As the dust settles

It's been a long week, but we're at the end of it, thankfully. The skies are blue here, the wind has died down -- and although the temperatures are up, the sun sets early so the heat dissipates quickly. Thank the Good Lord!

We started cleaning up from the winds. DH and the landlord made quick work of dismantling the dog kennels from the trees where they landed. We don't use them much, but they have to be back up for the kennel inspection early next year. Then they leveled the ground a bit -- we had sand dunes that would have made Laurence of Arabia weep!

I ladled out the washing machine tub, and washed it out a few hundred times. Finally did some laundry, hung it on the line, and it dried quickly in this heat. Nice to have clean clothes again.

There is so much more to do -- but I started by cleaning the kitchen. Washed dishes, washed down counters, put the curtains in the washing machine. Made crockpot beef stroganoff in our new slow cooker -- yummy.

My boss surprised me by volunteering to work tomorrow -- and offering me first choice to work or take the day off. I chose the latter, of course. So now I have the next three days to try and accomplish all that I had planned for last week.

We've really felt Serena's absence this week. DH has had trouble adjusting to food preparation - she was such a big eater that he keeps making up too much dog food. Lexie seems much more anxious - in our house Coco and Quincy sit in the office with me, Lucy in her crate, Nellie goes back and forth between rooms - and Serena and Lexie together in the living room with DH. Without Serena, Lexie seems a bit lost. They weren't particularly close, but greyhounds seem to be comforted by other greyhounds. And, at least with my greyhounds, they NEVER seem happy alone. When Lexie is alone in the living room -- she just doesn't seem comfortable. Hopefully she'll adapt -- and we need to concentrate on paying more attention to her.
So all in all, calmness has descended.

It's time for the nightly news -- and then to bed. Have lots of eBaying to do tomorrow -- need a good night's sleep.

Thar She Blows!

 

This is what it looks like when you live in a place surrounded by dirt! We are awaiting development of tons of new expensive houses turning our rural horse area into a city I guess -- oh joy -- but in the meantime we have empty fields of dirt. And today we're having winds of 45mph and they are predicting they could go as high as 80mph.

We live in a very old mobil home -- built the year I graduated from high school, so it's really old --- and it is not exactly well insulated. So we're eating dirt a lot today -- inhaling dirt -- and the window sills are covered with dirt, it's coming in from every corners, every window, every door.

We let Serena go on Friday - probably good timing since I'm not sure she'd have kept her balance outside with this windstorm. She was brave to the end, she died with her head in my lap while the tech gave her the last shot -- well, not the last shot. As it turned out, her heart just kept beating, they ended up having to give her more. Without the cancer, I swear her heart would have gone on for another decade. She's left such an empty spot here -- we still have five dogs, which to most people would seem like a lot, but Serena was a large presence, and she sure is missed. I trust she's made it to Rainbow Bridge and met up with Tora, Flash, Dulce, Muddy and the rest. When we get there, we'll be bowled over by dogs -- can't wait!!!!! (Well, I can wait until it's my time -- but you know what I mean -- I look forward to seeing my furkids again).

Here's hoping we don't wake up in Kansas tomorrow morning -- not that Kansas isn't a lovely place, one of my favorite people live there -- but . . . This place is not my favorite place I've ever lived, but it's home for now, and I'd rather keep it in one piece.

Serena's photo

 

Now don't panic -- she's a greyhound, she's supposed to be skinny. I took this shot with my cell phone the day she was diagnosed. The reason DH never wanted a greyhound is because he thought people would take a look at the skinny things and accuse him of animal abuse :).

The Lovely Serena

Serena is a fawn colored greyhound who came to live with us at age five. Last week, at age fifteen, the vet told us she had osteosarcoma in her left front humerus.

 

There isn't much you can say after that, you know? It went from a limp that we thought was from my not cutting her nails back far enough to being told she'd be gone in a few weeks. We've been through this before, unfortunately. Mandy our lovely Rottweiler – for whom my ecommerce website is name – died of osteosarcoma at age six. It was horrible – she was so young, but so very brave and strong all the way to the end.

 

We first saw Serena at a greyhound picnic. We used to attend them on a yearly basis – from the group we adopted all our greyhounds from. She was shy and reddish colored and her foster mother wanted to keep her. We told her should she decide to give her up, please give us a call. A few days later she called – after discussing it with her husband, and decided that it was a good thing to adopt her out to a home with experienced greyhound owners and two greyhound sisters. And besides – my hair color was the same as Serena's – that and promising not to change her name finalized it for her, she said.

Of the greys we've met and the greys we've owned, she is the shyest and the most tentative. It took her a full year to climb up on the sofa. I remember DH and me cheering that step as if she'd just invented penicillin or something!

 

Over the years she's been perfectly healthy and well mannered, never a problem at all. Other than shots and teeth, she's made no trips to the vet. She sleeps, she runs, she eats, she's a greyhound. She is a fast runner, she LOVES TO RUN. Up until two weeks ago she would run around our yard every morning – even when she was huffing and puffing her being 93 in human years! I kept telling her to take it easy, but she just loves to run and who am I to stop her? I wish I had known the last day I was going to see her run full on – I would have paid closer attention. I was probably cleaning the yard while she was running around. I was probably nagging her to slow down instead of wowing over her prowess.

She loves people, she loves dogs and cats, I doubt she's ever met anything she didn't like. Of all the dogs we've ever had, I think she's most people's favorites – she just loves to walk up and lean against people – begging for petting.

Of course, when you first get this diagnosis, you don't believe it. Even though I knew it was probably true, I kept looking at that shoulder and couldn't see any difference. I gave her the pain meds – which don't seem to have any affect – she limps just as she did before the diagnosis.

But then the swelling started today – seems like overnight her shoulder got bigger. Not sore to the touch, limping is the still the same. Damn – it's true. I knew it, but I guess I was waiting for that sign.

We have a process here – when we know we're about to lose a furkid. When you've had as many as we've had, we've had cancer, heart trouble, liver and kidney ailments. We watch for signs – eating, pooping, sleeping, anxiety, tail wagging (if it's a dog). We try to pick three things the animal does or likes the best. And when those three things are affected by the disease, we make the decision to let them go. It's a blessing and a curse. I'm honored to be able to do this for my furkids -- for all the years of unconditional love they've given me, I'm honored to be able to help them ease their way over the Bridge. But, many times it's not them getting ready to die; it's me getting ready to let them go. I suppose Serena won't care if I'm a day early or a day late making the decision – she'll wait for me to get ready to let her go.

Serena is still eating well, pooping well – she's always been pretty anxious about things, so I can't go by that. The limp is no different – although I will say today it looks a bit worse to me, but DH says I'm reading into things. Her tail is still thumping like crazy, and she still tries to run to me when I'm too far away from her outside.

I know her time is near – maybe by next weekend. I'm already worrying about how and where to do it. I don't like her vet – in fact, I dread trying to get her metacam renewed without having to take her in (she really doesn't like the car these days – and just doesn't like this vet at all). We have taken our kids to the shelter – they have a small room they use, and it's very nice and quiet and we can remain with them. They accept donations – which is great for me because this vet wants $140 to handle it and after two vet visits this month, I just don't have it.

I want to put all that aside and just concentrate on Serena this week – spend time without nagging her. Although at 15 she's pretty deaf, I keep talking to her like she can hear me – and more importantly can understand me. Thankfully the weather is nice enough – other than today, it's been pretty mild so that's not adding to her discomfort. She loves to go outside and sleep on the warm dirt and wag her tail and run her legs while sleeping. She was quite a track runner in her day – and apparently she's still awfully good in her dreams as well – she's almost as active asleep as awake.

She's getting ready, I can tell she's getting tired of limping, but she's still loving her breakfast. But I know that will change soon and quickly. And then she'll be ready.

I'll be ready soon too, I promise Serena.

 

The Zoo - Part Two

The dog that started it all was Tora! She has since gone to the Rainbow Bridge, but no blog would be complete without a visit with Tora. Here is my journal entry from sometime in 2004:

We love animals. We have way too many dogs and cats -- most people think we're nuts, but we just love each and every one of them. Some we've raised from pups, some we rescued as adults -- and each one is an integral member of our family. But to tell you about our furkids, we have to start with the one who started it all.

Every so often I'm driving my car and thinking about writing about Tora. In my car, in my head, I'm an excellent writer! By the time I put pen to paper (or keyboard to cyberspace) all those grand words disappear. I want to be a great writer to talk about my 'heart' dog, but I'll settle for a person with a good command of the English language.

With Tora's days dwindling I feel a need to write about her life -- for my own peace of mind. I'm not sure anyone else will find these words too interesting, but I'm hoping to make it clear how important Tora has been to our lives, and how hard it is to adjust to the thought of living without her.

And so, here's Tora:



One day I decided we needed a dog. We had a cat, but as much as I love cats, I just needed a dog. We started going to dog shows and a lady outside the ring watching the show had the cutest little dog. Long story short, the dog was a Shiba Inu, a rare breed from Japan. I decided we were going to have one of those!


Shiba Inus are usually red sesame in color, with black and tan a less popular color. We went to look at Shiba litters and Gil saw a black & tan colored 4-day old little speck of a thing and declared her ours. That was August, 1990 -- and Tora came to live with us in early October that year.


It's hard to explain about Tora, and what she's meant to us. We don't have any 'skin' kids of our own, so Tora is our baby. It's the first thing we ever raised together.
She may have raised us tho. She took us in hand from the start. She's the first dog we ever did any obedience training with. Back in our 'salad' days we could afford a dog trainer to come to our house once a week and help us with that. I won't lie and tell you that Tora was a dream at obedience. This is where her training us comes in. She doesn't much like taking orders from anyone. When she does what we tell her, I suspect it's only because it's either what she wanted to do in the first place, or she's giving us a gift -- and next time we owe her! As you will read later, thank goodness for that obedience training. She got her certificate proving that one of us knew how to sit, stay, come and heal. Actually heal was one she wasn't too keen on -- I think she has a feminist nature like my sister. Sometime telling her to stay to one side, and slightly behind us, just isn't a natural act to her. But we managed to pass and get a wall certificate.

She was a constant companion from the beginning -- going with us everywhere. She loves the car -- hops in settles down and eventually falls asleep. Other than when she was neutered, when she had knee surgery and one night in a kennel (which she hated) she's always with one of us.

She is a great little guard dog -- actually her only downside is that barking. I think she came out of the womb barking -- she loves to bark. Try as we have, she still -- 12 years later -- she loves to bark. Now with blindness sinking in, she still greets the world each morning with a bark -- never mind there isn't anything out there to bark on. Tora barks just to be sure if there is something out there, that they know she's out there too!

Each time we add a dog to the family she looks at us as if to remind us how good life was with just her. But she just seems to adapt to the fact that we love tons of dogs. As we added more dogs to our menagerie she has taken the job as Alpha very seriously. I've seen her put a 125lb german shepherd on her back with just a growl and roll of her lip. Even at age 12, going deaf and blind, with heart disease -- no other dog has even attempted to take her position from her. She rules the roost!

When she was a bit over a year old we added another Shiba to the family. Chaz came from the same father, different mother. He's the usual colored Shiba Inu -- red sesame. Handsome boy, but his elevator doesn't make it all the way to the top, I fear. We used to leave them in the yard when we went to work -- they seemed to get along just fine. But Chaz was a puppy, and given to puppy ways. Tora, tho, seemed patient and forgiving and we had many months of the two of them living together peacefully. We came home from work one night to find Chaz on the front porch with our neighbor. Blood was pouring from four puncture wounds in his head. According to the neighbor there was a lot of barking and then a scream. He went to look and found the bloody Chaz. After a trip to the expensive evening vet, it was determined that no serious damage was done. I know, as strongly as if I'd been there, that Tora took Chaz's crap all afternoon, and then finally reached over and just bit him! Four puncture marks axactly matched up to Tora's teeth marks. But, it was the last time it happened. Chaz learned a painful lesson and in the following decade completly respected Tora's alpha position. They aren't affectionate with each other, but they spend a lot of time in close proximity and there has never been another issue.







Tora isn't a warm and cuddly dog -- she's a serious dog. She doesn't much like strangers, and she abides the cats and dogs in our life without any obvious affection for any of them. But she adores us -- and what more can we ask of her.

She developed a seizure problem in her third or fourth year. She would have infrequent smallish seizures. We could never link them to anything organic, or actually we could never link them to anything at all. Oddly as her CHF was diagnosed, the seizures stopped.

The seizures never lasted more than a minute or two, I'm sure -- but they seemed to last forever. I always knew when one was there -- I would hear Gil call me by name -- something he only does when one of the animals in jeopardy. I'll come running to find Tora stumbling around like a drunken sailor, trying to burrow into a corner, or under a piece of furniture she couldn't possibly hide under. I would just comfort her until it stopped, and then she'd sleep and I'd keep her nearby so I could watch her closely. As we got more used to them, I discoverd she would respond to my voice -- she seemed to try to hear my voice during her seizure. So I started to give her obedience commands -- firmly but not sternly. Just simple ones "Tora Sit!" or "Tora Stay" - those kind of things. You could see her fighting the confusion and it really seemed to help bring the episodes to an early finish. Those obedience lessons were a godsend.


One of her most endearing habits is when we come home. In her younger days she would run around the house to find a gift to give us. She would bring a toy to us in greeting each night. What a nice thing to come home to -- a creature who thinks we are the best thing since sliced bread. Dogs are funny creatures -- they have no sense of time. They don't know if you've been gone an hour or a minute. We loved seeing how excited she'd get that we'd go outside for a minute, and come back in just to see her fetch us a toy and greet us. Can't get too much adulation in this life, even if you have to create it yourself, don't you think?

Even now in her old age she gets so excited to see us. She crunches up her face, her tail wags like crazy, she bounces around like mad, seems like she bends in the middle -- all the while crying and going on and on about how happy she is to see us. Tora has been diagnosed with congestive heart failure for about a year now. We're supposed to keep her quiet and calm -- no new stresses or agitations. That's a battle -- when I get home each night and she starts her happy to see me dance, I hate having to stop that -- to tell her she can't get that excited.

A couple of years ago Tora and Coco got into a fight. Dog fights scare me -- usually there is little damage, just a lot of noise, but sometimes there is injury. I'm not sure what got the two of them started -- but once separated I found a small puncture wound on Tora's neck. I washed it out, and put antibiotic cream. I watched it for infection and didn't see any, but slowly I noticed her coughing on a regular basis. I took her to the vet, told him about the fight, the wound, etc. He examined her, said it looked fine - but gave her antibiotics just in case the infection was deeper. She took the series of pills, but the coughing continued. I love our vet, but he's nearing retirement and not always as pro-active as I'd like. So I took Tora to a new vet about 40 miles away.

First, Tora hates vets -- all vets, all the time. She shakes from the minute we walk in until she's done. She can be a bit nippy with strangers. When she had her knee surgery and I'd come to visit and sit with her each night, the techs would have me take her out of her crate, because she was not thrilled about being there and about these strange folks reaching in for her. So, I try not to take her unless I have to -- but sometimes you just have to. This vet wanted to take xrays, which surprisingly Tora did pretty well with -- Gil got to hold her while they positioned her and took the xrays. But, the diagnosis is not what I expected at all. Congestive Heart Failure -- he showed us the xrays where there was some congestion which could be cleared up, but some enlargement of the heart, which couldn't be.

That was a bit over a year ago. She's done well, with some changes and additions to her medications. She has her good days and her bads ones. She sleeps more -- due to CHF or age, I don't know. But, she's doing alright. We know there is more coming, and it won't be easy to watch, but we've enjoyed this last year with her. Added to the CHF is the rest that comes with age -- blindness and deafness. It's really become apparent in the last six months. She startles easily -- she doesn't know who's around her and you can see her confusion. The other dogs seem to take it easier on her -- identifying themselves to her in that way that only dogs can. I can see her adjustment as well. In the morning she goes out and walks the perimeter of the yard -- I think to check to 'feel' any changes in 'her' property over night. I'm grateful we moved when we did -- she had enough time to 'see' the place, to imprint it on her memory. As much as I'd like to move again, I won't until after Tora has gone -- I think it would be too hard for her to adjust again. This is a small place and it's just the right size for her. We're learning to touch her when we come up on her, to let her know we're there. I think she likes our hands on her -- she seems to respond well to our touch. She's doing well, but boy is the adjustment hard on us. We can't call her anymore to come in the house -- so we have to go get her. She sees movement still, and she 'looks' for it, so we're adapting together.

I know we'll survive her death --- but just thinking about it floors me. She's been an integral part of every facet of our lives for fourteen years -- during the summer we grocery shop in the morning so she can go with us before the heat hits. Our cars have always been purchased with her in mind -- will she fit, where will her fit. We searched for a place to live eight years ago where her barking wouldn't irritate the neighbors. She's just a major player in our lives -- thinking about how our life would be different if we'd never found her is just unthinkable. We weren't dog lovers before Tora -- we liked them, they were pets -- now we know they're family.

I didn't know we could deal with seizures, heart failure, knee surgeries -- but we could, we have. We're better for it. This little furry creature with a stubborn streak a mile wide has ruled our roost for over a decade and will until the day she dies. And our roost is much the better for it.

The Zoo - Part One

When I met Gil thirty years ago, he didn't like animals in the house. His folks had dogs in the yard, and that's what he thought about pets. And cats? Don't get me started -- he didn't like them. Fast forward to this year, our 25th wedding anniversary and we are surrounded by dogs & cats. At one point we had WAY too many -- we have a bit of a 'collector's' mindset, and once we got started we kept finding animals that needed us and that we needed.

Right now we have six dogs and seven cats -- I know it sounds like a lot to most people, but to us it's a small group. They've changed us -- in ways I can't even explain. We've been touched by the love of some great furkids -- part of my heart remains with the ones we've lost.

Over the years I've written journal entries about our dogs. I found writing about them helped me make that final decision at the right time. The first time we had to put a dog down was among the top three WORST moments in my life. I'm going to copy & paste the blog I wrote for FlashDancer many years ago. I read it every so often -- warms my heart to remember him, and I still miss him.





So, here's Flash's story, from 2002:

Flashdancer came to us at 2-1/2 years, a stud put out to pasture. He's a giant of an aussie, very large and handsome tri-color male. However, he's the gentlest dog I've ever met -- wimpy actually. Very shy, very easy to intimidate, very ready for me to love. Over the last eight years he has shared my home office. He sits at my feet, sleeping -- usually with his cat, Tasha. He moves when I move, follows me wherever I go. I've always felt that I've taken him for granted -- that he was just always there, and I didn't always pay enough special attention to him. I always felt that he would be underfoot. At night he sleeps next to my bed. Again, just there -- keeping me company.

Six weeks ago I wrote that first paragraph about FlashDancer. Right after I got home from the vet's appointment where she told me that Flash had nasal cancer. The six weeks since that previous paragraph have been the best and worst of my life. The best because I have spent almost all of my non-working time with him, hand feeding him, talking to him, and loving him. We have always been pretty bonded, but the last few weeks brought us even closer. The worst, of course, because I've watched nasal cancer take its toll on his body.

I dried his nose when he bled, and sat with him when he had trouble breathing. I watched him each day in hopes that I would miraculously know when he was ready to cross The Bridge.

The day didn't actually come all at once. It just sort of slowly came to me that he was ready. Since the moment I made that decision I have doubted and reconsidered it a million times.

However, he's tired, very tired. He can't breathe through his nose and he isn't sleeping well because of it. He isn't eating much. Other than some cottage cheese he has pretty much existed on cut up weiners for the last three weeks -- hand fed, of course.

I tell myself he isn't suffering -- tired isn't suffering. But, in my brain I realize that he certainly isn't feeling good, isn't having the good quality of life I want for him. My heart isn't doing too well, but I will do for him what he's always done for me. Love him without conditions -- love him enough to do the unthinkable. Love him enough to send him to the Bridge.

I'm writing this on July 7th, 2002 -- we have an appointment to have him put down in the morning. I'm working hard to deal with it, to get myself ready to be there for him.

And I watch him and as usual, he watches me, sitting at my feet. We took a walk this morning -- out where he's not allowed, because it's not fenced. He didn't walk far, but he left his studly mark everywhere he could. I think he wanted to go farther, but the heat was creeping in and I didn't want his last full day of life to be any harder on him than necessary. I mixed his weiners with cottage cheese -- and fed it to him with my fingers. He ate every drop. I got down on the floor with him so often I think he thinks I'm nuts -- I just wanted to put my arms around him and make sure he knows I'm there, with him, loving him.

So, here I am. Hoping that tomorrow doesn't come. Knowing it will. Hoping that this is the right decision. Knowing it is, but hating that it is. Hoping I can be strong enough to be right there, holding his paws, stroking his head, looking into his beautiful brown eyes, until he's gone. I don't know.

I think of Flash when I read this:

"He is my other eyes that can see above the clouds; my other ears that hear above the winds. He is the part of me that can reach out into the sea. He has told me a thousand times over that I am his reason for being; by the way he rests against my leg; by the way he thumps his tail at my smallest smile; by the way he shows his hurt when I leave without taking him. (I think it makes him sick with worry when he is not along to care for me.) When I am wrong, he is delighted to forgive. When I am angry, he clowns to make me smile. When I am happy, he is joy unbounded. When I am a fool, he ignores it. When I succeed, he brags. Without him, I am only another man. With him, I am all-powerful. He is loyalty itself. He has taught me the meaning of devotion. With him, I know a secret comfort and a private peace. He has brought me understanding where before I was ignorant. His head on my knee can heal my human hurts. His presence by my side is protection against my fears of dark and unknown things. He has promised to wait for me... whenever... wherever - in case I need him. And I expect I will - as I always have. He is just my dog." -- Gene Hill


July 8th, 2002

Well tomorrow did come. After a night filled with tears as I petted him until I finally fell asleep, it was finally time to take him to the vets. My friend Danni volunteered her air conditioned truck and her vet for handling this.

We drove over, giving me time to sit with him and stroke him and remind him that after he looks up my parents and Lady (his best pal who died three years ago) he should wait for me. I know he will.

The vet came out to the truck and gave him the tranquilizer. He slowly fell asleep with his head on my thigh while I stroked his ear and assured him I was right there with him. Flash has always been a heavy breather (he had been debarked before he came to me) and the disease had made it even louder and more labored when he breathed through his nose. After the tranquilizer his breathing was even and quiet for the first time in his life, I think. And then, finally, it was time. The 'shot' was given in a vein in his front paw. And so very very quickly it was over. My husband lifted him out of the truck and onto the vet's cart, taking his collar off for me.

And boy then I cried! Still crying actually. So much crying my sinuses hurt down to my jaw. I came home and walked up the stairs where he should be waiting, and he isn't. And into my office where he should be sleeping, and he isn't. My head hurts and my stomach hurts and I don't know what to do with myself. I have spent every moment of the last six weeks when I wasn't at work, with him. And now in a house full of a zillion furkids I feel so alone. I know it will get better, I do believe God makes humans able to cope with death so they'll love again, but right now, writing about it is the only thing I can think to do.

His collar and the towel we used in the car are here with me. They'll stay here with me until I'm ready to ask another dog to keep me company here in the office. I know it'll happen, because my life is so much better with a dog underfoot. Dogs are happier having someone to dote on, to pick up dropped morsels of food from, to sleep right in the way of the door -- and not having a dog to keep me company would seem a disservice to Flash, I think. He spoiled me into needing a dog right here, always nearby -- and when it's time I'll turn the office over to another one.

So, my dear handsome boy. Thank you for your love, and your devotion. I know how very lucky I was to share your life -- how lucky I was to be the one to help you make your trip to the bridge.

Goodbye my boy! You'll always be in my heart, in my thoughts. Thanks Flashdancer for taking such good care of me, I'll take it from here until we meet again.