Our Girl Molly

Our girl Molly.

 The past two weeks have been traumatic for everyone involved.  It started when I noticed Molly had a red spot on her leg. We gave her a bath to be able to examine the site more carefully.  That was when we discovered a lump.  We called the vet and made an appointment to take her in the next day. With Molly’s medical history, we did not want to take any chances. I’m sorry to say it got much worse overnight. Her whole leg was swollen and things had gotten messy.

Because of Covid we were not allowed in the office with her, so the emergency vet didn’t have her record for some reason. Her first concern was the swelling in Molly’s leg so we had to explain she has been diagnosed with tumors in her stomach, her liver, and her adrenal gland.  The vet was not very encouraging that any treatment would help Molly, but we wanted to try.  She is still eating, drinking, and enjoying life.

After a lot of talking and again stressing the downside of treating her, she agreed to do what she could.  So, we brought Molly home with 5 different medications and an Elizabethan collar that makes it hard for us to get around.  If she wasn’t running into something with it, I was running into her.

Isn’t she a cutie?

A week later, we were back for a recheck.  Our regular vet was back and the tech that had seen her the week before was amazed at how healed the wound looked.  Sadly, the collar did nothing to protect her leg when slipping on the ice so she kept re-injuring the spot.  One of the suggestions they made was doggie pajamas. Who knew they even existed?

We ordered one to try which was delivered the next day.  It took two of us to get her into them, not because Molly resisted but because we couldn’t figure out the design. That must have been a sight.  Since we wrestled them on, they have protected her leg and kept her warm in these below zero days. And as you can see in the picture, she looks so cute in them that we decided she needed a whole wardrobe. 

I Am Not the Alpha.

My dogs are a little insane. Rescue dogs, they have terrible separation anxiety. If we go outside in the yard without taking them with us, they cry. Toby is afraid of lightening and thunder but also runs at the sound of a bag hitting the floor. Even in very warm weather, he prefers to sleep under blankets. And you can see how he is leaning from the top of the sofa to eat, despite the fact that there was plenty of room next to his bowl. And oh yeah, he won’t eat on the floor.

Molly will eat anything, anyway. She too is afraid of thunder and lightening, but even on a quiet day she stretches on the floor with her head under something. Always. Under. Something. She also manages to twist her body in crazy ways.

Crazy as they are, they are as lovable. They love to cuddle, seem to know when one of us isn’t feeling well, and are happy to come when called. I’m pretty sure they love me…but they love my partner more.

When they hurt or are scared, she is the one they cling to. I mean cling. Molly will walk so close to her, that Molly’s nose touches the back of her knee. Toby sleeps against her back, an unmovable object. I’m the second choice.

For instance, the other night it was raining pretty hard. Actually, it had been raining for several days, with intermittent thunder. My partner was in the basement organizing something. Trembling like a bridge in an earthquake, Toby sat on my lap staring at the basement door. Molly was laying on my feet. They both clearly knew they could find safety with me, but the second my partner came up the stairs, they leaped toward her.

She is also the Alpha. Okay, fine, I’m the Beta. When Molly, my constant eater, gets a hold of something she really shouldn’t have, I cannot get her to put it down. She’d rather swallow whatever it is whole before giving in to me. But a stern word from my partner and boom, she drops it and she’s off sulking and missing the leaf of kale she’d rescued from the floor or whatever it was.

It’s fine. As much as we both love them, she’s their primary caretaker. I wish I could be, but the unfortunate truth is I’m either working out of the house or slaving on the computer in my office. But they follow her around all day.

Okay, yes, I’m a little jealous.

But I’m working on it. I get plenty of kisses and snuggles. What more could I ask for?

A Sad Goodbye to My Darling Chloe

I am so sorry to have been away so long. It has been an unusual and stressful month—as I imagine you all have experienced. Mine started in early March. About two weeks before the world changed, my 16 year old puppy died. My Chloe.

One day, she began to cough and couldn’t stop. She also was having trouble catching her breath. A two day ordeal at the veterinary ER then hospital revealed she had developed pulmonary hypertension. She was unable to get enough oxygen into her body. They treated her with medication, put her in an oxygen filled kennel, and kept her comfortable. The prognosis early on was good. Since they’d figured out what was wrong, they knew how to treat it.

After a couple of days in the hospital, it was clear she wasn’t responding to the treatment. She continued to need oxygen. Just a few moments out of the enriched air she struggled to breathe. And she looked so tired. My usual feisty baby girl barely responded to my voice or my touch. The vet sadly told us that at this point, given her lack of response to the medication, Chloe would get much worse, suffering terribly. We made the only decision left to make.

It was horrible. I still can’t think of those moments without crying.

Chloe, claiming the box.

Chloe, headed somewhere.

She loved riding in the car.

Chloe in her element

The stinkier the smell, the better. Plus, itchy.

Food, glorious food.

Chloe looking for Toby’s leftovers.

The Siblings

Chloe, here with her little sister Molly and little brother Toby. There was no doubt who ruled the roost.

After this sad ordeal, there was barely time to grieve before the rest of the world turned on its head. But I’ll write more about that another day. In the meantime, remember your pets cannot transmit the COVID-19, #washyourhands, and #staysafe.

But She's Chloe

By this time in January, my partner and I have usually taken 1 or 2 mini vacations, seen lots of movies, and in general had big fun. Not this year.

Christmas evening, we returned home to find our Chloe laying in bed, still. She barely looked up at us. We were petrified. Despite being 14 years old, our Chloe (or Chlorine Baconskin, as we call her when trying to retrieve something she’s stolen) was an energetic, marauding thief who bosses her younger brother and sister (and us) around. The next day was no better. She also began to vomit. Off to the vet.

Bloodwork showed her liver enzymes were off the chart, immeasurably high. Her pancreatic enzymes were off as well. An ultrasound showed two masses—one on her liver and one by her pancreas. The doctors announced two possibilities: a serious infection or cancer.

No, that’s not possible. It’s Chloe, marauder extraordinaire.

We waited over a week for the results of the biopsy. Meanwhile, Chloe began to get better. More active. More bossy and complaining if supper was two minutes past the usual time. Finally, we got word that no sign of cancer or infection were found. Our primary vet, who has treated her for most of her life, warned us that the next step would likely entail more invasive procedures that would tax her already distressed liver.

Today, Chloe is her usual marauding self. Just this afternoon we discovered she’d hidden a box of tissues to rip into shreds as the mood arises. That’s why we’re staying home. To see that the girl is comfortable and happy. To keep tabs on her thievery. To get her dinner on time. And to make sure she knows she’s loved—Just because she’s Chloe.

My Chloe. Don't you just love her?