Pip is our geriatric Jack Russell. He turned 17 years old in August, that equates to around 84 - 88 dog years of age. As an elderly citizen of this world, he has a number of health conditions, including dodgy heart valves, cataracts, poor hearing, numerous bumps and lumps and a chesty cough due to fluid build-up. He relies a great deal on his nose to guide him around, sleeps most of the day away and is on a myriad of medications, including for heart failure, excess fluid and pain from arthritis. He also has fish oil added to his dinner, along with Plaquedent, a seaweed concoction designed to help keep his teeth clean.
Pip's reign has rivalled that of Queen Elizabeth II. A fostered dog from Best Friends Animal Rescue, he arrived to live with us as a companion for Sascha when I began my new career of Education Assistant. Apparently, Sascha was howling in my absence, so I decided to organise her a companion. She was a Weimaraner, but I knew I could not afford another nor did my duplex have enough room. Jeanne, the owner and principal at Best Friends was passionate in her placement of her animals into what she considered very good homes, always at the advantage of the animals. Thus, I was interviewed as to my suitability to become the new owner of ten month old Pippin. I was then "on trial" for two weeks before my final assessment. I must admit I was very concerned to prove myself as a worthy owner for the Jack Russell puppy.
Pip fell in love with Sascha on sight. He was less enamoured with Ruby, Michael's eccentric Beagle and always on acquaintance-only terms with Ruby the cat. Sascha and Pip's adoration lasted until her death, then he grudgingly tolerated being the Beagle's companion. Seemingly on death's door after that canine mischief maker's passing, he revived with the arrival of Stella in August 2019. He also assumed giving respectful passing acknowledgement to Chop, Madame Cat's successor.
Having been mistreated, Pip was highly anxious when he first came to us. I didn't touch him or even look at him on his first day. When he voluntarily sat under my legs that evening, I knew he felt safe. Extremely suspicious of anybody entering the house, but particularly men, we gave him anti-anxiety meds and barricade the front door. for the safety of visitors. A fabulous judge of character, I should have heeded his assessment when he bit the Sicilian Sociopath twice. When Michael first arrived on the scene, Pip voluntarily jumped into his lap - a feat he had never displayed with any other man.
Pip experienced extremely rude health for the vast majority of his life. Just as well, because he liked to bite or attempt to bite vets with incessant growling, indicative of rage. He scared one junior vet half to death, but is most famous for using diarrhoea as a weapon of mass destruction against Graeme Penno, the most mild mannered vet I have ever had the good fortune to meet. Having had himself and the treatment table pelted with pooh, Graeme only showed minor irritance, and at the vet nurse he was summoning, rather than Pip. His exact words were "I don't often ask for help, but when I do, I need immediate assistance!" Pip was duly bathed and returned to me, butter not melting in his midget alligator mouth.
Since then, Graeme has had the last laugh. Pip is now docile and can be handled with not a growl to be heard. Pip had an appointment with Graeme last Wednesday, as I was concerned a couple of off days, involving diarrhoea in the house might be pointing at his imminent departure from this earth. As Graeme not too delicately inserted his finger up Pip's bottom to check if his anal glands were still swollen, he noted that Pip was a senior dog with a few ailments, but none of which would kill him this week. Having discounted anal gland cancer, he explained that dogs of his age were likely to have a couple of mediocre days each week. When and if Pip had more bad days than good days, then a re-think would be reasonable.
Pip was delighted to return home on Wednesday afternoon, after a bottom wash (do they have bidets for dogs?) a nail clip and an eye clean. Yesterday, we loaded all three dogs into the car and took then for a jaunt to our oval. Stella exploded with pent-up glee, charging across the grass with as much energy as she could expend. Roxy ran around too, but with more dignity, whilst Pip trotted at his own pace, covering about half the oval to the beat of his own drum.
Is piddling still a problem due to his diuretic medication? Absolutely, hence we often have squares of paper towel in various spots on the lino, rather like the floor has had a shave similar to that of Norman Gunston. Are we furious or unhappy when he lifts his leg right next to us? We ought to be, but we usually cope with a short gnashing of teeth followed by chucking Pip out the screen door.
Piddling Pip lives to fight another day. I shan't be surprised if the little sod makes it to Onslow with us in July!
On a sleepy afternoon in Heavenly Beverley -
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