The dog was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy (a weak heart) and put on blood pressure, heart and diuretic medication. This went on for a week, with no improvement in Ricky whatsoever. He’s eaten about a tablespoon of food over the past week, so yesterday when he started vomiting I took him to the emergency vet.
The vet said the medications should have started working if the dog did indeed have a heart problem, and they shouldn’t be causing vomiting and loss of appetite. He examined Ricky and found his lymph nodes are enlarged, so he said the dog may have lymphoma (cancer). In any case, this vet said discontinue the heart medications immediately. The dog got a shot for nausea and we were sent home with special food.
The food was touted as ‘very palatable’ but even it was turned down by the dog. He simply doesn’t want food, though he’s drinking water. He’s not interested in barking or doing anything except lying in his bed. I’ve paid nearly $1,000 to the two vets, have no idea what’s wrong with the dog, feel terrible for him, and hence I’m in this horrible mood.
If Ricky makes it until tomorrow, we’re returning to my vet and I’m inquiring exactly why he thought the dog had heart problems when his lymph nodes are enlarged! I’m not really interested in more expensive speculation, either. Especially not when my dog was nearly 14 pounds one week ago and yesterday he weighed 12 pounds.
While the dog was laying around, deathly ill, I still had to prepare for my dinner on Thursday night with the German relatives and my friends Petra and Larry. I made a pot roast, which seemed easy, but it’s actually a nightmare at the end, as you’re mashing potatoes and making gravy.
I’d made Jerralynn’s baked cheesecake for dessert, topped with wild Canadian blueberries. I always like to go Canadian for food ingredients, especially with German visitors. They asked exactly what constitutes “Canadian cuisine” but we said we’re really not sure because we’re a land of immigrants.
The next morning Petra had organized a hike for us down to Powers Creek at Gellatly canyon. They live right on the edge of the canyon, and their neighbour is an 86-year-old retired biologist who hikes in the area every day. We met at Petra’s, and he lead us down a trail, explaining about the plants and talking about the things he’s seen over the years while walking in this park.
When we returned from the hike, Petra had made a beautiful lunch of ham and salami buns, smoked salmon open-faced sandwiches, and had a lovely assortment of cheeses with it. She cans Bartlett pears in Creme de Menthe liqueur and served the vibrant green slices on vanilla ice cream.
It was a welcome mental break, as being at home right now is a total downer with my poor sick, lethargic little dog. But I’m here with him, and hoping tomorrow there’s an answer either way, even if it’s a terribly sad one and a difficult decisions had to be made.