Losing Melmo

It has been ages since I last wrote anything.  This seems like a good time to update a bit.  I won't promise to write more often because I know I won't.

Sept 4th was a hard day for our family.  Our old dog, Melmo, was put to sleep on that day.  A week prior to that, he had lost his mind.  Literally.  He did not seem to recognize us.  He was in panic mode all the time. Confused, anxious, scared.  Nothing soothed him, not even the 10 Valium that he took every night just to keep him calm enough to keep him from hurting himself.  It made him sleepy but he actually slept very little.  He had gone from a house dog to not wanting to be inside.  He broke our pen, so he had to be tied and for some reason, he was ok with that.  We didn't have a dog house, so I had a piece of plastic draped and taped over a couple of things to make a shelter for him.

On Melmo's last night, I went to the basement door so I could check on him.  He sat in front of the door, as if asking to come in, for the first time in over a week.  I opened the door, untied him and let him inside, then went to the couch and sat down.  Mo came over, put his front feet up on the couch and looked at me like he had a million times before.  I saw recognition in his eyes for the first time in days.  I saw Mo.  I patted him and talked to him, hoping against hope that the Mo I knew was back to stay.  But about 4 minutes later, he was back to pacing, and panting...the confusion was back again and he no longer knew who I was.  For a moment I hugged him tight, then, he pulled away and I broke into tears.  I knew that our Mo wasn't coming back.

I felt that I had been given those few minutes to realize how much Mo had changed.  To understand that something was desperately wrong with my old dog and that it wasn't going away.  Doggy dementia.  That is what the vet called it.  We could try all sorts of drugs but in the end, it wouldn't have changed the outcome.  Our Mo was gone.  And as we thought about it, we realized that he had been slipping away for some time.  We chalked the changes up to old age.  After all, Mo was a giant breed who was "supposed" to live 8 to 10 years when you go by the average age of dogs over 100 lbs.  He was now 12 almost 13 had he lived until January 10th.  At times Melmo had panicked but we felt that it was because, in his old age, he had become sensitive to noise.  He didn't like staying at home anymore so I took him mowing with me.  He never had cared to go but now, he was a constant companion along with my other dog, KC.  He couldn't jump anymore, so one seat was removed from the back of the Aztek to make it easier for him to get in and out.  

In that last week, Mo not only broke the pen, he broke the baby gate that kept him out of the spare (cats) room.  He had never done that before.  He went in the bathroom and messed all over the place...it was almost impossible to get him to settle down and stay out so I could get it cleaned up (this is the short version as the long version would take too long to type) so I had put him in the pen to keep him out of the bathroom, which is when he broke the pen.  He got into stuff he had never touched before...but the whole time, he never turned aggressive so even though our last memories are difficult, we don't have any aggression in our memory.  

So on the 4th we traveled to the mainland.  Mo was calm, but not normal by any means.  My daughter, Sam, wanted to be there, too.  She might be an adult now, but Mo had been there for so many years that she wanted to be able to say goodbye to him.  I also took my other dog, KC.  I felt he had the right to know what was going on.  My husband, Sam, KC and I went into the room together and after giving him the shot to make him sleepy, the vet left us.  It wasn't as simple or as quick as that...we talked to the vet about his symptoms, she told us we could try this or that, but when she asked for our opinion I told her that we felt that if we took him home again, it would be for us, not for him.  That we felt it best to have him put down as his quality of life was almost non existent.  Not with the fear, anxiety and panic that he was having.  She felt we were making the right decision and gave him the first shot so he could relax.  We surrounded Mo and let him know how much we loved him and what a good dog he had been but that now it was time for him to rest.  And slowly Mo relaxed and slipped into a deep sleep.  

The vet came back and we knew it was time.  We made room for her on the floor as she prepared the final shot.  As I am certified to euthanize, I knew exactly when Mo slipped away from us.  It was quickly and calmly.  He was ready to go...he didn't wake up and he didn't fight it, not even a little bit.  We all burst into tears and the vet was kind enough to leave us for awhile.  Even KC lost his ever present smile and pushed between Sam and the wall.  He knew his friend of 6 years was gone.  Eventually we managed to pull ourselves together and get Mo into the back of our vehicle, wrapped in a sheet.  We took Sam back to her place and then headed home for Mo's last trip.  

We buried him that night under the trees, next to Gypsy who we had lost just months before we got KC.  I asked Joseph if he wanted to get a backhoe in to do the work but he refused.  He told me that he had to do this himself.  KC stayed in the vehicle.  Eventually, the hole was dug and Mo was buried.

The next day I was outside tending to the chickens when I realized KC had disappeared.  I called and after several seconds, he came up the driveway from the spot where we had buried Mo.  He had never gone there before and I believe he went to say his own goodbyes to Mo.  He has never gone back there since that day although he has had the opportunity.  

On October 28th, two days past my birthday, Shipley, a 65 lb, 7+ month old,  bundle of energy moved into our home.  He had survived a life of neglect and I was lucky enough to find him.  But this isn't the time for Shipley's story.  This story belongs to Melmo.  Shipley can wait for another day.