Having a senior dog is much like having a puppy. They both need constant care and attention.
We can no longer leave Dolce alone for any significant amount of time.
When we would be gone for shorter periods of time, we would leave Dolce inside. However, if we were going to be gone for any length of time, we would leave her out on the back deck.
In her dotage, Dolce no longer goes up or down the stairs from the deck to the yard. I am fine with that, as there are places in our yard where a small dog can get into, but would have a hard time getting out of. It's not that we have a huge yard, or a dangerous yard, but for an elderly, small dog there are a few spots to which I would rather she not have access.
This meant that, when we would be gone for a time, we would leave Dolce out on the back deck. She would do "her business" on there, but it wasn't anything that couldn't be dealt with once we returned home. It wasn't ideal, but it wasn't bad either.
It worked.
Until it didn't.
This past fall, Mark and I were going to be gone all evening. Back to back soccer games. Put Dolce out on the back deck. Came home hours later to find her whimpering, because she was "stuck" under the bar-b-q grill. Now, to be honest, she wasn't stuck. If she was a young pup, she would have simply backed right on out, but at her age, and in her state, as far as she knew, she was stuck. I felt horrible. I had no idea how long she had been like that.
Mark moved the grill off the deck.
Again, not ideal, but it worked, and Dolce's safety comes first.
So.... we left her on the back deck again. No grill. No problem.
Right?
Wrong!!
We get home that night, and, once again, she is stuck and whimpering. She has her head stuck between the slats of the decking. Again, she is not honestly stuck. I had zero issues pulling her little head through, but, as far as she was concerned, as far as she knew, she was stuck.
OK. No more leaving her outside. Period.
(At least the grill could get its place back.)
That also means we cannot both be gone for too many hours at a time. We figure, if she potties right before we leave, we have a four, maybe five, hour window.
Which is why, when Mark went to visit family in Connecticut, Dolce got to spend her days at the liquor store. Many customers wanted to "see her". She would be sleeping, and they would pet her and wake her, because they didn't want to see a sleeping dog, they wanted to see her little face and interact with her. (She was NOT a fan.)
Then we come to this weekend.
It has not been fun.
One of the things I do to try to keep Dolce a bit active is taking her outside. I won't let her go too long unsupervised, but I put her in the grass, and she walks around the yard. Mark says, "She's getting her steps in." She just walks, walks, walks all around the yard. I sit on the porch and pet Ray. Or water plants. Or read. Or play on my phone. And let her walk. Sometimes I will even be attempting to get something done in the house while she is out there. She never goes far, and she is definitely not fast, so if I check on her constantly and consistently, it should all be good.
Right?
Wrong!
Friday night my poor little seventeen year old, ten pound puppy starts throwing up. It was one of our exciting Friday nights where we were home watching TV. Dolce was beside me in the recliner. She does this low barking growl, and then she .... vomits. Mark and I are both all "What the hey??" I grab her, and we go outside. She now seems as though her body wants to throw up, but it's more dry heaves than anything. Poor baby. We honestly don't know what to do, but we do feel as though she NEEDS to throw up, and just can't. Mark Googles. Hydrogen Peroxide. Ok.... We give her maybe half a teaspoon. I pick up the bathroom rugs. She and I spend the next couple hours in the bathroom with her throwing up. Thankfully not a lot and not often, but enough that we stayed in there a while. I put some towels down for the two of us and I sat there petting my girl while she tried to sleep between episodes. Eventually her tummy settled, and we both fell asleep in our beds.
This is where I discovered the grass, leaves and pecans. OK. No more outside unsupervised.
Saturday morning we try to get her to drink some water. With her age and her weight, I know I can't let her dehydrate. She takes a few sips. She throws them up. Crickey. Grrr.
I get her to sleep in her bed. I clean house and get laundry done all the while checking in on her. I am like a mom with a new born. I place my hand on her sleeping belly to feel her breathe.
This is how our morning and early afternoon go.
By mid afternoon, she gets out of bed. Wobbly as all get out. I have some broth. She drinks a little. It stays down. A little later I mix a bit of pumpkin with water. It stays down.
Progress.
By dinner time as I am feeding the cats, Dolce seems to want to eat also.
I give her an egg with some pumpkin. She eats.
It stays down.
This morning she got another egg with pumpkin. She started gurgling ... I was on high alert. But it all stayed down.
So now she and I are back in my recliner. She isn't sleeping, but she has her head on my leg and she is resting.
Mark went to church, but I won't leave her.
I have no idea what the future holds for me or for Dolce. I have no idea how much time we have together. I am hoping it's still years.
Life expectancy for a miniature dachshund is 12-16 years, but many live into their late teens. (According to Google.) I am hoping she is one of the latter. We are on year seventeen now, and I will do whatever it takes to make her feel special from here on out.
So yeah, Mom and Kristi, she will be with us on Christmas. You'll get to see her.
Oh... and if you think it's pretty incredible that she has made it to seventeen doing so well, check out Jenni and Dustin's lab who has made it to his sixteenth year!! (He and our Georgia were litter mates.)
They truly are the best!!