Tuesday, August 29, 2006

The Future of the FriscoDogBlog

Dear friends of Frisco,

Several people have asked me what I will do with this site, now that my beloved boy is gone. I intend to keep it open for a while, and I expect I will post occasional reflections and remembrances here.

Frisco's ashes are to be returned to me within a week or two. When they come, I will be inviting his closest friends to participate in a ceremony on his behalf. We will say as many words for him as we are able to get out, and then I will sprinkle his ashes in the churning waters of his favorite swimming hole.

I will write up that experience, and then I will officially shut down the FriscoDogBlog. It will still be available on the web, but there will be no further additions or edits made. I believe that is the kindest tribute I can give to him.

I am currently working on a multimedia CD with scenes from Frisco's life, set to music. If you have suggestions as to the most appropriate music, I would love to hear them. Or if you want a copy of the CD, please let me know. I think there are places where I can put the multimedia content online, but I'm sure that the CD version will be better.

RG

Friday, August 25, 2006

It's Over

8/24/2006 1:30 PM

Dear friends,

I have just returned, alone, from the veterinarian's office.

Frisco began having a major seizure at 11:45 Central Time this morning. I called my vet, and she confirmed that it was time. I called and caught my roommate at her desk just as she was leaving for lunch. She came home immediately to help me, as I was in no fit state to drive. With great difficulty, I lifted him to carry him to the car. He was scared and upset, and continued convulsing as we made our way to the Austin Veterinary Hospital.

The staff were well-prepared and very professional. We were immediately taken to an exam room and given a few minutes to say good-bye. I thanked Frisco for the years of joy he brought to my life, then knocked for Dr. Besch to come in and perform the injection. He was not actively writhing as long as I kept a soothing hand on his shoulder, but his muscles were tense and his eyes were wild and afraid.

Then, at once, he relaxed. It took a while for his heart to stop beating, and I held him and stroked his silky fur until it did.

I am going off to be alone for a while now, and then I'm sure I will grieve as I deal with all life's stresses: by writing.

Thank you all for your kind words and advice over the past few weeks.

Sincerely,

Robert

Another Clumsy Morning for FriscoDog

8/24/2006, 8:30 AM

Frisco started being a little more clumsy the night before last, and by yesterday morning he could barely stand. I had to help him stand up to do his business, and guide him into the house so he wouldn't fall over. I called the vet and carried him in for another cortisone shot right away.

This morning, he seems a little better, but he's still clumsy. He didn't want to go outside until he was practically bursting, and again I had to lay a hand on his shoulder to keep him upright. When he finished and I let go, he flopped onto his right side and rolled into some bushes.

Now he's lying on the cool, hard floor of the living room, looking very frustrated. Hopefullythe effects of the cortisone will continue to increase throughout the day.

RG

Another trip to the vet

8/23/2006

This morning, Frisco was very unstable on his feet. It took some doing to guide him outside,
and he fell hard on his side a couple of times. I finally got him to eat his breakfast, and to
take care of his biological needs, only with my hand on his right to keep him from falling
over. He fell several times on my way into the house, as he ran up ahead of where I could
keep a grip on his shoulder.

I took him in for another cortisone shot, his fourth or so since taking ill. I am pleased to note
that it has been something like three weeks, which is the longest he's been without a shot --
so the trend is in the right direction. It usually takes a while for the steroid to kick in, so I
expect him to awaken tomorrow morning with new vigor.

RG

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Enough Was Enough

Tonight I was going to look at another apartment. Frisco went to the front yard with me, sniffed and peed -- but he refused to go anywhere near the car. When I needed to leave, he trotted over to the door and stood there, pointing toward the indoors. He didn't seem to be too distressed all day today, but he didn't have any interest in going anywhere near that car again. Poor kid I must have over-done it a little bit.

Loving the water

Frisco's dad spent the hot part of today looking for a place to live for next year (lease is upin a week or so). When I came home, he was lying on the cool tile, staying out of the heat. I fed him, and he seemed good, so I whispered in his ear: "Frisco, would you like to go swimming?"

"Swimming" is a magic word for FriscoDog. When he was a young pup, he used to demand to be taken swimming on a regular basis, and if I happened to drive past his favorite swimming hole while he was in the car, he jabbed his schnozz in the air in the direction of his park, as if to tell me I had missed the turn. He still loves the water.

Even with his body lying flat on the floor, he managed to raise his head and perk up his ears when I asked if he was interested in a trip to the water park. I made for the door, and he hauled himself off the floor to come with me.

Frisco is a problem-solver. He has figured out that he can't quite make it directly into the back seat of my car, but he can climb into the footwell and from there up to the seat. I tried to help him in, and he elbowed me away. He wiggled his own way up and into the back seat, where soft blanket is draped to protect him and to keep my upholstery relatively dog-free.

I hugged the curves out through Hill Country to the park, and I saw him in the rear view mirror, getting increasingly excited.

When I stopped the car and tried to help him down, he blew right past me, the racquetball in his mouth. He knew right where we were, and by the time I had collected my stuff to head down with him he was halfway down the path, standing there and looking back up the hill in frustration. As soon as I started down the hill to join him, he turned and dashed down to the water, despite leaning to the right the whole way.



I used an old backpacker's trick to identify that we had about 45 minutes of sunlight left, and I told him so. He planted the ball in my right hand and munched it two or three times, which is his standard way of demanding that I throw it for him. I took it from his mouth, and he fell back two or three clumsy, excited steps.


He had trouble finding it the first time (nearly losing it out the mouth of the creek), but he quickly figured out the general area into which I was throwing little gentle tosses. I threw to the exact same spot each time, so as not to tax his limited vision, and he always chased it down. The water came up just to his chest, so he didn't have to swim but benetifed from his bouyancy. He found a more gentle slope to climb up, so he didn't have to exit the water in the same spot where he had belly-flopped a moment before.

The sky was normal for Texas this year: powder blue, with high and icy cirrus clouds teasing us with the fact that there is water in the air. As the sun settled down, the sky turned to crimson, then faded to a beautiful orange. The water was an increasingly dark reflection of the sky, and I quickly lost track of the ball -- but Frisco did not, and would not let me stop throwing.

We stayed at least fifteen minutes after I had completely lost the ability to see where he was, much more so his ball. But after an hour or so, he looked like a very tired lopsided dog, and I took him inside. He walked on his own, though clumsily.

Some on this board have questioned whether I am imposing my own will and desires on my poor sick dog. Those people have never seen him at the watering hole -- much less, had him thrust his slobbery racquetball into their open hands. I am not just along for the ride: what matters to him is the racquetball.



I know this is all due to my having upped his Prednisone does, and it will go away. But for now, he gets to enjoy all of his favorite activities.

RG

PS, Frisco's vet bills have put quite a strain on my limited finances, despite kind help from many of his friends. If you would like to contribute to Friscodog’s vet bills, you may do so at PayPal. Thank you so much, to all of you who have already helped in so many ways!

Official PayPal Seal

Or you may directly contact the North Austin Veterinary Hospital (http://austinveterinary.citysearch.com/), Telephone: (512) 476-9191. Tell them it's for Frisco, and they'll know who he is.

Friday, August 18, 2006

Slowly fetching

You know how Alzheimer's patients often are called "sundowners," because they do well all day but struggle at night? Frisco recently has been a different kind of sundowner: he has struggled all day long, then performed relatively well once the heat of day had dissipated.

Tonight was different. He was every bit as clumsy after-hours as he had been during the day. When he asked me to take him outside I was hopeful that he might be up for another medium-length game of fetch. I gave him a relatively easy throw, but it took him five minutes of falling and crashing and collapsing against the hedges before he found it. Once he had, he headed straight for the back door and collapsed on the cold Purgo floor of our living room.

RG

PS, Frisco's vet bills have put quite a strain on my limited finances, despite kind help from many of his friends. If you would like to contribute to Friscodog’s vet bills, you may do so at PayPal. Thank you so much, to all of you who have already helped in so many ways!

Official PayPal Seal

Or you may directly contact the North Austin Veterinary Hospital (http://austinveterinary.citysearch.com/), at: Tel: (512) 476-9191. Tell them it's for Frisco, and they'll know who he is.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Not such a good day

Frisco is seeming to have a rough time of it today, as he did yesterday.

He's had an eye infection for a while, and I've been keeping antibiotic ointment on it, but I think it still itches him. This morning I caught him trying to scratch his eye socket with his rear leg. Not such a good idea, for a dog with equilibrium problems! I scratched it for him, irrigated it with saline, and applied more ointment, which seemed to help.

He's breathing awfully heavily, and he seems to have a lot of phlegm in his throat. He's been panting a lot more, ever since this ordeal began, and I think he's just tired. Of course, it doesn't help that it was 102 degrees out there this afternoon when he went to do his business!

He does seem to be stumbling a bit more, as well. It could just be that he's gained some weight. Prednisone causes insatiable appetite, and of course he's not getting his usual amount of exercise.

He's still enjoying life, and as I noted yesterday he can change dramatically within a single day. So I'm trying not to read too much into this rough day.

RG

PS, Frisco's vet bills have put quite a strain on my limited finances, despite kind help from many of his friends. If you would like to contribute to Friscodog’s vet bills, you may do so at PayPal. Thank you so much, to all of you who have already helped in so many ways!

Official PayPal Seal

Or you may directly contact the North Austin Veterinary Hospital (http://austinveterinary.citysearch.com/), at: Tel: (512) 476-9191. Tell them it's for Frisco, and they'll know who he is.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Down, and Up Again


When FriscoDog's ordeal began, I knew it was serious the day he gave up chasing the racquetball. Those of you who know him personally know that he never goes anywhere without a ball in his mouth, and he never used to allow me to sit for a moment without throwing the ball for him.

Indeed, even when he is barely able to walk, he expects me to throw the ball for him every time he has to peep (poop and pee). He waits, leaning, catching himself occasionally with his right foreleg, until I throw it; he tracks it down, however much it takes; and THEN he peeps. On a bad day, he bypasses me and heads straight for the back door to be let in.

Today started badly, with a bit more stumbling than usual, and an especially bad incident. I had prepared some chicken for Frisco, which got the attention of my roommate's dogs.

When I tried to take him outside to eat his meat, the other two crowded close to the door. As I opened it for him and tried to fend them off, either they spooked him, or I spooked him, but his precarious balance was upset. He conked his head hard on the left side of the doorframe, careened to the right and banged his side, hard, into the post on the other side of the door, then flopped on his left side and rolled 360 degrees. He took a moment to get up before I was able to give him his meal.

After that bad experience, he lay down by my side and slept away the day. He still insisted on following me around the house (especially when I moved toward the kitchen), but that was his only movement for hours. I tried not to do too much, so that he wouldn't feel obliged to stand and walk.

He seemed to walk better, though, as night wore on. By midnight, he clearly wanted to go outside again -- even when he realized that he'd gotten all the food he was getting. So I took him out, thinking he just wanted to be outside, in his natural element. I grabbed my computer and a good cigar, figuring on a relaxing night of work on the patio with my dog at my feet. Frisco had other ideas.

He lay next to me for a while, then got up and rummaged around until he had found one of the many racquetballs he's deposited strategically. He brought it to me, and I threw it for him, and he brought it back, and I threw it again. Most times, he found it much more quickly than he has been able to do in recent days, though once or twice it took him a while. He fetched eagerly for fifteen or twenty minutes, a recent record, before finally calling it quits and standing by the door until I let him inside.

I stayed outside, but I watched through the window as he took a long, long drink of water. His tongue doesn't work so well these days, so he discharges almost as much as he takes in, but eventually he had his fill. I half-expected him to come back out for more, but he disappeared from view and rested while I stayed outside to write this blog entry. Now I'll go inside and give him a congratulatory rub-down before going to bed.

RG

PS, Frisco's vet bills have put quite a strain on my limited finances, despite kind help from many of his friends. If you would like to contribute to Friscodog’s vet bills, you may do so at PayPal. Thank you so much, to all of you who have already done so.

Official PayPal Seal

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Another social night

I've been planning to take FriscoDog back to Spider House, but he hasn't been up for it in days. Today I was in a mood that required an outing, and Frisco seemed to be in better shape, so we went back down. It turned out to be a fantastic time.

Frisco made it in on his own power, tail wagging vigorously the whole way. Before I had even found a table, I'd lost my dog to the cheery masses.

It was a Wednesday night, ten o'clock or so, by the time I got there. Spider House was a couply place, lots of people on what seemed to be early dates, still feeling each other out and putting their own best feet forward. This is Frisco's favorite atmosphere -- he gets to wade in, in his lopsided sort of way, and provide a bit of release from first-date stress. Plus, people on their first date love to demonstrate how cool and loving they are, and what great parents they would be, or whatever it is that they're trying to prove to their Intended. Whatever they're trying to prove always seems to involve scratching doggie ears.

I sent an e-mail message to Spider House a week or more ago, quoting from this blog and thanking them for providing my Boy an open patio to meet people and chase his racquetball over the years. A manager recognized Frisco from that e-mail, came up and introduced himself, saying he had been touched by my message. They're good people, at Spider House.

A few weeks ago, Frisco had lost any ability to chase his ball. It was just too elusive, and he was too unsure on his feet. But tonight he was able to do it, and he bugged me to throw it for a good hour or more, off and on. There was more "off" time than there would have been during his prime, but still I was thrilled at how much he was able to do.

He might just be recovering!

The waitress who had been there on our first visit during his crisis was there again, and she came over to chat with me a bit. She noted his improvement, and she threw the ball for him a time or two.

As usual, Frisco spent his evening making friends. There were a thousand people to give him love, and he soaked up every bit of it. I had work to do, and he seemed steady enough that I could let him explore on his own. I threw the ball when he wanted me to, but mostly he disappeared with wagging tail to meet new people. From time to time someone approached from way off down the patio to tell me what a great dog I have (and I had to agree). One girl told me that her golden retriever had had a stroke four or five years ago, and the symptoms were identical to Frisco's, and her girl lived another four years. I hope she's right, and I hope that's what Frisco and I have to look forward to. He's loving life too much to die.

And that's the thing: even as he was stumbling around and struggling to find his ball, he was all joy and love. He's my boy again, the dog I remember.

Earlier in the day, a dear friend whom I have known and loved for years, had e-mailed me a completely un-expected PFO, so I wasn't loving my own existence. ("PFO" = "Please F* Off.") But seeing Frisco completely oblivious to human drama, strolling through the crowd and making friends with everyone there, was a kind of dual affirmation for me: a reminder of Frisco's health, and of the humanity of human-kind. We may treat each other like dirt sometimes, but there's no one so mean-spirited as not to love a golden retriever with a little green ball in his mouth. As long as that's so, I don't care what anyone does to me, humanity is redeemed.

We were at Spider House for two or three hours, and my computer battery was wearing down. I hadn't a clue where my boy was, so I tracked him down (way on the other end of the patio) to head for the door. It took some doing: he was getting lots of attention, and he really didn't care to follow his dad home, but I did finally get him to follow me out.

There's a little creek across the way from Spider House, and a coven had gathered to exchange guitar riffs and I don't know what else. This is a common thing in Austin. Frisco went plowing through the middle of them, still angling to the right, getting scratched and petted on all sides. If I had been in a better mood, I might have let him linger a bit longer, but I made him find his way to the car.When I got him home, he was so tired that he immediately crashed at my feet and slept through the night while I wrote this and other articles.

Stumbling around the neighborhood

FriscoDog has always been, well, male -- which means that a major part of his existence consists in exploring whatever neighborhood we live in, sniffling out other male dogs' calling cards, and leaving graffiti of his own to mark territory.

When we moved into our current home, a year ago, we did a great deal of late-night walking. Frisco would wander out into the night, back and forth out of my vision, eagerly seeking out scents to cover and crannies to investigate. I'm careful to make him deposit his solid waste where I can see it and clean up after him, but for the rest I let him be a dog. I made sure he was close enough that I could always call him back to me if he wanted to stray too far, but otherwise I simply walked at a slow pace and let him keep up with me at his will.

Last night, he seemed to be feeling well enough that I took him out for another neighborhood stroll in the pre-dawn hours, after I'd done my writing for the night. He rummaged around the house to find a racquetball (got to have one in his mouth), then followed me out the door.

Frisco hewed far closer to me than has ever been his norm. He tumbled off eagerly in one direction or the other, but always tumbled back before I'd moved on too far. He left plenty of calling-cards, He dropped his ball and lost it within the first ten minutes, which is the norm. (If you want to own a golden retriever, count on a dollar a day in lost racquetballs. I don't exactly know why the ball MUST come with us, and MUST be dropped, but I clearly don't make the rules.)

Our neighborhood has been under sewer replacement, as the Powers That Be have decided to annex us and replace the septic system that seemed to service people just fine, and one result has been that the streets are all chewed up and filled with potholes and badly-filled gulches. Frisco tripped over the pocked pavement several times, but don't hold that against him: so did I.

We took a short circuit, and I guided him up the hill back to our house. He was panting mightily, and having his problems with mobility, so I gave him a chance to go back home if he wanted. He wouldn't do it: as I walked toward the house, he stood defiantly in the middle of the street. I told him he was dumb, but I walked with him around a couple of extra blocks. He stumbled over curbs, fell flat on his side while trying to pee on a bush, and bumped into an electric pole -- but he wouldn't stop walking.

This is a nice, old-fashioned neighborhood filled with houses like your Grandma and Grandpa lived in, with manicured yards and lower-middle-class cars in the driveways. But we are not so very far from a fairly sketchy housing project. We walked that way, past houses of diminishing value, and Frisco marked them all without discrimination.

As we walked through a small park of questionable character, a very drunk black man approached from the other direction. Frisco hugged my side protectively, but licked the man's hand as he passed us by. That's the kind of "guard dog" he is: protective, kind of.

We circled back around to the house, and I gave him the option to keep walking a few more blocks. As I was asking him if he wanted to keep walking, he flopped over on his right side, down the entrance of a deep gutter. (I might have lost him for good, if he weren't such a big dog!) He labored himself back up to his feet, and pointed toward the front door. I took him back inside and gave him a bowl of ice cream with chopped strawberries on top, and he settled down unsteadily next to the couch. I heard him going "yip, yip, yip" in his sleep, kicking his back legs, perhaps dreaming of disarming our drunk neighbor.

He's definitely not the dog he was a year ago, when this walk would have been a mere appetizer, but he's walking on his own, he's playing his territorial pack-dog role, and he's protecting his Dad. He's still loving life, and I'm thrilled to be a part of it.

Robert

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

The reluctant mutt

On Saturday I was going to visit an old friend in College Station. I spent a little while loading up my stuff, FriscoDog watching me intently. While I was taking my last load to the car, I let him come outside with me.

The front door is always a big deal for him. That's where other dogs have left their calling cards, and he has to sniff all that up. It's also the gateway to the neighborhood,which is sniff-and-pee heaven. And it's where my car lives, so it's the way to get to every distant pleasure: swimming holes far and wide, students in my classes who might scratch his chn, and every other physical delight a golden retriever might desire.

On that night, he wanted none of it. He stumbled around to cover scent of all sorts, but I could not get him near my car. When I tried, he retreated to the door and would not budge. I think Frisco has lost his enjoyment of every pleasure that cannot be found right here at home, and he will not be enticed away.Nor is it a food thing: I offered him food as a reward for coming to the car, and he flatly ignored me.

I think he has decided that home is it, the farthest he can roam safely. Given our recent experiences with roaming, he may be right. So I led him back inside, gave him what comfort I could, then headed out on my own.

RG

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

No change

FriscoDog has been essentially in a holding-pattern for the past several days. He's had a relaxing day today, a bit more clingy than normal, and still with the same ravenous hunger he's had for the past few weeks. (That's a symptom of the prednisone, and frankly it's a pain! The damned dog is constantly pestering me for food. But it's better than the alternative.)

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Barrel Rolls

Yesterday, I took Friscodog to a little park near Lake Travis, called Cypress Park. It’s a feeder into the lake, a little creek that opens into two concentric ponds, then drains into a brook a hundred yards or so to the big lake.

The outer pond is shallow, maybe knee-deep to Frisco, but the inner one is about at my chest-level. I began by throwing Frisco’s racquetball over into the shallow waters, and he seemed happy to chase it for a while. He was still angling to the right, and he had some trouble tracking down the ball; he sometimes stabbed at it four or five or six times before getting to it, but there wasn’t any basic challenge involved.

Frisco was clearly not satisfied with this lack of challenge, and he let me know it. After a few throws, he stood next to the deeper pool and throatily huffed to throw it where he could swim for it.

When I got Frisco, I was living with Darlene, whom I still think of as his Mom. She wasn’t a dog person, but I’d always wanted to have a golden retriever. So we came to an accord: we could get a dog, but we would obedience-train him to her standards of appropriate behavior. It was the best decision I ever acquiesced in, because Frisco has always known to obey the rules. This is why he has always gotten in places he wasn't really supposed to be -- and it's why, when he really balks at me, I know it's important to him. I guess it's like that with humans, too: good manners allow good communication.

So when he insisted upon having me throw into the deep waters, it didn’t matter that I thought this was a bad idea. knows I can't say no to an ailing dog. I told him it wasn’t wise, but when he wouldn’t accept my refusal, I threw the ball where he wanted me to.

He lurched in after his ball, but his equilibrium was completely shot. He couldn’t keep after his ball, couldn’t swim, couldn’t tell up from down. He got completely confused, and did quick barrel rolls in the muddy water, desperately clawing at the water and gasping for air. He disappeared under the water, shot to the surface, rolled over again and disappeared under churning water.

I emptied my pockets and plowed in after him.

I sank immediately into thick, black muck, years of deposits from the entering creek. I was knee deep in goop and chest deep in water by the time I reached him and hauled him to the surface, still struggling and making uncoordinated swimming movements. He wouldn't breathe, at first, and his good eye was wild and panicky, but I forced him to my chest and insisted that he be still.

I could feel his heart pounding against my arms, his breath fast and shallow. I held him to me for a few moments, supporting him on my knee as I sank deeper into the mud. I worried that I might sink in too deep to keep him above water, but thankfully I did not.

Once he had calmed a little, he started looking over my shoulder, his head swiveling to find his lost ball. He actually tried a little, feebly, to break loose and find it. The little creep had almost drowned himself, made me dive neck deep into muddy-disgusting water, and all he could think about was a little green rubber ball. I wanted to be mad at his lack of gratitude, but of course I couldn’t. I stood deep in gritty silt, hugging my dog and blubbering like a fool.

I made him indulge my emotions for a bit, then I walked him slowly to shore. I laid him down among the protective roots of a huge oak, then I went back out into the water. Finally accepting that he’d been upset by the experience, he stayed on the bank while I swam out to bring in the ball for him. Quite a reversal of roles, Frisco waiting on shore while I swam out to chase his racquetball.

I swam back with it, and he stood carefully to accept it from me. He followed obediently as I walked back to the shallow pond. He kept me there for another half hour, as the sun disappeared behind the West Texas hills, playing a much gentler game of fetch in waters where he did not have to swim. I suspect that his refusal to quit was his way of re-asserting himself after his harrowing event. Dogs, too, have machismo.

I brought him home, a thoroughly happy dog who made it inside almost without assistance. I slept in the living room that night, so he could be next to me.

He slept intensely, and when I woke him for breakfast this morning he was still slightly damp and smelly from the pond. He still hasn’t admitted any kind of defeat -- but when I tried to get him to move for the magical front door to go back to the park, he refused to budge. He still won’t tell me, but I think he’d had enough activity for a couple of happy days. So goes the progress of Operation Soft Landing.

RG

PS, Frisco's vet bills have put quite a strain on my limited finances, despite help from many of his friends. If you would like to contribute to Friscodog’s vet bills, you may do so at PayPal.

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