Max
It’s been a rough two weeks for us. Last week we had to say goodbye to our 13 year old dog, Tessa. This week, I had to go with our friend Julie to send her 10 year old Chocolate Lab over the Rainbow Bridge.
We’ve known Max for 8 years. Julie got him when he was two.
Big, rambunctious guy, ball mad, food mad, with the friendliest disposition ever. I do not recall ever seeing Max mad, or lifting his lip. He was always goofy and happy to see his friends, and always ready to chase after a ball (or two). He would happily grab a ball then scoop up a second one in his oversized mouth.
A few months ago, Max went galloping down the stone steps from the veranda to the garden, He did a bad misstep and clobbered one of his back feet. Julie took him to the vet and they checked it, and decided he had hit his one toe really hard, he went on antibiotics and anti-inflammatories. After having a consistently lame foot for several months, poor Max was diagnosed with cancer in one of his rear legs. The were unable to pinpoint exactly what type of cancer it was, but the overwhelming opinion seemed to be that the entire leg should be removed, to stave off the spread of the disease.
They could not say how long he would live pain-free after such an operation. 1 month, 6 months, a year, longer. It would depend on if the cancer cells had gotten into other parts of his body, and how fast spreading they were. The X-rays and Ultrasound seemed to indicate it was still localized, so the vets felt amputation was the best plan.
Someone recommended going to an animal Oncologist. This proved to frustrate and confuse Julie since this guy was against the operation and wanted instead to treat Max with Chemotherapy. This option did not appeal to Julie.
Around this time, Max stopped limping and seemed to improve considerably. He was back to his usual goofy self, chasing after balls and running around getting into stuff. Julie was thrilled, willing to take whatever she could. For the next two months, Max would stop limping completely, then would get somewhat lame, and then the foot would really flare up, the bump would burst and bleed and they would treat it with antibiotics. Then he would go back to being fine. Julie wondered if they had made a mistake, maybe it wasn’t cancer after all.
In mid-February, Max got worse. His bad foot swelled up, he was refusing to put any weight on it. The vet gave him painkillers and anti-flammatories to keep him comfortable. Some days he refused to go for a walk. Julie was becoming more and more upset. Not wanting to face the inevitable decision, she was grasping at straws. She tried anti-cancer foods. Max had no problem consuming whatever she put in front of him. He continued to have really bad days, then more or less okay days.
Several days ago Max came and stood in Julie’s bedroom door, panting. She thought he wanted to go out. They went downstairs, but he didn’t really want to go out. He just stood there and panted.
I came by to see Max, and noticed that his bad foot was swollen up to twice it’s normal size. He was clearly very uncomfortable, stress panting and trying to find a better way to sit or lie. I took Julie and Max to the vet — the vet was clearly upset and laid it on the line., Julie could still opt for the leg amputation which might give Max a little while longer, or she would have to make the decision to put him to sleep. His suffering was acute and must not continue. The vet said they could operate on the following Tuesday if that was the choice. She gave Max another round of anti-inflammatories and a booster painkiller to get him through the next few days. Julie was asked to make a decision over the weekend.
Over the weekend, Julie had three of her grandchildren staying over, and she said the visit seemed to cheer Max up, and he seemed more comfortable. She had discussed the options with her family and was still vaccillating. She felt that it would be worth the expense of the operation just to have Max around even for a short time. The biggest argument against this plan was that there was no guarantee as to the length of time Max would get. The other argument against it was the discomfort and recovery time for Max,
Monday, the foot had swollen up more and the sore spot had burst again. Later, surprisingly Max asked to go for a walk and they had a lovely long walk through our local park. When they got back Max was exhausted and could barely make it up the 6 steps to the kitchen.
Julie called me, very choked up and said she had decided to release Max. We would go to the vet at 5. It was an emotional goodbye. Max finally succumbed to the pre-shot, I thought he seemed anxious, wondering what the H was going on. His eyes a bit unfocussed, somewhat reassured by us being close beside him and patting him, but still confused. When they gave him the final shot, he left us with a slight sigh, ever so gently, lying so quietly, looking peacefully asleep.
Impossible to hand out advice in a case like this. The relationship between a dog and his guardian is unique. Max adored Julie. He and I were good friends, and he was always glad to see me, but if she left the room, his eyes would follow her anxiously and he would only relax when she returned. Julie, for her part was really bonded to Max. She is a gentle and yielding soul, but where Max was concerned, Julie could get very firm and obstinate.
I think that releasing Max was the kindest thing Julie could possibly have done, although right now she is really hurting and really missing him. R.I.P. my big, goofy buddy!
Note: we were lucky enough to get these photos of Max and Julie a few months ago, right after he was diagnosed. He looks so fine and healthy, and did right up until the end, no wonder it was so hard to believe how ill he really was.
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