and now Simon has died too

I guess it’s an indication of the great security and privilege with which we live, that this weekend - with the death of our dear, dear, dear doggles - has been the saddest in our lives.  Neither Julian nor I - let alone Abby - have experienced such loss.

After talking with Mum, we decided not to bury Toph or Simon in the garden here in Melbourne.  Honestly, it doesn’t much feel like our home, and this is the very garden that poisoned them.  So Mum is contributing to having our darling Toph and Simon cremated.  Our vet Hugh is speaking with the crematorium folk - we would like them cremated together - and we will have their ashes in a box.  We may keep some of them with us always, but will also scatter a goodly proportion of them, if not all, over Mum’s beautiful tropical garden at home in Brisbane.  That way, they will be part of a garden they so loved, first came home to, and grew up in - and Lucy (Simon’s sister and a great lover of Toph) will be there with them.

We took Toph up to the vet’s this morning - and there was Hugh with very sad news.  Simon had really taken a turn for the worse.  After soldiering on since Wednesday with such fortitude, this morning, his poor little body just couldn’t take any more of the toxins that were continuing to build.  He couldn’t even stand to greet us - and yet!  that tail of his just kept on wagging.  His breathing was laboured, his eyes were beginning to roll back and glaze over, and his back legs were twitching uncontrollably.

We had taken up he and Toph’s quilt to wrap him in, and a bowl of Vita Brits and milk - their favourite breakfast.    The poor dear couldn’t even bear to look at the food, but was very happy to be wrapped in the quilt and cuddled on our laps.  We all had a lovely long cuddle, reminding Simon how much we loved him, what a beautiful, happy and wonderful dog he was and told all of the funny stories about he and Lucy and Toph that we could remember.  He watched us carefully as we spoke, his tail wagging.  We buried our faces in his lovely woolly curls and kissed him plenty.

We also showed him Toph’s body.  That may sound macabre and goodness knows what he made of it.  He certainly sniffed her face carefully and gave her a little lick.  We wanted to let him know that she was there with him.  That she had not made it home, whilst he was left there to die by himself.

After last night’s great sadness, we decided against bringing Simon home.  Hugh felt that the seizures were not far away and once the drip was removed, Simon would sink quickly - quickly enough to be dreadfully sick, but who knew how long he would survive and what the quality of this time would be.   Frankly, as I walk about the house, every corner and space is etched into my mind as part of Toph’s very sad last few hours.  The corners where she initially lay as she convulsed whilst we held the damp towel over her, stroked her head and spoke gently to her.  The furniture she bumped into as she made her way about, putting that long Dachshund nose of hers to good use.  The sofa where we lay and held her for the last few hours as she slept.  I’m so glad that I don’t have these memories of Simon.

As Hugh said, if Simon was human, he would be in intensive care with constant monitoring and many drips and drains.  So, we sat there in the little vet hospital and farewelled our beloved furry brother with as much love as it feels our hearts have.  Simon was warm, secure, as comfortable as possible and the people he loved most in the world were there with him.  Eventually, his bowels gave out and we knew it was time.

Whilst Julian held him close and I stroked his head and ears, Hugh injected the bung in his paw with the going-to-sleep-medicine.  It seemed to hurt as it began to flow into his vein.  He cried gently a few times.  But we continued to hold and kiss him and within moments, his body relaxed, the trembling stopped and his beautiful spirit left this world.  Do you know, his tail wagged right to the last moment.  And as his head lolled forward, his little pink tongue slipped out and there was the wee missing triangle that Lucy bit out whilst they were pups.

Oh our hearts just shattered on the floor right there in the vets.  I am filled with a freezing cold heavy emptiness.  There’s this big hole in our little family now and it seems as if we have lost not just a bit of our Queenslanderness, but part of who we are.

We lay him gently in the hut, next to Toph, made our final kisses and farewells, and left our dear doggles for the last time.  As I said in the beginning, the grief we are able to feel for two little dogs is testament to the good fortune with which we live, but as we left, I truly felt the words of W. H. Auden when he demands to stop all the clocks …

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

I see their shadows everywhere in the house.  I hear their little snorts and snores and wuffles.  I drop crumbs and leave them there, knowing how much Toph will enjoy pouncing on them and gobbling them up.  I hug the patchwork cushion on the sofa, that Simon insisted on flattening every night to sleep on, to my chest, not caring for a second that the colours are dulled by his dear dirty self.  We always joked that Simon’s colour rubbed off!

Yes it’s over now.  The horror of the last few days - that two dogs that were so healthy and hale could be struck so quickly and viciously by a tiny toxin to small to see - is over.  The dogs are no longer struggling.  When I said to Abby that Toph and Simon were peaceful now she retorted passionately - “They were VERY peaceful when they were snuggled on the kitchen armchair!”  That’s true darling girl, but it was not meant to be.    Their collars are on the table, next to a small jar of camellias and beeswax candles.  Their beds are still made up.  Their quilt is washed and hanging out to dry.  We have treasure chests of wonderful memories.  Hard drives full of photos.

Hugh - with decades of country and city vet experience - is certain that Toph and Simon were not maliciously poisoned.  He says you see a lot of that in the country where people have access to a vast stockpile of toxic chemicals, but that in the city, in 20 years, he has only treated one case, and it was after a year of raging, aggression and nasty property attacks between two households of far less than salubrious sorts.  All that country experience has taught him that our fauna can play nasty tricks.  Farmers can lose several animals in one field that they have farmed for decades and all it takes is one small shrub that has sprung up in an unobserved corner.  Hugh’s going to come over later in the week and take a walk around the back garden.  He’ll collect samples from the suspicious looking plants (we have a small plastic bag with a dried vomit sample) and give them to his friend the Botanist at the University of Melbourne and maybe we will get some answers.

None of these things will ever make up for losing Simon and Toph so tragically.  But they - and time - will go someway to easing this sorrow and emptiness.  I just want to hit edit undo.

Toph has died

Last night, at 1.45 am, our darling little Toph died.  It’s now 6.30, I have woken up twice since her death, and for a moment, hoped and hoped and hoped that last night was a sad dream and that it will be Saturday morning, and Toph will still be at the vet’s, with her drip and her big brother Simon, waiting to show us that she did a wee and was looking a bit sparkier.

Alas that is not so.

Early last night, Rachel called to say that when she had taken Simon for a quick walk outside, Toph was sitting in her hut, alert and watchful, waiting for her turn.  Whilst Rachel and Simon were outside, Rachel heard Toph have a seizure.  She rushed back in and there was our darling little girl on her side, fitting.  Rachel gave her a very mild injection of diazepam and called us.  When we arrived, Rachel’s partner (also named Simon) was holding Toph still on a rug on the examination table.  Despite the medication, as soon as she heard our voices, Toph struggled to her feet, stretched her head forward and peered around the corner of the door to find us.

Rachel let us know that the seizure was the final sign that poor Toph’s little body could just not fight off the terrible damage done by the poison any more.  Rachel gave us three suggestions.  We could take Toph home for her to die at home - she did not appear to be in any pain,  and was so very happy to see us.  We could transfer Toph to an emergency animal hospital where she would be in the equivalent of intensive care with a nurse to monitor her through the night.  Or we could let Rachel euthanise her then.  We chose the first, with the phone number of the emergency centre in case she deteriorated badly.

Rachel removed the drip, and I cradled Toph in my arms all the way home.  When we pulled into our driveway, she struggled to sit up and look out.  When she realised where we were, her tail wagged and she reached around to lick me.  Her eyes, at this stage, were very bloodshot and she was quite disoriented, but still she smelt like the same beautiful puppy we first brought home 18 months ago with her dear little sturdy feet, her long long nose, and the funny little capelet of fur that covers her shoulder blades.

We brought her in and she wriggled to be let down.  It was as if she was saying farewell.  She slowly trotted around the house - she went through every room several times, her tail wagging every now and then, as she carefully sniffed everything.  She even asked to be taken outside, where, instead of trotting down the garden path, under the laundry trolley, and popping out at her special spot of grass, she stumbled onto the grass near the back door and tried to wee.

Oh my face is burnt with tears and yet still, as I stand here writing this, there are so many more pouring down to my chin.  It was as if all those times we had told her, wee wees outside Toph! she was endeavouring to do what she knew would please us.

We brought her back inside, lay her on her rug, and she had another seizure.  We followed Rachel’s instructions.  We lay her on her side, turned out the light, held a damp, cold towel firmly over her convulsing little body, and talked calmly to her, stroking her head and ears.  It lasted less than 30 seconds.

She went on to have several more seizures in the next few hours .  It may sound cruel to have brought her home to this, but when each seizure finished she would open her eyes, look up at us, and then snuggle onto our chests - first Julian’s, later mine - and sleep for at least half an hour with slow and calm breathing and the occasional big sigh.  Yes we were selfish.   But we just couldn’t let go.  As she lay sleeping, it was as if nothing had happened and that it was just a few nights ago, before this horrible time became reality, and she was our dear little Toph whose favourite place to sleep was our chest.

Finally, the last two seizures were close together and she could barely left her head after them, despite still looking up at Julian as he gently called her name.  We called the emergency cenrte and drove her in.  She cried all the way.  I cried all the way.

The vet was a lovely woman who shared our grief.  She said it was the worst part of her job, having to help such previously healthy little young dogs die. But she concurred with Rachel’s treatment and conclusion - Toph was now in a very sad place from which there was no return.  We cuddled her, stroked her beautifully shaped head and soft soft fur, rubbed our faces in her shoulders inhaling her lovely scent - she has smelled beautiful from when she was a baby.  Then she lay in lap whilst the vet gave her the injection.  It was so quick and quiet.  But my heart screamed because there was no return.  We swaddled her in Abby’s pretty aqua bath towel - Abby wanted her to have it, our little red-girl always looked nicest in aqua - and brought her home.

God that drive was awful.  I sobbed  Julian sobbed.  Toph lay limp and still.  Just four days earlier she was a perfect specimen of an 18 month old dachshund.  She was feisty, energetic, hysterically funny, bossy, cuddly, affectionate, and ours.

Now she lies, swaddled in aqua, in her bed in the kitchen.  Her rattly toy lies beside her.  When the rest of the family awakes, we will pat her and hold her one more time.  Then we will bury her in the front garden - where she always wanted to be - under the camellia near the side fence where she loved to poke her head out to see what was going on in the outside world.

I don’t think we will ever know what poisoned our beautiful dogs.  Or even if it was a who.  We have spent the last two days reading up on every plant and shrub in the garden, fruit and vegetable in the kitchen.  Suddenly Julian has said, I fed them beetroot pancakes on Monday morning.  It must have been the beetroot.  We research and read and no.  The beetroot was fine.

I can’t sleep.  I don’t want to do anything else.  I want my mum really badly.  I want to be home in Brisbane with my family and my dogs.  We sure don’t always get what we want do we.

At 9 we will visit Simon and Hugh (Sunday’s vet).  Things are not looking good for poor old Simon.  His blood tests came back with worse numbers than the earlier ones.  Rachel syringed him some food yesterday and he has been able to do a few drops of wee.  But I won’t be surprised this morning if the departure of Toph has hit Simon badly.  He loved her so.

I simply cannot believe this is happening.  It is so so so so horribly unfair to these dear little dogs.

Rest in peace Toph.  May your forever dreams be of plenty of wonderful things to eat, rattly toys waiting for you around each corner, and a loving warm lap and chest for your sleep.  You will always ALWAYS be in our hearts.  We are so very sorry.

Simon and Toph

Thank you for your kind words yesterday.  I want to let you know how Simon and Toph are faring and I am heartbroken to report that their prognosis is very poor.

The toxin they ingested - we have a list of what it could have been but are unable to find anything around our home or garden that fits - has completely shut down their kidneys.  After two days of intraveneous fluids and diuretics, neither doggle is able to urinate.  Their kidneys are not even producing any urine.  Nor can Simon or Toph eat a bite of food, despite the vet nurse going out to buy them a freshly cooked chicken.

Simon- as always - is a right little gentleman.  He looks as beautiful as ever, his gentle eyes kind and loving.  The nurse told us that when they placed the drip in his paw, he stood there patiently without needing any restraint, his tail wagging back and forth in itsToph usual friendly manner.  If that wasn’t amazing enough, yesterday afternoon, when the vet and nurse inserted a catheter up his urethra to see if there was any urine present, he stood calmly, his tail wagging back and forth.  But, after cuddling him and giving him a good scratch all over his head - his favourite - for almost an hour, and then holding a wee piece of chicken in my hand for him to eat, he gently pushed my hand away with his head and looked back up at me with all that love and trust.  But there’s no kisses.  Simon - as everyone who has ever met him will testify - is the champion of kisses.  At the moment, he has none left to give.  I had no idea how many tears it is possible to shed.  Simon is my first dog, he’s only 7 and I love him so dearly.  I cannot imagine our lives without him trotting alongside us, patting us to get our attention, and snuggling up with us whenever we stop and sit down.  Yet now, so quickly, he is so very sick.

Toph has certainly had the wind knocked out of her sails.  Usually, she is full of energy, enthusiasm and expectations, with a feisty little voice to match.  Now, she is very quiet, baffled and just wants to be held and rocked.  I pick her up carefully and she snuggles into my shoulder, reaching up to rub her nose across my cheek and lips every now and then.  When we have to leave, and nestle her back into her bed, she cries.  The nurses have left a box of tissues besides Toph’s bed for us now.  No matter how many we take in, they are never enough.

As our vet - Rachel - said last night, it is breaking their hearts too.  Simon and Toph are such otherwise healthy, beautiful dogs, with lovely natures and a family who love them so much.

So what we are praying for this morning - a wee (who’d have thought I would EVER say that especially about Toph!) and some eating.  By Monday, if neither of these things have happened, and their blood tests are still recording the damage to their kidneys, it will be time to prepare ourselves for their deaths.

I keep having to walk away from the computer as I write this.  Everything in the house reminds me of them and I want them to come home so desperately.  I cannot believe they might never lie in the patch of sun on the living room floor again.  Stand up at the windowsill to see who’s coming down the driveway.  Leap from the bedroom door onto Julian’s head in bed each morning.  Stand with me in the kitchen whilst I cook.  Pull the quilts and rugs off the sofas and chairs and make their own little nests.  Simon, yanking and yanking and yanking on the leash when we walk.  Toph, trotting along like a show pony.  Simon, dancing backwards on his back legs for a cookie.  Toph, racing through the house with her rattly toy, furiously shaking her head back and forth.  Just this time last week, Toph was demanding to sit on my lap whilst I had my first cup of tea of the day, Simon was snuggled under the table at my feet.

I will let you know when we have any news.  Please keep our dear little doggies in your thoughts.

a truly horrible evening

They say horrible things happen in threes and last night they surely did. There we were, Abby, her friend and I, cooking strawberry jam, stitching felt ipod covers, having a very jolly evening and bam!

The vet rang - Simon and Toph have had the vomits in the last 24 hours and I’d taken them up to the vet earlier in the day where she put them on drips to rehydrate them. Only blood tests done that afternoon showed our poor dear Simon and Toph are both in kidney failure. They have eaten something toxic and it has attacked their kidneys and liver. They will be in hospital until Monday when more blood tests will be done to see how their kidneys are faring - hopefully the numbers will be done and their kidneys will be showing signs of recovery. We won’t know anything until then. Bugger the jam.

Then another phone call - a very dear lady, who has been a great support and friend since we moved to Melbourne, has been admitted to hospital during a stress test with heart problems. Oh … Then a visitor with very upsetting news.

One moment life seemed quite sweet - albeit missing Toph and Simon who we thought simply had a vomitting bug - and then … life in Melbourne this year has been very difficult. It’s almost creeping up there towards an Annus Horribilis.

So no jam, no stitching. Just soggy tissues, puffy eyes and an overwhelming feeling of oh my goodness, this is just too hard.

a stitched book cover

Moving into the teen years, I do find that coming up with a handmade present gets a bit trickier.  Especially if you have left it to the last moment :-)  Abby’s school friend Neve, turned 13 on the weekend and hosted a sleepover and we wanted something handmade but something that also reflected Neve’s interests.  She loves to read - a girl after my own heart, who reads and re-reads the likes of Anne of Green Gables, Little Women and Pride and Prejudice - what a sweetie!  So we straight away thought of a lovely novel and Abby came up with the wonderful idea of a felt book cover.  See, most of Neve’s reading material comes from the library so Abby liked the idea of Neve being able to add a bit of her own flavour to each of the library books whilst they were in her care.

Abby drew the design, traced and cut out the pattern pieces, then the felt pieces and I stitched them in place - hand stitching for the applique and a combination of machine and hand stitching for the flaps.

I used a stitch for the edging that I often find binding the rolled edges of the vintage woollen blankets I thrift, and after a few false starts, I found a direction and rhythm that flew along nicely and looked sweet.  The contrasting straight line I added with a backstitch.

Abby’s been learning embroidery in her art class at school - the girls started with a sampler of stitches and are now working on an applique and embroidery of a bird of their choice.  Abby’s - a Puffin which is currently having it’s black bits textured with seed stitch.  And she was full of suggestions for what stitches I could use where - without wanting to do them herself.  So we have the chain stitch flower stem which I must say, I love and will always use in the future :-)

We finished with a quick embroidering of Neve’s name on the inside flap.  The book was slid in and voila!  A lovely personalised half handmade present.  She loved it.  We do too - and Abby’s currently working on some more designs for more covers.  We’re compiling a garden diary/scrapbook - where we draw in the garden we worked on that day, adding pictures of the plants, what sort they are, how and where we planted them, what kind of sun they get, whether they were seeds or seedlings, what organic matter we added etc.  Hopefully, this will not only be lovely to look back on but will be a good resource for our family in establishing what works well and what doesn’t.  I’ll hopefully have it ready for a looksie by the end of the week.  For now, I’d better dash.  The bookstore awaits!

p.s. we chose a nice thick book - well you know, it’s not War and Peace, but certainly thicker than the average read, and we made the cover with room to spare, without falling off.  Hopefully this means it will be very versatile!