The Height of Airedale Fashion...

...for the just-spayed lady, to prevent chewing and licking.  Nona doesn't know how silly she looks.

In case you can't tell what she's wearing, we bought a package of men's strap t-shirts.  We put one over her head with the back toward her chest and the front over her back.  We put her head through the neck hole and her legs through the armholes.  We tied a knot in the hem so her legs wouldn't catch and trip on the shrit.  She wore this when going outside to do her business. 

When inside most of the time, she also wore a shirt over her back end.  The hem of the shirt went over her bottom first which allowed her tail to go through neck hole and her legs to go through the armholes.  When both shirts were on, I pinned the top shirt behind her neckline so it wouldn't slide off or drag low and trip her.
.
She looked pretty silly but she was protected, and since she was on limited activity it wasn't like she was out and about in the neighborhood, the park, or stores.  Even if people had laughed, she probably would have enjoyed it.

It's been 11 days since her surgery and I think the incision is healed.  The amazing thing is that she never tried to touch it, not to bite or scratch or lick it.  Amazing!

We hope you're having good days and enjoying the beginning of autumn.

--Nancy and Nona.

Nona Gets a Bath, a Clip, and a Spay

Airedales can look cute, cuddly, and adorable or smart, sleek, and stylish.  I think it mostly depends on appearance, particularly, the length of their hair.  (Of course, whether you want to cuddle an Airedale may also depend on whether her hair is brushed and whether she smells clean and fresh.)  This is Nona, ungroomed (with her ears in helicoptor mode) ready and willing for a hug, a pet, a cuddle.

But the thing with letting an Airedale's hair grow is that it grows and grows and grows until it's a shaggy, straggly mess.  For Airedales, grooming includes clipping or stripping their coats.  Since Nona's not a show girl she gets a clip.

But a bath comes before a clip.  I didn't take any bath photos because we were a little busy with water, shampoo,  cleaning her fur, and rinsing.  Too much water for a phone.  She didn't love her bath but she was agreeable.  At least she didn't try to jump out of the tub mid-bath, and she mostly waited till she was towel-dried and covered with a towel before shaking.  Good girl!

The day after her bath, I gave Nona a clip.   There are no photos of that, either.  It's been more than four years since I clipped an Airedale so I was a little out of practice and paying close attention.  We got the job done but let's just say there will be some editing, adjustments, and improvements to the clip over the next few weeks.  Thanks goodness hair grows!

All clean, dry, and clipped, Nona was a happy girl, especially as she rolled around in the grass.  I love her big smile.

Five days after the clip I took her for a spay.  She was pleased and excited when we arrived at the vet's office yesterday morning.  She's a social girl and loves to be out and about meeting and greeting people.  I filled out some forms and then she happily walked away with the vet tech--and I sorrowfully drove home.

Later in the afternoon I went to get her.  The tech went over home-going instructions with me, then went back to bring Nona to the outer office.  During that time, a couple with two cats in carriers came in for an appointment.  When Nona arrived with the vet tech, she glanced at me, gave me the side-eye, then stopped to greet the other humans.  I wondered how long it would take me to get back in her good graces.  Thankfully, it wasn't long.

Poor girl.  I know she wasn't in pain but gosh, she was dopey.  She just stood, or stood near me to get pets.  She finally decided to lie down, then fell asleep for a while.  A few hours later, I offered her a little food.  She accepted the food but refused to drink water.    

When the vet called after surgery to report, I asked whether she could go up stairs, since that's where the bedrooms are.  He said it would be fine as long as she didn't race up the steps.  So we went up to bed later in the evening (after she went outside and did nothing).

She's happier today but doesn't have much energy.  I was hoping she would leave the incision alone but as a precaution, I put a men's tank top over her head and pulled it back to cover her back and belly.  I think I added insult to injury when, after I saw her head too close to her incision, I pulled another shirt over her from behind with her tail in the head hole and her legs in the arm holes, to make it harder for her to get anywhere near the incision..  I'm glad it's not a hot day! 

I'm confident she'll be back to her happy self soon, with a healed belly and hair a little longer, looking a little like she did a month ago, below.

We are enjoying this cooler weather and looking forward to plenty of walks and outdoor play this fall.

We hope all is well with you.
Nancy and Nona

You Can Still Hope Until....

You can still hope the vet is wrong -- at least until the results of the tests come in.  And then there are just tears and sadness.  Now we face the reality. 

In mid- December we received some of the saddest news an Airedale owner wants to hear.  Nearly a week after Hannah's visit to the vet, the vet called with test results.  Hannah has kidney disease, spindle cell/soft tissue sarcoma, and lymphoma/lymphosarcoma.   

The spindle cell cancer is slow to spread.  But the lymphoma is another story.  It could take Hannah's life in as little as six weeks and she could go from doing well in the morning to being on her deathbed in the evening.  It's an awful prognosis.

I go through my days now wondering, which will be the last carrot I peel and chop for her breakfast?  Which will be the last night Hannah cuddles against me on the bed?  Is this playtime the last I'll see her bounce around and toss her toy in the air?   

Hannah's first two years left her with a broken spirit and a fear of everything and nearly everyone.  When she came to us she was underweight, knew no language--not even her name, had no idea how to go up and down stairs, and got carsick with every ride.  She loved me first, maybe because I slept on the floor with her the first night, and adopted me as her mum.  We were just going to foster her but I couldn't put her through one more transition.  She's been with us 10 years, going on 11, and has adjusted to so many challenges.  It's all just too sad to think her life will end with cancer.

We love Hannah to bits and continue to enjoy our time with her, whether she's sleeping near me on the couch, watchful for food that's fallen to the floor, nudging me for an ear-rub or a treat, or just playing.  She is a dear, sweet Airedale.

I wish I could turn back the clock to before the test results, when there was still hope.

--Nancy.

A Visit to the Vet

My mum and pop took me to see my vet last week.  My mum usually takes me so I was surprised that my pop went along, too.

I like going to see this new vet because I get big, long, thick pretzels with peanut butter or cheeze whiz on them.  Oh, yum!  I don't pay too much attention to what they're doing when I'm licking the good stuff off the pretzel.

They didn't hurt me even though they put needles in me and took stuff out of me, in my neck and the big lump on my thigh.  And then the lump started bleeding and my mum was alarmed, but the vet and the other person took care of it all.  And I just kept licking the cheeze whiz off another pretzel. 

Mum and pop looked a little worried but I felt just fine.  Then we left and came home and they gave me lots of hugs.

I don't know what that was about but I sure love those pretzels with stuff on them.

-Hannah.

P.S.  If you want to know, I'm not wearing a muzzle.  It's a Gentle Leader collar.  It's supposed to keep me from pulling but sometimes I pull when I'm wearing it.  There's so much to sniff!


Nancy here:
Hannah was scheduled to have surgery last Wednesday to have her teeth cleaned and have a mass removed from her thigh.  When the vets did a pre-surgery exam they decided the better course was to do blood work for her kidney values and take samples from the lump on her thigh and from her lymph nodes to send for testing.  They -- and we -- have health concerns for Hannah.

One Thing I Wish I'd Taught Hannah

Hannah in January, 2017

Hannah, nearly 13, has lost her hearing.  Most sounds escape her attention thought she will usually respond to a loud clap of the hands or the beeping of a smoke alarm.  No knocks at the door, no thunder, no sirens disturb her days nor her naps.  She lives in a silent world.

I sometimes think she misses hearing our voices.  I've always talked to Hannah to explain where we're going, what's going to happen next, who's coming over, to tell her what I'm doing, etc.  In the car I let her know when a left turn or a right turn was coming so she could adjust her balance, and she always did.  Some people think dogs don't understand but I'm certain Hannah understood a lot of what I said.   

When she first arrived as a rescue girl I taught her hand signs at the same time I taught voice commands.  It wasn't a purposeful decision, just something that seemed to add interest to her life.  She knows both the voice commands and hand signs for sit, down, stay, come, and wait.  (She's an Airedale so, of course, she's not always reliable, but she knows them and usually does as asked.)

But now that she's deaf, I realize I neglected to teach her a hand sign for Good Dog! or Good Girl!  I don't know what it would have looked like but I believe she misses hearing those exuberant words.  Even though she's deaf I still talk to her.  "What a good girl you are, Hannah!"  Or, "What a great job you just did."  She gets plenty of pets to go along with the "good girl" but I sense that she misses hearing it.  I wish I'd taught her a hand sign so she could know when we say it.  Even more I wish Hannah could still hear.

What a great, good, dear girl Hannah is!

--Hannah's mum.

My Mum Quit Talking to Me

One day a while ago my mum quit talking to me.  She doesn't say a word these days.  I see her mouth moving but there's no sound.  Did she lose her voice?

It makes me very sad because I love my mum best in the world and I loved to hear her voice, especially her laugh and all the silly noises she made when we were having fun together.  We still have fun together but it's not as much fun as when she talked to me and made sounds. 

I don't know why she doesn't talk to me.  She used to tell me what a good girl I was and now I think maybe she thinks I'm not a good girl.  But I still am!

It all makes me so sad.  It's like I'm in the world alone except I can see everyone and I can even see their mouths moving, but there just aren't any sounds.  I wonder what's wrong with everyone.

I hope my mum starts talking to me again.  I miss her voice.  Have your people ever quit talking to you?

--Hannah.

Quieting the Firecrackers' Snap, Boom, and Crack

This time of year -- from Memorial Day to the Fourth of July to Labor Day -- is an awful time for our Airedales.  In the U.S.A. firecrackers snap, boom, and crack many summer evenings, and summer storms frequent the days and nights with thunder and lightening.  So many Airedales are terrified by these unfamiliar sounds.  It has been so for our rescue girl, Hannah, too.

Hannah turned 12 in March.  Her eyebrows have grown blonde and her gait has slowed.  She needs a boost to get into bed and help to get off the bed. 

I noticed a week or two ago that Hannah doesn't respond when called or given a command.  At first I thought she was ignoring me but as I've watched her these past weeks I've realized that she has lost most (and maybe all) of her hearing.  My dear Hannah is deaf!  (I now live with a nearly deaf husband and a deaf Airedale!)  I'm grateful that I taught hand commands along with voice commands because, it seems, that's the only way to communicate with my deaf Airedale.

There is one very small blessing to Hannah's deafness:  neither fireworks nor thunder cause her the least concern.  I'm grateful for this peace for her.

Hug your Airedales!

--Nancy.
.

I'm Bored

My mum won't let me do hardly anything except eat and sleep.
No walks.
No playing.
No rubbing my muzzle after a drink.
No stairs except to go outside to pee and poop.
No going upstairs to sleep on the bed with mum and pop.
No nothing but sleeping and resting and walking in the house.
Isn't my mum mean?  I'm an Airedale, after all, and we like to play and do things!

Two Fridays ago I didn't feel so great.  My pop called my vet on Friday for an appointment and they said they were booked and couldn't fit me in.  (My mum says she's thinking about switching vets.)  Pop made an appointment for Monday afternoon.

On Saturday morning I stood up, leaned against Mum, tried to take a few steps, and fell down.  I felt miserable and they knew I couldn't wait till Monday to see a vet.  They were really worried about me.  I wouldn't have gone to the emergency vet if I knew I wouldn't be able to do anything afterward.

When they brought me home they fed me chicken broth in bed and were very careful about me.  The vet said I had "cervical pain" probably caused by a bulging disc and that my white blood cell count was high.  Mum says they gave me an anti-inflammatory medicine, a pain medicine, and an antibiotic.  I don't know what those mean but whatever they are, they brought some home and gave them to me in peanut butter.  I love peanut butter!  And I feel better now -- better enough that I could jump and play and rub my muzzle. 

Mum says the doctor says I have an exercise restriction for 4 weeks.  (I think that's a long time, isn't it?  It's already been a long time and Mum says it's going to be more time.)  I can't run, jump, play, go up stairs, and I have to have as little activity as possible and the vet said "she should be confined to a kennel or small room."

That vet was nice to me but I don't like being confined and I don't like hearing Mum say "no" to me all the time.

Sigh.  I'm bored.

--from Hannah. .