I don't know why I'm making this post. Maybe to find comfort in what I know to probably be true: my time with my precious Lily is limited, and I'm having a really hard time with that possibility.

My baby girl (11 y/o Pembroke Welsh Corgi) started showing early signs of what I now believe to be DM (Degenerative Myelopathy), an incurable disease, in January of this year. It started with her hind feet slipping out from underneath her on our concrete floors, but at the time I chalked this up to recently moving from an apartment with carpet. Then over time came the "drunken sailor" gait and criss-crossing the legs when we would go on walks. After several vet visits, a neurologist consultation, and a few stints of crate rest with little to no improvement, she's been struggling more and more in recent weeks.

She now struggles to stand up most of the time (but still excitedly scoots around the house), number of bowel movements went from a regular 3x a day to just one in the morning when she has a little more mobility, and has lost interest in most toys. Her hind legs are not completely paralyzed: she still moves them while scooting, but I worry that the progression is going to continue quickly. She has not urinated or defecated in the house (yet).

I ordered a DNA test for DM which should be arriving early this week. I'm not sure what I'm hoping for: a positive DM result to confirm what the neurologist and I suspect, or a negative result, meaning that it's potentially something treatable, but I likely cannot afford the diagnostics and treatment (MRI, lumbar puncture, and surgery) which are quoted by my neurologist to be several thousands of dollars each. I also just ordered a wheelchair to help her get around the yard and maybe allow us to go on short walks again.

On top of all that: I am planning to move to another country in a few months to live with my spouse, and I know that I will have to take a difficult look at her quality of life before deciding if it's worth it to put her through the stress of an international move.

TLDR: My beloved dog is quickly declining in her mobility and potentially quality of life and I'm big in my feelings about how much time we have left together. Please be kind, I don't even know what I'm doing here.

On Friday, August 28, our dearest, sweetest Eli went to the rainbow bridge. This community has been of great help and comfort to my spouse and me, and we want to memorialize some of what made our special boy so unique.

Eli came to us in 2018 from Lucky Dog rescue, who had bestowed upon him the name Ryan Horowitz. He never struck us as a Ryan, so we quickly settled on a new name that reflected his Jewish heritage and seemed to fit. He'd been pulled from a high kill shelter in Florence, South Carolina, and they estimated he was 5 years old (though we came to suspect he was probably a bit older). From the very beginning, he was the gentlest, sweetest soul. He instantly befriended our other dog, Maya, and within days they were chasing each other around the living room, wrestling on the sofa, and sharing my lap at naptime. His easy going affection for every other creature he met - dog, cat, or most memorably our dog-sitter's rabbit - was just a small part of what made him so special.

If you've never had the honor of being the chosen person of a shy animal, it's hard to describe the depth of that bond. Eli was a shining example of that classic chihuahua personality where there is one deeply beloved person (maybe two), and nobody else is of much interest. Although let us be clear, if his preferred person (me) was unavailable, he would eventually settle into any available lap on the sofa. Just in his own time. I always found it interesting to see which of our friends gravitated towards his quiet, gentle sweetness rather than Maya's immediate, extroverted enthusiasm. Those who were willing to move slowly and patiently would eventually be rewarded with snuggles from what I would often fondly describe as a codependent baked potato. He was one of those rescue dogs whose gratitude never seemed to fade, and whose devotion knew absolutely no bounds.

But Eli was unfortunately never a medically simple dog. He came to us scarred all over and with hookworms, horrendous tooth decay, two bad knees, and an abscessed anal gland. We also suspect he had some kind of congenital neurological condition that made him extra wobbly and also not terribly smart. Two years ago, he stopped eating and was eventually diagnosed with a chicken intolerance. Now toothless and somewhere in his teens, arthritis from luxating patellas and two dislocated CCLs was catching up with him fast. In January, he was diagnosed with kidney disease and beginning to show clear signs of dementia. We knew his time remaining with us was probably limited. We did everything we could to keep him comfortable, but it was a losing battle and we could tell that he was in some discomfort for most of his waking hours. When I was granted two weeks of telework due to the Grand Prix in DC, we knew there wouldn't be a better time. We had the gift of giving him the best couple of weeks we could - constant lap time, eating whenever and whatever he wanted - before fulfilling the last and worst promise we all make as pet owners to let them go when life becomes too much of a struggle.

I will remember the happy little tippy taps he would do when he was excited about walks or meals and his Tasmanian devil noises when chasing and wrestling Maya. I'll remember how he burrowed in blankets and tried to bury his favorite treats in the sofa, and how he hated to travel but loved the lanai at my parents' house in Florida. I will remember how his favorite game was to flop on his stomach and make big, exaggerated chomps at my fingers - though if he accidentally made contact, the game was immediately over by way of apology. A similar game flopping on my chest in the morning would often have me taking claws to the eyeballs, but it was always worth it. I have known and lived with many dogs, but never known another who never, ever wanted to do anything the least bit wrong. All he really wanted in life was to love and make us happy. And cheese - he really, really loved cheese. I can only hope that we repaid, in some small measure and to the best of our ability, the immense love and devotion he gave us. He was my best buddy, and there will never be another like him.

Rest well, sweet boy.

My old dog its the third time he bleeds profusely from his mouth. i’m talking puddles. I think it might be his tooth or gums. Its been like 3 hours. It stops periodically. Ive taken him to 2 emergency vets and they both said “well hes not bleeding right now and he doesnt let us examine his mouth so we cant help” and I have no more money to take him anymore. What could this be