Because Gypsy’s moods have continued, I decided I should take her to the vet, to make sure there was no physical reason for her behaviour. So I rang and made an appointment. Each day her hiding got worse, and longer; she was still looking sad, and guilty. I also decided to take the kingfisher to the vet too, he still wasn’t flying.
Vet day came, and I discovered that the bird had died overnight. I’m assuming he finally succumbed to cat bacteria. The fact he survived so long shows what a tough little character he was.
When it was time to leave, Gypsy was almost pleased to put the lead on. However, she was not quite so pleased to be taken to the vets. She was even less pleased when I took her into the consulting room and put her up on the table….and put the muzzle on her. She gave the vet her best “sad face”. She was then given a series of health checks, starting with the vet listening to her heart which wasn’t so bad, then having her tummy felt, and her joints checked for mobility. However, she was very put out when the vet took her temperature! Oh the indignity!
That completed, the muzzle came off and the treats came out. All was forgiven, and her tail wagged! While she was getting stuck into them, the vet and I discussed what she had found….which basically, apart from being “flat”, and the fact her heart beat was a little slow, she had discovered nothing untoward. She said she felt she should have a blood test to further rule out any physical problems, so back on with the muzzle while the vet shaved a little bit of hair off her neck. Gypsy’s forelegs, with her chihuahua ancestry were rather small, and slightly bowed, which made the prospect of getting blood out of them rather difficult. There was a vein in her neck which was going to be much easier to get blood out of. The assistant and I cuddled her while the “vampire” took the blood, and then off with the muzzle, and more treats! Again all was forgiven! The vet told me the results should be back by Friday morning, and we decided if no one rang me by 11 am, I would rang them.
That evening, after we had dinner, and Gypsy was back in hiding, I got a phone call from the carer who had the tiny wombat that I had babysat before. At that stage it was pink, and it had now grown, and was covered with hair. It was still tiny and still in need of feeding often, and she had to go to Mudgee the next day, and could I baby sit the next day for her? Of course I said yes. The next day, she arrived at my door with her little bundle with plenty of milk and spare bedding, and instructions on feeding. The little wombat had now been named: Coco. I’m not sure whether this was Coco Chanel, or Coco Pops….. I found a safe place for her, and left her for a couple of hours.
I decided that I would concentrate on spending quality time with Gypsy, and taking her for walks and encouraging her to do things that made her happy. I discovered that when I went out to do some gardening, with a bit of encouragement, she would come and sit near me while I was working. Likewise when I put the washing out on the line, or took it off, she would sit near me. I also encouraged her to sit out in the sun, rather than hiding under a table, as the weather was just lovely, and when she did this she lost her guilty look, and looked almost contented.
So, after a time out in the garden, and pegging the washing out, I started to think about taking her for a walk. As I wandered inside, the mower man turned up. I had arranged for him to call when it was convenient, because the weeds were taking over. Gypsy accompanied me to the front door to greet him, but when she went outside to check him out, instead of her usual checking him over and then returning inside, she rolled over at his feet and refused to budge. I picked her up and brought her inside so he could get on with his work. He has quite a few customers, and was planning on doing 5 lawns that day. Gypsy went off and hid under the chair in the back room while I fed the wombat.
Little Coco was quite a wriggler, and it took me a few minutes before I could get her in a position she was happy with, but when we organised that, she downed the milk in no short order. In fact I ended up giving her quite a bit more than what she normally had, but her “mother” had instructed me to keep going till she stopped…and that is what we did. I then made my own lunch, and by that time the mowing had been done. I showed the mower man the wombat when I went out to pay him, and he was disappointed he didn’t have his camera with him. I assured him I’d be babysitting her again at some stage, and that I would let him know when she was here.
After he went, Gypsy and I went for a short walk. All went well till we met a strange dog. Gypsy stopped, and stiffened. She was not at all happy, so I picked her up, and proceeded past the dog in question, who really wanted to be friendly….but Gypsy was having none of it! By the time we came back he had gone, so she continued the walk, sniffing every blade of grass and leaving the occasional message of her own. When I got home, there was a message on the answering machine from Coco’s “mother” saying she’d been held up. I didn’t really think this was a problem, but I appreciated her letting me know. She eventually called for her, and assured me she would call again…
Friday came and I spoke to the vet. The blood tests showed nothing concrete, except that she had been coping with a virus. There was no indication of any major health problem, which was good to know. However I was now left with how to cope with her problems. He offered her some medication for dementia and/or antidepressants, and I told him I would take the weekend and think about what I should do for her. In the meantime, I had been in touch (several times…by email and phone) with my daughter, who had Gypsy’s half sister till she died, and with Dom (also by email), Senior Moments’ resident naturopath, with the view of getting some sort of herbal support for Gypsy. All of us agreed that the root cause of Gypsy’s depression was the fact that she was still missing Nolan. Like humans, they grieve, and also like humans, their rate of recovery differs from dog to dog. Dom and I discussed a couple of different products that might help her, and tomorrow morning I intend to go to Mudgee to see what I can get for her. I’ll put the antidepressants on the backburner, and the products for dementia can wait till she has dementia!
In the meantime, I have taken her bed from the living room and put it next to the computer, and when I’m working on the computer she comes out of hiding and sits near me. We go for walks whenever it can be arranged, and I’ve been giving her a few extra treats. She still hides, but not quite as often, and is losing that guilty look. She still looks sad, but she has the odd occasion when she dances, and looks happy. Only time will bring her through this, but I hope I can speed up the process a little for her….
Mamaroo's Diary 