Our Creature Comforts
Our little Button, after the initial onset of whatever it was that ailed her, had another setback. She had been stricken by something muscular, a physical event that had somehow badly strained her back, leaving her almost helpless, unmoving, shuddering, and drained of energy.
We had immediately feared the worst, because she is, after all, fifteen years old, and although she has up until this time been the very best example of a small dog in the best of health, with energy to spare, we know her days with us are numbered.
At the same time, we're also aware that we may be fearing for her longevity prematurely. It isn't entirely unknown that small dogs can live for close to twenty years, so it's quite possible that we have another five years of emotional bonding with her left to us.
The day of her accident that had left her so drained - unable to do much of anything but rest, although she still ate well, and eliminated too, although she did leave us a gift in the dining room - we let her be. We eventually surmised that our habit of covering her with a little blanket at night might have led to an entanglement causing her to twist as she jumped down from her perch on our bedroom loveseat.
The following day, she appeared far more alert. Although still not herself, quite able to move about freely, and even venturing up the stairs on her own. So we thought we might risk a walk with her, in the ravine. And as things turned out, she did very well, so much so that halfway through our walk I had to put her harness on over her little coat, so I could use her leash, because she was hurrying along too strenuously.
On the next day, however, although she had slept through most of the day after breakfast, and we didn't set out for our walk until mid-afternoon, she had frozen, arched her back, and begun trembling violently again, fifteen minutes into our walk. Irving had to carry her, tucked into his jacket for additional warmth, for the following 40 minutes that completed our walk, during which time her trembling ceased and she seemed comfortable in his arms.
On Tuesday she slept soundly in the new padded and rimmed mat we had bought for her, placed before the dining room windows where any errant rays of sun could be expected to warm her. We stealthily dressed little Riley in his coat and made our way out to the ravine, banking on Button's hearing loss not to give us away. Sure enough, when we returned an hour later, she was still asleep, hadn't been aware of our absence.
Later, we bundled them both up for a little trip to the Sally Ann and browsed for infant sleepwear that I could convert into a nightshirt for her, and additional, light tops we could put under her winter coat. Afterward, I did the necessary alterations, and when she went to bed that night she was wearing a white fleecy nightshirt sleeves cut short and comfortable for her.
Like us, in our old age; we seek the comfort of warmth. Where once, not that very long ago, I would go out even on snowy days hatless, now I wear a snug wool hat for warmth, and as for Irving, he layers as many as three wool hats on his balding pate when we're out for a ravine walk.
And Button, who once objected strenuously, almost outraged at the indignity of having to wear a wool sweater in cold weather, has also changed. She seemed at one time to be almost embarrassed at the un-doglike imposition we imposed upon her, and she would attempt to dislodge a coat from her back. She now is most agreeable about being dressed in a body suit that she fully understands has the purpose of keeping her warm.
She is now her old self, fully recovered, full of piss and vinegar. Has been for a number of days. She walks with alacrity, skipping on her hind legs, as Poodles are so often wont to do, looking forward as usual to our daily ravine walks. Biddable about the two layers she now wears for warmth, as we do also with Riley.
So much so that she protests when they're taken off, once we're back in the house. Quite a change in her; another symptom of encroaching age and how, in our dotage, we so much appreciate our creature comforts.
We had immediately feared the worst, because she is, after all, fifteen years old, and although she has up until this time been the very best example of a small dog in the best of health, with energy to spare, we know her days with us are numbered.
At the same time, we're also aware that we may be fearing for her longevity prematurely. It isn't entirely unknown that small dogs can live for close to twenty years, so it's quite possible that we have another five years of emotional bonding with her left to us.
The day of her accident that had left her so drained - unable to do much of anything but rest, although she still ate well, and eliminated too, although she did leave us a gift in the dining room - we let her be. We eventually surmised that our habit of covering her with a little blanket at night might have led to an entanglement causing her to twist as she jumped down from her perch on our bedroom loveseat.
The following day, she appeared far more alert. Although still not herself, quite able to move about freely, and even venturing up the stairs on her own. So we thought we might risk a walk with her, in the ravine. And as things turned out, she did very well, so much so that halfway through our walk I had to put her harness on over her little coat, so I could use her leash, because she was hurrying along too strenuously.
On the next day, however, although she had slept through most of the day after breakfast, and we didn't set out for our walk until mid-afternoon, she had frozen, arched her back, and begun trembling violently again, fifteen minutes into our walk. Irving had to carry her, tucked into his jacket for additional warmth, for the following 40 minutes that completed our walk, during which time her trembling ceased and she seemed comfortable in his arms.
On Tuesday she slept soundly in the new padded and rimmed mat we had bought for her, placed before the dining room windows where any errant rays of sun could be expected to warm her. We stealthily dressed little Riley in his coat and made our way out to the ravine, banking on Button's hearing loss not to give us away. Sure enough, when we returned an hour later, she was still asleep, hadn't been aware of our absence.
Later, we bundled them both up for a little trip to the Sally Ann and browsed for infant sleepwear that I could convert into a nightshirt for her, and additional, light tops we could put under her winter coat. Afterward, I did the necessary alterations, and when she went to bed that night she was wearing a white fleecy nightshirt sleeves cut short and comfortable for her.
Like us, in our old age; we seek the comfort of warmth. Where once, not that very long ago, I would go out even on snowy days hatless, now I wear a snug wool hat for warmth, and as for Irving, he layers as many as three wool hats on his balding pate when we're out for a ravine walk.
And Button, who once objected strenuously, almost outraged at the indignity of having to wear a wool sweater in cold weather, has also changed. She seemed at one time to be almost embarrassed at the un-doglike imposition we imposed upon her, and she would attempt to dislodge a coat from her back. She now is most agreeable about being dressed in a body suit that she fully understands has the purpose of keeping her warm.
She is now her old self, fully recovered, full of piss and vinegar. Has been for a number of days. She walks with alacrity, skipping on her hind legs, as Poodles are so often wont to do, looking forward as usual to our daily ravine walks. Biddable about the two layers she now wears for warmth, as we do also with Riley.
So much so that she protests when they're taken off, once we're back in the house. Quite a change in her; another symptom of encroaching age and how, in our dotage, we so much appreciate our creature comforts.
Labels: Companions, Perambulations, Personally Dedicated
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