Grappelli

In Fall of 2012, a few months after losing my beloved Frenchy, I adopted another Boston Terrier, naming him Django after the great jazz guitarist Django Reinhardt. A friend suggested I should provide him with a companion and name him or her Grappelli, after Stephan Grappelli, violinist, who was for a time Django’s musical partner. Receptive to the suggestion since I already knew that two Bostons are even better than one, I soon brought Grappelli into our home, creating, as my friend called them, “the jazz duo.” Initially, Django resented sharing attention with a second dog, but eventually adjusted to Grappelli’s dominant personality and began to enjoy having an ever ready playmate.

Those who have been following my blog may remember that Grappelli was diagnosed with a mast cell tumor in April of 2019. The tumor, found to be both advanced and aggressive, was removed but Grappelli would need to be on chemotherapy for the rest of her life. A few months later we discovered a second tumor but this one was benign and we celebrated the good news, regarding it as a sign that the mast cell disease was under control. Not long after, we left for Italy with the two dogs in tow, both patiently adapting to the constantly shifting conditions that had become our life.

Unless there was rain, they were always eager to set out for a morning walk through the steep streets of Anghiari, discovering new paths to explore and new smells to be enjoyed along the way. Late in the day, the dogs joined Terry and me while we enjoyed a glass of wine on our tiny terrace. Grappelli, in particular, was entranced by the scene below, watching the activity from her perch on my lap until it was Django’s turn to take her place. By night, they settled into their beds in front of the fireplace, with Django wanting his blanket to cover him completely while Grappelli was content to have one tucked around her.

Grappelli was doing fairly well on Palladia, the medicine that is the standard for treatment of mast cell tumors. However, it is a difficult chemical requiring many precautions in its use, and had a number of dire warnings attached to it. Moreover, its efficacy is minimal–only about 40% of the dogs who take it respond positively. Though Grappelli remained her usual active self, she drooled continuously and vomited occasionally. Interpreting those symptoms as indicating more or less constant nausea, I decided to cut the weekly dose of Palladia from three times to two times to lessen the side affects. Not without concern, of course, since the reduced dosage could result in less resistance to mast cell tumor metastasis.

The weeks went on, though, with no sign that altering her medication had led to further development of mast cell disease. She remained the playful, curious, sometimes aggressive little dog she had always been. But one morning, just a few days before we were to leave Italy for Serbia, we received a warning sign that things might not be going as well as it seemed. Grappelli had vomited in the living room leaving a deposit of such volume and bilious appearance that Terry and I both stood there dumbfounded while Grappelli watched us anxiously from her bed, worried that she had done something wrong. But vomiting was not really unusual for Grappelli and she seemed fine for the rest of the day, so we didn’t attach any particular significance to the episode.

That all changed two days later, the following Saturday morning. Grappelli was, as usual, still in her bed when I woke and went into the living room to drink a cup of coffee. But when I returned after checking the daily email, she had crawled from her bed and was lying on the floor, inert except for an occasional movement of her hind legs. Another hour passed while she continued to lie very still in the same spot, even as she vomited. As soon as Terry woke, I let him know of her condition and we got ready to rush to the veterinarian’s office as soon as it opened.

With Grappelli wrapped in her favorite blanket we arrived at Dr. Sorro’s office, thankfully empty that morning so he could tend to her right away. He examined her and began to install the port for intravenous fluids laced with an antibiotic and vitamins. When we told him we had to depart the next day, driving to Rome to catch a Monday morning flight to Belgrade, he shook his head and told us absolutely no, Grappelli would not be well enough to go with us. He also wanted to administer an ultrasound on Monday to determine whether her condition was caused by mast cell disease, or something else. Of course, like it or not, convenient or not, and regardless of any personal issues, we had no choice but to leave. It would be a violation of Italian and EU law to overstay our allotted ninety days. The vet suggested we arrange to board her in Italy during our absence, but we regarded that as unworkable since weren’t sure then whether we would be gone for one month or three. That would depend on the outcome of our challenge to the visa denial.

With Dr. Sorro’s ministrations finished, we wrapped Grappelli again in her blanket, and placed her in a crate where she would spend the day, receiving fluids and warmed by a heat lamp. While Terry talked with the vet, I returned to the back room to see how she was faring, more than ever aware of how terribly sick she was when she didn’t respond to my presence. Her head was up, her eyes open, but otherwise she remained still, her usual expressiveness absent. After we left her in the vet’s care for the day, Terry and I had to figure out how to handle this sudden, sad, complication. Boarding our very ill little dog for an unknown length of time was out of the question. When Elga learned of the situation, she offered to care for Grappelli, but I very much wanted to be with her during what I now had to presume would be her final illness. I emailed our lawyer to see what would happen to us if we delayed our departure, not surprised when he advised against it. In the end we decided that, regardless of her condition, Grappelli would go to Belgrade with us.

At the end of the day we returned to the clinic to pick up Grappelli. Dr. Sorro thought she seemed somewhat better, but we did not see the improvement. Once home, I placed her, bed and all, onto the living room couch where I sat stroking and talking to her. She remained mostly still, but seemed to react slightly to my attention with an occasional turn of her head. I would like to have stayed with her but with refrigerator and pantry empty we needed to head out to a restaurant to eat. Before leaving, Terry carried her down to the kitchen, still in her bed, and laid her on the floor, where any accidents could be easily cleaned.

Frustratingly, we found the first restaurant we tried was full and in the second we had to wait for a table so our outing for dinner was unusually long. Hurrying home as soon as we could, I went into the kitchen to see how Grappelli was doing and saw her lying partly out of her bed, her head resting on the floor. As soon as I touched her, I realized from the slight stiffness that she had died in our absence. Devastated that her life had ended while she lay alone on a cold kitchen floor rather than by my side, I hated to leave her now. But I had to tell Terry who was just walking up the steps to our door and he was as shocked as I had been at the speed of her demise. As he verified her vital signs, he saw that she was lying exactly as he had placed her on the kitchen floor and suggested that she may have already been gone as we left the house. Perhaps.

We carried her upstairs and I knelt by her usual spot in front of the fireplace to bathe her and then laid her on a clean pad. She would spend her last night in our home lying next to Django as if all was as it should be–though it wasn’t. In the morning, we returned to the vet’s office as had been scheduled, but now that visit was not for a check of her condition, but to arrange for her cremation. As we prepared her to leave, the doctor turned to me and said, “It is life.” Though he was not an Anglophone, he managed to give me this short message urging acceptance in English.

In spite of all that had happened, we still had to finish packing and leave for Rome. Shortly after noon, we closed and locked the front door, leaving our new home for an unknown period away. Django, without his companion and upset by the commotion, howled for the entire distance from our house to the car, drawing shocked stares from people on the street. A prolonged wail seemed an absolutely appropriate reaction to the situation and though Terry and I walked in silence, Django spoke for us all.