He's only 11

I've been trying to write this blog for the last two weeks, but just have not been able to put all the right thoughts, words and emotions together at the same time. I'm sure I haven't done it right this time either, but I need to let people know, because everywhere I go, somebody is always asking about Paco.

Here goes:

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No matter what time of the day or night  I walk in the front door of the house, I'm met by four boys who are the happiest guys in the world to see me. They act like they have not laid eyes on me for weeks instead of hours and each one has something important they have to tell me that very minute. Everybody has to have a pet on the head, one has to give me a hug, and one insists on being picked up and carried around for the next few minutes to let the others know exactly who the favorite in the house is. Those are my boys and though they've been known to make me mad enough to spit nails, I love'em dearly.

Lately, however, Paco, does not always join the fray. When I open the door there are only three barkers and jumpers and I feel like I've been getting cheated out of my usual greeting. I have had to go on the hunt throughout the house for my little spotted buddy to make sure all is well. Obviously . . . it is not . . . something is very wrong.

It's been a pretty rough year for Paco. He's been very sick several times, he started having seizures, he had his jaw broken and wired back into place -- twice, he's had all of his teeth pulled but one, he's been to the vet more times in the past few months than I have been the doctor in my life . . . and now . . . now my boy has been diagnosed with canine Cognitive Dysfunction Syndrome. That's right. Paco has what is referred to as "Doggie Alzheimer's".

I know.

I never heard of it either.

And let me tell you, it's one of the saddest things I've ever experienced in my life. I expect him to be lively and loud, not sad and scared in his own living room. I expect him to rule the other dogs and the humans at the house with an iron paw as he has always done, not cower away from the rest of us and hide behind the TV. I wait for him to jump into my lap and demand his supper, but that doesn't happen any more either. I've never had to coax him into eating or feed him with a spoon to make sure he gets something to eat, but that seems to have become our routine now.

Sometimes he looks at me with those huge brown eyes of his . . . eyes that have always been so bright, all knowing and mischievous, and I know he has no idea who I am or where he is. I say his name . . . but he doesn't know who that is either. He loses his balance a good bit, and now and then he can't seem to recall how to get past a piece of furniture to go into the next room.

Last week, he got lost in the yard. 

My boy is 11, people say he's 77 in dog years . . . but that's not true. He's only 11. 

I know that thousands of people are diagnosed with Alzheimer's every day, and yes, that's also sad. I know from experience how that devastates a family and I am in no way diminishing that disease or those people. But it's different with a pet, 'ya know what I mean? I miss the constantly wagging tail. I miss the excited yapping when a cat is in the yard. I miss my constant companion sitting on my lap as I play my computer games at night. I miss our ice cream parties, squeaky toy hide-and-seek games, and taking him to wake up daddy when he's on day-turns.

No, he's not dead . . . it just feels like it sometimes. 

Will the disease get worse? Probably. Will I have him put down? No. I wouldn't put my mom down if she had it, what makes anybody think I would the same for my best boy?

We'll just carve out a new relationship, that's all. One where I will be the one so very excited and happy to see him at the end of the day, even if I have to reintroduce myself every day. One where I'll work on making sure he is safe and well fed, whether he knows it or not. One that won't allow me to dwell on the bad and sad, and strive to keep him as happy as I can while I'm at home. And one that will allow him to get the best of the best out of whatever time he has left at our house. He's my friend . . . I just could not bring myself to do any less for him.