The Lesson We Hate

"Everyone leaves, son. Through relocation or emotional separation or death...nothing stays the same and everyone leaves."

My 13 year old son's dog was only 2 years old. After having given his heart to 2 already aged dogs and having his heart broken when they died, I chose for him a little wild-haired terrier/poodle...because those damn things live forever.

Alec (son) and Aaron (dog) were inseparable. Since Alec home schools that's a literal statement. Outside, they explored our property back to front and side to side and never tired of it. If Aaron got sidetracked by some smell or sound and Alec rode off on his bike without him, you'd see in just a few moments Aaron flying full flat out- ears pumping and tail ruddering after his Boy, short little legs a blur.

Inside, Aaron was under Alec's chair at the dinner table (or ON the chair eating his dinner if he left the table for a glass of milk) or sleeping on the desk chair in Alec's room where he could see Alec at all times. He wasn't a snuggler, but he needed to be within nose's reach at all times. He did love the schnauzer. He couldn't be in the same room as her without humping her ceaselessly until Alec would notice and say sternly, "Aaron- I'm going to have to ask you to stop that."

Aaron wasn't very well housetrained. He and Alec would be outside for an hour, come inside and he'd pee on the (thankfully cement) floor. Alec would sigh and say, "Aaron- you're a terrible terrible dog". And Aaron would wag his tail furiously and gaze at Alec adoringly.

If Alec was away, Aaron would curl up on the bed and nap till he got home. If Alec left him behind and went somewhere on the property without Aaron? The noises that came out of that little dog would put a slaughterhouse to shame.

His wild hair and behavior when separated from his Boy earned him the nickname of Meth Muppet.

You may be thinking, "That sounds like an awful dog" and you'd think so, wouldn't you?

Aaron was long of body and short of legs. He had wiry white hair that was never quite clean. His front feet always pointed out...like a platypus- even when he ran.

His eyes were different sized. Really. But they were serious intelligent eyes. His other nickname was Aaron the Freakishly Understanding.

Alec could balance Aaron upside down along the length of his arm (tail against his elbow bend and head in his hand) and carry him around that way. Aaron would fall asleep like that.

Alec would sit Aaron upright in his lap, dog back against boy chest, and use Aaron's paws to gesture while he talked. Aaron would fall asleep like that, too.

Aaron first got sick back in May. Liver failure that responded to fluids and antibiotics so they thought it was an infection.

We boarded him at the vet's when we went on vacation in July and they re-did the bloodwork just for fun. The liver values were better...but not normal. We realized that Aaron probably had a birth defect that had made it easy for the infection to take hold back in May and he was most likely a dog with numbered days; but from May through last week you'd never know it by his behavior and outward health and we were thinking months, maybe years, but not literally days.

He crashed last Saturday, spent the weekend at the emergency clinic on fluids and not eating with very bad liver values.

Monday he went back to the regular vet and Tuesday he was eating, so we were hopeful- we were sure (even the vet) that he had gotten another infection and would respond as before.

Wednesday he really crashed. Stopped eating and his bloodwork was twice as bad as just four days prior- all organs were now failing. He was retaining fluid in his abdomen and his breathing was labored.

Alec spent almost an hour with him in his lap, and stayed with him till the end.

I know in my heart that he would not have survived the night, and we all know it was so much 'better' for us to have been able to say goodbye...for him not to have been alone.

My six foot tall boy's heart is broken, and because of that so is mine and so is Ward's.

It's not fair. It's not sensible. It's the lesson we hate- that those we love are here one minute and then gone...whether or not we're ready and whether or not we have time to steel ourselves for it.

Our family is not religious, but we believe in science and I personally believe in energy- that little spark, the life spark in all of us that some call a soul. I believe energy can be focused and sent (also known as 'prayer') and I believe the scientists when they say that energy cannot be destroyed- it only shifts somewhere else.

I told Alec that I believe when a companion animal passes on in the presence of their loved one, it's easy- when their life spark leaves the furry body, it attaches to its human...because that's all they ever want- just to be near us.

It's not the same. It'll never be the same. He'll be looking for Aaron and missing Aaron forever.

But he's right there. Balanced in between his elbow bend and hand, upside down. And sleeping.



Alec visiting Aaron at the emergency clinic over the weekend. Rest in Peace, little buddy.

A Big Gaping Hole Where My Heart Used to Be

I hate dogs.

I hate that they worm their way into our hearts and become so much a part of us that losing them is as painful as an amputation.

And it's not "if" we lose them, it's 100% guaranteed "when" we lose them. Because they live a mere fraction of the time we do.

Sometimes a fraction of THAT.

Beau was a gimme dog. We'd been looking for "back up muscle" for our aging Great Pyrenees and our friend Jonathan said, "You need this dog- he's gorgeous AND a good livestock guard dog". In the middle of our new house build, I told him to try to find the dog a different home, but IF he still had him once the house was up and we were all moved in, we'd take him. That took 6 months.

He did, and we did.

Beau was part Anatolian Shepard and part Great Pyrenees. I generally am not fond of the Anatolians because they can be more aggressive than the Pyrs- and while we need a guard dog, we don't want an aggressive dog- we have too many tiny animals and people around here.

Beau was quiet. And calm. And gorgeous. He had that, "Don't worry, mom- I've got everything under control" look a really outstanding guardian dog has from the time its eyes open.

He was fluffy but not white or badger-marked like a pyr- he was lion-tan with a black mask...also very lion-like. I worried that some night a hunter would encounter him and think he was running into a cougar and shoot before realizing he wasn't.

Beau was a character, but never a clown. He floated across the pasture silently. His head was bigger than mine but he'd appear suddenly at my side out of nowhere...gently bumping my hand with his enormous bear-nose.

Like most of this type of dog, he required a very light hand- they know what they're doing and have been bred to do it without direction. Even a slight reproach would cause him to tip over onto his side in shame. A lion's heart, a tender heart.

He took his job as livestock guardian very seriously. While our older guardian made a cursory check of the livestock before retiring to the (actual iron double sized)bed on our porch, Beau was rarely on the 'house side' of the creek- preferring to stay with his charges, and seeming to commune more with the horse than the other dogs- the two of them would amble around the pasture in the afternoons together, Shar grazing and Beau just hanging out...ever vigilant.

At dusk every night, the three guardians would line up as if on cue at our property line- facing across the road to the hundreds of acres of bottoms and forest.

He never was a hearty eater. He'd wait till you weren't looking before he ate, or bury his food for later. I was surprised when I first got him and took him to the vet that he only weighed 85 pounds- because his frame was bigger than our pyr and she weighs right at 100 pounds.

When it started getting hot this year, Beau stopped eating. I didn't think too much about it since most of the Anatolians I know get damn near anorexic in the summertime. And his attitude was still good- bright and happy.

I tried to tempt him by soaking his food in broth. Nothing.
I scrambled him eggs. No thank you.
I gave him leftovers of all kinds that the other dogs would (really) kill for. Nada.

A week ago today, Ward called me while I was driving home from work. Beau had walked up to him stiff-legged and slow, head down. When he got to Ward, he tipped over not in shame, but weakness. Or injury. Ward couldn't tell.

When I got home, he was still down.

He rallied when we put him into the car and I took him back to work with me (I manage an Animal Emergency After-hours clinic).

He walked into the clinic.

His blood work showed kidney failure, and he was put on IV fluids.

He walked out of the clinic the next morning and into the regular vet clinic.

They ran tests that ruled out anything that could be treated or that pointed to an outside cause- parasitic disease or poison. Nothing.

That meant something congenital- bad kidneys or cancer. He was only 3 years old.

I told the boys that I'd assess his progress or lack thereof, and had the vet re-run the blood work to see if he was holding steady or declining. IF he were no worse, I'd bring him home, see if I could get him to eat, and make his last days comfortable.

When I got to the vet clinic he couldn't get up. His tail didn't wag or even twitch in greeting, and his eyes were already turned inward in thought, and concentration. In leaving.

His blood work was much worse.

I sat on the cold hard floor of the concrete block kennel, dogs all around us barking, echoing sharply and repeatedly. I cradled his big head in my lap, covered his ears and thought hard at him of Home- the creek running, wind in the trees, the constant undertone of poultry conversations.

I asked him if he wanted to go home. He looked up at me, apologetically. "I'm very happy to see you, and I'd love to, but I'm sorry, Mom- I just don't think I can".

Our eyes locked. I told him, "Next time,stick around longer." Clear as a bell I felt his response, "Next time pick me up sooner".

So I stroked his head while the vet gave him the final injection, and told him it was OK- he'd done a very good job protecting us all and we loved him- to go on and just let go and I'll see him again soon.

And I believe with all my heart that I will.

My handsome boy

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eALhTTjv-1I&feature=plcp


Beau, Sugarbearmarshmallowdog and Wendy the Beagle on a cool winter morning. Narrated by Ward.

A Bitey Update

You remember The Biteys.

Little half chihuahua/half wolverbeast puppies that someone so kindly dumped in front of our house with the rest of their trash?

Wild as March Hares, all (baby) teeth and snarls, they were about 4 weeks old when Alec found them under our old barn.

They were not to be toyed with.

After about a week, I was able to feed them out of my hand, but NOT pick them up.

After about 2 weeks, they discovered...Edna's house.

Edna adamantly stressed that she is 92 years old and just too old for a dog, much less 2 dogs, much less puppies.

The Biteys wagged their tails and blinked their little button eyes and that was that. They trotted up the ramp, into her house, onto a blanket she laid on the floor for them and never looked back at the barn.

Edna and the Biteys have come to an agreement-

Edna feeds the Biteys about 17 times a day, lets them sleep in her house every night (and for several naps during the day- she calls them in because "they've been playing all morning and are wore out- they need a nap")

In return, the Biteys are completely devoted to Edna.

They still don't like being picked up and held, but that's ok. Edna loves 'em anyway.

A few weeks ago I went to Edna's early in the morning, cornered the Biteys, crated 'em up and took them to the Vet's for vaccinations, worming, de-fleaing and spaying.

I told the staff "don't be fooled by their blinky eyes and their 5 pound bulk- use gloves".

When I picked them up later in the day, I told the Vet about the deer carcass they'd found and were bringing up to Edna's house one bone at a time.

He looked at me and said "I've just had to handle them- they didn't FIND the deer- they ran it down".

The Biteys go where they want, when they want (except for naptime and bedtime, then they have EDNA'S RULES). They get along with and play with all the other dogs and are happy to see human family members...just don't try to pick 'em up.

Me? After the trapping and drive to the Vet episode?

I'm pretty sure I'll never lay hands on 'em again.

I'm pretty sure I need to sleep with one eye open for the rest of my life.

Nothing concrete, understand- just the look in their eyes...

...their little blinky adorable vengeful puppy eyes...


The Biteys hiding in the weeds...waiting for their moment...waiting for their revenge...

When I Think of Mother Nature, She Looks Like a Collie

Someone passed along one of those photos of a big dog with his head on a sleeping baby. You know the one- the baby is smiling in her sleep and the dog has that soft tender look in his eyes.

Those always make me think of Slippers.

Slippers was a white collie- there are actually white collies and they are gorgeous. I'd always wanted one and when I finally got the chance to get one I snatched her up and brought her home.

She was a little confused about housebreaking at first and I hadn't thought of a good name for her till the day my husband hollered, "If that damn puppy pisses in the house one more time I'm gonna make a pair of slippers out of it!"

It wasn't long before push came to shove and one of them had to go.

I didn't miss him a bit.

Slippers was one of those dogs who was everyone's mother. Not just puppies, but humans, kittens, squirrels, guinea pigs, birds...all her children and she loved them all fiercely and equally.

The squirrels were the only ones who took actual offense at the attention- she'd hold them down gently and wash them nose to toes till their fur stood up in spikes. They'd chatter and curse and glare at her and she'd pay absolutely no never mind but continue bathing them with love and slobber.

Working in the veterinary field I constantly tell people dogs bite. No matter how gentle, if hurt or scared dogs bite because they're...dogs. Slippers was the only dog I've ever trusted to never bite, ever. A child could be bouncing on her back wearing spurs and poking her in the eyes and she wouldn't bite. I'm sure of it.

Our son Alec was born at home with a midwife in attendance.

After the delivery, we brought the dogs into the bedroom for introductions. Spooj and Tiny Ramon were interested in a polite sort of way- like we were showing them a slideshow of our vacation.

Slippers' eyes completely glazed over. A fresh. Brand new. Human baby.

She proceeded to sniff him ever so thoroughly nose to toes and back again, then turned on her heels and poked that long collie nose under the bed, beneath the dresser, behind the door...repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Ward asked, "What in the world is she doing?"

It took me a minute, then the maternal lightbulb came on and I started to laugh.

"She's looking for the rest of the litter. What kind of loser only has ONE baby?"


Slippers and my son Dave

For a Little While There Were Creatures of Value and Creatures of Worthlessness in the Car. The Worthless Ones Drove Away...

So, really?

Someone really truly threw puppies out of a car in the middle of the center of nowhere and did it without remorse or regret.

2 days ago we had 7 dogs- Fizzgig, Smidgeon and Aaron (the Littles) and Sugarbearmarshmallowdog, Wendy and Beau (the Bigs), along with Joe's dog Molly.

We apparently have 9 dogs now.

On my way home from work I heard Alec's excited voice on the phone. "Mom! There are puppies under the barn".

My concerned and maternal immediate response- "How the hell did THAT happen???"

All our dogs are fixed. There have been no sightings of unauthorized canines on the property- the Bigs keep everything pretty well cleared out- that's their job.

And yet, when I pulled up to the barn and walked over I could hear it- growling from the depths.

Two sets of tiny blinky eyes glared at me, baby teeth bared. They were as far back under the barn as they could get without starting to come out the other side.

Cursing, I got food and water and pushed it under the barn.

Bitey 1 ran up and started eating ravenously- little belly distended with worms and hair as wild as his expression. Bitey 2 refused to come near even though he's not any better fed.

Wendy decided she would be on puppy patrol in addition to her previously scheduled property perimeter checks and I left them in her care. Wendy- who was dumped here pregnant back in July. I see a frightening pattern here...

This morning I walked to the barn with food and they came running out- barking and tails wagging, then stopped in mid-wag when they remembered human=enemy and dove back under the barn- they stick to the middle support pier like it's home base in a life or death game of tag.

I put down breakfast and they both attacked it. Bitey 1 is still braver- if I extend my hand he'll sniff it as long as I don't, yanno, MOVE it. Bitey 2 is gone as soon as my hand reaches under the barn.

So here they are.

IF they can avoid getting eaten by something I think they'll be tame within a few days and then they'll come up to the house and the puppy pen. They'll be fed, wormed, bathed, vaccinated and fixed.

I think the thing that bothers me the most is that we don't live at the end of a road, you can't even see the house from the road- you can see the barn, but it's been there almost 80 years and no one has lived here till a year ago. We have no fancy gate, no paved driveway, not even a mail box- we don't WANT people knowing where we live unless we know them.

And yet this is where they are dumping animals.

The creeks run along and under the road and there are hundreds of empty acres all around us. For some reason the bridges are magnets for people who don't get city trash pickup and are too cheap to pay for service and we haul out bag after bag of trash and refuse from the creeks and their banks.

They're dumping the dogs along with their trash.

Hell is too good for them.


Bitey 1 and Bitey 2...pre-domestication

A Quick Update...

...on all fronts.

There is a beautiful metal/plastic post at our gate and it says it's a marker for the cable that runs the phone/internet. Once this stupid 20 degree, sleeting weather is out of the way they should be running it into the house and from there to my computer, and then...I'll be back on the interwebs, to infinity and BEYOND!!!

*ahem*

We still are not entirely out of the old house, thanks to the weather, and our goats, horse and poultry are not moved yet because of same.

I'm done with winter, it can go away now.

ReyaRamona has learned quickly- how to play with Fizzgig, what sounds mean dinner (or breakfast or lunch- she's still so thin she gets 3 squares daily instead of the 2 everyone else enjoys) is impending, how to jump onto and off of the sofa, and where the best spot between Ward and me is on the bed at night. A little over a week with us and we've got her entirely ruined. Awesome.

I suspect from her behavior that she came from a puppy mill type breeder- she (was) most comfortable in a cage, and is still very leery of being picked up and/or held- she holds herself very stiff and doesn't cuddle in. Gimme another week- she'll be over that, too.

She's really more schnauzer in looks than poodle, and the one time she let out with a bark (visitors to the house- getting possessive much?) it was definitely of the schnauzer variety, heaven help us.

Today in the cold (dropping from high 30's at daybreak to a current barely- 20 and falling) and wind driven sleet, ReyaRamona ceased walking on leash like a princess- she did her business and hauled curly fluffy ass back into the house at the end of the leash, on hind legs, as fast as her little toes could carry her. I could hear her thoughts "I spent my time in this mess- get me the hell in the warm house, my sofa is waiting".

Right behind you, little buddy.

Here We Go Again...

Eleven years ago on Ward's birthday I brought home a scraggly little waif of a poodle named Tiny Ramon the Magnificent. He recently passed away and if you look around the blog you'll come across his eulogy.

Sunday, Joe moved his camper over to the new house, because HIS new house is done now too, and he told me he saw a scraggly little waif of a poodle running in the highway. Being an idiot, instead of running away, I went in search of said waif. But I didn't see it, and came home.

Monday, on my way to run eleven billion errands, all time-specific, I saw the dog. It was cowered in front of the front gate of an empty house, wet from the rain and shivering. Someone had put a dish of water next to it, telling me it was not letting itself get caught. I called Joe and he and his friend Karen went to see if they could snag it. Karen's gentle wiles won the dog over, and it came home to us.

On Ward's birthday.

Wet, hungry and shivering when caught, yesterday the temperature plummeted and last night was deadly- 14 degrees and very windy- I have no doubt she never would've survived that.

She's not full poodle, like Ramon was, most likely she's a poodle/schnauzer- a Schnoodle- and she's chocolate instead of grey, but like Ramon was, she's painfully thin and obviously abandoned- she walks on a leash like a princess. Ramon was old when I found him- at least 10 years old. This one is young- no more than 2.

But like Ramon, you can read the confused question in her button eyes- "I tried to be a good dog- why did they leave me?"

It's been only a few days, and we're keeping Fizzgig and her separated till she's come out of her shell some- Fizzgig can be a little...overwhelming and boisterous.

But already the hurt reflected in her eyes is fading and being replaced with the soft gaze of adoration only a rescued dog can manage.

Tiny Ramon the Magnificent named himself- I'd never named a tiny dog and had no clue as to what to call him. If you sit and quiet your mind near an animal, and you're open to the possibilities, there can be non-verbal communication as clear as speech.

So Tiny Ramon the Magnificent named himself.

Alec and I both questioned the new dog as to her name, and tell us she did.

Happy birthday Ward- meet Reya Ramona.

(and the song "Don't Give Up on Love" by The Poodles? Seriously.)

The Power of a Puppy

For 15 years I had a friend. A best friend.

She was long and low and wire-haired and black and white spotted with floppy ears, waggly eyebrows and whiskers. She was just a little dog of about 25 pounds- 5 pounds of attitude and 20 pounds of heart.

She'd had a hard start on life- I got her out of the pound when she was about a year old and she refused to leave my side from that very minute till almost the end of her life- to the point of destruction if she was left behind. But that was OK- I worked at vet clinics and could bring her with me and she loved to travel with us when we went on vacation. The few times we did need to leave her, she stayed at home with people she knew and trusted.

Spooj was with me before I married Ward and had Alec- but she graciously accepted them both.

After 15 years of devotion, liver disease finally claimed her life last November. The final few years she'd declined to go with me anymore, choosing instead to stay at home and nap, and the final year I'd had to "take away her car keys" and walk her on a leash- she'd become too slow and blind and deaf to allow her to roam the property untended- too many coyotes and reckless UPS drivers.

And she left a huge hole in my heart and in our family- Ward loved her as much as I did and Alec couldn't remember life without her- because she was here before he was.

And I swore I'd never love that way again.

But I believe that souls who love each other will find each other over and over again- being an ol' reincarnationist hippie chick.

So I kept an eye out...just in case.

We were a battered, shattered, damaged family when we came home in May- almost 6 weeks after a 1 week anticipated trip to the hospital- almost 6 weeks of not one, but 2 extensive surgeries, bad drug reactions, heart failure, pneumonia, weeks in intensive care. The very LAST thing we needed was a puppy.

I sell baby guinea pigs to the local pet store- a pet store that does not sell "puppy mill" puppies, but has a program to find homes for unwanted puppies and kittens. They'd just gotten a new litter of puppies in. Matters not- I have a heart of steel- puppies hold no appeal to me.

Except for one of these.

She was long and low and wire-haired and grizzle colored with floppy ears, waggly eyebrows and whiskers. She was just a little dog of about 5 pounds- 1 pound of attitude and 4 pounds of heart. We'd always said we'dve given anything to see Spooj as a puppy, and even though this one is a different color- there she was- Baby Spooj.

Her name is Fizzgig, after a character in The Dark Crystal.

While we never did know Spooj's heritage (closest guess was dachshund/spaniel/schnauzer) we know Fizzgig's- 1/2 wire haired dachshund, 1/4 maltese and 1/4 pom, so she'll be smaller than The Original, but Ward still calls her "Spooj- The Sequel".

We never forget that she's her own soul, and therefore very special in her own right, that she's NOT Spooj, and can never fill the Spooj-shaped hole in our hearts. But she's doing an excellent job of filling that hole with her own brand of love and devotion.

While Spooj had seen alot in her year-without-a-home,giving her a worldly outlook, Fizzgig's never been out on the mean streets, and she's kind of timid of big things (like horses) or loud things (like cars), and it's a challenge to teach her that bolting for the front door may NOT always be the best strategy- that she needs to trust that if she's with me, she's safe.

She's got just enough "tiny timid dog" in her to be fearful, and just enough "terrier" in her to think "Scary Thing- every man and dog for themselves- I don't have to out-run the scary thing- I just have to out-run YOU". No worries- she's smart as a whip and learning to be better about that every day.

And she does tricks. OK. One trick. She does a very good impression of a meerkat- sitting up on her little haunches with her front paws dangling pathetically, eyes riveted to whatever food I'm preparing- she loves any fruit, veggie, cheese or bread- just like Spooj with one difference- Spooj would NEVER have stooped to tricks- that was way beneath her.

But the greatest gift of Fizzgig is that she's the most snuggle-bunny dog I've ever met- she's totally soft, not just her fur (which is wiry anyway), but when you pick her up she's more like a cat than a dog- she's got those Slinky-bones and she just melts onto your lap.

She gives Alec a run for his money- he sleeps on the top bunk and after she's up in the mornings she jumps onto the bottom bunk and attacks anything dangling she can reach to rouse him- blanket, sheet, pillow, feet...and he's madly in love with her.

She snuggles into Ward's lap and gazes into his eyes while he pets her and talks to her...and he's madly in love with her.

And even though the LAST thing we needed was a puppy in this time of trial, I look at that whiskered face and those waggly eyebrows and know she was a Very Good Idea- that she's speeding Ward's healing, become a boon companion for Alec, and wormed her fuzzy, quirky way into that emptiness in my heart I thought would never be filled again.

Thank you, Fizzgig.