As I described my aging dog’s symptoms, the vet looked at me and said, “Sundowner.”
She confirmed what I had suspected. Increasing agitation as the day drew to a close—a symptom of sundowner syndrome.
I had not known about the sundowner effect until Alzheimer’s invaded my father, taking away his memories, his ability to do anything, his ability to recognize anyone and, ultimately, his life. During this long process, he reached a point daily at which he would become agitated as the day drew to a close, the gloaming of the day. This is not unusual for Alzheimer’s patients.
Helping my father through these times challenged me. I tried to reassure him and respond to his frustrations with factual information rather than with hallow platitudes. Who knows how well that worked since he couldn’t communicate his feelings verbally.
My dog Schroeder’s agitation manifested itself in obsessive and constant licking of his feet—or the rug, as long as he could get away with it. Words could not reassure Schroeder since he seems to have lost his hearing. Touch seemed to help. Sometimes, he responded when I rubbed his ears just the way he likes, stroked his back and scratched under his chin. Less agitated and somewhat mellow, he would fall asleep.
I began contemplating Schroeder’s end of life. As an adult, I’ve “put down” two dogs and two cats. It’s never easy. Deciding on their quality of life is an inexact science, to say the least. I’ve let them live longer than I should have. But letting go is so hard.
Of course, there’s no comparison between the loss of a parent and the loss of pets. I think the loss of a pet devastates us because they absorb, gladly and willingly, our emotions, emotions almost too much for us to bear.
After my father-in-law’s death, my mother-in-law said that sometimes she just pulled their dog into her lap and they sat in the rocker while she hugged the dog and cried. Our pets absorb our deep sorrow. They also allow us to dump our bad day at work on them; they calm us when we are angry. They show us that love us when we feel no one else in the world does.
They become friends with our friends. And, they constantly beckon us to join their fun.
Schroeder fun began when that smiling, orange-haired rescue puppy found us at the pet store—we’d only gone for birdseed. He’s taken us on many a walk, retrieved chipmunks the cat brought inside, enthusiastically greets us, and when younger, dared us to chase when he ran like the wind. Described by many as “Fluffy,” he remains handsome.
It’s time to let him do whatever he wants and what reassures him—even if that is licking the rug. (Yuck, tho.) We can get a new rug.
Post Script:
This blog was written days ago, but I could not post it. Now I know why.
Schroeder Owen
March 7, 2005-November 12, 2017
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