Zeke has had two accidents in the last week. One, it seems, happened in his sleep: we woke to find him trying desperately to bury it on his bed. The other… I turn on lights now when I let him out at two. His back end is getting stiffer. His legs weaker. Two weeks ago at the vet, after standing in the car for half an hour, his legs went out from under him. He got back up and then slumped again. And again.
We’ve increased the Adequan injections — “lubricant” that allegedly rejuvenates synovial fluid and associated tissues — from monthly to bi-weekly. We’ve started to give them at home. Zeke still hobbles to the park every day. A mile is a fair distance for an old guy to walk.
Becky gave him his shot Sunday at noon. This morning he ran across the park after a squirrel. It was not the run I miss so, the rear legs tucked between and under the front legs, that joyous greyhound sprint. My dog once had a turning radius, at twenty miles per hour, of zero. He out-ran, out maneuvered every dog he met. It was not that kind of run. But it was a run.
Becky and I, with Ron and Joe, took Zeke for a long hike one morning up Mount Eddy. Mount Eddy, at 9,025 feet the highest peak in the Klamaths, is a large block of peridotite scraped up from the mantle of the Earth. It is an imposing mountain. People driving by on the Interstate below would surely marvel at it were it not for the 14,161-foot stratovolcano across the road. All drivers’ eyes turn to Mount Shasta, and Eddy is ignored.
I have climbed Eddy twice, once to the summit and once, with Zeke, just to the base of the last scree slope beneath the summit, where wild campanula bloom pale blue against the russet rock. We pulled Zeke off the carcass of a black-tailed fawn, walked through wet meadows and Jeffrey pine forests, picnicked by a fall. And then the bog, or so it was called. The bogs I knew as a child were horizontal: this bog was twenty degrees off plumb. It was more a soggy hillside, serpentine and peridotite with a constant sheet of water flowing over the rock, just enough soil to bind it to the hill.
The bog was full of cobra lilies, Darlingtonia californica, carnivorous plants that grow long hollow vases with curved hoods. Insects fly into the flutes in search of food and water, and then cannot fly out. Translucent panes in the top of the hood fool the insects. They try to fly out through the roof, tire, and drown in the pool of water at the base of the flute. Cobra lilies are endangered plants, as is the case for most meat-eating plants that live in swamps.
Zeke saw the bog, long, shiny, sloping toward the trees a half mile away, full of tall, delicate endangered species, and was gone. Spray flew six feet in the air. He carved crazy courses through the Darlingtonia, insane with joy. His eyes were as bright as his teeth, or was that the other way around? He ran exuberant up to Joe, whom he loves, and Joe caught his collar. Leashed, Zeke hiked happily demure for six more miles at altitude and soaking wet.
This was not that sort of run. The squirrel exhibited mild surprise that this senescent pile of fur could rouse itself. The park squirrels approach Zeke to within four feet these days, and the towhees in our yard, who scatter at the sight of a cat two houses down, let Zeke totter among them. Zeke was two hundred feet away, saw a young squirrel in mid-sidewalk, and was off. It was not supremely fast, but it was a run, all four feet off ground at once. The squirrel made for the saucer magnolia. Zeke harrumphed at the base of the trunk, sniffed airily for a moment, then trotted up to me his milky eyes ablaze.
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8 comments on "Zeke afoot"He’s a good dog, that Zeke. I’m glad he’s still managing to run, even if it’s not the runs of his glory days.
this is for all those dog lovers who frequent your great site.
http://www.joe-ks.com/archives_feb2006/Screen_Cleaner.htm
Oh, Zeke. Good for you.
You writers… You actually *enjoy* ripping our hearts out, don’t you?
Well, that’s alright. Your heart’s next, my friend. But I’ll be right there with you, I suppose.
I remember that walk, same one where a tiger swallowtail lit on Joe’s arm and stayed there to sip at sweat. This surprised and pleased Joe a great deal. Good thing I’m not the jealous type. I must say it was the prettiest thing I’ve caught him wearing in years.
Imagine the ambivalence, readers: a plant lover and impassioned advocate, a fancier in particular of plants who make a living in inventive ways like direct carnivory, watching a dog friend raise great flashy splashes in a spot where everything is movement and light, grinning ecstatically and leaprunning in perfect grace amid a live thriving stand of a rare and easily clobbered plant.
And on second thought realizing that it was a big stand, and resilient. I kept trying to scowl but it just didn’t take.
Mike said it; we’re right here with you.
It seems Zeke has been a daily part of my life for so long now that it’s hard watching his legs give out. Because that is a great part of what a dog is, isn’t it, the legs? I just wish I could take the suffering in my own life with the same grace and determination that Zeke does.
Hi Zeke,
My pet guardian (Cynthia) thought you might find my blog interesting as I also had degenertative myelopathy. Your pet guardian knows my pet guardian as they are both into CA native plants. My guardian moved to southwestern MO though and she misses her ceanothus and coastal live oaks.
Anyway, best of luck to you as you deal with DM. Despite not being able to walk (or run) I never lost my sense of what was important—eating ice cubes and bananas, barking at the cats, ear rubs, and most important, being with my pack.
Sammy