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16th March 2008
Countdown to Spring - A Time for Planting
It’s mid-March. Despite nearly two feet of snow last weekend, we are ready for Spring regardless of our location. Winter enables hibernation from many things, including the garden. I have already visited three gardening facilities in anticipation of Spring, waiting for pansies and mulch. When I see tips of plants peaking through the leftover mulch from last Fall, I know Spring will be here soon.
With Spring, many things provide a burst of energy including longer days, dog walks, cleaning, warmer days, a desire for more activity, which leads to new projects. What are the new projects in store for this Spring?
Selling the condo, training the new whippet lab mix, starting class at Ohio State, client projects, going through my first in-vitro, and possibly a big move. It’s all about planting seeds in different ways - through school, a new rescue, a garden, a possible child or two, and perhaps a new home somewhere else.
What are you planning to do this Spring? I encourage you to plant some new seeds this Spring - do something different, substantially different - something that makes an impact on others’ lives.
Blessings!
8th March 2008
I See Dead People 1 reply
Remember the movie’s great line, “I see dead people” - what movie was that from? Sixth Sense with Bruce Willis and Haley Joel Osment (what a name). I actually never saw the movie, but know the quote from movie previews and recaps.
I think Monroe and Lucky, my cat and dog, might be saying this now. Perhaps even Misha, who is my dead cat’s brother. You think I’m crazy, right? So, why do I think this? Misha, who is Max’s brother, has been hanging out on the ottoman where Max died, and slept before he died. Misha has never hung out there before. He spends most of the day there. Perhaps Max is there with Misha, on the ottoman, waiting until Misha dies. Misha is in renal failure, complicated with pancreatitis, and has lost nearly half his normal body weight. Before Max died, he always stood watch next to a sick person or animal, until they recovered.
Last night, Lucky who sleeps with me, got up in my bed, stood on all fours on the edge of the bed, and pointed right at the ottoman. He looked down on the ottoman, sat there, and literally watched the ottoman for the longest time. Did he see Max? I wonder if Max will stay here until Misha dies. If he didn’t see Max, what was he watching on the ottoman? There was nothing there. Misha was on the bed with me.
Later in the night, Monroe could not sleep, he cried incessantly, and would not settle down at all. I could not figure out what was wrong with him. I finally got up, tried to feed him, comfort him, and came downstairs figuring that might help. It was of no help. I asked Monroe if he missed Cody - Monroe started purring when I mentioned Cody’s name. Monroe slept all day without eating or coming out of the room - he stayed under the comforter all day, until 6 p.m., when I lured him out with some food. I think he’s depressed - as does the vet.
Misha stays with me all the time now, when I’m home. It snowed 18 - 20 inches with drifts much higher than that in the last 24 hours. Perhaps that’s why Monroe was spooked - in the meantime, do cats and dogs see dead animals (people)? ;-) According to About.com, some animals do.
A postscript to my entry - as if you don’t think I’m already a little peculiar -
A couple of weeks ago, I was walking by myself in my neighborhood after taking Lucky, the new dog, out for a long walk. I am newly pregnant and enjoy a few laps without her pulling on me quite frankly. I’ve noticed that dogs are quite tender to me on my walks, when they come up and greet me, since I’ve become pregnant. But one night in particular, as I was walking, I saw a woman and a dog walking across the street from me. An older black dog reminded me of Cody - my chow that was just put to sleep a couple of months ago - pulled this woman across the street to me. The woman said she didn’t understand what got into her dog, somewhat embarrassed. This black dog’s ears lay soft on her head, she nestled right up to my belly, and gave me kisses, her tail wagging. I was immediately overcome with emotion by this dog. Call me pregnant but I immediately felt the energy of Cody, my chow, and her love for me. I began to cry, somewhat embarrassed in front of this stranger/woman, and tried to explain away my tears. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was Cody letting me know she was okay, if only for just a moment. I saw the woman and dog the next day - the dog hardly glanced in my direction. Strange, eh?
I realized how much I bonded with Cody from Day One - nearly 13 years ago - and how much I missed her beyond belief. There is a special energy we have with certain animals - and chows seem to be my breed - there is a strength there, loyal protection, and yet a softness under the exterior - one that you cannot forget months after they are gone from this physical world. I miss you Cody - and no, Lucky, is just not the same - she may reside here in this home - and she is indeed lucky to be here - but she will never replace you.
6th March 2008
What To Do With Steak
Leftovers?
It’s not the same having a steak, and knowing that when I head home, there will be no one to share it with - no one that is that’s a 4-legged dog that can only look one way at you - with tail wagging, head tilted, and drool dripping from her pitch black chow mouth.
Monroe & Cody in the DoorwayI can’t believe a week has passed since that dreadful day with Cody being put down. I think I truly went through a week without knowing what day it is, what project I’m handling, or praying that I could keep two cats from plummeting into depression or fatal conditions as a result of two animals dying in less than one month.
Max & Cody A Short Month AgoBut tonight, here’s where we stand - Monroe is at this very moment facing off with Lucky, on the floor, on her level. He’s standing his ground against the over-active, curious Whippet Lab mix. He’s verbal, he’s refusing to get off the floor, staring straight up into Lucky’s eyes, and he’s survived a fever, two of his best buddies dying in a month, not eating for a couple of days, and yes, even acupuncture and a trip to the vet.
Monroe Peeking Out at VetMisha - not so good - he’s lost another pound. He’s down to 8 1/4 lbs and is skinnier than ever. He’s in renal failure, complicated by pancreatitis. We’re trying a kidney detox homeopathic rememdy, as well as enzymes and of course lots of love, prayer, and requests to keep him in this life for a few more months.
Lucky - oblivious yet sensitive - my new shadow - happy to be on the couch or bed, near me. Funny to watch her watch Monroe, as Monroe tries to make friends, becoming more brave every day with Lucky.
The Steak? Never have I brought so much home, with yet so little to share - I figure not a good thing to teach new kid on the block -
Cody? Your space is vacant and you are sorely missed. People at work, and around the neighborhood are beginning to share that they’ve heard you’re gone - we all miss you and feel sad you are gone. The park is not the same without you - I’ve visited two parks in the past week in your memory. Many a walk was had with you - thank you for the memories.
3rd March 2008
Letting Go
Learning to let go is not an easy process, especially when love is involved. I’ve had the luck or fate of loving my share of animals, and in this case a particular dog and cat. Misha & Max, kitty cat brothers, were adopted 17 years ago. Cody was adopted nearly 13 years ago, and Monroe, found by Cody, was adopted by all of us nearly five years ago. All have been loved dearly, but more importantly they have given me so much in return. In the past month, I’ve had to say goodbye to two of them.
I have known for the better part of a year that I was on borrowed time with the older animals. Misha and Max have suffered from a variety of ailments and incidents in the past two years, but they have hung in there under remarkable circumstances. Cody, she knowingly suffered the most - although it is possible that Max and Misha also had/have cancer - the only difference with Cody is that I learned that she absolutely had cancer the night before she died. Cody fought death as much as she fought to stay in this life, in this presence, in this space with me. I did not have time to prepare her for death, as I learned about her massive tumor and metasticized tumors in her lungs the night before she was put to sleep. While I’ve been fighting to determine the source of her illness (coughing, panting) since June 1, 2007, through surgery, xrays, multiple reputable institutions, Cody was fighting to live a normal life by my side. Her love to stay alongside me could not have been more clear to me on the day she died, and in the actual minutes of her death.
Max fought to stay alive, but did not fight his death. In fact, in the two weeks leading up to his death, his appointed hour, Max seemed to be more peaceful than ever. I had made this “appointment” three times prior, but this time, I stuck with the “time”. I knew nothing would change, that time would give only me the upper hand, basically resolving me to be more than selfish to keep my faithful companion. Max would just simply stay alive for the benefit of me, and not him. There were days at a time when Max suffered horribly, hiding behind various pieces of furniture, unable to eat, or when he tried to eat he would be unable to keep it down. He cried, he was restless, and he came to me throughout the night. I knew it was his time, although I dreaded it. I treated him in respect until his time arrived, and treated him in respect throughout his death and cremation.
But I didn’t really have that time with Cody. I wasn’t ready for “her time”, and in fact, felt robbed that I didn’t get to better prepare. I was mad at God for not allowing me to prepare for Cody’s death, to know why she was sick, to learn what was wrong with her, to enable those numerous veterinarians to figure out how to help her. All the money and medicine and prayer did not help figure out what was wrong with Cody until it was too late. I had been given the option of a “scope”, for another $1500 or more, but this was after the one surgery where they had opened her up from head to toe. As I picked her up from the crematorium today, I heard a song from Three Doors Down, called It’s Not My Time. I wondered why I didn’t get a better heads up of Cody’s time. But then I recalled last June 2007. While they never figured out what was wrong, on one day in late June 2007, I had made the call to put Cody down.
Four vets, and four phone calls later - there was not one doctor available to put Cody down. I called a friend, Jay, and he had me to talk to a vet who was able to determine that Cody’s current problem was the food she had been prescribed. She said that she suspected Cody had a mass too small to detect, that she needed I/D Low Residue food, that she needed to stay off of food for 24 hours, that it was not yet her time, not yet. She was right. It was not yet Cody’s time. God, and that vet, and a friend of mine gave me another 9 months of Cody - to love, to stand beside me, to walk with me, to go to the office with me, to wag her tail at me.
Perhaps God knew that both of us were inseparable and unable to walk away, and that I was unable to schedule such an “appointment” with Cody and her vet. Perhaps we need logic to try to explain something we can’t easily accept. I made the call nine months ago, trusted vets that I didn’t feel quite right about, but couldn’t bring myself to put her through surgery again, or allow myself to trust yet another surgeon that may be wrong. I put Cody’s life in God’s hands, and wasn’t happy with the outcome. But really, tonight, I remembered that I had nine more months, and I should be happy that I had almost another year with her.
It is in letting go that we learn to accept, but we tend to create scenarios that may or may not be accurate in order to come to peace with something. For example, I didn’t have time to properly say Goodbye to Cody on Wednesday night or Thursday morning. I tried to do a few things for her in her last hours, but it was hardly what I imagined. I can be mad, I can question, I can wonder - perhaps I screwed up by not letting OSU scope her, despite the additional money. Maybe the scope would have discovered the cancer. Maybe that would have brought a diagnosis, and then I would have to determine whether or not she lived or died by suffering through chemo, surgery or who knows what else. Instead, I chose to let nature take its course through less invasive means. I was admittedly going into savings, credit cards, all to figure out what was wrong - but regardless of any rationale I use now, it won’t bring back my dog.
In my heart, I didn’t have enough time to say goodbye, but yet, Cody’s number was called on a few other occasions. Each time prayer was answered, she survived, and Cody got a few more calendar dates added to her life. Cody had been hit by a car, when another friend was walking her and she bolted out of her collar after getting spooked by something on the walk. I saw my friend walking with a lifeless black mound of fur in his arms down the street - we rushed Cody at 100 plus miles an hour from Newark to Columbus Medvet. I screamed for sure a few “F” words at my friend - and then prayed the entire way, out loud, on the floor of the truck, with Cody’s body placing her up-right - Cody was half-there, half-gone, blood coming out her nose. By the time we made it to MedVet, and they examined, my dog was fine. Seriously, fine. I didn’t believe them. I had seen Cody passed out - dead to the world - in somebody else’s arms - but yet, at this moment, she was walking around the med vet facility - just fine. They said Cody had suffered a trauma, but there were no injuries. I took her for acupuncture immediately to help with the “trauma”, but I knew God played a role in her survival. Another six or seven years were added to Cody’s life, at least. I can’t even remember when that happened.
Another day when Cody and I sat in a courtyard, minding our own business, enjoying the fresh air, two dogs ran up and attacked Cody, one of which was a German shepherd. For some strange reason, right before this happened, I took Cody off her leash. I’m not sure if that made things worse or not - but she had her leg ripped into by this German shepherd - a gaping hole bigger than a quarter. They performed emergency surgery on her leg, and I sat with her in the surgery room as she came out of the anesthesia, praying she would make it. Cody survived that too, although it took the “life” out of her for a few weeks. That was several years ago as well.
She truly fought to stay alive on those two occasions, and in her quiet battle with lung cancer (no, I don’t smoke) for nine long months. I got to live with her, like a normal person, instead of having to say goodbye to her - it was not yet her time - until last Thursday, February 28th. I told her it was okay to let go, as she fought the medicine in her body, which would ultimately rob her of life. Since then, off and on and most notably last night, I have cried hard, wailed, sobbed, teared up, and wistfully wished for her wagging tail, her endless petitions to go for a walk as recent as a short week ago, to have another treat, to have a french-fry, to have a quiet night WITHOUT that other dog, to be by the fan, to have an effortless breath - and so tonight, with her ashes home, and her journey complete - I say goodbye to the best friend ever - to the most loyal, compassionate, easy-going, glorious, pitch black chow who had the mane of a lion, the wisdom of an owl, the patience unlike I’ve ever experienced elsewhere, the smile of a happy child, the protection of a mother bear, and the love of none other than a wonderful dog -
If only saying goodbye was just a little less painful.
As a postscript, Cody, you should know that Lucky is actually not sleeping on your bed, and walks by it, and looks at it - but doesn’t try to sleep on it. In fact, she’s not touched it since you died. She just looks at the bed, as if you were there. I’ve left your collar on the bed, out of respect, for now. Lucky has also sneaked over to your water bowl, as if you were still in the room, as if she might get in trouble for drinking out of it. I am choosing not to refill it, or allow her to use it, for now. Monroe is crying upon occasion, and seems to want to stick up to Lucky now, knowing that you aren’t here to protect him from her antics. We all miss you, without a doubt. I admire your strength, your courage, your pain. I will not forget you. I continue to cry for you and can only hope I will meet you again -but until then - I can only hope you are free, you breathe effortlessly, you are not alone, and you are happy - and that you are “alive” in another life, that perhaps Max is there with you, and was with you as you departed this life. Godspeed, Cody.
2nd March 2008
How I Adopted Cody Girl, A Chow Rescue Story
It was June, 1996. I had adopted Baca (Cabaca meant black bear in Russian, pronounced Baka), from the Humane Society in Columbus, Ohio in the spring of 1996. Baca was about six weeks old. I bonded with her instantly - I made the mistake, however, of taking her to the park, and literally within hours Baca got sick with parvo. It took me weeks to rehabilitate her, and I ended up getting some funding from a chow rescue organization to help with the medical expenses. Right after Baca got better, I made the second mistake of letting her out the door one evening, and catching a telemarketer’s phone call (what was I thinking???). In those brief moments, Baca ran down the stairs, and into a stranger’s arms - who whisked her away. I searched for Baca for three months, got on the news, everything. I learned about people in my neighborhood stealing chow puppies for horrible things, including pit bait, science experiments or to be sold through, yes, Petland.
As I learned about the dog stealing rings and underworld of such, I decided that ignorance is indeed bliss. I would soon move away from this neighborhood into the suburbs of NW Columbus, glad to be away from such horrible things. But it was not until I discovered Cody, a 6-month chow mix waiting to be rescued in an unusual way. Dog stealing rings tended to prey on chow or puppies that are “free to a good home” listed in the newspaper or on signs posted in front of people’s homes. I became obsessed with the chows listed in the paper, and combed the listings every day. I knew where Baca was, instinctively. I dreamt it (have had other dreams or visions like this that were proven true within hours or days), and knew my neighbors had her. But I couldn’t prove it, unfortunately.
One day, about three months after I lost Baca, I saw a pet ad about two chow mixes, free to a good home. They were six months and a year. I wondered if it was Baca, as she would be about six months old by now. I called the owner, and heard the story in need of a rescue. It turned out it was the neighbor, who had witnessed the dogs’ neglect and abandonment, and were placing an ad to rescue the dogs, free to a good home. Baca had a pink tongue, which was rare for a chow. I asked if the black chow mix had a pink tongue, but she didn’t. Yet, for some reason, after hearing the story of neglect, I was compelled to travel to the east side of Columbus, in a less than desirable neighborhood, and check out these two chow mixes.
I didn’t know much about chows then, and considering what I know now, was an idiot to walk into this stranger’s back yard, and meet two strange chow mixes. Yet, at the same time, I connected with both of these chows immediately. One was a red chow mix, and older it seemed, than Cody, the black chow mix. Ironically, the red chow was apparently named Bear. The black chow, who more than resembled a black bear, was named Cody.
The neighbors told me that if someone didn’t adopt the chows in the next couple of days, they were going to turn the dogs over to the shelter. I knew that dogs were euthanized at the shelter after three short days, so I was interested in keeping these dogs from their fate. At the time, though, I lived in an apartment, with a less than desirable yard (as mentioned above), with less than desirable neighbors. I noticed Bear, the red chow, had the beginning signs of what I suspected were mange or some skin disease. Cody, the black chow, took to me immediately. While it was clear that these two dogs were inseparable, I knew I could not take both. This decision haunted me for years, and often I wanted to go back and get the other dog. I heard Bear was also adopted, but I never was able to locate her.
The neighbors told me that the dog owners were not home, and left four days out of every week, leaving the dogs outside to fend for themselves. Cody and Bear were living on whatever Cody would bring back from her dog fence escapes, typically squirrels and rabbits. It is amazing to me, now, to remember the days of Cody jumping over fences to fetch food. One day, after I adopted Cody, I was sitting in the car at a landscape site where my then-boyfriend was working. I was reading my book, Cody was checking out the wildlife in the area. All of a sudden, Cody leapt through the door window, out of my SUV RAV/4, and went chasing after a squirrel. I couldn’t believe it as we were a few feet off the ground. That was my Cody, though.
I knew that Cody would go home with me - the neighbors were thrilled. The dog owners’ Dad was there too - and he thought it was best that I should take Cody. People perception and that was it, I suppose - no further questions asked or at least remembered. Cody came up to me immediately, as I kneeled down in the corner of the yard. She looked right into my eyes - and there was wisdom, acknowledgement, and acceptance all at the same time. As she went back to playing in the yard, Bear came up to me. She sized me up, literally. I could feel it. But then, she looked right into my eyes, and put a paw on my knees. I felt that Bear was saying, I know you are taking Cody, and I know you can’t take me too. Take care of her - I trust you will. It was wierd, downright bizarre.
So, from Day One, Hour One, there was a spiritual connection with these two dogs. After the dog owner’s father put Cody in my car, she began to freak out. I wondered how I would get her home. Cody had been fed of all things, pork rinds, by the neighbors. Yes, those pork rinds ended up in my gear box, as poor Cody bolted around in my car. She actually tried to go through the front window of my car. It’s amazing we did not get in a wreck on the way home. Note to self - when one rescues wild dog, put dog in contained section of car where one does not endanger oneself while driving.
Cody began to display serious fear emotions that day, including fear of tall people, hats, me in high heels, any man in general which resulted in bolting, jumping out of her collar, running away, or worse yet, car sickness.
I took Cody to an acupuncturist, Dr. Donn Griffith, on 161 & Sawmill. I read up on chows, homeopathic remedies, and how to handle chow’s lack of trust of others. I socialized her, spent hours every single night without fail at the dog park, known as Dog Happy Hour, at Goodale Park. I worked, and worked, and worked with Cody. There were days where she’d bolt at a loud noise, or run from her retractable leash, or lunge at a dog or two. I thought I was in for it, looking back. How easy it is to forget those days 13 years later.
Cody was a good dog in the house, immediately, even though it was clear on her first day that she was distraught about leaving her home. I suspected it was complete anxiety regarding leaving Bear more than anything. Guilt settled in on that situation for a while, but I had no space and no money for both. Everyone remarked how beautiful my dog was, and surely Cody was a gorgeous black bear chow. I marvelled at how she immediately began to face out, at all times, watching and protecting me. Cody never sat facing me, always faced out - always watching. I heard the low tone growl when a man would approach me on the sidewalk, a good half block away. I’d quietly reward her after the stranger would walk away, unnerved by Cody’s presence and growl, not to mention “stare”. As a single woman, life couldn’t be better. I was protected by Cody and it felt good.
I soon moved to an apartment in the Northwest section of town, with lots of fields for walking, and a more secure environment. I started a dog walking service, and Cody would come with me on all my dog walks. She became my tester, my pilot - if Cody didn’t like someone, or another dog, I trusted her judgment - immediately. I knew something was wrong, off-kilter, if Cody had an issue. I remember one time, a maintenance woman came into the house, and Cody smelled her, and stayed on her heels the entire time she was in my house. The woman smelled of alcohol, no, “wreaked” of alcohol. Cody didn’t like people who smoked or smelled of alcohol. Neither did I for that matter, and perhaps that’s why Cody didn’t. We were in agreement. In fact, Cody would sneeze when someone smoked in proximity to her. I’d laugh and we’d walk away - yes, Cody, I don’t like smokers either. I’d tell the person that Cody was allergic to smoke, but quite frankly, so was I unofficially.
Cody introduced me to some of my best friends. I always had a dog friend circle, because of her. I met the most interesting, compassionate people. If people had dogs, in general, I felt they were inherently good people. I’ve met a few exceptions of course…. Cody also introduced me to Monroe.
One August night, in 2003?, Cody kept bugging me about a noise she was hearing outside. I heard something too, but couldn’t discern where the noise was coming from. Kinda sounded like a sick bird flying overhead in the dusk hours. It was the first chilly night, hints of the impending Fall season. It was a kitten, no, two kittens, waiting to get some milk from Mom, scared, and crying, in the manifold of a moving truck in for the night in a nearby parking spot. Cody pointed in the direction of that moving truck. I’d walk near the truck, and the sound would go away. I’d go back into the house, and Cody would beg to be let out. She sensed distress.
Because of that night, I have a beautiful tuxedo cat of 4 1/2 years, at my feet, sleeping peacefully. Cody brought me Monroe, which really was more her cat than mine. But while Cody was spayed and couldn’t bring me an offspring, in some strange way, she brought me another cat, an offspring of sorts. Cody mothered that kitten like it was her own puppy. As a result, Monroe became another member of the household. They brought me a lot of joy, observing them loving on one another, nuzzling, and pawing at each other. It was true love, these two.
Towards the very end, Cody had a hard time with any cat or dog bothering her, as she didn’t feel well. Cody would snap at Monroe, as he entered the room, or lightly growl at him, or show her fangs as a warning. I’d then admonish Cody for being a grump, but knowing what I know now, I understand her pain and less than willing desire to love on Monroe. In some strange way, i wonder if Cody was protecting Monroe - if Monroe felt rejected by Cody, maybe he’d miss her a little less?
A feral kitty rescued by a dog on a chilly August night, who was 12 1/2 years ago, rescued by me. It was a nice tradition of giving back, or as some say, a way of paying it forward. I often thought how strange it was, considering chow reputations, that she’d rescue a kitten of all things. Monroe could get away with near murder, in Cody’s eyes. Monroe would run around the room, and Cody would chase her. Monroe would jump up in a chair and paw at Cody’s face - never a claw outreached - pure play, pure innocence. Considering that to this day, Monroe paws at me, claws outreached, often biting me, I was amazed at the connection between these two rescued animals. Cody would have this huge smile on her face - tail wagging, looking up at “her” kitty cat.
Neither Misha nor Monroe had such interactions with Cody, ever. Only on occasion, did Cody play like this with Lucky. She did play, however, with Brutus, Zandar, Nick, and recently Tucker. She liked seeing Kasper, the little white westie, and Julie. She liked seeing Sonny’s dog, and her new puppies. She loved seeing little kids, despite what they said about chows and children.
As we took our final walk, there were two young boys who saw Cody and I walk by. They yelled with glee, “puppy doggy!” They ran out of the garage, mom out of sight, and asked if they could pet my “puppy doggy”. If they had any idea, Cody was about to be put down, ugh. These boys ran up to me, and I allowed them to pet Cody. Despite Cody’s bad condition, her ears were soft, and her tail wagged just a bit.
I hope there are lots of children for her to play with in heaven, a little kitten for her to adopt, and lots of love, sunshine, and cool weather, or a shady tree to sit under.
It’s Awfully Quiet Here
It’s 1:45 a.m. It’s too quiet. I came home from New York in the late afternoon, early evening on Saturday. When I walked in the door, for the first time in 13 years, there was no black, furry, Cody girl waiting for me, wagging her tail, offering kisses. When I would travel for periods of time, Cody would literally give me hugs the moment I walked in the door - Misha would greet me, Max would come running, and Monroe would appear shortly after.
Now the entrance is different - there is Lucky bouncing on her hind legs with her front legs floundering in the air - there is no tail waggin that one can even see because this dog is so in your face that you let her out the door to use the bathroom, and come back in relieved to see she didn’t do anything she wasn’t supposed to, while I was gone.
In 13 years, I have never had a bad homecoming - well, I should change that - minus Lucky, I’ve never had a bad homecoming. Lucky has already given me many bad homecomings, but Cody, Max, Misha & Monroe - not one. Even in Cody’s last months, when arthritis and cancer had taken over her body, and it was hard to get her hips in gear, Cody still greeted me the same way, every time, without fail. Hugs and tails awaggin’. I put down a yoga mat to make it easier for her to lift off the floor - today I came in and had to throw it away because I could tell that Lucky had urinated on it, without any of my pet sitters noticing. As I threw it away and cleaned the floor on my hands and knees, I had visions of Thursday’s final moments with Cody in the foyer. I came in to the living room, stared down at her new bed, and picked it up and placed it my bedroom, where she slept by my bed every night.
I was relieved to see that Misha and Monroe looked pretty good. Monroe has become increasingly verbal since Max died a month ago. Misha’s fur looked groomed.
I looked around, and wanted to cry, yet I couldn’t. I couldn’t get my emotion out at all. I walked Lucky, to get back into the game of taking the dogs for a walk, but I felt nothing, especially for Lucky. I wondered if Lucky was missing Cody - so I referenced her name to Lucky. I hoped she’s show some reaction, ears perking, head tilting - but not a chance. Lucky just looked back at me with a blank look. Cesar Milan says dogs live in the moment, but Cody could recall a dog’s name by perking her head up, turning around, and looking at the direction of the door where the dog would come to visit her. I could say, “Zandar”, “Brutus” or “Nick” in the years that Cody would receive visits, and she’d perk her head up every single time.
In Cody’s last hours, I asked her if she was going to see Zandar in heaven - there was no response. I asked her about Nick. There was some response, but very little. I asked her about Brutus - that she responded to. Nicole had told me to make sure to mention Brutus as one day they’d hopefully to get to see each other in heaven (thankfully Brutus is still alive). She has not seen Brutus in years, as Brutus and Nicole moved away a few years ago. But she loved Brutus - they had a special relationship - Brutus the bulldog used to stay for the weekend with Cody, years ago. He’d talk to Cody in that special bulldog way. They’d pal around - perhaps more than pal around if you know what I mean. I took Cody all the way to Virginia to visit Brutus three or four years ago. But they hadn’t seen each other since. Despite that, Cody still looked out the door, as if Brutus might come to see her. It made me smile wistfully. With Cody, she got you - she understood. With Lucky, there is yet to be a connection on any level with her.
I felt no incentive to cook or drink anything. TV was of little relief tonight. I decided to go upstairs and was relieved that Monroe came up to sleep with us. In the past year or so, Monroe would come up, try to snuggle with Cody, but frequently Cody panted or growled at Monroe and perhaps he was unable to sleep either. Tonight, he jumped up on the bed and slept at my feet, surprisingly, right next to Lucky who has taken residence on the bed as well. Misha of course was on my pillow, happy his Mom was home.
But here it is in the middle of the night - there is no noise - there are no furry black wags - no hazel eyes looking up at me for a head pat, no paws lifting for an underarm scratch, no ears leaning in my direction for an inner ear nuzzle - nothing - just silence - and I can’t sleep. I got up and let Lucky outside. I fed the cats. And now, Monroe is here sleeping by my side, Lucky as well. Misha is upstairs. Despite the feeling of emptiness, I do not seem to be able to emit a tear.
I resolved tonight that I’d give Lucky a year of focus. But if I continued to see a void in her, and continued to deal with bad homecomings, I’d find her a good outdoor home and get another Chow mix rescue. I will admit that while Cody never gave me a bad homecoming, in the first two or three years, I worked with her a lot. She was scared, aggressive, a little overly protective, ocasionally a pain at the dog park - but I worked with her, socializing her, taking her for acupuncture, reading about dogs & fear of the car ride - shoot I even bought an SUV for that dog. ;-) I did a lot for her, and it was returned in kind. Perhaps if I do the same for Lucky, maybe one day, there will be a connection there. But tonight, I wonder. I don’t think she has the same genes Cody did, in a less obvious way than you might think - and I’m talking about the accidents that I think are hardly that. Cody was of a higher class I think than Lucky - she was a true wise soul, and one that would never take advantage of a carpet floor in any other way than to lay on it.
I am a complete insomniac tonight - despite having work I could easily do on the upcoming OSU spring syllabus, or marketing for seminars, or watching TV, or reading a book, or doing some laundry - none of this appeals to me. I’m in no man’s land it seems.
I decide to Google some keywords and see that there is another blogger who is overly dedicated to the blog of another chow-chow mix. Lighter reading indeed on an insomniac night.
Here’s another great story about adopting an older chow, a 9 year old, named Brandi.
A great chow rescue story, where a policeman rescued a chow, and is now a professional dog groomer.
Chow Welfare on Adopting a Chow Rescue
Reading these stories in my insomnia condition, in grief, reassures me that the chow is the difference - one reference above talks about a chow’s eyes, how they are literally born housebroken, how they are very perceptive, how they seem to need to mother you, how they are into people’s emotions - this was Cody to a tee. It’s the breed, baby.
Like Cesar Milan says, think of dogs in the following way, animal, species, breed, name - something like that - First it’s an animal, a dog, a specific breed, and then their name - as opposed to the reverse order. Lucky is a dog, a whippet, lab, pit mix (unofficial). She is mixed in the high energy breeds - whippet and lab - two different types of high energy dogs - a hound dog - but one that must serve a purpose in some way. Not only does she need to run, but she needs to use sight and smell in some useful way. That serves her purpose - she is also easily distracted, and bores easily. Cody, a chow, a very different breed, and one that I think I gravitate to over a whippet, lab, pit mix.
As I write about her chow rescue story, for another entry another day, Monroe has come up on the couch, and has walked over to Lucky who is also sleeping on the couch. Monroe is kneading his paws into Lucky’s fur - and she doesn’t seem to mind in her sleepy state. They are right now, right beside one another. Perhaps there is hope. Monroe just wants to bond with this dog, which I noted increasingly, in the week before Cody died. I figure Monroe knew Cody was dying and figured she’d better make peace with this dog, as Lucky had the breed tendency to chase cats. I hear Monroe purring. Lucky sleeps. All is peaceful for the moment.
1st March 2008
Grief
Grief comes in all forms, regardless of the reason you feel it following a death of someone or something. I have never had to bury a close family member, or for that matter, thank the Lord, “make arrangements”. However, in the past month I have had to put down two animals, a cat, and a dog. When it’s necessary to make arrangements to put a dog or cat down, it’s impossible to allow grief to settle in. Your mind is focused on what you have to do to prepare for one to pass on to the spiritual world.
They say there are five stages of grief, which comes from the French word “greve” which means heavy burden. The five stages reference denial, anger, bargaining, depression and ultimately, you hope, acceptance. So how does this relate to having and losing a pet?
Denial that a pet is gone - no - doesn’t happen at least I don’t feel that - but perhaps that the pet is dying, perhaps this is spot on.
Anger - it depends on the situation in how the animal died, I guess. When I put Max down - I didn’t feel anger - I prayed to St. Francis, to God - I talked with vets regarding Max about traditional as well as alternative therapy for hyperthyroid and liver disease - and felt truly confident that Max received the best care he could in his last two years of a 17-year wonderful, wonderful life. I spent money - he responded well - and had a steady decline over a two year period. I cooked for Max. I made sure he had smokehouse turkey from Whole Foods of all things, in his last two months of life. I made him sauteed chicken, or baked chicken. I was at the grocery store more for Max than anything or anyone. While he was suffering more in the past year, off and on, in his last two weeks he was pretty much at peace. He had no “episodes” of extreme sickness in the end, once I had chosen to put him down and began to “make arrangements” for a vet to come to my house. Perhaps once the cat knows you are ready to let go, they can let go?
Max sleeping very peacefully the night before he died on Jan 31, 2008I cried, no wailed, off and on for a couple of days after Max died, but truly felt at peace with my decision, and that he was no longer having to take medicine, fight his body for food absorption, and deal with liver disease, which is a side effect of the methimazole medicine he was taking for hyperthyroid condition. With Max - I just missed him horribly. So, no anger, no depression per se, no denial per se.
His brother, Misha, is beginning what I fear to be a soon decline - he’s lost 10% of his weight, isn’t grooming himself, and stays on the ottoman where Max passed away. Perhaps Max is there with him, already, in spirit. Perhaps I am at times in denial that Misha is dying - perhaps I can prevent it for just a little longer - I don’t want him to leave too.
With Cody - the five stages of grief are off. Monday, Cody takes a turn and begins to have severe labored breathing - Wednesday afternoon a trip to the vet, a final diagnosis, for which it’s too late to do anything, and then Thursday afternoon - she’s gone. I literally look back on this week, and say, you know - what the fuck happened?
When you experience grief, after a pet is gone, and you know you’ve done everything you could do to help them in life before they pass away, or you put them down, you should feel only an emotion of missing them, which is a form of grief, perhaps depression. But Cody - I feel different about her dying. Perhaps I have experienced denial for the past several months - I knew cancer might be invading her body - but no doctor, regardless of the thousands of dollars I paid them, could figure it out. Not one. After you see your dog opened up, head to toe, and you see how hard it is to recover from exploratory surgery, you can’t help but want to prevent her from the egotistical doctor who just wants another surgery opp. Regardless of the facility, over a three month period, not one doctor could give me an answer of what was wrong with Cody.
One vet, who listened to her symptoms, whom I have yet to meet, suggested Cody could have three things wrong with her, one of which might have been a mass growing inside her throat or chest.
With Cody - after going through the motions of putting her down yesterday, flying to New York, preparing for a meeting somewhat mindlessly, going through the meeting itself, coming back to the hotel, talking to people, and then entertaining friends tonight, I was unable to embrace grief. Yet now it is late, and I am back in my room, and re-reading my entry from last night. Then all of a sudden I begin to feel it - grief, and it is a sinking feeling. It hurts. I begin to endorse the feeling of guilt about my care for her.
So out of the emotions mentioned or documented about grief - where’s guilt in all of this? it can’t be just because I’m Catholic, right? I woke up today and began to feel anger with the doctors. I took off my jeans and noticed Cody’s blood spot from when she was lying her head on my pant legs. She bled far more than I realized. I feel anger regarding the vets - why couldn’t they figure it out? Why not? And for the first time, ever, I questioned God last night. How could you let a 13-year old innocent, loyal, protective, wise soul suffer so much? How could you let the doctors miss it? And then my anger turned inward? It’s my fault - I knew she had cancer - I just felt it - did I ignore it? No one could prove me right - but I knew it. Just like I knew she didn’t need the exploratory surgery - and yet doctors convinced me she needed it or might die.
Intuition is a powerful thing - why do we ignore our intuition? So, now my grief is anger towards vets who failed to accurate diagnose Cody’s problem, and treat her. It’s anger towards myself, and yes, believe it or not, it’s a little anger at God. Cody was my protector and I failed to protect her. I intuitively and instinctively knew she was dying, and decided to let her live out without more surgeries to open her up again to explore inside her body. Yet, it was a simple xray that caught the massive tumor and its broken pieces blocking her oxygen from circulating throughout her body. It was my hand that originally felt it, yet I listened to others who thought it was scar tissue from the exploratory surgery. Anger, yes, but denial now? No. It’s replaced by guilt.
Depression and acceptance are not here yet - but grief - pure unadulterated grief - weighs on my heart, my mind, my physical head, as well as my heart - they all truly “hurt”. When I walk back into my house tomorrow, will I fall apart? I have to face Misha, who is barely holding on. I plan to give him lots of attention, and work harder at getting him to eat, and take him for accupuncture on Tuesday evening. I’ve switched his food. Misha does not respond to food like Max did. I’ve spent more time at home. I’ve truly been present for those cats and for that matter for the dog. Yet will it be enough to get Misha to last? Is he ready to join his brother?
Grief is difficult for one in charge of arrangements to settle in - but once it does - it is indeed a very heavy weight, a pain, a hole in one’s heart and mind which can affect the spirit of moving forward, and thus allowing acceptance.
For those who have opened up their homes and lives to pets, and have given them true respect, dedication and proper treatment over the years - I know you can sympathize and feel my pain with me. I’ve often thought those who did not have animals in their lives - or easily got rid of one who was challenging or difficult - those people not only were selfish but they lacked a soul. How can one not have compassion for an animal? For those who lack this compassion, or heartache, I pity your life without this enjoyment, or fulfillment.
Cody - I miss you tonight - so badly - and I am so sorry I could not bring you to the right doctor to help you. I’m sorry I ignored your pain, at times. I’m sorry that I didn’t figure it out - that I didn’t listen to my intuition - that I didn’t fight harder for you. I’m sorry you didn’t get your last months without some crazy hyper dog in your midst. I’m sorry you had to share your toys and food with this dog, when all you needed to do was breathe calmly, without struggle. I’m sorry I shut you out of my room at night, sometimes, in the past few months, when you couldn’t sleep, and therefore I couldn’t sleep, due to your heavy breathing. I’m sorry I couldn’t make you feel better.
I respect your honor, your valiance, your will to live despite all this - no human being I know could have a tumor that big, and hundreds of other tumors and still eat, walk, play, and climb those stairs several times a day to be with their beloved master, or friend, or lover. Only you would do that for me. And I love you even more knowing what I know now, of how much you were suffering just to be with me, just a little longer. I cry for you but I respect you so much, and request God take good care of you now.
