Tick Tock

My heart is broken not only because of the war in Ukraine — which had me on the brink of a sob-athon since last Friday, but also because I have a feeling that the time may be approaching to have my best friend and closest companion euthanised.

I have been through this before because my relationship with and trust of dogs has for years now been far deeper than with humans. I’m a proud serial rescue-dog adopter.

Basil was diagnosed with a faulty heart valve in December. He nearly didn’t make it, but a brilliant vet managed to work a miracle and we pulled through. Since then, he’s been on awfully expensive meds, but it really worked a miracle. Although he’s not 100% himself.

Like a neurotic mother, I studied all the side effects of all the meds he was on. I think he’s experiencing stiffness because he is stretching a lot more than before. And he’s not struggling to breathe — we saw in December what happens when fluid build-up on his lungs causes laboured breathing and if that happens again, the vet explained to me that it would feel to him as if he’s drowning. Having had a few asthma attacks myself, I don’t wish that claustrophobia on anyone (not even Putin, though I think he should be slowly dissolved in a bath of acid while he’s alive.)

For Basil it’s just the coughing that sometimes gets worse. It’s a symptom of the heart disease. But otherwise, he still gets majorly excited when he sees me putting on shoes and grabbing my keys — because going for a drive to the shop is his absolute favourite. I park underground so the car is lovely and cool for him while I finish the shopping quick sticks.

He loves his doggy treats and wags his tail and barks when there’s commotion in the street. It’s just when he goes into a coughing fit that both of us know we’re on borrowed time.

I have such a strong emotional bond with my dogs that I always know when it’s time for that last knee-buckling drive to the vet. And I know I will never ever let my heartbreak motivate me to keep my pets here when I know that every minute is no longer any fun for them.

It’s just with Basil that I panic when he coughs when he gets too excited — and I know the clock is tick tock, tick tock — and I have a good old cry until it makes my head hurt and he comes to comfort me and licks the tears off my cheeks and then I give him one of his favourite treats and take a paracetamol with my depression and anxiety meds and we soldier on — in spite of the dark hooded figure constantly lurking in the corners and the shadows.