It's mother's day. So of course, I think you should celebrate in the traditional way: invite your mother over to your house to do your lawn. At least that's the way my neighbor sees it.
In other news, Scout isn't feeling well. He may have eaten a stick or two of sugarless gum. Sugarless gum contains xylitol, which apparently can be deadly to dogs. I'm not going to say that Scout is on death's door, but he is having some pretty substantial symptoms of some problem that may or may not be the result of having eaten some gum. He goes to the vet in the morning. He has an awful cough. He acts like he wants to throw up but never does. He rattles when he breathes. He was moaning last night, but the worst of that appears over.
Isn't it great how this stuff happens on Saturday night and the vet doesn't reopen until Monday at 8? I hope there is no permanent damage. I know that xylitol is hard on a dog's liver.
To amuse myself today since I couldn't play with a sick dog, I tried out my new food processor. Ok, first I couldn't get it to work at all. I thought it was broken. It was so weird. The lid wouldn't lock into place. So I packed it back up and took it to the store and exchanged it. When I got the second one home, it did the same thing. Finally, I realized I was trying to put the lid on backwards. D'uh. In the end, though, I made peanut butter from peanuts. That was a lot of fun. You chop up the peanuts and wait and eventually it becomes peanut butter.
To sort of prime the process, you drizzle a small amount of oil in the mix. I added some sesame oil Then add some salt (if you use unsalted peanuts, like I did). Wait for that to puree and you have yourself a sweet little homemade bunch of pb. Awesome.
So that was the first part of lunch!
Then I made some garlic hummus. Oh yeah, you HAVE to try this recipe that I got from some friends of mine. It's amazing!
Then I made some pico de gallo. Ok, not very happy with the consistency. I guess the key is to put the tomatoes in absolutely last and then just pulse it once or twice. In any event, the flavor is fantastic. Thanks, Emeril.
Let's see. What was next. Oh, yeah, the crustless Quiche Lorraine. I actually bought some gruyere cheese today and some half and half. Of course, I have to eat a fistful of lactose pills just to enjoy that fantastic treat.
And finally, I am still making my very first batch of French bread. Baguettes even. I sure do wish I hadn't broken my pizza stone, because this is just the sort of job for a pizza stone. So, I'm using a half sheet sprinkled with polenta to keep it from sticking. The bench proof is underway right now and I'll pop it in the oven here in a few. Photos forthcoming. Unless of course, it's a big fail.
I guess the point is, if my mother was here, I'd at least be able to feed her well. And, I wouldn't make her do the lawn for me. Although, that would be a bonus.
It's too quiet around here. I try to knock around the house and revel in my newfound freedom and act like all is as it should be, but it's too quiet. I miss Jake. I really do. He was such a good dog except for the thunder fear, but there was little that could be done about that. Other than that one thing (and sure, maybe it wasn't a LITTLE thing), but other than that, he was a GREAT dog. And I miss Nevada. She was my little maestro. Always instigating and never taking the blame. If ever there was a mastermind, it was Nevada. A matriarch, that one was. And for the first time in many, many years, I finally realize that I miss Dakota. Hardly anyone I know now knew Dakota then, but I will simply say that Dakota was better than Nevada, Jake and Jack combined. And perhaps because this is the first time that I have been dogless in 23 years, I finally have time to mourn for my Dakota. First there was Dakota. Then Dakota and Nevada. Then just Nevada. Then Nevada and Jake. Then just Jake. And now there is just me. And it's just too quiet around here.
So I'm starting to entertain the idea that I will get a dog eventually. I mean, how can I not? I am a dog person. The problem is, I keep looking at all these rescue dogs online and I can't figure out what kind of dog to get. So I'm hoping that the people who know me best can help me identify the breed that is right for me.
There is one thing I do know. I can't have another border collie. I don't have the shoulders for it. I threw out both shoulders and earned a pitching injury just getting through two border collies. And these are injuries that don't heal quickly if at all. If I dared to get another border collie, I'm afraid my arms might come unhinged. And don't think this doesn't depress me greatly. Border collies are the most intelligent, fun loving, fantastic companions you could ever hope for. They are healthy, hearty, and ready for action. And they are darn beautiful to look at--Jake notwithstanding. My Dakota was a frisbee dog, and Jake was addicted to tennis ball. Because they are so high energy and DEMAND regular exercise, they always kept me outdoors myself. I liked that. I liked having to get out in the chill of the morning to throw the ball. I liked knowing that as soon as I came home, we'd have a dedicated period of time for "play" every day. It was a great end to my work day and a sort of formal transition to home life. I like that the border collie remains engaged with people. There was no such thing as a couple of pats on the head and then the dog went off to entertain itself. Border collies take the companion part as seriously as the herding part. I liked the level of intelligence. Life with a border collie is a partnership. And since I'm not a person who relaxes by vegetating (I relax by doing stuff), the D-and-border collie matchup was one made in heaven. And despite how much trouble my shoulders give me today, I really did enjoy meeting these dogs exercise needs. I am just unable as yet to determine how to do that without sacrificing my joints in my advancing years. I'd like a dog that gets me outdoors without causing me bodily harm, if that makes sense. Problem is, I don't like just "walking" a dog. A dog that can hike, swim, climb, and play with toys would be more to my liking.
There are a few breeds that are out from the get go. No short, toy, teacup or yippy dogs. No dog that demands daily grooming. No giant dogs (great danes, irish wolfhounds, and the like). No poodles. No labradoodles. In fact, no -oodles of any sort. No German shepherds, aikitas, huskies, or chow-chows. With all due respect to D-friend Bek, no bull dogs and no bull terriers. I am not interested in a fighting dog of any kind. I am not interested in having a dog I have to chain or that people will be afraid of. I like friendly, active dogs that are patient and good with most people, children, and cats. I want a medium size or larger dog that can hike a good 3-5 miles. I need a smart animal. No, not smart. Brilliant. And I want a dog that isn't afraid of trains, gunfire, or thunder.
Do I sound too demanding? It's because I've been spoiled by/learned my lessons from those damn border collies.
My sister has a cocker spaniel that has turned me off this breed forever. My brother has a English setter that is a talented hunting companion, but a rather lackluster companion animal. So unless some breed of spaniel is significantly different than these representatives, spaniels are pretty much meh. Now, my sister-in-law's daughter has a German wire-haired pointer. Lovely animal. Stunning in fact. With a gait that absolutely rocks it. However, it rather ignores anyone but it's own family. I had sort of hoped for a more friendly dog. I also get the sense that they are rather a bunch of dunderheads.
I love the herding group. In fact, all my dogs so far have been pretty straight up herding dogs. Now Nevada was a fantastic dog. Part Australian cattle dog, part Australian shepherd. Australian shepherds are much like border collies (high-energy, high-activity herding dogs), and the purebred Australian cattle dog is a bit nippy and 100% scrappy. It is hard-working and intelligent. However, this mix (sometimes called a Texas heeler) is a wonderful combination. Nevada had an even, sweet disposition and far less demanding exercise requirements. I might consider another Nevada. The only downside to Nevada? She was a bit of a princess and not quite as outdoorsy as I might have liked. Oh, she enjoyed a nice romp in the woods, but I really can't imagine her relishing a 3-day backpacking trip. And heaven forbid if I expected her to carry her own food and water. Oh the inhumanity! That might have just been her personality, because certainly neither of those breeds is known for being rather snobbish or elitist. And both are known for an abundance of enthusiasm and energy, which Nevada basically lacked. These dogs are not generally thought of as beautiful, but I thought Nevada was cute as hell.
My brother once had a terrier mix and while it had a sweet, even temperament, it seemed more at home in the shade beneath the truck than scrambling up some rocky hillside. I've never really heard of anyone having a terrier as a hiking companion. I think they look handsome, but I've never really been around one and don't know a lot about their personalities, their dispositions, or their habits. People who grew up with these breeds think highly of them, but I'm a bit wary. I'd like to try, but I'm afraid of making a mistake and getting something that doesn't fit. I really like the look of a schnauzer. I think Airedales are quite handsome. One that really interests me is the soft-coated Wheaten terrier. This is an all around "benji" looking, floppy-eared dog that seems to be as friendly as I had hoped, tall enough to make it a decent hiking dog, and having some stamina. I worry about what burrs might do to that coat, though. But still, a definite maybe. So I'm not rejecting the terrier group outright (with the few exceptions of the "fighting" terriers).
Another brother had a Labrador retriever. I think they are fine animals. D-friend Liv has a lab-pit bull mix. Tough. Loyal. Affectionate. But for some reason, I don't think the retrievers really fit me. Call it a feeling I get.
I guess the last thing I should mention is that the strength of the dog's personality really doesn't concern me. I seem to be able to establish pack leadership position with any dog I encounter. I wish I could say the same for everyone I know! In any event, I now leave the comment section open for any and all suggestions. Let me know which dog you think fits me best. Defend your choices! I'm happy to consider all breeds and mixes!
For the past two days, I've been in mourning. My weekend began with a shock when I came home Thursday evening and found my Jake dead. He was a very sweet dog. I didn't even realize how well known and how well loved he was until people came out of the woodwork to comment on my Facebook notification and I realized, nearly all those people had actually known Jake. He was the kind of dog who made an impression.
Jake really was a great dog. And that's not just normal owner hubris talking. Unusual, yes. Quirky, no doubt. Jake was, as they say, a special needs dog. (If you look, there he is listed under his rescue name "Keifer".) But Jake was a special dog in more ways than one. I was told when I adopted him that he had lived on the streets in Chicago for about two years. With the passion he held for counter surfing for loaves of bread when I first got him, I was certain that he had survived the lean times during those two years on day-old bread handouts at the bakery and restaurants in Chicago.
He was in rotten shape when they found him. He had three kinds of worms. Most likely from injuries resulting from trying to bite through chain link fencing during thunderstorms, he required several root canals. His canine teeth were worn down to nubs. I was told that if he further injured his teeth, he'd probably have to be put down because his mouth would lack stability and he'd be unable to eat. So for those of you who wonder why I never once boarded Jake at a kennel, that's the reason. He also had a collapsed lung. The fine folks at Wisconsin Border Collie Rescue (an organization I intend to remember in my will) saw something in Keifer worth more than the price of some dewormer, dental surgeries, and antibiotics. A volunteer at WBCR took in Jake, rehabilitated him, loved him, and found him a forever home. They had to talk me into Jake. I'm glad they succeeded.
The funny thing is that when I got Jake, I was in a very dark place in my life. I had lost my beloved Dakota in January of that year, and was going through a particularly nasty divorce. I was being terrorized by my soon-to-be ex, and my whole life was in flux. I was trying desperately to find a way to stay in my home, but when my husband began threatening me, I asked my mother to come and take the dogs until I could figure out what to do. So after only three weeks with me, Jake headed off to another house. As it turned out, I ended up moving to my mother's, returning to school, and that is where it began to sink in with Jake that he was "home". And that was when he really started to emerge from whatever dark place he had lived so long.
My fondest memories of him during this time were the way he regained his health and his strength and, my golly, you never saw a more dedicated tennis ball fetcher than this one. When he would finally wear out, he'd lay in the yard and no amount of activity could cause him to step foot away from our door. It was almost as if he was saying "this is MY yard". He actually looked proud.
The other funny thing about Jake was the way he enjoyed toys. He had a basket full of all sorts of balls, bones, and squeeky toys. One in particular was his favorite. Squeeky was his first toy. Given to him by the folks at Wisconsin Border Collie Rescue. No matter how many toys I bought, no one ever dethroned Squeeky as the mother of all squeeky toys. Over the years, Squeeky got old. It began to get sticky. It began to get gross. I washed Squeeky until I thought it would fall apart. Finally, I decided that it was probably leaching all sorts of awful chemicals into Jake and put Squeeky away.
Yes, Jake had thunder fear and it was pretty severe. Jake tore up more pillows, comforters, curtains, window blinds, screen doors, door knobs, and dog beds than I care to remember. I am sure the cost of replacing those items far exceeded any money I ever spent on his health care. But those were only things, and the money just didn't seem all that important. Jake taught me patience, tolerance, and unconditional love. Because, let's face it. Sometimes it can be hard to love a dog that has just eaten through 5 doorknobs, an expensive set of blinds, and has scattered the innards of a down comforter over three floors of a house.
He jumped out of windows during storms and I had to track him down in the rain. And hail. And howling winds. That dog hated any weather except snow. He loved him some snow.
But that's my Jake.
Jake never demanded anything. He never begged for food. He never hounded me for attention. He just wanted to lay in the yard. If I asked him for "huggy loving", he'd just sit right down and let me hug him until I got tired of doing it.
He loved traveling. He tolerated my research trips. He even tried to make the best of the sea shore. Ok. Barely. That dog did not like the sound of the ocean or the way the wind blows there. But he was happy to be along for the ride. He loved to hike. He loved chicken. He knew it was time for dessert every night at 10 pm. He loved getting snuggled in his bed at bedtime. He loved laying in the sunshine. He enjoyed chasing squirrels even if he never caught one. He was an expert mole catcher.
I got tennis elbow and a rotator cuff injury in both shoulders from throwing the ball for that dog. I accept the pain for the love of that animal.
The weekend before he died, we headed out to Pyramid State Park for a hike. This video isn't from last weekend, but I was sure reminded of it as we walked.
We had a great day. The night before he died, he and I played with his baby just like in this video from last October.
The morning he died, we threw some ball in the backyard. Jake played right up to the moment he died. My only regret with this dog is that he had to die alone. But honestly, I don't think he minded. He knew he was well loved.
Jake arrived with two passions. His favorite toy, Squeeky, and playing tennis ball. I had him cremated with both. I hope they serve him well in the afterlife.
And when I die, if there is a heaven, it will be where Jake and Nevada and Dakota are.
A bad ass she is not. Not that a dog has to be a bad ass, mind you. But I prefer a dog you can, you know, hold a conversation with. Tess, like D-sis dog Chance, is of the spaniel-setter sort and I'm going to be honest. Those dogs are just a bit odd.
Put D-fav Jake in the backyard and he wanders around and sniffs things and generally explores the neighborhood. Put Tess in the backyard and she points. She points at the fence. At the birdfeeder. At the shed. Oh yes, Tess. Thank you. I was afraid I might miss the shed, but there it is.
Tess is not a good dog name. I'm fairly disappointed in D-bro for that one. D-bro wasn't always a poor dog namer. He had a dog named Blackjack. In fact, the dog's full name was Blackjack Dog. He won her in a poker game. Now that is a good name. Then came Max. But now...Tess? Come on. Then he tells me about his daughter-in-law's dog...the one the parents let the kids name....called Spot. For Christ's sake. Spot? What is wrong with these people? Parents are supposed to delicately say to the kid, Spot seems good now, but why don't we think of another name like Scooter. You like your scooter, don't you? And before you know it, the kid thinks they named the dog Scooter.
So for those of you without a clue about how to name a dog, I'm going to offer some guidelines.
1. A dog falls into a great dog name. It just fits. You'll know it when you find it. So don't rush it. You need to learn the dog's personality. It will come to you. Don't worry. Try out a few before deciding on one for sure.
2. You can name dogs after things. States. Trucks. Brands of Beer. As long as it's manly beer, like Fosters. Not Heineken. You can name them after cities. Austin. Denver. Boston (better if it's a terrier). Just please, no Sacramentos or Peirres. You cannot name them after candy bars. How many poor chocolate labs have I met named Hershey or Nestle? No, you aren't the first one to think of that. Why don't you just put a pink tutu on the dog and sign it up for obedience school? Sheesh.
3. Great male dog names should have one or two HARD syllables and start with a hard consonant.
BLACK-JACK JAKE JACK BOOMER TEX KILLER CODY THUNDER ROCK PORTER CHIEF
4. The name should be solid. It should be short and to the point. In general, don't name a male dog a popular kid name, but feel free to use people names that are currently out of fashion.
TED ED ROY
But there is little you can do if retarded parents begin to name their kids good dog names. Take my first dog Dakota.
5. You can name dogs after famous people, but do I really have to point out that HITLER and STALIN are probably not the best names, even if it's a pit bull. You can name them after scientists, but only if you are careful. So DARWIN and WALLACE are okay, but I don't ever want to meet a dog named ASA or DOBZANSKY or HAECKLE. Humboldt is not okay, but if shortened to BOLT,you might pass. KIMURA is marginal even though K-names in general are usually not bad. Save that shit for cats.
6. Never, ever, ever give them a Latin name for a plant or animal. First, it exposes you as a geek, but it also isn't fair to the dog to be named Violaceous euphonia.
7. Bitches can have more delicate names, and more fun names, but they, too, should be solid. You can go three syllables. I like a two-part name. One part state, the other part color: Dakota Red, Nevada Blue. But think on these for a bit.
Dixie Daisy Sally Annie Pat (the dog) Trixie Sparks
7. Stay away from things like Baby or Sweetie, Bubbles, Wiggles, or Princess. Also cast off as unacceptable all uber fashionable names like Bailey, Madison, River, Rain, and now, sadly, Dakota.
8. Avoid foreign names for your dog. I don't care that it's a Chihuahua, Jesus isn't a great dog name. No Jean-Paul's for poodles either. Celtic names for border collies are popular, but I'm not fond of them. Jake's originally name was Keifer. I knew I couldn't live with that and neither could he. In addition, weird spellings make no sense for dogs. THEY CAN'T SPELL. So no to Raen and Ryver. Irish setter named Kelly. Oh what the hell, go ahead. Just please, don't spell it Kaeli.
I hope that these guidelines offer you some help in fielding an appropriate name for your companion. Let's hope the days of Tesses and Spots are few. If you can't decide on a name for a while, give your dog a nickname. I called D-friend Bek's dog Moo-moo for a while because it had spots like a cow. The dog is now more appropriately named Dixie. But if you have gone days or weeks without finding an appropriate name for your dog, there is one last option. You can call your dog what I call every dog whose name I don't know.
When I was a kid, Christmas involved waking up, realizing it was THE MORNING, and running to get my parents out of bed. There was, after all, no present unwrapping until everyone was downstairs. This was a real drag when my brothers got up into high school and didn't want to wake up early. At some point my parents gave up waiting on them and let my sister and me start opening our presents in defiance of their ONE RULE. Oh, of course, we got to open up one present on Christmas eve, but we never wanted it to be our BIG present, because then what would you have left on Christmas morning but socks and books and bad sweaters from Aunt Helen?
But as we've gotten older, Christmas begins later and later. We didn't even arrive at my mother's until 1. Dinner was at 4. About 5:30 we started to think about opening presents. Also at 5:30, D-brother called and that took another 15 minutes. Oh, we finally got back to the task at hand. There were a lot of presents under that tree for only 4 people.
So this wasn't the Christmas of my childhood. But it was a lot of fun visiting and eating and swapping cookies. But I'm getting ahead of myself. There are a lot of traditions in the D-family Christmas celebration. First the guests arrive. There's D-Gram. And D-sister. D-sister's dog, Chance isn't happy when D-sister goes out to empty the car. And after everyone arrives, we have to take pictures. Lots and lots of pictures.
Jake dislikes having his picture taken, but he is, at first, a good sport. Here he is showing off his new walrus toy. I believe he may have been disappointed because there was no squeaker.
Then we ate. We had ham, sweet potatoes, corn casserole, green beans, rolls, red wine, and cushaw pie for dessert. (These are cushaw for those not from the south.) We had cookies. And more cookies. Sugar cookies in Christmas shapes with green and red sprinkles. Cheddar crisps. Oatmeal chocolate chip cookies with walnuts. Ginger snaps. Peanut brittle. Peanut butter fudge. Chocolate fudge. Peanut butter truffles dipped in chocolate. Candy canes flavored like Life Savers. Fruit and shortbreads and nut mixes from Harry and David's. There was probably more, but I had to go to detox after all that candy.
But after we revived, we headed up to my Gram's to see her Christmas tree and visit there for a while. Isn't her tree grand? And the nativity set was purchased by my father when he was just a child as a present to his mother. She adores that nativity set, even though the baby Jesus is broken and one of the three kings sorta leans.
Our family is much smaller now. All the men are gone. D-nephew Lee spent the holiday with his father and is now heading to Pennsylvania for a visit with his high school friends. My aunt wasn't feeling up to it and didn't make it down. Nonetheless, I have really enjoyed my visit. It won't be easy heading back to the land of chemical ecology and lesson plans for spring.
Meet Squeeky. The most disgusting dog toy on the face of the Earth.
Squeeky holds a special place in our home. He was Jake's first dog toy. When Jake came to live with Nevada and me, Squeeky came with him. Well, Squeeky, a really big tennis ball he won't play with, and a quilt that serves as his dog bed to this day. Jake is big on dog toys and having come from a broken home, being an orphan, and having been homeless street dog for 2 years before we met, relics from Jake's past are something near and dear to him.
Squeeky is his favorite toy. It's his go-to toy when you tell him to go get a toy. If you tell him to go get Squeeky, he finds it out of the thousands of other squeeky toys from which to pick in his dog toy basket.
Squeeky has friends in that basket. There's Sharky. And Octopussy. There's Squeeky Monster. There's the hundreds of plush animals upon which Jake has performed squeekectomies. Squeeking is clearly a big thing in our home. But Squeeky is the King. He's also the grossest possible thing to have to play with.
You see, Squeeky is old. And old plastic dog toys don't fade away, they disintegrate. And Squeeky is falling apart. Once a bright yellow toy with deep red features, and the most awesome rubber pink hair, Squeeky today has sort of melted.
I think maybe it is the unique nature of Jake's dog spit. In any event, Squeeky is only a faint memory of his former self. Even his squeeky elements are ragged.
So today Squeeky got a bath. Now he's Squeeky clean.
He is also sticky. Something about removing the dirt has made Squeeky super sticky. Not sticky in the way that a slobbery dog ball gets sticky, but rather a "I'm leaking carcinogens directly into your dog's bloodstream" sort of sticky. See those bumps? Sticky. They will attract dirt in a way that you can't imagine. Soon, Squeeky will look like he has the measles. I promise, in two weeks I'll take a follow up photo and you can see. It's gross.
Maybe its that elusive stickiness that makes Squeeky so popular.
In any event, I have decided that upon his death, Squeeky will go with Jake into that big dog park in the sky. Or maybe I'll just keep him around to see how long a squeeky toy can actually last.
Jake and I went to Lake Murphysboro for a hike today. I decided that it would be a neat place to take our Christmas picture. Let's just say the art of the spontaneous self portrait takes practice. After looking at the quality of my results, I think I'm going to have to read my camera booklet and actually learn how to use this thing.
At first, no one was in the picture.
Then just me.Then just Jake.Then part of me and part of Jake.
Then there's the wet lick to the face pose.
I think this will have to do.
I decided it was best to focus on other things like a passing heron.
And Jake can be a handsome fellow.Until he gets bored.And then he gets sassy.
When your dog gives you the raspberry, it's time to go home.
When I was younger, I was full of myself. Or piss and vinegar. Ok, maybe I still am full of it. =) My friends told me I should never marry. That I didn't have the temperament or the ability to stick with a relationship in the long-term. They were right and they were wrong. Well meaning as they might have been, they didn't allow me the capacity to grow.
We change with time. We change with experience. We change, sometimes for no reason at all. My sister and I once remarked that when a marriage goes south, at first you hardly notice it. You make accommodations, little compromises, deals with yourself. Somehow, you justify every disappointment in your mind until one day everything is so completely out-of-whack that you don't recognize yourself or the relationship anymore. Life is like that. Relationships are like that. Just one day, it hits you that everything has changed. Life is a slippery slope and sometimes it is all we can do to hang on, and sometimes we just have to let go.
With Nevada's passing, I was thinking about how much my life and her's changed over the time we shared. How we changed one another. We shared a lot.
When I got Nevada, I was a newlywed. I've now been divorced longer than I was married. She was there for the good times and bad of that. I hope she didn't much remember the bad.
When I got Nevada, Dakota was alive. She's been gone nearly 9 years now. I got Nevada as a companion to Dakota. Around 5 years old, Dakota slowed down considerably. She couldn't do the Frisbee anymore. Her hips were shot. I thought a puppy would bring out the old spark in her. It really never did. Instead of becoming more puppy-like, she became very mom-like. Interestingly enough, Nevada did the same thing when I got Jake.
Nevada came into my home in Riverside. That was a great house and a great neighborhood. We had great neighbors. In the winter, she loved to shove her whole head under the radiators and sleep. I used to fear she would cook her brain. Dakota, Nevada and I (and a soon to be dispensed husband) moved into our first real house together in Shorewood. There we lost Dakota and the husband, but we gained Jake. She moved with me back into my childhood home after the divorce. Then she came with me as I started a new life in a new home in southern IL. Her last home. The diaspora mattered little as long as we were together. Nevada's home was with me.
Nevada saw me through my second bachelor's, my first master's, and a good portion of my doctorate. That alone may qualify her for sainthood.
Some of the things that Nevada and I loved to do together, I couldn't seem to bring myself to do without her. Like go for hikes in Pyramid State Park. For the past several years, I haven't done that with Jake alone. Maybe it's time to take him for a good run outdoors. Maybe after gun season ends.
Unlike Dakota, Nevada never got car sick. She loved a ride in the car. You couldn't go anywhere without her. About two years ago, she simply stopped wanting to go to the store. Or the post office. I think it hurt her back or hips to jump in and out of the car. Since then, the only rides she has taken were to the veterinarian's office or for a long trip to visit family. I think both were equally hard on her.
Nevada's illness was an abrupt change in our lives. In reality, I've gone through two grieving periods with Nevada. The first was three years ago when I thought I'd lose her to her mystery ailment. I watched her waste away to nothing. It was one of the slowest, most pitiful declines imaginable. She was so sick. Concern became desperation became acceptance. And then I got her back. Addison's disease is completely treatable. But this time there were no miracles. I could only let her go. I won't say it was easier, but at least I felt she wasn't going before her time. Nevada herself is responsible for helping me be able to let her go. The girl exhibited grace in defeat. All she wanted was for me to be there at the end and I was happy to accommodate.
Watching a dog get old--accepting those changes--changing your own pace to accommodate her's--is like no other lesson you will learn in your life. You walk slower. You give treats you never would have considered when she was younger. Rough-housing gives way to gentle pats and quiet moments shared together. You sit on porches. You accept that some less-than-desirable behaviors aren't as big a deal as you once made of them. You accept that she has a right to her own mind and some of her own decisions. You accept that the medicines she requires, despite their expense, are owed for a lifetime of happiness she's provided.
My mother remarked that I have a way with my dogs. I've always had a way with my dogs. I think the reason is, I never treated them as pets or objects or with a sense of ownership. I have always tried to treat them as companions, as partners, as equals. Of course, I am responsible for their health, safety, and happiness. I think in some ways, they felt responsible for my happiness, too.
My girl is gone. Yes, I am sad. Yes, I am grieving. We grew together. And though our partnership is over, her value in this world is undiminished, because she made me a better person. Everything is different. And I wouldn't trade a minute of it for anything. Would you?
D is Daktari. Daktari is me. I have many interests, but I'm no slave to a master plan. My greatest joy is in being fully open to what life presents. Adventure abounds and life is full of wonder. I am adventurer, explorer, friend, gypsy, and companion. My greatest vice is that I am far too accommodating of my curiosity. Despite this, my life is quiet but by no means unremarkable. I am willing to share what little insight I have gained, my thought processes, and the journey of my growth. If you like what you learn, I'm glad. If you don't, I'm not going to sweat it. Because ultimately, this is all about me.
This is mine. This is Daktari's place. Welcome. In case you wondered, I'm not apt to put up with a lot of crap. That doesn't make me a hard person. It makes me someone who doesn't put up with a lot of crap. I hope you enjoy the company of dogs. There is generally one hanging about these parts.
It's mother's day. So of course, I think you should celebrate in the traditional way: invite your mother over to your house to do your lawn. At least that's the way my neighbor sees it.
Isn't it great how this stuff happens on Saturday night and the vet doesn't reopen until Monday at 8? I hope there is no permanent damage. I know that xylitol is hard on a dog's liver.
couldn't play with a sick dog, I tried out my new food processor. Ok, first I couldn't get it to work at all. I thought it was broken. It was so weird. The lid wouldn't lock into place. So I packed it back up and took it to the store and exchanged it. When I got the second one home, it did the same thing. Finally, I realized I was trying to put the lid on backwards. D'uh.
Then I made some garlic hummus. Oh yeah, you HAVE to try this recipe that I got from some friends of mine. It's amazing!
Let's see. What was next. Oh, yeah, the crustless Quiche Lorraine. I actually bought some gruyere cheese today and some half and half. Of course, I have to eat a fistful of lactose pills just to enjoy that fantastic treat.
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