Long-time readers might remember that Cinnamon occasionally ‘guest-wrote’ in my blog, with Diary of a Small Brown Dog. She did three posts all told, here are the links if anyone is interested.
The thing is, I lost her voice some time ago – I just couldn’t write for her any more. Maybe I could see the changes that the years were causing in her body and in her mind, and I didn’t want to admit that her time with us was finite. Because her voice would have changed, of course. She was no longer the perky little terrier that she used to be. She had become a little old lady, or La petite mamie, as the French say.
Let me just reassure you for a moment – she’s still with us. For now. She’s almost completely blind, but she can see movement and light, which is a big help when we’re calling her in from the garden. Thankfully, she is not deaf. Deafness plus blindness would be tough for all of us. She is quite arthritic. I’ve tried her with turmeric, which didn’t seem to help much, and I’ve tried her with conventional medicines, (Rimadyl) which caused a horrific and frightening reaction where she became intensely, insanely itchy. At the time, I said “If we can’t get her through this, it’s time.” It wasn’t time.
So : blind and arthritic, on top of the heart murmur she’s had all her life. Standard for an old dog, really. But Cinny has also become senile, something which I’ve never experienced with a dog before. She gets lost, both in her room and in the garden. She gets stuck in corners and can’t figure out how to get out. She climbs into her bed, doesn’t realise she’s in it and climbs right back out again the other side. She can’t figure out how to reverse anymore – we frequently have to rescue her from behind open doors, or beside the washing machine. She panics when she’s touched. If I pick her up, she turns her head and tries to bite my hand. But : most of the time, she is content in her own little world. She toddles in and out of the garden. Sure, every so often we have to go and extricate her from a corner or from under the car but that’s no big deal. She’s been eating really well and launches herself enthusiastically at my hand whenever she can smell a treat. Eating is a big deal, as far as I’m concerned. If she stops eating, it’s time.
Last weekend, we had a big family reunion planned in Chamonix. The usual question arose – What would we do with the dogs? Rosie would be minded by our friends, Mary and Glen. (Mary is an Irishwoman who lives the other side of Reillanne. I’m not the only one in the village!) I looked after their twenty-year old cats a while ago, and they wanted to repay the favour. They also plan on getting a dog once their cats pass on, and Rosie is a nice easy dog to practice on!
That left Cookie and Cinnamon. We decided to bring them with us. The whole family knows that Cinny won’t be around much longer, and Aideen (who is her REAL Mom) wanted to see her one last time. Cookie is too much of a pain in the ass to ask anyone else to look after so, by default, she was coming too. Until, two days before our departure, she attacked Cinnamon.
It was breakfast time for the dogs. I was already at work, and it was the LSH who was doling out their food. Cinnamon bumbled into Cookie, who turned and snapped, catching her across the bridge of the nose. It was no big deal – terriers react first and think afterwards – but Cinnamon went into a complete panic, racing around and around the small room, yelping hysterically. The LSH caught her and tried to soothe her by holding her for a few minutes, but her hysteria increased; she wriggled and squirmed in his arms, arching herself backwards as she did so; her breathing became very fast and shallow; he could feel her heart pounding under his hands. Fearing a heart attack, he decided it would be better to allow her to obey her instincts and run, so he opened the front door and took her out into the garden. She ran and ran and ran, screaming all the time – crashing into trees, bushes, the garden fence, the wall of the house as she did so, and falling over several times.
Not such a good idea… He managed to corner her and grab her again, but her panic remained. In the end, he put a leash on her and basically lunged her as you would lunge a horse. She ran about ten laps in each direction and finally calmed down.
The whole episode had lasted forty-five minutes.
Thinking that the worst had passed, he took her into the house (shutting the other two outside!) and gave her one of her heart tablets. Then he gave her her food. But she wasn’t eating very well, and when he looked inside her mouth, he realised that she was holding the food in her mouth and not actually swallowing it. A post-panic reaction? Or another step in her dementia?
He shut her into her room, to give her some peace and quiet. By the time I got home, she was clearly in shock, completely dazed, and staggering weakly if she tried to move. On top of that, there were little drops of blood coming from somewhere – her nose? her mouth? We weren’t sure.
From the moment I saw her, I had that awful lump in my throat that stops me from speaking. You know – the one that usually has a few tears accompanying it. I made the LSH call the vet to arrange an emergency visit, because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to speak. By the time we got there, I was calmer and we had agreed that we’d be guided by the vet. If he felt she was in too much distress, then we’d say OK, it’s time.
The vet was remarkably unfussed by her condition. “I’ll give her a shot of cortisone for the shock. That’ll help with the pain, too. You’ll see an improvement in twenty minutes.”
Really? Twenty minutes? What about going to Chamonix for the weekend?
He gave us a natural calmative, Zylkene, saying it would help her cope with the journey, and told us to have a good weekend. “But of course, if you’re worried about her tomorrow, bring her in,” he added.
We discussed the drops of blood I had seen and he looked inside her mouth, as best he could. No broken teeth, no damage on her gums. Either she had bitten her tongue or the blood was coming from her nose. We’d have to keep an eye on it.
On the way home, we agreed that the weekend would be much simpler if Cookie went into kennels. That way, we wouldn’t have to worry about keeping Cinnamon out of her way, and we wouldn’t have our usual worry of “What if Cookie escapes?” We’d have to see how our patient was bearing up the next day, but it looked like our family reunion was going ahead…
Well, here I am in Italy. We’ve had our three days in Rome and now we are in Ostia, just outside of Rome, by the sea.
A brief summary :
Our hotel in Rome was clean. I’ll leave it at that – if you can’t say anything nice, then don’t say anything.
The hotel had Wifi. Which worked some of the time. Again, I’ll leave it at that.
I don’t do cities – but I would come back to Rome.
Rome public transport is great.
Even with the great public transport, I walked about ten miles each day.
The hotel in Ostia is lovely – beachfront, big balcony, great view. Also clean.
Here’s a bit more detail about the first two days in Rome.
It’s worth mentioning beforehand that I ‘came out’ about five years ago and openly admitted that I Don’t Like Cities. Yes. All cities. No, I don’t even like Paris. Too many buildings, cars, people noise… give me a mountain any day. But I’ve approached the trip to Rome thinking it would be interesting to see all the historical stuff.
It’s not just interesting, it’s mind blowing. The first day, I did a guided tour of the Palatine Hill and the Colosseum, a walk down from the Colosseum to the Circus Maximus, across the Tiber and back up via that little island thingy in the middle, the Ghetto and the ruins at the Piazza Largo. Tired leggies after that…
Next day I did a bus tour of the major sites, getting off during the second half (because I’d already walked most of the first half the previous day) to see the Trevi Fountain.
After the Trevi fountain, I walked up to the Quirinal, which was impressive. The building which formerly housed the Palace stables faces the Presidential Palace.
It’s a fairly impressive building. For stables, like.
Speaking of stables (and horses) I saw a few mounted policemen and a lot of horse-drawn carriages in the city.
Honestly, I don’t know how I feel about them. Sure, they live in less than ideal conditions, but they mostly looked well fed and well cared for. But I kept looking at their feet. No amount of black hoof oil could hid the upright hooves; multiple nail holes; distorted hairlines. Harsh bits. Heads low. Dull eyes. Even the harsh clip-clop of metal shoes bothers me now. Becoming a horse-hippy has changed me. I wanted to scoop them all up and bring them back to Provence to live wild and woolly lives on a mountain😦 But they have jobs to do and a living to earn…
After the Quirinal, I walked back down to the Piazza Venezia because I wanted to have a look at the museum there – the Palazzo Venetia. The museum contents were so-so, but the building itself was magnificent!
After that, I got back on my tour bus (one of those hop on hop off ones) and did a full circuit on the top deck (I was stuck downstairs at the start of the day). That was fun… a bit hot, but fun. Then I went and found the Lush shop to buy some shampoo and conditioner (can’t beat it, and it’s animal friendly too), walked to the Spanish Steps only to find they were closed and sat on the kerb for a while because my legs were going wobbly and said they didn’t want to walk any more.
I decided it was Wine O’ Clock around then.
Eventually, the LSH came and joined me and we had a lovely meal in the Taverna Antonina. Highly recommended. Look it up if you’re in Rome.
The only ‘major’ tourist stop I had missed was the Pantheon and HEY PRESTO, our taxi driver took us past it on the way back to the hotel, so I can tick that one off too.
The next day, I went off to the Stadio Olimpico to watch some show jumping. More about that next time.
PS Hello to Kate and Charles from NZ who promised to check out the blog. We may be future business partners. Someday😉
Watering, with a spray or a hose.
Very relevant during times of drought. The verb is arroser.
Interesting fact – you know the thing with all the holes that’s stuck on the end of a watering can’s spout? Gardening fans will know already that this is called a rose. Now you know where this name comes from – arROSEr.
Arrosage of gardens and lawns has been banned since the end of June due to the drought. We are now at drought level 3, and the poor farmers are faced with an arrosage ban too.
Farming here is very different to farming in Ireland, but it has its own challenges.
My Reading list here has been getting crazy, so I've moved all my favourite Horsey Blogs to Bloglovin. Find some great equestrian reads here »