Monk

The day after.
Just down the stairs and turn the corner.  You just have to go down the stairs and turn the corner.  You can picture it in your head.  You think you know how it will be.  You can't stay in the dark silence of your bedroom forever.  You have to move forward now.  Just down the stairs and turn the corner.  See the empty places that will never hold his body again.  Hear the quiet where there should be steps and morning sneezes.  Hold your palm out all you want - the playful nips or touch of a nose will not come.  You can see it in your mind and now you have to face it. 
Say goodbye little by little. 
Say goodbye over and over. 
Just go down the stairs and turn the corner.

Ohio doesn't want me to leave

Hit the wall today. Barely able to drive 2 hours. Doggies feeling it too. Stopped in Youngstown. Dogs napping in hotel while I watch a thunderstorm build outside.

I think I have a Feng Shui gremlin in my head. This room is all wrong. Beds should be on the other side. Even Monk felt it. He paced for 20 minutes before he settled down.

Nap time now. 

Kearney Nebraska

Oh, Nebraska!  You poor, mind-numbingly boring slice of middle America.  You just can't compare to my recent fling with Wyoming.  Nothing but slightly rolling grasslands and farmland.  Browns and greens, browns and greens.  Even the cows looked bored.  Sure, the aroma that perfumed the air when I passed that cattle yard was interesting.  But it's not the kind of interesting that steals a girl's heart.  

Even your sunset was half-hearted.  The flat gray clouds turned an anemic pink, with the slightly yellow undertone of an older gent with liver failure.  You had so much potential with all that sky.  But it's like Nebraska is the kid who never got to use crayons.

There's still time to wow me.  You've got about two hundred more miles tomorrow to try to show me something.

On another note - yesterday Monk proved the theory that he is quite capable and more than willing to jump out of an open car window if given the chance.  Fortunately, we were parked and I was outside of the car.  I am very Pro-Dog-Face-Out-Window when driving.  But I always had my suspicions about Monk and never rolled his down all the way.  He went over to Lily's side and took the plunge.  He doesn't seem to have hurt himself.  But I've got my eye on him now.  No more flying leaps for him.

Rawlins Wyoming

A little bit of Utah

Truck stop in Wyoming

I like Wyoming.

Ended the daylight hours with a pink sunset that lingered forever across the seemingly endless sky.  And on the other side of the road was a rainbow rising up from the reddish-brown mesas into a towering stack of clouds.  Sorry, didn't stop for pictures.  Use your imagination, kids.

Later, competing lightning storms continually flashed in the distant skies, startling the darkness.  It was a great ride.

Lily & Monk on their comfy dog beds in the back seat.  I am their bitch.  I live only to serve them.

Lily the Wonder Dog

The girl just won't go down.  (Not that I want her to.)

Woke up this morning to find Lily next to her bed panting and unable to get up.  She was also laying in her own shit.  It thought it was the end.  She's 12 years old and a large breed dog.  Of course, as stressed out as she was, she still wagged her tail when she saw me.  There's an inspirational poster in there somewhere - Even when laying in a pile of your own shit, don't forget to wag your tail!  (Someone give me the lying/laying lesson.  I never get that right.)

Tried to help her up and she just couldn't do it.  Moved her over and cleaned up the poop.  Tried to think about how I was going to get this 90-pound dog into my car by myself.  Got her on top of a flattened cardboard box which helped me drag her to the door.  She kept trying to get up and I used one of these bursts to get her out the door to the front porch.  

The next obstacle was the eight cement steps down to the sidewalk.  I took a breather and sat with her on the front porch in the quiet, cool morning.  I cried.  She sniffed the air and watched the birds.  I really thought I was taking her to her death.  

I had to stop the crying or I'd never get her into the car.  I summoned my Wonder Woman strength and picked up her wiggly ass and carried her down the steps and into the car.  If Fat, Wiggly Animal Carry ever makes it as an Olympic event, I'm in.

Drove to the emergency vet.  Lily still couldn't stand up but she managed to drag herself up enough to lean on the door and stick her head out the window.  More crying.  (Me, not her.)

I get there and and the 12-year-old Veterinarian, Dr. Holly Hobbie, tells me it could be this: Idiopathic Vestibular Disease.  The system that controls balance and coordination goes all wonky for no reason.  Happens in older dogs.  (Yes, they have the youngest looking vets at that place.  I swear to you she didn't look a day over thirteen.)  Dr. Holly Hobbie suggests that we should rule out every other disease in the world before we can be sure.  She wants to do blood tests, urinalysis, chest x-ray and abdomen ultrasound.  Whoa there, youngster.  I know you have a Colorforms addiction to feed, but let's be reasonable.  

I ask her to call my own veterinarian (who wasn't open when this whole ordeal began) to fill her in on what's going on with Lily.  And then I talk to my wizened and sage 40-something-year-old vet to get her advice.  No X-ray, no ultrasound. Just do some labs and let them keep her overnight and give her fluids.  See how she is in the morning.  Sounds good to me. 

So even though this Idiopathic Vestibular nonsense typically goes on for days or weeks, they call later in the afternoon and say that Lily is walking around.  She ate like a voracious beast.  She's fine.

Such a relief.  She's home.  Happy as ever.  She could have a recurrence, but at least I now know what it is.  In four days I leave with the beasts for our 3,000 mile joy ride.  Wish me luck.

Coming in June...

Two dogs, just looking to have a good time...

One 10-year-old Prius

3,053 miles - from the Pacific to the Atlantic

View Cross country Route 80 in a larger map

What could possibly go wrong?

Fugitive Captured

 

Doesn't it look like a mug shot?  She seems awfully guilty to me.  

Had a successful Kitty Hunt on Saturday night and then dropped her with a vet who would have Animal Control pick her up.  She was dirty, full of fleas, had cuts on her face and something wrong with her tail.  The Animal Control in my city works very closely with the Humane Society, so I am very hopeful that she'll be adopted out.  She was a friendly girl. 

Casanova Kitty misses his girlfriend, though.

Felis catus haiku

Orange cat in heat
flirting with my sackless male
won't get what she wants

Orange cat in heat
seems it did not work for you
abstinence only

Orange cat in heat
late evening til early morn
sounds like Justin Bieb(er)

Orange cat in heat
tomorrow I will catch you
then what will we do?

Time Travel

Adopted Monk in February. He was a stray that was picked up by animal control and then saved from death row by a local rescue. The rescue said that he was about 7 years old.

He came with a limp.  An old injury that seems to not have healed correctly and his left front paw is turned inward in a funny way.  Took him to the vet today because it seems like his leg bothers him more lately.   (Took him to this same vet back in February when he first arrived.)

Today, after hearing about what was going on and checking Monk out, she says, "You know, I think he's probably a little older than seven."

I tell her that I had wondered about that too.  Ask her how old she thinks he is.

She looks at Monk, takes a moment and says, "I would say he is probably around 11."

Wow.  In dog years, he just aged from 49 to 77 years old.

So instead of driving around in his convertible, trying to relive his glory days...

Well, hel-looo Ladies!

Monk's hanging around his front porch, shaking his cane at the world...

I told you kids to GET OF MY LAWN!

I don't blame the rescue for estimating low.  I'm sure they had a hell of a time trying to find a home for an old, lame dog who is possibly mixed with Pit Bull. 

At the end of the vet appointment I tried to talk her down, like I was at a flea market, haggling over the price of an old piece of furniture.  "So, ah....what do you think....should we just go ahead and call him 10?"   She looked right at me and shook her head.  "Hmmmm.  No.  I really think 11 is more like it."

Doesn't make a difference in how I feel about Monk.  It just means that he won't be around for as long as I had thought. I was hoping for 5 years or so, but now it will probably be just a couple.

Adopted Lily at 11 years old, so it would not have mattered what his age was.  Hey...now we can start to refer to them as "The Twins."

I've got no blogging mojo

Here's Lily's fitness regimen. She's fanatical about it.




And here's a moment of Monk:

The doggies are fine. Old Lady Lily is healed and has regained her unstoppable enthusiasm for every moment of life. I've got more things to blog, but just can't seem to finish any of them. Maybe the long days of summer will energize me.

24 hours in the animal madhouse

My Friday went something like this:

Day off work. Lily gagged a few times and threw up a tiny little bit of water during the day. So I am a little concerned.

1700 hours

Bring Franken-Kitty to the regular vet to get the drains taken out of his face. Ask the vet about Lily. Vet recommends trying her on some extra-bland food to see if that helps.

1900 hours

Feed Lily half a can of new food.

1930 hours

Lily starts retching and throws up her food in the back yard. I follow her around, trying to see what is going on. Is she pale? Is she breathing okay? Is she unsteady on her feet?

1935 hours

Turn around and see Monk finishing off his little after-dinner snack - the "Lily Smoothie." He must have been jealous because she had different food than he did. Either that or he was just trying to be helpful by cleaning it up for me.

2230 hours

Lily seemed fine after throwing up - good color, belly seems soft, no panting. So just kept an eye on her while she snoozes in the living room. She's licking her lips a lot and I hear gurgling stomach noises. Go over to pet her and she starts panting. She gets on her feet and starts to retch. She looks unsteady.

2235 hours

Get the shoes on and get her into the car. Drive to emergency vet.

2250 hours

Arrive at vet and Lily is panting and won't get out of the car. Get big, burly vet tech with a stretcher. I push her from behind and he scoops her up to put her on stretcher.

Okay, I'm getting bored with this whole time-line thing. The short version of the rest of the story was that I was up until 0400 hours.  That's 4:00 AM people.   They took X-rays and blood. Her blood work is fine. She is not bloating again (which can happen) but she is full of gas. They sent her home with two more medications.

I now feel like it was a little bit of an overreaction on my part (my bank account feels the same way.)  But I'd rather be safe.  Stomach surgery + vomiting = I'm going to worry.

Lily now has five different meds. It has become like one of those math logic problems:

If Lily has to take Pill A, 3 times a day, with no food or water 1 hour before or 1 hour after

AND

Pill B, 2 times a day, 10 minutes before any food

AND

Pills, C, D and E with food 2 times a day

AND

she's eating 1/2 can of special food, 6 times a day

AND

Franken-Kitty is wailing at the door every 5 minutes

AND

he needs liquid antibiotics 2 times a day which he hates...

At what hour of the day will Kathy break out the Mike's Hard Lemonade?

(Show your work.)

Friday afternoon

A little Alfred Hitchcock moment in the backyard today:





Franken-kitty really wants to go outside.

This is actually quite a nice picture of him. Trust me. You do not want to see the gory close-ups.

Lily relaxing. She's a happy, eating, tail-wagging wonder.

So far Monk is staying out of trouble.

The local vets LOVE us (for our most generous contributions to their children's college funds.)

Lily is home and doing great but this morning the cat's face exploded.

Lily came home last night.  A nice slow, gentle ride home in the back seat of the car.  Then, while trying to park in front of the house near the path that leads to the backyard, I bashed into the curb and sent her flying.  Her front legs down on the floor and her back end still on the seat.  A nice downward dog move for a girl who is not supposed to stretch her abdomen after it was ripped open in surgery. 

From Louise Peterson, Sculptor  (These are beautiful!)

She really, really did not want to try to get out of the car after that.  Hurt my wrist when we wrestled her out.  It is not an easy task to pick up a 90-lb dog when you can't grab her around the middle.   But she was happy once her feet were on the ground and she trotted into the backyard. 

Then we had a little comedic interlude when she kept spitting out the pills I tried to feed her.  She usually takes them with food and it is no problem.  But she had no interest in food.  So I tried the brute force method and five or six times when I thought she had swallowed, I let go of her mouth and she spit them out.  She got some good distance on a few of them too.  Did finally manage to get the pills down.

This morning she was her happy self - about a 7 out of 10 on her usual enthusiasm scale.  Woke up and wagged her tail madly because she's simply thrilled to start another day - even when she's not feeling all that well.

Oh...the cat.  He woke up this morning with one side of his face twice as big as the other.  Called the vet immediately and luckily they could fit us in today.   Right before we left, his face exploded.  It was an abscess that burst.  A seemingly endless stream of reddish body fluid flowed out of that little cat's head, which he then proceeded to lick off the floor.  Lovely.  A little something like this:

This is a dramatization.  No cats were implanted with alien spawn in the making of this photo.

He's a long-haired, wild ruffian of a cat and we can't always see if he has cuts.  He doesn't tolerate too much poking and prodding.  So when he gets an injury that becomes infected, we don't know it until something like this happens.  He's spending the night at Chez Vet with a drain in his face.   More vet bills!  Yeee-haaaa!

Tomorrow we're going to be hosting the Animal House of Horrors.  Lily with her saggy, Frankenstein belly and schizophrenically shaved patches all over her body.  And Kitty with a seeping plastic tube coming out of her face and a cone around her neck.  

Let's just hope Monk can stay out of trouble.

Lily update

Lily is doing great.  They opened her up and everything looked fine.  Her stomach had actually untwisted itself by the time they got in there.  Spleen is fine and overall she has fabulous looking guts for an 11-year-old. They pinned her stomach to the inside wall of her body so this won't happen again. 

We asked them if they could do a little liposuction and tummy tuck while they were in there.  Beach season is coming up after all.  They declined.

Lily Girl

Lily almost died last night. Sudden onset of bloat - also known as Gastric dilatation-volvulus (GDV). It is a life threatening condition that can kill a dog within hours.

She was fed at 5:30 PM and friends came over for dinner later. She was fine the whole night. Then, right after the friends left at around 8:30 PM, she starting retching without throwing up. I watched this happening and was thinking that she'll eventually throw up whatever is bothering her and feel better. I thought that maybe she had gotten something dropped from the dinner table and Thai food didn't agree with her. Within 20 minutes she had stopped retching and was lethargic and panting with pale, cold gums.  I had never seen this happen before, but it was clear that something was very wrong.

She was able to walk herself out the front door and down the steps to get into the car. Drove 20 minutes to the emergency vet and by the time we got there she couldn't even sit herself up in the back seat. They brought a cart around to the car and a big vet tech picked up her 90-pound body and put her on the cart.

They stabilized her and got some of the air out of her stomach and she actually had a very good night. They will operate today to untwist her stomach and pin it to the inside wall of her body so this doesn't happen again.

Went to see her this morning and she is just like her old self. Full of energy and happy as can be. They brought her into the exam room and she was like - "Oh, you? Well it's cool that you are here and all, but there are some seriously interesting smells in this room that I must investigate immediately. So I am going to run around and sniff every corner and almost pull out my IV. Then maybe I'll get around to letting you pet me. You understand, don't you?"

She's the type of dog who seems to be happy and full of pure joy for life, no matter where she is or what is going on. After the visit, when they were taking her out of the exam room, she was just as enthusiastic about that - "Oh, COOL! Now we're going over here? That is AWESOME!"

Holy Huge Vet Bill, Batman! She's 11 years old. So we might only have a few more years with her after this. But it will be worth it. How could we give up on a creature so filled with life? (And they have an interest free payment plan that really helps.)

Surgery happens today and the surgeon will call later when Lily is in recovery.

I have been trying to capture the jubilant dancing that she does when you pick up a leash to take her for a walk. It's hard to get on video but here are a couple of tries.

Meet Monk

He is such a peaceful soul.

Does not bark.

Did not know any commands but learned "Sit" in less than a day.

At times, does not seem to hear very well.

Beginning to wonder if he has a hearing problem.

Will ask the vet next week.

Easily defeated the gate that was supposed 

to keep him in the kitchen in spite of 

his lame front leg.

(Might have superpowers.)

Also known as Pimp Dawg because 

he has charmed Lily 

into licking his wee-wee for him at least twice a day.

She seeks it out like a hungry calf going for its mothers milk.

Or perhaps it is not because of Monk's seductive ways.

Maybe Lily is just a slut.

She is, after all, 11 years old.

The old girl probably has more than a few stories from her past
that we'll never know.

Lily girl

Good things come

Doesn't he have a great head?

7 years old

51 lbs

The rescue thinks he's a

Shepherd / American Staffordshire Terrier mix.

But he could be part Boxer or even Great Dane.

The rescue will drop him off next Sunday.

Any suggestions on names?

Doggie #2 will show up on Wednesday.

She's an 11-year-old black Lab.

Family she has known her whole life has

fallen apart and she is collateral damage.

We will foster her for a rescue organization for now.

But probably keep her if it works out.

(No pictures yet.)

I was right to wait.  This feels good. 

Kittimus Maximus is about to have his world rocked.

Poor Kitty.  He doesn't even know it.

(Don't worry.  Kitty has been a participant in some doggie slumber parties 

when we dog-sit for a friend.  He's adjusted more and more each time.  

Once he gets the fact that he's not in danger, he relaxes.

There will be an adjustment period, but he'll be fine

and we won't let the dogs bully him.)

I Wait

The photo is called "I wait" by the photographer Julia Margaret Cameron (1815-1879).

And that is what I am doing.  I wait.  I can't make a decision right now.   I don't know why and I don't have to know why.  I just wait. 

I do believe in my own intuitive sense.  There have been times when something feels right and I have followed that leaning and it brought me to the place I was supposed to be.  I can wait for that again.

Dog Love

Duke and Satchmo.  Boxer mixes.  Brothers.  Adopted them when they were 10 years old.  Duke made it to 12.  Satchmo to 13.  Both died of cancer.  One of the vets told us that Boxers tend to be "tumor factories."  They had severe separation anxiety.  Duke was extremely dog aggressive (not with Satchmo.)  They were a huge pain in the ass.  But I loved those dogs.  They gave me so much joy.  I still get teary-eyed when I think about sitting with Satchmo when the vet put him down.

Haven't had a dog since.  It's been almost 7 years.  Didn't deliberately decide not to get another dog.  Just moved and couldn't have them and then acquired a cat.  Decided recently to get another dog.  Thought to myself, "I know they make me happy.  What am I waiting for?"

They do make me happy.  Always have.  I was the kid who would bring the stray dogs home and beg to keep them even though I knew we never could.  It is a simple, buoyant heart-happiness.  Gives me joy like nothing else in the world.

Met a bonded pair of dogs at the Human Society.  A Golden Retriever and a Chihuahua.  They tried to separate them because it is always easier to adopt single dogs.  But the Golden can't live without her little friend.  They didn't make my heart sing, but their story touched me.  Lived in the cement backyard of a family for all four years of their life.  Both have health problems that were left untreated, including callouses that form after years and years of a dog never having a soft place to sit or lie down.  Both will have treatable, but not curable, health conditions for the rest of their lives.

The woman at the shelter seemed to say that if we decide to get them, we have to take them right away.  Even though it would be better if we could take them home on a Friday and spend a couple of days bonding with them before we have to leave them alone during the work day.  If we had to take them, we could work that out, but it wouldn't be ideal.  But there's nothing ideal about them sitting around the shelter, right?  Even though it is the Humane Society and they have their own doggie condo, with furniture, dog beds and TV.  But the woman was pushy.  It somehow bent me the wrong way.  I left there feeling sad and doubting if this was the right thing to do at all.

And now I've spun into all sorts of doubts and uncertainties.  Am I really ready for this commitment?  Should I only get one dog instead, even though the landlord said it was okay to get two and wouldn't it be great to rescue two dogs?  Should I wait for that love that shoots you through the heart?  And I just feel bad and guilty about the whole thing.  Maybe I really don't want to have a dog that needs eye drops 4-10 times a day.  And I've just wasted everyone's time.  I feel bad for these dogs, but do I really want to take them into my home because I feel bad?

It is a sad, dreary day.  Clouds covering everything.  I hate when something small pushes you in a bad direction and all of the gloomy things you think about yourself come creeping out.  I have been through this enough to recognize what it is.  Just on the downswing in the mood playground and the up will come again.  So I know it is not simply about the dogs.  I just won't make any decisions while I'm feeling this way.  And I'll do what I can to get that swing headed back up again.

Photo by Angie from Sawara, Chiba-ken, Japan

This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License.
 

Yea, I know.  The logic of this is messed up.  Dogs make me happy.  But I'm feeling bad so I won't get the dogs.  It's not logical.  It just is.