YOU CAN’T TEACH AN OLD DOG NEW TRICKS!

Whoever came up with that particular piece of homespun philosophy had clearly never owned a dog. Maybe if they had finished it by adding, ‘ but you won’t need to because they’ll learn themselves,’ I might have been more in agreement.

After Ellie’s first brush with cancer, she took life at a slower pace, and she needed us to be more patient during her walks. But how she lived her life through reliable routines, how she looked after herself, and her ability to communicate precisely what she needed us to understand was an absolute joy to behold. Compared to younger, more excitable puppies, older dogs demonstrate how they have accumulated knowledge and wisdom. Here’s an example.

Soon after we got her, I discovered a shelf made especially to accommodate dogs in the back seats of cars. Supported by straps around the front seats, headrests, and laying on part of the back seat, it converted the whole of the rear compartment into a much larger and stable platform. Because she had plenty of room, Ellie loved travelling on it and leapt up when a back door was opened. Post-op, she seemed to realise that some agility had been lost, so she carefully placed her front paws on the shelf and waited until one of us gently lifted up her rear end so she could complete the manoeuvre. When exiting the car, she would stand patiently until we supported her weight as she jumped to the ground.

I mentioned trips to the South of France. We always went to the same place, becoming part of a regular group of dog walkers, making the most of the kinder, early-morning temperatures. We got to know some of the other owners and renewed acquaintances yearly. On our last pre-pandemic visit in 2019, one man told us that his dog, a Bichon Frise, was 21! He ambled contentedly along the promenade behind his owner despite being blind and deaf, presumably guided by scent. He certainly learned some new tricks!

Around 18 months after Ellie’s sign-off visit to the Oncologist, we found another lump! Almost in the same place in her left armpit. Even though a lot of time had passed since her surgery and her fur mainly had regrown, the site of the operation is still apparent in the photo. I guess we’d known that reoccurrence was inevitable; the articles we’d discovered when researching Mast Cell Tumours had not pulled any punches when discussing prognosis. Ellie had already beaten many of the odds, given that for Grade 3s, a survival rate beyond 12 months from the first diagnosis is uncommon.

Abba’s song, ‘The day before you came,’ perfectly sums up how life can suddenly get turned on its head in a moment. Ellie would often lie alongside the settee I relaxed on in the evenings; I absent-mindedly stroked her while watching TV. One night, as I ran my hand along her flank, there it was!. My wife came over to check, and we then spent a long time discussing the way forward. Ellie had celebrated her 12th birthday a couple of months earlier, so we accepted she had not only already exceeded the now-typical life span for a Golden Retriever, but had done so in generally good health.

Our first reaction was to consider a second operation. We quickly decided that the toll of the procedure and recovery might be too much at her age. Also, it seemed like this cancer was determined to get her and maybe, a third lump might appear at a much shorter interval. I spoke to the Vet the next day, and although he tried to encourage us to opt for surgery, I explained our reasons for declining, so we discussed the palliative options. Essentially, this amounted to resuming her chemotherapy at 3-week intervals, and we started a few days later.

Life then became a series of ‘if we can just get to ..’ targets, the main one being her 13th birthday at the end of November 2019.

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