Friends have suggested she put Bailey to sleep, but she won't do it.
"She's been such a good dog for so long," Sulzbach said. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep her comfortable until it's time for her to move on."
VanEngelenburg thinks there will always be a place for euthanasia in veterinary medicine. When an animal gets to the point where no relief can be found for its suffering, he said he feels ethically obligated to push for it.
But he's watched Bailey's face closely at her acupuncture appointments, and he's pretty sure she's not at that point.
"If they're wearing down, getting tired of the fight, they'll tell you," he said.
DOGS GIVE US such unconditional love.
Old dogs teach us how to return it.
It's late January, nearly nine months after Moose's diagnosis, and Corliss is moving through her daily after-work routine.
She cradles Moose belly-side up in her arms like a baby and carries him to his favorite spot across the street. He sniffs at the ground a little, then does his business.
She carries him back inside her Des Moines condo where she mixes his pills - Moose has so many Corliss bought him one of those dispensers marked AM/PM - with a tiny bit of high-protein food and feeds it to him with a plastic teaspoon.
Then she carefully measures out three cc's of an unappetizing liquid vitamin concoction designed to boost his immune system, and stirs in a little gravy.
Finally, Corliss mixes a premium canned dog food with a serving of freeze-dried vegetables and pops this stew in the microwave for a few seconds, then serves it on a paper plate to a waiting Moose. When he's done gobbling it down, she wipes his face with a paper towel.
"I don't know if he's more work now, just different," she said.
In many ways, Corliss said, Moose seems healthier than he has in years. But there was one close call when she thought she was going to lose him.
He stopped eating and was vomiting and had bloody diarrhea. Corliss sat down on the floor beside him, crying and saying goodbye.
It turned out to be a reaction to the anti-inflammatory he was taking. Switching drugs appeared to cure the problem.
"You wake up looking at him and you're glad he's still here," Corliss said. "It's kind of like a bonus right now."
Recently, Moose became incontinent, so Corliss now diapers him daily in Huggies. She says the hardest part of caring for him, though, is having to guess his wishes. Using a pet communicator has helped.
"Humans can speak," she said, "they can let you know what they want with end-of-life decisions. Your pet can't. As a human, trying to do what's right for your pet, you have no clue."
If Moose is unhappy, Corliss said, he certainly hides it well.
"I don't think he knows he has anything wrong with him," she said.
EVERY DOG has its day.
Every owner of an old dog knows he or she someday must face that day.
In February, Bailey came down with a cold that got steadily worse. Late on a Saturday night, Sulzbach took her to the Animal Emergency clinic, where she was diagnosed with pneumonia. She died at 11 p.m. Sunday, Feb. 12.
Bailey's ashes rest on a shelf in Sulzbach's office, next to Maggie's, the black Lab she lost to cancer in 1997.
She says she misses Bailey's sweet temperament. She thinks she will eventually adopt an older dog.
"I realize they're dogs and they're going to die eventually and you move on," she said. "That's just the way life is."
Against all odds, Moose, who turned 16 in January, is still going strong.
Nearly a year after he was diagnosed with cancer, Corliss brought him in for his regular checkup.
"You look pretty good for a dead dog," VanEngelenburg said wryly as Moose growled at him.
Corliss knows she's lucky to still have Moose with her. It hasn't kept her from dreading what awaits her down the road, though. She snuggled Moose close to her.
"Please go in a way that's easy for me. Just go in your sleep, all right?" she pleaded softly, giving him a kiss.
http://desmoinesregister.com/apps/pb...607160301/1010