The Meaning of Forever (Home)

I'm finding it difficult to keep up on this blog while attending to Stella.  If she's having a good day, then I want to be there every moment enjoying it with her, and when she's having a bad day, I want to be with her so it might not be so scary for her.

Since I regained a little bit of hope, I put an end to all stress for Stella.  No expectations, no stress, just her living every moment she has however she would like.  I wish I could say they are all good moments, but they are not. 

Stephanie and Linda came to visit on Saturday, shortly after Stella had just spent half an hour sunbathing on the sidewalk.  Her routine is that when she is done with the heat, she walks back in the door, turns to her immediate right, and collapses on the floor with her head uncomfortably leaning on the bookcase.  I shoved a towel between her head and the shelf, but she didn't thank me--and even appeared a little annoyed by it.

She continued to lie there while Stephanie and Linda visited.  Stella took every biscuit and treat Stephanie handed her.  It's bizarre to have houseguests that stop and sit on the floor within two feet of the doorway, but that's where we all ended up, around Stella.  I was worried because this was the big test: how did Stella seem in comparison to how she was at the vet's?  Stephanie had visited Stella often there and seen her at her worst.  Stephanie's assessment was that Stella was not as symptomatic as she was at the vet's.  There, both nostrils were constantly running with green goo, not like a leaky faucet, but like a faucet turned on full blast.  Stella couldn't even inhale.  I was glad to hear she looked better, because for me, Stella looked like shit compared to how she had been only hours before... and an hour after they left of course.

Stephanie did get to witness Stella awaken from her siesta and sit at her spot waiting for her afternoon meal like a kid who just got home and wants his afterschool snack.

And she admitted that seeing Stella be able to eat, that clearly she had lost her front teeth some time ago.  This was not a new problem for Stella.  However, her teeth are rotting inside her mouth.  This might even be the cause of the infection.  Unfortunately, no dental work can be done on her since she can't go under, and kicking up the bacteria could make it travel into her bloodstream straight to her heart.  Like not dusting your living room for a year as to not get your allergies going (excellent excuse), we can't clean Stella's mouth for fear the crud will move and cause even more damage.

Despite my belief that Stella's teeth are bugging her (she doesn't eat as much, and might be playing me since she only wants to eat out of my hand), she does use her mouth for redecorating her space.  I never know how I'm going to find things when I return after leaving the room for five minutes or five hours.  It's a pretty cool thing to watch: she makes decisions on how she wants things arranged.  When she's unsure about her next move, she sits, cocks her head to one side, and lifts a paw.  "Hmmmm...."

Then she'll grab her big dog pillow by the corner and move it five inches from where it lay.  Next she'll take the new big blanket I got her and drag it over to the pillow.  (It's unbelievably soft and it was only eight dollars!)  She'll change her mind, drag her other pillow off the couch, maybe take the towel and lay it in the sunlight.  A dog that takes the time to make herself comfortable is not a dog ready to give up on life.

She loved the new blanket so much in fact, that getting her to leave it to use the facilities was a two step process.  First the denial ("Do I have to?"):

Then the acceptance by simply rolling over and looking as pathetically put out as she can:

Making sure I knew exactly how upsetting it was for her to leave the blanket, she followed my lead out the door.

For not being a maternal person, I sure am making purchases like one.  At Walgreens (where I made the impulse buy of the blanket), I had bought: 1. baby nasal aspirator, 2. Pedialite, and 3. "Boogie Wipes."  Yes, they trademarked "boogie wipes."  Stella hates the aspirator.  I think dogs' noses are too wide for the baby nasal thing to work properly, but it does get some stuff out.  I do fear that in only a short time she's going to be right back where she was a month ago, with fully running faucets out of her face releasing green sludge.

It's clear that she has made herself at home here.  Besides changing the furniture around to suit her desires, she also has made the assumption that she owns the couch.  Two of my friends came over last night and were sitting on the couch while I was sitting on the floor with Stella, cleaning her nose.  When we were finished, Stella got up, walked over to the couch, saw that people were there, walked by to the hallway, paw up in confusion, then tried to look over the couch from that angle.  "What are those creatures there for?  That's my space."

I told Stella she could join them on the couch; there was still room.  She tried from one side, knew there was no way to get up and then went to the other side of the coffee table.

"Stella, you can get up there.  It's okay.  They'll share your space."

She sat shyly, and my two friends moved a foot to the right on the couch so Stella could have room.  I walked over, asked if she wanted to get up, and she wagged her tail.  "Yes, please."

I lifted her up, she sat down, said an awkward hello to the intruders of her space, and then curled up with her head on her pillow.

She is a very sweet dog.  I keep imagining some eight year old asking her daddy for a puppy.  Her dad brings home some sort of mixed breed puppy a neighbor's dog had in the backyard and the little girl christened this tri-colored puppy with a messed up ear and crooked tail, "Princess Isabella."  I think she was loved at one time, but something went awry.  Whether that little girl grew up and moved away, or her parents couldn't afford to care for Isabella/Stella anymore, I don't know. 

And I don't know if Stella ever will have a forever home, if this is her last stop before forever ends.  Not that I'm adopting her, but by default, this is as far as forever goes for Stella.  The vet did send her fluids in to be tested, and we'll know more in a day or two.  In the meantime, I'm not relying on science; just on my gut instinct. 

And this afternoon, my gut instinct thought this was indeed the end for Stella.  She hadn't been outside to use the bathroom since 9:00 a.m., and it was already 3:00.  I had been gone running errands, and needed to do more, so I asked her to come outside.  I thought she was okay.  She even wagged her tail when I walked in the room.  But when we got outside, she circled to go back inside.  When I insisted that we keep going, she made it to the parking lot and then she sat down and slowly lowered herself down to be lying on the blacktop.  It was ninety degrees.  I don't understand how this didn't burn her.  But she refused to get up.  When I tugged a little she flattened her neck out on the ground.  She was beginning to scare me.  My parents told me that the day my dog Dutchess passed away, they had come home, let her out of hr crate, and when  Dutchess walked to the door to go out, she stopped suddenly.  That was the beginning of the end.  And I thought this was Stella stopping suddenly.

But I tried to keep hope.  Maybe she just wanted to be in the sun.  So I let her be there a minute or two, and then asked for her to get up.  She did, we went down to the sidewalk, and in a section of bushes and terribly overgrown grass where she had peed before, Stella walked in and then collapsed onto her side.  My heart skipped a beat and I tried not to panic.

Stella was still moving, her eyes were open, and she was rubbing her head on the long pillow of grass she had created in her fall.  I let her lie there, and after a few moments, a thought, "What if she dies here?"  I thought she was choosing her spot.  In the high weeds.  In the shade.  Surrounded by the scent of grass.

She didn't get up.  I really thought this was it.  I lifted her out of the bed of tall grass and carried her back inside.  There I laid her on her dog pillow, and she made no motion to readjust herself.  I cradled her and pet her while she looked at me with her eyes half-closed.  I tried not cry.  I hoped it wouldn't be painful for her.  I hoped it wouldn't be painful for me.  As I sat there petting her, I thought how my dogs didn't die in front of me.  I wondered if Stella would.  And I wondered if now that we had a connection, that she wouldn't let herself die.  The will to live cannot be measured by science.  It goes against test results, visual symptoms, and all logic.

The thing is, I don't foster indefinitely until a dog gets a home.  When I foster, there's always an end date: a plane for them to catch, a home to go to, another leg in their journey to wherever their final destination be--a rescue, foster, or forever home.  But the longer Stella is here, the more it's hitting me that this might very well be Stella's final destination.  It's only been a little over two weeks.  And although I think she's bored out of her skull, Stephanie thinks that Stella might enjoy the tranquility and peace and quiet of my apartment.  I know it's better than the shelter, but maybe she'd like to be with other dogs too.

I've decided that if the test results come back as cancer, it's time for Stella's bucket list.  We're heading out of a town for some fresh air, and a chance for her to sunbathe without me standing six feet away from her holding a leash.  It's strange how we await test results.  The result is already true.  Meaning, that the only thing that changes is our knowledge.  The fact has been so since the test was taken, and probably for some time before then.

I'm here for Stella.  I don't want her to die alone.  I would feel enormous guilt if I was out and about and then came home to find that she had passed away alone in my empty apartment (probably not really empty... there is that visitor at the end of the couch.)  When I was sitting with her today, I realized I had to be there for her, with her.

I make a commitment to every dog: that no harm will come to them while under my care.  For the past few weeks, I was looking at death as a mighty big harm.  But maybe if I don't look at it that way... maybe if I just see it as a transition, I won't be breaking my promise to them.  I would still be helping Stella to her forever home.  It's just not the forever home I had been imagining.  As with any dog I take to their home, I stay with them as long as it takes for them become comfortable, and I wait until they give me the sign that they're going to be okay.  Then I can cut the apron strings and walk away, knowing another soul has found his forever home.  I just need to keep that same attitude if I find myself again sitting with Stella's head on my lap and looking into her eyes, and this time, she really is about to take her very last breath.