give me time with Simcha and "to get the injection." I was disturbed to hear him mention only one injection, as my other dogs had been euthanized in a gentle, two-step process, involving a comforting tranquilizer followed some minutes later by the euthanasia drug itself. I assumed that the vet had simply misspoken.

I was disappointed when the doctor insisted on placing Simcha back up on the stainless steel table in order to admininister the shot into the dog's right front leg. The doc and one or two techs held him still. Simcha was frightened up there and I tried to comfort him, telling him he would soon be happy and relaxed. By the time the syringe was nearly emptied, Simcha's tongue has started to protrude from his muzzle. He was unconscious, and his heart stopped within a minute. There had been no time to console myself that he was enjoying a brief respite of pain-free relaxation, falling asleep as I spoke words of love into his face. He went from terror to GONE.

Never again will I allow one of my animals to be euthanized this way.

Simcha Has an Oral Cancer

Simcha, my sweet, submissive omega dog, is a Golden mix who may have some Finnish Spitz in him. My Golden Retriever rescue organization discovered him at the LA/SPCA, where he had been returned for running away. He was estimated to be seven years of age. We did not have sufficient foster homes at the time, so Simba--as he was called then--was placed in a family-run kennel where he stayed for an expensive and agonizing eighteen months. He was in an outdoor kennel but relished human attention, especially when he was bathed and brushed. Charmed by his submissiveness, I repeatedly featured him as Dog of the Month, but sadly, no one wanted to adopt a mixed-breed dog who they mistakenly thought might have some Chow Chow in him. When Old Gold Rescue shut down, there was no alternative but to bring him to my house.

Although he appeared to be in perfect health, Simcha was found to have a growth on his foot and one on his flank. The one on his flank appeared to be a mast cell tumor. Dr. Stone was able to excise them both, pleased at the clean margins he was able to obtain.

Despite having lived in an outdoor kennel for so long, Simcha made the transition to indoor living (with a doggie door) without a hitch. He joined a pack dominated by alpha male Elliot and a group of older spayed female dogs. His unusual tangle-free coat and semi-prick ears made him a particularly easy keeper. From the first, other dogs have pushed him around, but he has never lost his puppy-like smile and his easygoing disposition. Always the last one to be fed, Simcha bounces his front feet around in a happy dance without moving his rear feet, as he waits for his bowl to be placed before him. He conveys a sense of being appreciative.

Simcha has a relatively mild case of storm anxiety. Whenever there is thunder, he crawls under furniture, burying his head, trembling. He responds well to being placed in an Anxiety Wrap. Even during benign weather, he enjoys sleeping on the foot of my bed.

Simcha's only vice is to run away whenever he can squeeze through the laundry room door. He absolutely adores to play "Keep Away" and it is typically impossible to lure him to return. Sometimes he will tease us, coming very close, only to dash away again. Fortunately, we can trust him to return to our carport after about 40 minutes of cruising. (He was already neutered when we first encountered him, so at least we know he is not out impregnating dogs when he escapes.)

Simcha was due for his annual vaccinations when Katrina disrupted our lives. All the other dogs are up-to-date on their shots. When my Wednesday mornings opened up, I was finally able to take Simcha to Dr. Grisoli. I was especially relieved to do so, because Simcha's breath has recently become foul. I figured that the worst that would happen is that he would need a tooth pulled, which is not a big threat for a 10- to 11-year-old dog in good health.

At first glance, the vet agreed that he needed an extraction: one of his upper right pre-molars appeared loose and his gums were badly inflamed. However, upon further examination, it became clear that he has a lesion 4-5 cm across on the roof of his mouth. The center part of it is gray, necrotic (dead) tissue. Both of the vets in the office looked at Simcha's palate and decreed that it was clearly an aggressive cancer. It was obvious that any surgery that removed the offending tissue would leave him with little intact hard palate. He would also lose several upper teeth. Even if oral surgical wounds heal quickly, it would clearly be painful and make eating difficult.

Already the lesion seemed large enough that radiation seemed an unlikely option--and I lamented that I only had one day off per week if Simcha required regular trips for radiation treatment. It seemed like it would be gentler to spare him what would be mutilating and ineffective surgery, and to simply monitor the growth of his cancer, opting for euthanasia when he is unable to eat or is otherwise significantly uncomfortable. Poor Simcha--more than a year in a kennel and now attacked even within the safety of my home! Such a sweet dog does not deserve such a fate. It is now my responsibility to make his final months as fulfilling as possible.

Hurricane Season Returns

Life has settled into a generally pleasant routine here. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to working full-time, in that it is so hard to keep up with family and dog medical responsibilities, keep up with shopping, etc. But I truly love working as a pet training instructor. I haven’t pursued using any of my dogs as a training demo dog, as the bosses started being more stringent about my keeping the dog in a crate whenever I’m not teaching, which would not be fair to a dog who has come to the store to be with me. But I get kisses every day from some of the sweetest dogs in the world, and my doggie students adore me because they associate me with treats, fun and new friends to play with.

It’s somewhat of a relief that it’s already hurricane season and we haven’t evacuated yet. Looking ahead to hurricane season had been very depressing for everyone around here. The store is stocking up on obscene numbers of pet crates and carriers, and people who would otherwise have never considered crate training are buying them. For a couple months I have been saying, “If we have to evacuate again, let’s just move. I can’t live like this.” Many times a day I mentally rehearse what I would need to pack if we evacuate. It’s not something that I am doing on purpose in order to prepare; it just comes naturally. And after what happened, the implicit assumption is that there WILL be damage, so that one wants to pack EVERYTHING of sentimental value, however trivial. I rehearse and rehearse, but on some level I know that I would give up before packing all the things that I really want to protect. No one has enough giant foot lockers to pack up all the photos, old letters, yearbooks, doll/watch/stamp collections, pet supplies, computer equipment and electronics, etc. It ends up being neither comforting nor practical to play these mental games.

I felt like I was just meant to adopt Butter and Cinnamon after Katrina, and their integration into the household has been easy. In retrospect, however, I realize that their addition will make evacuation (and moving if necessary) significantly more difficult than it was before. Four dogs in a motel room was pushing it, but six is unthinkable. From now on our family will need two motel rooms each night. At least I am no longer caring for my friend’s parakeet, and I found the misplaced small pet carrier that could take the place of one large birdcage, so the birds will be easier to transport. See? I’m still rehearsing evacuation plans in my head! It’s endless.

My daughter is now almost thirteen. Now that she is in a less-demanding public school, she is not required to attend summer school. She is attending day camp for a few weeks, and in mid-July will leave for a month of overnight camp in Utica, MS. There is a fair amount of shopping and labeling that needs to be done to prepare her for that, and I don’t know how it will get done. She is also preparing for her bat mitzvah which is to be held over Labor Day weekend. We have to plan a big reception, and I am stymied as how to go about it. My first fantasy was a dolphin-themed one, but the Aquarium of the Americas is available for rental at prices more suited to a year’s college tuition than a thirteen-year-old’s one-night party. Kate is now saying she wants a fiesta, but I don’t know how we can serve Mexican food and manage to prepare it in a way that it will be kosher. How can you make Mexican food without using pork or mixing meet and cheese?

The summer before Katrina we redecorated our family room, buying a beautiful rust-colored microfiber suede sofa and new area rug. Within a an hour or two of our laying down the rug, one of the dogs vomited on it. Okay, that’s what Simple Solution is for--not to worry. But Butterball, the Golden that we took in because she had hospitalized a toddler, has taken to lying on that sofa everyday—and after she drools on it, she likes to open the cushions and spread feathers throughout the room. She has done this over and over, making incisions all the way across the pillows so there is no way to hide the damage. She destroyed both of the major back cushions and just has started on the two smaller ones. It’s too late to save the sofa, but before she starts moving on to other furniture, I finally have to nip this in the bud. Today the Scat Mat goes onto the sofa. I have never used shock on any of my dogs before, but Butter is driving me to desperate measures. Right after I bought the Scat Mat, I tried it on the kitchen counter, setting it at the medium setting recommended by the manufacturer for large dogs. Although I tested it on myself, I knew for certain that it wasn’t too horrible when Kate tried it on herself a second time.

I don’t approve of the eagerness with which I listened for Butter’s reaction; it was creepy to see that in myself. (I think that people often resort to punishing methods for less-than-honorable reasons.) Finally I could tell when Butter jumped up because of the scampering noise of her back feet on the Pergo-covered floor. But it was one-trial learning: Butter didn’t need a second experience to decide she was no longer going to jump up along that part of the kitchen counter. I hope that the Scat Mat is equally effective on the sofa. It‘s too bad that the sofa will now be off-limits to all the dogs, but no one else was using it. anyway.

Well, I spoke too soon. When I got home Kate and Cinnamon were sprawled on the sofa together—a sight I’d not seen before. Kate said that she had shocked herself sitting down on the sofa. I suspect that she did so more than once!