Definitely not a vet, but i’td make sense if the urgency and discomfort she was feeling led her to bark and get anxious. I guess you’ll know in a couple of days. My fingers are crossed.
I’m so very sorry, my heart goes out to you and your baby. Hugs.
Yes. Here’s hoping.
When my grandmother was very old, despite her dementia, one of the last cogent things she said was after she’d been treated with antibiotics for a minor infection: “Next time, don’t treat me.”
She was healthy as a horse, and lived another two years.
But it’s entirely possible your dog can be happy for a while longer if the bladder infection is taken care of. Best wishes, whatever you decide.
Best wishes for you and your dog. I’m sure she’ll be told she was “THE BEST” like this:
https://www.reddit.com/r/wholesomememes/comments/7tnaxg/death_and_the_dog/
I’d like to add a couple of happy ending stories to lighten up this thread.
We had five Maltese at one point (papa, mama and pups) and fortunately, only the last two were with me until their passing (the dad went back to my sister and the mama and other pup were given away).
The last two spent their entire lives with me (I watched my Dad’s friend help with the birth of the Susu and held Brynner from the time of his birth.
A day or so before Brynner passed, he held his favorite toy in his mouth. I hadn’t seen it for months and whenever I asked him about it, he’d search and give up. I don’t remember if I tossed it for him or not that day, but soon after he was gone.
I gave Susu a bath the day before she passed, and although she hated the washing, she always seemed happy to be clean. I don’t recall if I gave her, her favorite treat after, Good Boy doggy “chocolate” treats, but I like to think I did.
Love, cherish and remember the good times with your love and know that she’s be told she was “THE BEST”
Sorry to hear, Athena. Better a day too early than a day too late, IMHO.
My father passed away 3 years ago. My brothers and I were in the room when it happened. That doesn’t hold a candle to having to put Tilly down last October. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I second-guessed myself for weeks leading up to it, and agonized over the decision. After she passed away, I knew it was the right decision. I had been carrying her up and down the 3 porch steps for her to go to the bathroom twice a day, and nearly hand feeding her every day. I would have done it for 5 more years if I thought she’d enjoy her life. But her joy was gone - she’d stopped being Tilly a month prior. I gave that dog a wonderful home and an amazing family to be a part of, and she gave me everything her heart could in return. Letting her go was the most important gift I could give her back. Good luck, Athena - my heart goes out to you.
I was hesitant to respond to this thread because I didn’t think I really had anything helpful to say, because every situation is different. But I’ll tell you about my own journey in a similar situation.
My beloved Bernese Mountain Dog (my young son spontaneously named him Bernie, and the name stuck) began to develop an intermittent limp in his later years. Conventional diagnosis including X-rays suggested that he was suffering from a painless but progressive neurological disease that would eventually be crippling, though it was inconclusive pending further evidence that included expensive MRIs.
I had the MRIs done. They consisted of hundreds of “slices” that produced a reconstructed 3D image that provided a very comprehensive picture of the disease. It confirmed the diagnosis.
I took him to veterinary specialists who said that there was no known surgical cure for his specific condition. Not willing to give up, I drove him to a university that featured a world-class veterinary research center. I am far from rich but I was willing to pay virtually anything within my means for surgery that would give him a decent chance of a good outcome. The doctors there looked at the MRI and did further consultations and eventually informed me that surgery would be both extremely risky and extremely unlikely to produce beneficial results.
At that point I had to face a delicate balance between not wanting to put him down and deep concern about his quality of life. I visited a center dedicated to dogs with crippling diseases, and they gave me (at no charge) a special halter-like device that I could use to help him stand up on days when that was difficult for him, given that once he was up he was reasonably mobile and even happy to walk and play. On good days he could get up all by himself.
We kept this up for quite some time and he seemed content with it. His doggy joyful moments were also my joy.
But his mobility worsened over time. The end came, not from my decision, but from his. I believe that in many ways dogs are far wiser than we are, and sometimes they know when it’s time. One day he just refused to eat. I tried to spoon-feed him some of his favorite treats, and he had a nibble, but basically was no longer interested in food.
It was the same the next day. I went into my room to do something on the computer and came out about an hour later and he was by the patio door, one of his favorite places in the house. But he was no longer alive. His veterinarian later suggested he may have had a stroke, but I know better. He lay down in that ray of sunshine streaming through the patio door, and he gave up the will to live. He knew it was time.
No, I’m not being stupidly romantic. I know that sometimes, sadly, you do have make the decision for them. I would hope to have the strength to do that, should I ever have to. But dogs are an old, old species and they have evolved far more wisdom than we credit them with.
That is a beautiful and well-written account.
I agree that often dogs know when it’s time. My lab developed short, sporadic episodes where she struggled to breathe. She was 15 and had had a good life–since adoption, anyway. (Prior to that she was staked outside, allowed to eat garbage (so had worms), and had been stitched up with fishing line.) The vet told me her esophagus had grown inelastic with age, would collapse, and then took a few moments to open again. One day, he said, she’d have a spell and wouldn’t come out of it. I was horrified at the prospect of her suffocating to death. On the other hand, she was in no pain, the spasms came about once per day, and she enjoyed lying in the sunshine, short walks, and the arrival of the mail carrier, whom she adored. (Treats may have had something to do with it.) I didn’t know what to do and asked the vet how I’d know it was time.
“She’ll tell you,” he said. I wasn’t so sure, but she did. She suddenly had to be coaxed to eat. I looked in her eyes, and I saw it: she knew it was her time to go. My daughter and I took her to the vet, and she slipped away peacefully while we petted her and told her how very loved she was. I dreamed about her just last night. She, my other dog (also long gone), and I were sailing across the ocean together. Their ears were back, their eyes sparkled, and they were rapturously sniffing the salt air and the subtle scent of sea creatures far below us.
I am another who may be facing this decision before long. My dog (~12 years old) started having problems with her back legs about a year ago. Many tests later it was determined she has a cyst/tumor growing near her spine that is causing the problem. The neurology specialist vet said its location made surgery inadvisable. Nothing to do but let it take its course.
She’s gotten worse, but its happening slowly. She can still walk (though unsteadily) and even attempt a mild, hopping run if she gets excited. She strains some when getting up after lying down. She’s eating well, though, and still enjoys patrolling the backyard and barking at the neighbor’s dogs and getting ear scritches from me.
I just want to thank all of those in this thread who’ve given good advice. I’ve bookmarked it and will revisit it when the time comes.