We are in a difficult phase with Bumpy. He has been taking prednisone for a few days now, and I can't tell yet whether it's making a difference. He still can only eat small amounts, and sometimes enough of it stays down that it makes it all the way through him. Nearly everything that goes into him is essentially liquid (his chicken and rice gruel is watered down with chicken broth), so he needs to pee all the time, yet his age and infirmity means that he doesn't control it all that well. He neither holds it when he is supposed to nor easily eliminates it when he has the opportunity to do so. He's still so skinny, and I don't know whether that it going to change.
But even sick and weak, he is still the most loving and loyal dog I've ever known. I sat in the hot tub this afternoon, trying to loosen my muscles before my last physical therapy appointment of this set. He stayed on the patio, right next to the tub, with his back to me, watching for all potential hazards. He has done this since we rescued him, and he credited me with the save, since it was my voice he heard as his head cleared from his accident on Route 66. I tell him every time I see him that he is the best dog of all time. But we aren't cuddling as much as I want to. When he comes into the house, he patrols it like a shark, looking for his special chicken gruel that he gets about four times a day, or he's on the hunt for a special treat of cat barf or anything else that he would have wanted to find on a normal day. He's hungry and agitated when he comes in. I can't imagine how hard it is for him, always wanting to eat, but not wanting to throw up or have the pressure of too much food failing to squeeze past the tumor against his duodenum.
He got to go on a special daddy-doggy drive into the mountains today, without the other two dogs. The Mr wanted to go check out a beater truck that would be better for driving up to the mining claim (one in which Murray would be in the way back, separated from the driver and passenger, who would no longer have to smell the lovely things that come out of Murray unexpectedly). Murray and Elsa stayed home, and Bump went up to investigate the truck with his papa. From all accounts he liked the special one-on-one time. Murray picks on him, so three hours without harassment was like a mini-vacation for Bump.
We have a trip scheduled for next month. It's just a short trip, one or two nights away from home. We have made reservations for the dogs to stay at the camp where they get to run and play in a big field, like a sleepaway dog park. I asked out loud today what we think will happen. If Bump is feeling better, do we risk boarding him for two or three days while we are gone? Do we send the other two, but ask a friend to babysit him at our home? Or the option we don't really want to think about for very long... What if he is significantly worse and in pain as the trip approaches? He is in palliative care right now, not treatment that we expect to heal him. I don't know what the immediate future holds, and I'm a little afraid to put words to what it may bring.
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