On this day, I have so many things to be thankful for. Gainful employment. Health. Warmth. Family. Friendship. Love.
My pigs, on the other hand, are pretty pissed about this whole snow thing, and are demanding more peanuts. And when I had to shovel out a path to the pond, break the ice to fill buckets with water and haul cold, slushy ice-water back up to their pen, I was thankful they only have a few days before they are ready for my freezer. Ha! Take that, farming!
A few weeks ago, I was traveling out west. I got a call from home.
That part isn't really all that surprising. My Bride and I usually speak two or three times a day, even when I'm not traveling. Some of our friends are surprised. I'm not sure why. This lady is my best friend. We check in. Sometimes just for a few minutes. And sometimes just to shoot the breeze in some down time. Or to laugh about something one of the kids just did. Or just to laugh at the kids. Because that's one of the perks of being a parent.
This wasn't one of those calls.
Our sweet, slobbery, six year old giant of a dog, Maggie, had come up lame.
For a 140 pounds dog on permanent medication for a variety of ailments, Maggie's always been surprisingly healthy. Oh, sure. She's incontinent. ("Just a little bit," said the vet. She's 140 pounds. nothing this dog does is little). So she takes a twice-a-day dose of a minor amphetamine that was banned for human consumption as it occasionally caused strokes in young women. But - if taken every day at morning and evening meals with their kibble - it also cures incontinence in dogs! So, woo hoo for the drugs!
She also has a rotten nose. Or proliferative arteritis. Which is a genetic condition that apparently only affects a minority of St. Bernards, Newfoundlands and Giant Schnauzers. Her nose has a deep crack that splits, bleeds, scabs, and then repeats. Even though her nose has been rotting from the center out for years now, it doesn't seem to cause her much discomfort, and only occasionally is the bleeding more than a little seepage. But when it is, she looks like she just turned our neighbor's cockapoo into a light, bloody snack.
She was on medication for this for a couple of years - some combination of fish-oil and steroids. It didn't actually do anything to heal the issue, it being genetic and all. So eventually, we more or less gave up the steroids part, and just settled on the cheaper fish oil pills. If nothing else, it kept her coat shiny.
When my Bride called to tell me the dog was limping, I wasn't too worried. She hurts herself occasionally. A couple of years ago, she struggled to stand, and when she did, she couldn't turn to the left without whining. She had pinched a nerve or pulled a muscle in her neck, playing with the Boy. The vet gave her muscle relaxers, and for a couple of days, she was one very mellow dog. Then she was fine.
So my Bride helped her limp into the car, and took her in for an x-ray.
There's a spot on the leg, right above the joint there that's swollen and a little brighter. That spot is a very bad sign.
One biopsy later, and the vet told us: It's osteo sarcoma. A bone cancer that advances rapidly, and metastasizes readily into the lungs and other parts of the body. Left untreated, that swelling will increase, and soon weaken the bone to the point where a very painful fracture is likely. And that's if the cancer doesn't spread to other areas faster than the bone weakens.
Options?
"You're going to want to amputate and put her on chemotherapy."
And that cures things?
"Well. No. But it takes away the most painful spot, and will give her a few more months."
Hmm. I love this dog. But a treatment of ten thousand dollars or more, a long recovery, and we're only buying a few months of slow decline? What else do you have on that list?
The vet clearly had some pause that we weren't ready to sign on for the most aggressive treatment.
Look. I love this dog. This is, by far and away, the best dog I have ever had in my life. This dog is easier to train, more loyal, and more integrated into our family and daily lives than any animal we've ever owned.
But she's a dog. If we were talking a treatment option that would give us a couple more years with her, I might consider it. Maybe. But I can't get behind radical surgery & treatment that will cause her more misery, cost 5x the cost of the dog, and give us a handful more months of sad, sickly companionship.
Besides which, it's because I like this dog so much that I don't want to put her through that.
The alternative options are either: B) targeted, palliative radiation to ease the discomfort and some accompanying drugs to slow the breakdown of the bone, or C) just pain killers to help mitigate the discomfort.
With the first, we get 3-6 months. With the second, maybe a couple of months.
These choices all pretty much suck.
We weren't ready to take her leg and do the full on chemo, but we did opt for the palliative radiation. It's a course of three doses, and we're two treatments in.
Some days are better than others for her, and there's hardly a limp. Her appetite is down, but she's still eating and drinking. And she still wags her tell and comes trotting over to see me when I get home. The kids are extra gentle with her, and give her all the attention she can stand. We're teaching her terrible habits at this point - to make sure she takes the medicine at each meal, we're slipping it into a little peanut butter sandwich, or drenching her food with the gravy from dinner. That goes against what we've done most of her life, but at this point, what the hell.
Sometimes, I can tell that she's feeling it - she follows me around the house so closely that her cheek rests on my thigh at every step, just wanting to be near. She's lost 10 pounds since the treatment began, despite the extra peanut butter medicine time. And sometimes, I catch her with her leg up in the air, or in a limp down the stairs. But she's still game, and still enjoying life.
At some point in the very near future, we're going to have to make a decision about when her pain outweighs her enjoyment. She can't speak to tell us when that point comes. But I'm pretty sure she'll be able to tell me in her own way.
Since the great pigscapade 2014 (part I, part II, & part III), the pigs & I have settled back into a friendly routine. I walk out in the morning - a little more nervous than I once was as to whether or not they'd still be there - and breath a small sigh of relief when I spot their growing spotted backs, nestled in whatever convenient spot they have created a nest in that evening. Always together, like three little sardines when they lay down at night.
To keep them from going walk-about once more, we got a little bit more aggressive with the fencing. Last year, the two piglets came a little older, and they were already fence-trained to the electric line. Or we were just luckier. Who knows. I thought about a half dozen ways either strengthen the current on our line (which has something to do with improving the grounding of the charger. I don't really pretend to understand how this actually works outside of some theoretical knowledge. But I'm pretty sure I could add another copper pole and really juice the little buggers up. On the other hand, I don't seem to be able to work on my electric fence without delivering several substantial shocks to myself along the way. Usually because I'm really too lazy to walk ALL THE WAY into the barn each time I want to switch it on/off for testing. So I end up just leaving it on. Because, how much shock can it really give me if I'm carefu-OHHOLYHELLTHATISGONNALEAVEAMARK.)
Besides, these pigs were still small. And I wanted something a little more foolproof. Or pig-proof. I wanted something that was going to keep out the bad things, and keep in the good, growing bacon, without me worrying too much about the next time they got spooked.
I thought about guard towers, spotlights and motion sensors, but I figured that might be taking it a little far.
I left the piglets in a small enclosure the first few days, and had the Critter help me set new fence posts. I cut standard 4"x4" pressure treated posts into 4' lengths, planning on burying 18". I dug holes; she hauled posts. She complained about this arrangement. I handed her the post hole diggers and went to get a Diet Coke, telling her that I'd set all the posts that she dug holes when I got back. She was hauling posts when I returned.
At our house, we believe in empowering our children with making their own choices. Also: we believe in less complaining.
Between each post, I ran a 2" x 8" as a bottom rail, and a 2" x 6" on the top. The bottom rail set flush against the ground, and the top rail set flush for a fence height of about 30". Those rails were just simply drilled into each post, on the inside of the posts, to make it easier to add the mesh fencing.
The Critter may not enjoy digging post holes, but she enjoys using power tools.
"Oh, daddy - can I screw?"
"Not til you're married."
"What?"
"Nothing. Here's the drill. I'll fetch the fencing."
I had some coated fencing wire that I stapled all along the top and bottom rails, all the way around. It comes in convenient 30" wide rolls. All told, I used about 160' of the fencing, in a large U-shape that took advantage of the stone wall of my barn to form the 4th side.
The pigs have been content as can be - the fencing provides a convenient accessory for scratching their backs and sides - a common pig pastime. You can see Tocino mouthing the fence above - I really should an electric line along the inside to keep them from getting too close, and to train them to the electric fence. That'd allow me to further expand the pen at a reasonable cost as I did with last year's crop of bacon. I like giving them extra room to root and explore when I can - though this enclosure is plenty big at this point.
The final advantage of this set up - besides the low cost and relatively easy setup, plus ease of removal later on down the road - has been that the footer rail gives the Boy a nice step to scale the fence. Since the return of our little critters from their jaunt in the woods, he's been out a couple of times a day to scatter a handful of peanuts and count their backs. He's smiling when he runs back up to the house.
"They're all still there, Daddy!"
Good. But let's check again in a little bit.
Just to make sure.
Geek. Amateur homesteader. Enthusiastic cook. Occasional doodler. Avid eater of food, Father. Bad banjo player. .
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