I said WATCH the Birdy

Last wednesday Sophie threw up her breakfast.

She was out in the yard and I noticed she was obsessing on a part of the grass. This is what she does, maybe all dogs do, when their breakfast is going to waste on the lawn.

This has happened before, she’s a delicate gal with a genteel digestive tract. Sometimes she heaves just because her body believes she gone far too long without food. So, knowing the drill, I ran out, scooped everything up and brought the girls inside.

When dinner time came around, she wasn’t very interested, which around here is very very odd. She ate a little and then later out in the yard, that little bit came back to haunt us. Again I did the drill, brought Sophie in and made sure to give her a little soft snack before bed, it may have been a few small pieces of expensive aged cheddar, poor thing.

Thursday was a repeat performance in two acts, with an encore. It was the encore that was really interesting. After reviewing her breakfast and her dinner on assorted carpeting throughout the house, I thought the show was over. But early in the evening I came across two damp spots on priceless, vintage dining room braided rug. The maids had left for the day so I dutifully mopped with a few rags. Shortly after, I sat down on Brian’s little love seat, (that’s one of two small sofas in the living room, not a euphemism), and noticed a strange glob next to the dog bed.

It was purplish, lumpy in a globular way and had two little leaves artfully arranged at one end. “She must have eaten a bunch of fake grapes” the CSI in me speculated. I went to check the bowl where my only grapes were located, and there they were, right where they were supposed to be. I racked my feeble brain.

I’ve “collected” hundreds of bunches of fake grapes, teeny miniatures to grossly oversized, but they are all packed away in the cellar. Where did she find this one? Again I went for the rags, rinsing them out before going to mop up Sophie’s newest masterpiece. Wiping down the sink I picked up what I took for a blade of grass, (the natural component dogs ingest to alleviate gastric distress). But it wasn’t grass, it was a feather. There was more than one, and it was unmistakably a long, black and thin feather.

Fade in: a look of startled clarity comes across your writers face. He shouts to the girls, since it is only him and the canines in the house. Brian is, of course, on the west coast. “You ate a BIRD? You ATE a bird!” Weimaraners ARE bird dogs, but they’re supposed to capture them and bring them, soft-mouthed, to their master’s feet. “You AREN’T supposed to eat DEAD BIRDS!”

The blob of death must have been nesting in Sophie’s gut for at least 48 hours, now it was laying on my sisal, (feel free to retch, I did). And later that night, while I was on iChat with Brian and Parker and Jeff in Seattle, Sophie performed again. This time, her screen premiere on the internet.

Friday I had an appointment at the vet with Lucy, her first adult vaccination. I could take Sophie with me, but breakfast came and went with no fanfare, so I merely discussed it with the young doctor. Monitor her, feed her bland soft food, and make sure she continues to drink a lot of water.

Saturday breakfast was uneventful and the Vet closed at noon for the 3 day holiday weekend. As if she heard the all clear signal, Sophie began a revival show as soon as the doctor’s doors shut.

She was ravenous, constantly hunting for food. But 90 minutes after something went in, it came back up.

Then on Sunday morning my sister called. My mom was acting strange and said the side of her mouth was a little numb. “She says she’s fine,” my sister related, “What do you think?”

Facing death and destruction on all sides for the last few weeks, the fatalist in me surfaced and told her to get to the hospital. “Call 911 or push her in the car and call the hospital on the way” I advised in my calmest tone.

On Monday, Ginka, the mother, was stable but still going through tests at the hospital. It was a holiday, so things were moving even slower than their normally stagnant health “care” speed. Then after 10 that night my sister called and said that our mom had called her and was hallucinating. “She’s telling me she’s not at the hospital, that she’s sitting in my living room . . . And that there are children outside the window.”

Ginka’s not young, she just marked her 84th. She’s a little forgetful and is known for sharing her stories repeatedly, sometimes during a single telephone call. But she hasn’t been acting like this before. The nurses seemed to consider this normal behavior for an older woman. The doctors were of course, not available.

My sister was in tears. I was feeling useless. Sophie threw up.

Tuesday morning I had committed to work at Hidden Lake. Brian stayed home to monitor the phones and keep an eye on Sophie. My sister assured me that the drive in would be futile at this point, as Ginka would be spending the day with various machines in and around the hospital. She had talked to mom that morning and after a little story of being in a school, (was it all the talk of tests?) my mom seemed to settle back into reality. Sophie was booked into the vet at 2:15. I headed to the Gardens for a few hours of clearing brush from one of the trails.

I got home in time to put Sophie in the car and get her to the doctor. (Meanwhile, Brian had left to fly off to California.) Now Sophie was the one being poked and prodded (she flinched dramatically, on cue). X-rays showed bowel compaction and little flecks of bone trailing through her innards. Nothing seemed to be blocking her and temperature readings showed fever but didn’t indicate serious punctures. They advised keeping her overnight, cleaning her out, testing for pancreatitis and administering medication to sooth her gastric system.

Tuesday night, with Brian out of town, and Sophie in the hospital it was just me a Lucy playing bachelor(ette) at home. Ani didn’t even drop by to visit. We slept, (Lucy soundly), on the sofas.

Wednesday brought no answers from my mom’s hospital, but Sophie was resting comfortably and eating hospital food. A call to the Vet at noon resulted in a good diagnosis. The Doctor got on the phone. “She’s all cleaned out. I stood at her head and positioned Daniel (our beloved Vet Tech) and the other end.” the saintly Doctor Kelly told me. “I opened her mouth, shined a flashlight down and I could see Daniel waving at the other end.” (I am madly in love with Nancy Kelly.) X-rays showed no bone fragments anywhere. She was prescribed Carafate, Pepcid and a few days of boiled chicken and rice. I picked her up at 3.

Today, Sophie is at home and healing. My mom is still waiting results at Henry Ford Hospital. Sophie’s bill came to a whopping $159.00, I shudder to think what Henry will be billing for Ginka.

It’s a sad day when we can get better health care for my dog than we can get for our mothers.

Vive la revolution. It’s time to change the system.

- - - David

14K Dog

Don’t let that innocent look for you.

Sophie's wasn’t feeling well and needed a bland dinner, so I went to the store and bought a chicken. I also bought some carrots to cook along with the chicken.

I pealed half a bag of the carrots then started to clean the chicken and put it on a board to rest in the fridge. I left the carrots safely on the counter.
So I thought.

I returned to put the chicken in the oven and went looking for the carrots.
Now where did they go?
LUCY!

At least she stole something healthy. I still had half the package left, so I pealed those, put them with the chicken to bake.
When everything was done I pulled the baking sheet out, let it cool high up on the window sill and then started to bone the chicken.
Piece by piece I boned the chicken, Sophie at my feet, Lucy coming into the kitchen once in awhile to check on my progress.
(yes, once or twice, while Lucy wasn't in the room I may have snuck Sophe a teeny little piece of chicken . . . she's hasn't been eating, after all.)

Chicken all boned and put in the fridge, scraps double bagged and put in the trash, I turned to chop the carrots.

Now where did they go?

LUCY!

She had been coming into the chicken, waiting until I wasn't looking and stealing a carrot from, literally, under my nose.
She would sneak it out of the kitchen, eat it where I wouldn’t see her, and then come back in again looking so innocent that I didn't suspect a thing.

Then she would steal another one.
There were 7 baked carrots in the pan.

With the raw ones she had before, that makes 14.

Lucy, our 14 carrot Weimaraner.

- - - David

Life Goes On

My mother-out-law was in Michigan last weekend. Judy asked if we were having problems with the blog again. She was probably concerned that bugs had returned to the apple. But this time, that isn’t the reason, I haven’t published anything in two weeks.

I tried to write about the silence and the guilt. I tried to write about the strange dreams and scary nightmares. It was oddly comforting to vent, but the outcome wasn’t enjoyable to read. I thought of a tribute page with excerpts from the emails and cards we received, but Brian advised me that those were sent in private, not for publication. I tired to write about Lucy, and the laughs that she was still capable of extracting from us. But I couldn’t stay in the moment long enough.

But even without the blogging, slowly and surely life went on.

My sister Karen brought her family and our Mom over for Mother’s day. We had a simple cookout and kept the sadness to a minimum. Last Saturday, we drove to Holland to see Judy and Len who were visiting from Phoenix in their Prius. Lunch at the Journeyman Cafe in Fennville was great and pizza at the original Fricanno’s in Grand Haven was just as good, in a very different way. We even saw 6 foot 2 nephew Alex in a soccer game. The best part of the trip was that Lucy sat between us the 3 hours there and the entire 3 hours back. A paw on the hand brake, her gaze out the front window, just like Anioł in her younger days. Just like Ani.

Brian left for the West coast early the next day. That morning I opened an email from Alicia Reyes, our ex-next door neighbor and our only friends in Adrian. She had sent it while we were in Holland. “Will you both be home tomorrow afternoon? The kids have something for you all to remember Aniol”

A happy reason to clean the house. They arrived, on schedule, as the clock chimed 4, Alicia, her husband Santos, their two big Goldens and Jose and Marcia.

The kids and the dogs had brought over a memorial plaque. Alicia handed to me while Jose and Marcia were playing with Lucy and Sophie. “I’ll wait until the kids are here,” I said. “No,” this perfect mom warned, “it will make them cry. They were crying over it at home.” So, raised almost right, I did as I was told. Then I teared up. I have a feeling Alicia was taking care of me too.

Then Marcia came in, and also raised right, noticed I hadn’t opened the card. So I did.

“Losing a pet is losing a good friend” the card said. And inside, “Hope time will help to ease your sorrow.” It was signed “Jose + Sueño and Marcia + Sonya”, the dogs signed too, of course.

Their gift now lays in the garden, right in front of the Blessed Virgin. I visit it every time I am out with Lucy and Sophie. (I can’t refer to them as simply “the dogs”, not yet). Having this wonderful group of people join me and the rest of all of you who remember Ani was a very healing moment. When we first moved to Adrian almost 8 years ago, Marcia and Jose were still toddlers. The kids learned to trust the black dog in our yard and the black dog learned to trust them.

Their memories of her join mine and Brian’s and everyone else’s. There’s a great big black fluffy fur-ball of memories for me to hold onto. I thank them and I thank everyone who remembers her for reminding me of all the joy she brought to life.

The visit itself reminds me that life and love go on, with or without us. For now, I’ll take the with.

In memory of a faithful friend and companion, rest in peace.

--David

Love was blind

This morning our friend Anioł passed away.

Ani has been in my life for 15-1/2 years, and in Brian’s for 13. She lived from coast to coast and died in between. Words cannot describe her loyalty, bravery or stoicism (in the ancient Greek sense.)

Ani was half blind before she was a year old and fully blind since 2004. But until the end she made her way through the world with determination. In the old days she ran and swam with the best of them, more recently her walk was slower but no less sure. She has taught me the meaning of not giving up and the true sense of beauty.

She was a trooper, but at 16 her long life finally took it’s toll on her body. Her Vet told us that she was in pain and there wasn’t anything else we could do. She was able to spend the last few days with us eating whatever we could think of that she loved. Her appetite, which she had lost when faced with a prescription diet, returned with gusto and she feasted until the last moment.

I would write more about her life, but that will have to wait awhile, until it’s a little easier to laugh. Until then feel free to visit the Anioł photo album.

Brian and I wish her fields of high wavy grass to bound through, a cold swim in the water on a hot day, an open window, and a world of love.

I will always remember how she saw me through some of the darkest moments in my life and walked with me through some of the best.
I will never forget how she helped me walk up the hills.

She was a great pal.

- - - David

"Ask the animals, and they will teach you." Job 12:7-10

May I?

May Crowning is a tradition that goes back as far as ancient Greece.
Another way to celebrate Spring.

Sing gaily in chorus;
the bright angels o'er us
re-echo the strains we begin upon earth

It’s May, go out and crown the nearest virgin.

I found one in my back yard, but she’s hard to catch. So I crowned the Madonna instead.

May is the month of mothers, the month of the earth finally warming up and sprouting growth. May is the month of planting, the month of renewal. And at last, we can go outside and sit on the freshly mown lawn and breathe it all in.

Go outside and crown someone, crown a friend, crown a mother, crown yourself.

This time of year, we all deserve a tiara.

Happy May, to one, to all.

Bring flowers of the rarest Bring blossoms the fairest,
From garden and woodland
And hillside and dale;
Our full hearts are swelling,
Our glad voices telling
The praise of the loveliest flower of the vale!

-- David