The Dynamic Duo

You know, I have been thinking a lot about Toby, and seeing if I could remember some of the days before he got sick, and it reminded me of something that happened the previous weekend….......
It went something like this…..........

John’s brother and wife, Chuck and Joy, were going away for a few days and asked us to keep an eye on their dog, Chewbacca (named for the hairy Star-Wars character). Chewie, as he is always known, is an old, curmudgeonly, cocker spaniel. When I see him at his own house, he never stops barking at me unless I feed or pet him, and then he is usually growling. Chewie is either suffering from dementia, or is just a really weird dog. But Joy loves Chewie and doesn’t want anything to happen to him.
Johnny, who was home for a few days, went with me to pick Chewie up on Friday night. He busily barked at us; then expectantly waited for us to either leave or let him in his house. Getting in our car was not something he either wanted or could comprehend how to do. We finally corralled/lifted him into our car. The poor little guy has bad hips and his back legs don’t work very well, and it obviously hurt him to be lifted.
At our house, Chewie walked around the yard, evading any attempt to be cajoled or corralled into the house, so we finally had to lift him. Our steps are a bit treacherous; they are the “temporary” ones the house installers brought out with them more than 10 years ago when we first bought the house. They are wooden, narrow and rather steep, so I can see why Chewie wasn’t crazy about climbing up and down them.
His behavior, once in the house bordered even more closely on the bizarre. He has an obsession with….food. First, he tugged on the towel I had under the pet dishes until I removed it. Then he dug into the cat food which I also removed. With nothing left but his own food, he proceeded to flip morsels from the bowl and attempt to crush and roll them with the top of his head. Joy had left a few guidelines for his care, and one item instructed us on what to do if we chose to leave Chewie outdoors at his own home during the day. We needed to be sure that the big red bucket full of dog food was put up on the barbecue. Otherwise, Chewie would (and I believe he really would) attempt to push the bucket into the (closed) house with his head, tipping the bucket over. Then he would try to push each piece of food into the house and skin his nose. When we took him away, we were to put the red bucket back down so that Doofus and Izzabear could eat. They are Chuck and Joy’s other two dogs and they live outdoors all of the time. I think Joy may be an even more creative pet namer than I am.
Chewie spent most of his time with us roaming the house, finding the extra stash of cat food in the cat room and begging for (and receiving) table scraps. I was relieved when he finally settled down, but it never lasted long. We couldn’t seem to get our “Chewie, do you need to go outside?/Woof! I need to go ouside!” signals coordinated, and he wet inside the house 4 or 5 times. Thankfully, it was usually on the linoleum which made easier cleanup than if he had used the carpet. By the end of the weekend, he was feeling a little more comfortable with us and could manage the steps on his own and even come, sometimes, when I called him. We kept him at our house most of the time to make sure he was well-cared for, but by Sunday afternoon, after he peed in the house yet again, John decided that he might like to go home and wait for his Mommy to arrive. The weekend did serve to reinforce my decision not to get another dog at this time.

Toby was absolutely terrified of that old, senile dog. My other two indoor cats, Polly and old, senile Brenda were alarmed at first, but soon learned to ignore the dog’s weird ramblings. Toby refused to come into the house while Cheiw was in residence, about two days and nights. I really didnt worry about Toby because he often spends nights ourdoors and was by no means a skinny cat. I saw him by the door several times, but as soon as he saw the dog, he ran off again. Now I wonder if that was when he got sick. Toby came back in Sunday afternoon as soon as Chewie had gone home, and I dont’ remember anything out of the ordinary. I remember him sleeping on my bed, his favorite daytime habitat. I remember him showing up Monday morning for his little daily ration of canned food, and Ii remember Toby and Brenda going outside on Monday evening. I didn’t see him Tuesday morning, which was unusual but not unheard of. The first clue I had that he wasn’t well was Tuesday evening when I heard him throwing up in the cat room. Investigation showed him to be weak and listless, lying under the ged. When I gave him water, he drank. I called the Vet, who said it was almost certainly viral, and that medicine wouldn’t help.
Wednesday morning I found him lying in the litterbox. I got him out, laid him on a clean towl, and gave him more water and a few licks (all he wanted) of canned cat food. But we both had to leave him all day on Wednesday and by the time we got home, he was much worse and would no longer drink on his own. I forced a little water into him with a turkey baster (I couldn’t find an eyedropper), but he was too far gone. I slept nearby and set my alarm to awake every couple of hours to check on him. He would purr when I stroked his back and head. By the time I got home from work on Thursday, he was gone.
Toby was an important part of our family life for a long time. It seems to me that letting his life pass without thinking about him, writing about him, missing him, makes his life seem less significant. I didn’t want that to happen.

Ultramom