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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.
28th February 2008
Less Than a Month After Max Dies, Cody Dies
Today at 1:30 p.m., Cody passed into I pray, I truly pray, a better spiritual world. She suffered so much in the past few days and last several hours. When I walked out of the vet hospital yesterday evening, I looked back at her, and she had a “look” on her face - as she turned around and looked at everyone staring back at her with lots of emotion, from that point on, for all intents, Cody was nearly gone.
As I blogged earlier today in the wee hours of the morning, Cody had a terrible night. She was starting to spit up blood last night, and today, she began to drool a milky bloody film. She had a ticking sound in her throat, as if you could hear the fluid in her body. I chose to have her put down at noon - at my house - in the foyer.
My wonderful pet sitter, Tamara, came early and picked up Lucky so Cody and I could have some final peaceful moments together without distraction from a very hyper dog, who is oblivious to anything painful (which is a good and bad thing at times).
God gave us sunlight today - thankfully - so Cody basked in the sunlight early this morning, pointing her body in the direction of the sun rising. She didn’t mind the snow or the frigid temperatures. In fact, as soon as Lucky left with Tamara, it seemed Cody was preparing herself for her final hours, as if she knew it was her last sunrise. Cody was a furry bear black chow who loved cold weather, loved to sit under the tree in front of my house, and loved to breathe in the fresh air. I took her for one last ride in the car, through McD’s where she got a sausage, one last walk where she got to see her red chow friend, Tucker, and a few special visitors in her final hours.
Cody & Monroe, a month ago, right before Max died.Monroe, her rescued cat, came up and tried to be near her in her final hour, but Cody didn’t want Monroe around. Maybe Cody was protecting Monroe so she’d leave her alone - I don’t know. Maybe she was just worried Monroe would eat the food that Cody no longer wanted.
Cody, hardly present any more, hours before she died on Thursday afternoon.Note the picture above - I also have a video I’ll post later. You could see that life was leaving Cody, in her eyes. They were dull, triangular it seemed, and hanging on moment by moment. Her tail ceased to wag, if only for a moment or two in the last hours. It’s so hard when you know you have three hours, or two hours, or just minutes, to spend with your animal before they will be taken away in physical presence. Monroe stayed up stairs when the vets arrived, whereas with Max, Monroe was with us in the room. Misha stayed upstairs but the moment that Cody passed, within minutes, Misha came downstairs and walked by Cody, looking down at her on the floor.
Max & Misha, brothers, right before Max (orange) died. Cody a month
before she died.Cody’s body fought the medicine, the drugs - it took two doses and what seemed like at least 10 minutes for her body to stop. They couldn’t get the second dose into her body - it was rejecting the needle and medicine. About the time the vet said that Cody was close, Cody gave one final “hrummpgh” and then expired within a few moments later.
I prepared for my NY trip, and soon left with Cody in the car, one last time. Her eyes wouldn’t close - how heartbreaking - still there looking at me.
Cody was the best dog - truly the best dog ever - no accidents until the last week of her life - out of 13 years in her home - never an accident, never a chewed shoe, never a ruined piece of anything. She did have a thing for humping pillows - don’t ask me - have no clue. I did “not” teach her that. She was such a glorious, wise, loving, loyal, faithful, protective soul - who suffered much in her last days, just to hang on, to be near me, to love just a little longer.
I had strong friends and family support today - an old friend of mine - ironically wrote me yesterday afternoon. I had not heard from her in years. The story I was telling about Cody stealing stuffed animals, below, well it all began with Doris & Nick who introduced Cody to the life of stuffed animals. Doris wrote yesterday and it seemed fitting that the day that Cody died, I would reconnect with Doris. Nick, her 11 year old golden retriever, is still alive and kicking, although recovering from a sickness in December.
Nicole & Brutus, Doris & Nick, and Laura & Cody - it was always the three of us hanging out typically at Doris’ place with all three dogs checking out the two filled milk crates of stuffed animals. We’d fix up a cup of coffee or two, I think Doris always had flavored coffee or something - but I vague remember there always being something that brewed in her house while we watched the dogs play. Brutus the bulldog would growl, Cody would pull, and Nick would run interference.
All of these dogs have grown old, but Cody was the first to go - although she was the oldest of the three. It is because of Cody that I developed what I believe are life-long friendships. And it was fitting that on the day that Cody died, both Nicole and Doris, were very available by phone and text messages and emails to let them know that they were hurting too, and were there thinking of us.
I pray that Cody is in a better place - she couldn’t even die peacefully - but now, finally, her body rests. It was a relief to see her body no long heaving, gasping for air, and under duress. Finally, it was quiet - and her love - expired.
Now Cody - Death Watch - It’s Lung Cancer and It’s Bad
It is 2:30 in the morning. I sit here with dreary eyes on the couch, surrounded by Misha and Monroe, Lucky and Cody. It’s been less than a month that I put my 17-year old cat Max down.
Cody (chow dog), and her rescued kitty cat Monroe in 2004 (better days)About a week ago, Cody’s cough got worse - see blog posts on her from June 2007 and beyond. She’s been very sick off and on - and no, absolutely no diagnosis of what was wrong, despite invasive exploratory surgery at MedVet, xrays and exams at Ohio State University Vet Hospital, xrays, xrays and xrays at VCA vet hospitals - a discovery of a fist-sized lump that I could feel on her chest - no - it was benign they said. Now, tonight, just about 7 hours ago - they say that she has a massive cancerous tumor on her lungs, and then hundreds of bb-sized tumors spread throughout her lungs - she can’t get much air into her body so she gasps for air, coughs, and yes, as of the past 24 hours is even spitting up some blood.
I’m supposed to leave in a few short hours for New York to defend an account to a magazine I love. I’m 90% likely to lose it because of lack of implementation due to other site initiatives taking place and getting front-burner status, understandably so. But of course I want to fight for it - it’s significant revenue for my company. And yet, my dog, as I write is fighting for mere air and her last few moments of life.
How cruel - she’s never done harm to anyone - 13 years - and yet has been loyal to me, protective, loving, sensitive, protective, did I say protective? She’s a chow-mix. She’s protected her food for years, not to mention a few toys. She’s in fact stolen a few toys. I’ll never forget the time that we visited a dog friend whose parents were out of town. Cody ran down the stairs with this huge stuffed hedgehog in her mouth and out the door in to the courtyard. It got to be where I’d have to watch what she had in her mouth when we’d leave a friend’s house. Cody would steal any stuffed animal she preferred if we’d let her - then she’d run outside and look for a place to bury it.
I will miss Cody terribly - she’s lived in my office, my home, walked beside me, taken drives upon drives across the country, waited patiently for me, put up with me when she began to slow down, put up with Lucky, the new dog, and yet just wanted some last few peaceful moments with her cat, Monroe, and her owner, me.
The past month has been so difficult, so painful. I actually wonder where the stars and planets are aligned - because why are things so incredibly bad right now?
5th February 2008
St. Francis Acts Through Maxim in 2005
As promised last week, I wanted to repeat a portion of the story about Max and how he helped me to learn about St. Francis, which I blogged about in 2005 on the Bizresearch site. BY the way - Tornados are moving into the area tonight so I might have to put this post on hold. My cat Max died on 1/31/08, and I’ve been blogging about the good times since then, which you can read about in the category dedicated to my 4-legged kids.
Max Sleeping on 1/30/08, the night
before he died
Max, Misha & Monroe
resting togetherIn December 2005, I was getting ready for a Search Engine Strategies conference in Chicago - I had three speaking engagements that conference, and possibly a fourth session that I was moderating. Needless to say, when you run a company, have a personal life, and prepare for conference speaking engagements every three months it gets overwhelming. I was doing too much without a doubt.
Max, Misha (my two cats) and St. Francis of Assisi had a nice lesson in store for me as to what mattered most - and it wasn’t my speaking engagement at all. Looking back, I do not remember the speaking engagements one bit - I only remember losing my cat Misha for ten days. I was packing suitcases in my car in the garage, and doing so in a feverish pace. I said a quick goodbye to the animals - fretting about missing my plane. I remember fighting with my then-boyfriend about my staying at his place the night before - I didn’t want to do so because I’d be gone for a week from my pets. I felt guilty about leaving them. He was jealous to say the least. A balancing act indeed.
On that cold evening in December, 2005, I arrived in Chicago and received an urgent message from my pet sitter. She indicated that my cat Misha was nowhere to be found. You can read the details of that blog entry by clicking on the link above.
If it had not been for Max getting an eye infection one day (which went away the very next day), my getting the eye infection the same day that Max’s infection went away (which also went away a day later) - I would have never gone to the eye doctor and listened to a great experience that my eye doctor had with St. Francis, nor would have learned the importance of praying to St. Francis if you’ve lost a pet. Max was a messenger of St. Francis - and I believe God acted through Max’s eyes and then my own, to help me learn about the value of prayer and St. Francis.
The night I learned about St. Francis, and began to pray along with others who prayed to him on behalf of Misha - Misha came home. He is still with me today, over two years later. He is a very, very loyal cat and has suffered much to be with me everyday. He has outlived ten days in severe winter weather without water or food, frostbite, near kidney failure a year ago, and now pancreatitis. Yet every day he runs to jump onto my pillows and sit in my lap, and he sleeps beside me every night. I owe Max and St. Francis for the joy I have today with Misha.
If you read the Wiki entry above, it makes some reference to St. Francis suffering from an eye infection in his last days. Further investigation shows some relationship to St. Clare of Assisi, who miraculously was able to see at one point in time, and yet another entry referencing St. Clare as one of the three fertility saints introduced in the Philippines.
Isn’t this bizarre - is there a spiritual link between fertility, the environment and animals? St. Francis was the saint of animals, birds and the environment (the latter of which I did not know). St. Clare is the oldest patron saint of Obando, and was very loyal to St. Francis. There are numerous Catholic references to the Patron of Poor Sight and St. Clare, but I don’t yet see any specific reference to what was wrong with her eyes.
My mom taught me love for rescuing cats at an early age. If it were not for her, I would probably not have this much compassion for a stray cat. All of us kids have grown up with an affection for animals - typically having multiple pets in our lives - across multiple species (rabbits, dogs, fish, cats, and yes, even a ferret or two).
From early childhood, there was biblical reference to cats. Martha and Moses, our first cats, came to our family at the age of 5, after a “frog-choker” of a rain storm. They were found underneath a bush, with a cat that Mom called Salomi (unsure of spelling) - and then Moses and Martha were named after what was believed to be Salomi’s children I think. We soon learned that Martha, Moses’ sister, was not in fact supposed to be named Martha, but Miriam. But Martha - well, she just looked like a “martha”. Kinda flaky but what a loving, loving cat of 17 years.
I put Martha to sleep when she was 17 years old, after a year or two of health issues. I dealt with that horrible anguish by going straight to the animal shelter so I could rescue another cat, determined to get two. That is the only time my Mom has ever lied for me, that I’m aware of, so that I could take those cats home to my apartment that very weekend and not have to wait for landlord approval on Monday morning. Misha, a six week old kitten, picked me out as I walked by, and was adopted along with his brother Max that very weekend. 34 years of cat rescue has brought me the love of two sets of animals - not bad, right? Martha (and Moses for 11 or so?) for 17 years, and Max and Misha for 17 - a total of 34 years and two generations of cats. Not bad at all. And Misha continues to survive.
Back to St. Francis and Max - Perhaps there was more of a connection of St. Francis acting through Max’s eyes than I ever knew? The eye infection miraculously appearing and disappearing, then my getting it - just enough to send me to my eye doctor for a message beyond a dose of medicine, which was Pray to St. Francis. So I did - and ever since then I’ve been praying to St. Francis whenever my cats or dogs are sick or missing, or whenever any cat sign goes up saying, “Lost Cat”. Interesting to note that both my mom and I suffer from poor eye sight. In fact all of us do, except my Dad. I never knew the connection between St. Francis and eye sight however.
Most importantly, I thank God and St. Francis for my pets and the love my pets have given me over the years. I’m newly fascinated by the latest readings on St. Francis, which has led me to learn about his eye disease in part, and then St. Clare - also with eye disease. Both lived humble lives (uh - oh that might be difficult). St. Francis revered animals, birds and the environment - and if you’ve followed my blog entries - you’ll see I’ve rescued cats, dogs and even robins during last year’s winter in Columbus, and talked about the importance of the environment. The three leadings topics on this blog are environment, animals and most recently I’ve unearthed the topic of fertility, which is something I’m just beginning to blog about all though I’ve struggled with this issue for many years, perhaps dating back to when I was 21. These three topics are really the core of my being, beyond the day to day life I lead.
Perhaps Max’s death is to bring me another message. As I dreaded his impending expiration date on 1/31/08, and reflected on Max as representing my spiritual messenger late in his life, and dreaded his passing into the spiritual world, I wondered what animal would act as my spiritual messenger now? I pondered Lucky - the new rescue dog - as she has a very keen sense of sight and smell. I wondered if she would shed light on something wise for me. But as I picked Lucky up at the vet tonight, the vet tech and I both agreed that Lucky has not yet likely reached the spiritual realm of the world. We’re not quite sure what world Lucky is in - but is indeed a very happy, seemingly oblivious one in general.
One postscript on Lucky - I had a wierd feeling about her spay today - perhaps because of Max’s passing last week. It turns out that Lucky was anesthetized today, administered pain meds, only to find out right before they opened her up that she had a tiny spay scar and in fact had been spayed after all. So, Lucky was saved from being opened up today. May mean nothing, but who knows?
In order to receive a message, we must be willing to listen and to quiet ourselves enough to listen, and of course, we must be open to the message and its meaning. That part is the hardest, isn’t it, and often the most difficult part to interpret.
Pictures of the 4-Legged Kids on Flickr
2nd February 2008
I Miss Max Tonight
I went to Schoedingers at 11 a.m. this morning to witness the crematorium of my sweet little Maxim. If you think I’m crazy, I’ll share with you the reasons I did it at the bottom of this entry. They were very respectful at the crematorium. I was able to watch them as they clipped his hair for me, and took his pawprint. Max still looked so peaceful. I didn’t cry that much, just a few tears as I think I’m about cried out by now. They explained the process and I chose to push the button.
I came back at 3:30 to pick him up in the urn. I picked out a square wooden urn with a photo of Max in front. I had an appointment at Easton and knew I’d have to keep Max in the car for three hours or so. Max never liked the car as he got older, and noticeably became very very sick whenever we had to go to the vet. I hoped he would forgive me. Otherwise, I felt very peaceful with the entire process and believed I had given Max everything that I possibly could in both death and life.
But now I’m home, and I really miss him tonight. I go into the kitchen with little purpose now. There is no cat getting in my way in the kitchen, waiting for three or four cans of food to be wasted on him in order to try to get him to eat. It became an increasing struggle to figure out what Max wanted to eat. We’d start out with Wellness Food, then home baked chicken, then roasted turkey from Whole Foods, then tuna fish, then a sip of milk - anything to get him to eat. I’d open so much food in the process, that by the time we figured out what Max wanted to eat, my kitchen and fridge began to look like a crazy cat lady’s dwelling. I talked with my vet and my pet sitter about it - and they said it was just really important to get him to eat since he’s hyperthyroid. So, two years of this stuff, and I feel a void of being the caregiver to an ailing cat. I feel like there is nothing to do.
Max on January 31, 2008I’ve also noticed that the water and litter boxes don’t need re-filling as often. I never knew which cat was drinking so much water, but it was apparently Max. I thought all along it was Misha but it was clearly Max drinking loads of water. Who knows how much pain he was really in?
Misha and Monroe on the other hand - they just need dry food in the dish with some occasional wet food to taste. Misha needs the faucet running and chases me wherever I go - he’s got pancreatitis and so gets dehydrated a lot. But he’s been hanging in there for quite some time now - a year since he was officially diagnosed with it. What happens when Misha is gone and I don’t have a cat chasing the water in the sink? Those things that typically challenge you at times - you end of missing them terribly when they’re gone.
Misha is being relatively antisocial since Max passed Thursday. He pretty much wants to stay in that room and not leave it other than to drink, eat and use the bathroom. But I’ve seen him run upstairs with greater energy than in quite some time. I’ve noticed the same with Cody - more energy than in quite some time. In fact, she’s almost running on her walks the last couple of days. I’ve gotten a bit of kick about that - because I’ve wondered if she’s saying - “Better not put me down like that - really, I’m fine, I’m fine.”
Lucky - well she got pretty sick overnight but seems to be fine tonight.
But Max - even though his after-life physical presence is back here tonight in his wooden urn - he’s sorely missed in the real form . Here’s an old photo from 2003 or 2004 when Max was in perfect health, and had quite the healthy belly which loved to be rubbed. It’s pretty amazing that he was so healthy just four years ago at the age of 13.
Max in the good days - likely Summer 2004 - this is when food served its purposePS: I chose to cremate and witness his cremation due to two events - I handed over Martha, the first orange and white tabby cat I ever had, 17 years ago to a vet to have Martha put down. I never forgot the look on Martha’s face as the vet took her away. That exact same vet (Alexia Wilde) was later investigated for euthanizing cats and not putting them down all the way along with several other animal abuse charges. Several cats were found on the garbage heap not completely dead - it was horrible - she lost her vet license. I wondered about Martha and how she might have been treated in her final moments. Thus the reason for committing to never hand over the cat again. Second, I once read an article about animals and people’s bones not being “respected” in the crematorium - that they could get mixed up, or worse yet, the bones could be sold for a fee. Thus the reason for what I did. I wanted to be sure I witnessed Max from the moment he passed from the physical world, into the spiritual world and to ensure his body was respected every inch of the way. I am very glad I did what I did.
Misha & Monroe Coping with Max’s Death
I fretted for months about how Misha would cope with Max’s death. I knew that I would have a vet come here. I knew I would have Max cremated and keep his ashes. But what I worried about were my other animals and how they would handle Max’s death, especially knowing I was doing this at home. What’s interesting is that Misha and Monroe crowded around Max in his last 24 hours, despite the fact that Max was feeling relatively well the last few days before he died. Well, at least, to the best of my knowledge he was okay. He was not eating much, but he was active, social, and in search of comfort all the time. His search for comfort told me Max was in pain most of the time. But he usually greeted me at the door regardless of how he felt, 90% of the time.
I told Misha that his brother would go away in the near future. Misha always looks like he knows exactly what I’m saying. I didn’t think Monroe would be too affected, but I was concerned about him being in the same room with Max when his life passed into the spiritual world. Yet, it was clear yesterday that Monroe and Misha wanted to be with Max in his final hour. They came up to my room and stayed near Max. So I decided that it was meant to be - that they should be present when the vet came and transitioned Max into the next world.
So how have they reacted? Monroe was the sweetest - he said goodbye in the sweetest way. I blogged about this yesterday, if you see the “he’s gone” entry. Oddly, last night Monroe did not sleep at all. He kept me up for a good part of the night, and then I began to cry again.
But Misha today - seems remiss. I wonder if my crying combined with having seen Max yesterday afterwards, has affected Misha. I have a picture posted of Max in my room, and would you believe that Misha has stayed in my room all day, with his body pointed in the direction of the photo nearby? Coincidence, I’m sure. But Misha seems very sad today.
The dogs have adjusted - well Lucky never needed to adjust - but Cody said her goodbye as well yesterday. Today she seems to be pretty good.
Tomorrow, at 11 a.m., I go to Schoedinger to have Max cremated. They will let me witness him being cremated so I can ensure his body is treated with respect. Apparently some funeral homes will combine animals and you only get “community” ashes. Dreadful, eh? But Schoedinger cremates one pet at a time, and enables you to witness everything if so desired, and feel safe that your precious pet is being treated with the utmost respect.
Since Max and Misha have both been very Catholic cats and have inspired and taught me many spiritual messages, which I plan to blog about this weekend, I believe that Max will pass into the spiritual world.
I believe wholeheartedly in St. Francis, thanks to Max, and know that his spirit will pass on to help others. I wanted his spirit to release in my room where we all sleep. As I’m writing this and researching animal spirits, Misha just woke up and smelled something. He lifted his head. I just smelled it too. I am overwhelmed with emotion. Just when it seems my body is incapable of crying more, the dams open up and sobbing deep within occurs.
Yesterday a woman talked with me on the phone and mentioned a snow leopard. Today, my shiatsu practitioner, during a shiatsu session worked on me and mentioned a snow leopard. I was struck at how odd it was that two women in 24 hours would mention an animal to me that is rarely referenced by anyone. I had planned to blog this weekend about how I feel a loss of my Messenger, as Max was truly a Messenger of St. Francis. You have to read the animal totem below about the snow leopard. I genuinely feel that Max in his spiritual world will lead me to a message.
I have talked a lot recently about feeling like my home was out of balance as three of my older animals have been sick for the past year and a half. The snow leopard reference in the past 24 hours is quite interesting now that I am learning more. See notes below.
Here are some online resources on the topic of animals passing on, and reaching into the spiritual world.
About.com’s Discussion of Religious Quotes On Animals, Dying and Spirits
A Great Cat Ghost Story That Will Surely Give You Goosebumps
Snow Leopards - Animal Totem Dedication to A Sign Sent to Me Today
More on Snow Leopards - the Soul That Moves Effortlessly Between the Physical & Spiritual World
Snow Leopards by Peter Mathiessen
NYT Book Review on Samsara Dog & Reference to Snow Leopard
1st February 2008
Along Came Monroe, The Tuxedo Kitten
Along came Monroe, Mr Tuxedo Cat
Part Two of Ode to Fat Cat Max (whom I had to have put down yesterday)
Max felt his life was pretty good until this little stinker tuxedo kitten came into his life. He had all the food he could eat, he could sit in his favorite chair, he could play and bask in the sun - and have free roam of the house. But then one day, a kitten came to stay. His name was Monroe. It seemed that the dog Cody had a thing for the little kitten, and in fact had found the little kitten stranded underneath a truck and sensed it needed help. His owner had brought other kittens in before, but they never stayed. Max had a feeling that this little kitten was going to stay.
Max had to share his food with the little stinker. This was not good. The little black and white thing had an affection for food, much like Max did. Also not good. One day little Monroe discovered Cody’s dog food - he had never seen so much food in his entire life. He could probably sleep and eat and hang out in this special place all day long.
Max, who was always the fearless cat, refused to let any stray animal get in his way. While Misha was one to jump up and perch, Max would walk up and look straight at any stray animal, dogs included. Max was not one to share his territory or let another get in his way. So when little Monroe thought it was play time in Max’s territory and began to attack Max, Max refused to get off the bed. After all, Max was much bigger than little skinny kitty Monroe.
The biggest problem that Max had with Monroe - his owner thought that Monroe was super cute! Apparently so did the big furry dog. They really loved one another. Max was personally a little disgusted by the little furry kitten.
The only thing Max liked about the little kitten, well, it was simply smaller than Max so it couldn’t quite eat all the food Max needed.
Tomorrow, Maxim will be cremated. I am picking up his ashes at Schoedinger’s Pet Services. I’ll tell the stories of Max the Messenger of St. Francis tomorrow.
31st January 2008
Ode to Fat Cat Max
There once was a cat, named Maxim, who was affectionately referenced to as Fat Cat Max.
Maxim was born in 1991, to someone who did not want him or his brothers and sisters. They travelled to an animal shelter and were washed and caged in a scary place. They were placed with a grey kitty who was very mean and had a bad temper. Max’s grey tabby brother with wise green eyes and mitten paws promised to protect little Max. Misha knew he had to find an owner very soon. Along came a young woman who looked really nice - she looked like the perfect owner. Misha had a good feeling about her, so, he took a chance and reached out to her and pulled her t-shirt sleeve close with his paws. The young woman played with both of them in a room, and then she left. Thank goodness she came back again - and took them home in a cardboard box. It was really scary, but atleast Max and Misha were going to a home together. Apprehensive, but excited, they adventured to their new home - wow! There was a lot of room, and stairs, and food, so much food!
Maxim was named by the nice woman after a Russian character she once read about. Misha was named after Mikhail Barishnikov, the Russian dancer, because Misha was a leaping kitty cat. Maxim loved his brother very much - if it wasn’t for him he would have not been able to go home with with this woman, and stay together as brothers were meant to be!
Their lives were very good - there was warmth, lots of love, lap time, even shoulder time, and always plenty of room to run around. Max loved to run and wake up the woman in the morning. That was his absolute favorite thing to do. He would get so hungry, and that woman, she wouldn’t wake up early enough to make that pain in his little tummy go away. So one day, he went to another room and ran all the way as fast as he could and he jumped on the bed where the woman lay sleeping. She woke up! She looked at Max - and Max thought for a second he was in trouble. But then the woman got up and fed him - wow! This is going to be easy, he said.
As long as he could run and jump on the woman’s bed, and run it into the wall, he was in luck. But he’d have to run from another room just to get up the momentum to run in her room, and jump on her bed. But then they moved - to another house. He tried doing the same thing in the morning, but noticed it did not quite have the same effect. Max looked around in the bedroom for something to make noise with - he went over to the window - where there were these things hanging in - and he noticed, thankfully, that when he put his paws on the white things - well they made some noise - and then, guess what? the woman, she woke up!
So, thankfully, Max had yet one more way to wake up the young woman. This meant he could eat early in the morning. He also noticed that the woman tended to lock up the kitty food in some boxes - and he sure wanted to get into those boxes. He talked to Misha about it and they came up with a plan - he was able to nudge the box from one side, Misha worked on it from the other side, and voila! - The top of the box came undone, and then all this food spilled out - Wow!
Max had a favorite chair in this house. He occasionally had to share it with his brother, Misha. He knew the way to share this chair was to hop up, lick Misha an awful lot, until Misha got so disgusted by all the affection that he hopped off the chair. This always made Max very happy. He wanted the great big comfy chair all to himself.
One day the woman came home with a dog - Max - he was not happy about this. The little black furry thing was a yipper and liked to run after Max. Then one day the dog was gone, and the woman cried. TV reporters came to interview the woman, and Max and his brother, Misha - they got to be on TV! That dog never returned, but then one day another dog, a bigger dog, came home with the woman. She was very happy - and Max could tell that the bigger dog was a nice dog and decided he should be nice to the big dog.
They moved again, which Max was very happy about. They moved to this really cool place where there was a place they could bask in the sun in the fresh air. It was safe, yet outside up high, where they could watch birds and other things fly by. Max promised Misha he would catch him a bird - those little fluffy things that made that sound when they went away. Max just knew they would taste really, really good.
One day, Max caught himself a bird - he hid behind the door to the outside place - for a very, very long time. And then the bird landed right outside the door, and Max lunged and caught him! Gotcha! He brought the bird inside and couldn’t wait to show his owner how good he’d been! Somehow the woman wasn’t as excited as he was. Misha wasn’t either. But Max, he was very, very proud of his catch. To be able to catch a bird from inside an apartment - no other cat was as cool as he was.
Max was nicknamed soon after as Fat Cat Max - because he liked to eat, and eat, and eat. Max got a really healthy belly on him, and he loved to search for food. One day, he found a bag of bread with some cheese inside. Never again was he able to find bread with that cheese inside - but he looked and looked in any bag of bread he could find for that cheesy filling - with no luck. His owner, she got kinda mad when Max would open up those bags of bread. But she quickly forgave him, because she gave Max something else to eat instead.
Max loved the trash - that stuff underneath the sink. That was the best - there were containers and containers of yummy smelling stuff, always with just a little taste of something really good inside. Sometimes, the woman would fix dinner for herself and her boyfriend, and leave a little food on the table. He’d never forget the day where the woman made some big pieces of meat and placed them all on the table. There were lots of people around, and the woman and her boyfriend got distracted. Max talked to Misha and they decided to sneak underneath the table, and spy on the food until the perfect opportunity came about. Max loved that Misha could jump onto anything really fast, capture the food in his mouth, and run away with it so he and Max could share it on the floor in another room. Sometimes that big black dog would come in and steal it from them, though. Max didn’t like that very much.
Max loved lots of things, and he felt life was very, very good. He loved his owner’s hair - and loved to get on her shoulder and put his paws into her hair. His brother, Misha, and he lived good lives. They moved from time to time, but wherever they went there was always more room. Every once in a while, they got to go outside and eat minty leaves and bask in the sun. He even began to love that old black furry dog too. She let him put his paws in her hair too. Sun, food, laptime, furry blankets and more food - that was a good life - the good times. But one day, there was an interruption in the good times - and it was in the form of another kitty cat - who also wanted his food, his owner’s time, the dog’s time, and that was not fair!
Tomorrow Max will tell you about the last four years of his life, when little Monroe, the tuxedo cat, was brought home by the dog Cody. Thanks for reading.
He’s Gone
My beloved Max is gone from this physical world as of 12 something this afternoon. His brothers, Misha and Monroe, and my sweet chow Cody, crowded around about half an hour beforehand in my room. Monroe was oddly scared even though the doctor had not arrived yet. He ran up to the room and hid for no apparent reason.
We climbed into bed and prayed to St. Francis to ease his spirit into the next world. We sat on the ottoman next to the window where Max loved to lay and bask in the sunlight. I took Max into my arms. The doctor came with her assistant, and two shots later, Max was asleep peacefully in my arms. My vet was so respectful - thank you Dr. Renee.
My pet sitter was here to help with the dogs meanwhile. I cut some of my hair and placed it in Max’s paws - which was a favorite soothing thing for Max to do. Monroe seems to be the most curious and upset. After I cried and cried and cried, and came downstairs with Max wrapped so sweetly in his towel and in his bag, Monroe came downstairs and cried as well. He came up to the bag where Max lay peacefully in his towel, curled up, and yes, expired. Monroe sniffed around the bag, along the top of the bag, and then he looked inside. He looked at Max, carefully placed a paw inside, stepped on Max ever so gently, and licked his neck one last time, as if to say goodbye. He was so incredibly sweet, so tearfully endearing - and thank God I witnessed it.
Misha is on another level it seems. He came up to the bag and looked inside, sniffed, and then walked away. Cody did the same, licked at the carpet where the bag was previously, and then walked off. Lucky, well she is oblivious to the pain any of us feel. I suppose that in a way was a good thing.
Max tonight and tomorrow will be in Shoedinger’s Pet Cremation Services. I will be able to witness the cremation this weekend, and take him home the same day. I found them to be very, very respectful.
Max - I have cried hard to lose you, and to say goodbye to you today. Thank you Max for nearly 17 years of pure unconditional love. I will miss you so terribly much - but tonight I will celebrate your funny moments in life and your desire for the good life. I have not cried this hard out loud for as long as I can remember. We will all miss you woefully.
30th January 2008
My Last Night With Max, Fat Cat Max
This is Max’s Last Night - My Last Night With Him
This is my (once, previously) fat cat Max’s last night, who is no longer fat, but nearly 17, hyperthyroid, liver disease-ridden, often sick, and rather bony to boot. At the moment, he’s sleeping peacefully tonight, under the living room light, on the red couch, in the blankets. Tomorrow at noon, is the dreaded doc’s visit. I’m going to post a picture where all three of my kitties were lined up sleeping, next to one another in the next day or so, but here’s another picture of him tonight by himself on the couch.
I hate this, I really hate this. If you read the posts below, you’ll know what I’m referencing and why. I feel guilty despite any ration any person or myself tries to emit. I just don’t like “electing” the end, or choosing the time, the place, the location, the how.
Trying to keep my other animals separate from him, carrying him out of my house afterwards, wondering how I’m going to face Misha, his brother, afterwards. It is important for me to not stress Max further by taking him in the car to the vet. He’s almost died twice on his last two car rides, hyperventilating, turning pure white in his mouth, and causing near accidents trying to comfort him.
I wonder if his brother, Misha, already knows - I tried to tell him last night. Wondering if St. Francis is okay with this?
I’m going to write an “Ode to Fat Cat Max” tomorrow night as personal therapy and post some funny old stories and pictures.
Say a prayer for both of the brothers, who I pray will handle the physical separation well. max and Misha have always been quite connected during difficulties or disappearances. I’ll tell those endearing stories tomorrow. Tonight, I have fuzzy furry time to spend with Max. Tears flow - Misha sits beside me as I write this wanting up on my shoulder and crying to be held.
24th January 2008
Cody & Max - Should I Put Them Down Together?
It’s 3:30 in the morning. I’m up because Cody, my chow dog, has gotten sick again with her terrible coughing attacks. She has never gotten 100% better since June of 2007, when MedVet opened her up only to discover nothing in her intestines. I blogged about that issue in June of last year.
Cody’s coughing attacks are so incredibly horrible that you just want to calm her. My stomach tightens as she goes into the attack, and I feel so incredibly bad for her. I’ve tried everything - she’s been to five or more vets in the past six months. We’ve spent over $7,000 trying to figure out the problem only to not discover what’s wrong. There gets to be a point when you just want to leave well enough alone - and let nature take its course. The probing, the visits, the invasiveness, the cost - all very intense. But she’s absolutely the best dog I’ve ever had - better than any dog growing up, and better than the other two dogs I’ve had.
I can hear her downstairs right now - it just is truly dreadful - I’ve tried capturing it on tape so you can hear what this is like - but it comes intermittently and lasts for about 30 seconds. She has not eaten much because she can’t get the food down, and it does appear this is coming from an upset stomach, or perhaps a progression of cancer that we’ve never been able to find?
So, the vet is available this weekend, or I can use the Born Free service where they come to your house. I guess I want my regular vet to do this. I tried using one vet’s service but I found the vet’s wife to be somewhat insensitive and quite frankly rude when I asked them to come to me. I was referred to Born Free instead. My other vet has been more than willing to do this, but is out of town until tomorrow, Thursday.
‘When you have to put a loved animal down, you actually feel like you’re pre-meditating murder - of a dog and cat I know - but still it feels horrible. I don’t want to elect to put the animal to sleep - I want the animal to go naturally, right? In their sleep, their way - but the suffering that you watch when their final moments come.
As my other dog, Lucky, and my sweet kitty Misha, the brother of Max, laid here in bed with me, I began to ponder the Saturday arrangements pending vet availability (which isn’t easy to arrange). I began to cry, really hard, sobbing in my pillow, hating the reality of it. I’m crying now as I write. Lucky, she’s oblivious to their life, so I think she’ll be fine - if anything she’s likely to be out of control even moreso as Cody does provide some training and structure to what Lucky is allowed to do when she’s around.
Misha - he’ll be saying goodbye to his brother - but I think he’ll be okay too. He’s a miracle himself, many times over, so I think he’ll hang on for a while, maybe a year or so.
Monroe, I worry about him. Cody protects Monroe from Lucky, who just wants to play with Monroe. Lucky who has taken to licking Max’s ears (and max actually lets him), really likes to chase Monroe. She doesn’t really bother Misha, who is wise enough to perch above Lucky’s head and look down on her with disdain.
So, what to do - and how to do it - and how to survive it. I think of excrutiating details of where I should do it so their karma can release into my home - will they go off and play together - rediculous, right?
Or, if you are seriously into pets, you’ve struggled with this too at some point and probably sympathize along with me. But with sick animals in the house, the home gets to be out of balance, and the other animals I think get stressed too - just from them being sick. They pick up on my stress of trying to take care of them.
If you’re reading this, and have posted pictures or videos of your loved cats and dogs, please send them to me in the comments field, link to your pics please. Animals do bring so much laughter and enjoyment most of the time to your life - that I can’t imagine life without them.
Whenever I hurt, I always try to bring up something funny so here goes:
Two moments of chaos with the kids in the past couple of days - I have a new cleaning lady who by the way is not a “lady” if you know what I mean. Think Dirty Sexy Money - seen Patty? Literally the same. Don’t get me wrong, Patty can clean with the best. But all I could think was SNL and Dirty Sexy Money. The Baldwin girlfriend …. are you getting me?
Patty comes in last week for the first deep clean of the house. I’m kinda shocked because i wasn’t expecting this. Well, poor girl - she comes in - Max is getting senile and sick some days and doesn’t recall where the boxes are - so I’ve put him downstairs in the litter/laundry room and closed the door so I can prepare for “Patty”. Scaredy Cat Monroe, who is terribly afraid of the strangers, well, he’s run downstairs to tunnel under the bedspread. Perhpas he’s even tried to run into litter room, and discovered, oh shit, the door is closed. So, he takes the liberty of letting his angst out by the litter box door. If you know what I mean….
I bring Patty downstairs, only to discover this - how’s that for first impressions - of course I’m mortified. I see Monroe under the bedspread, a big lump in the bed. Cody, my loyal chow protective dog is following Patty like a hawk - and is not letting her out of her sight whatsoever - I apologize to Patty about Max and Monroe - only to turn around and discover Cody has decided to clean the carpet herself - oh God - Calgon take me away!
Wise kitty Misha - he’s upstairs oblivious to this - but all I can think of is the pure chaos in my house - Patty wants to ask questions about the house …. I’m thinking I need to clean my carpet right now ….. yowza. It was like a moment on SuperNanny, or Cesar Milan’s show on Animal Planet.
The pet sitter shows up soon after and takes Lucky for a walk. Lucky is pulling my pet sitter so bad that day that she walks into my room and tells me that Lucky is fired, we’re fired. No more Lucky pulling on her. When stressful moments like this happen and people are falling apart around me - I tend to get very calm - just to make them feel better - sometimes to get rid of them quickly - and then it’s time to fix, fix the situation and cope - bring things back to the typical state of quiet around here.
Out I go to PetsMart, determined to fix the problem. I buy two new leashes, a reflective collar (Lucky has already eaten that), Cesar’s book on “Be the Pack Leader”, and a gentle leader, oh, and two sweaters for Lucky who gets cold outside on her walks. Let me tell you - the leash with the grip and the gentle leader are divine assists.
Lucky has been re-hired. Thank God - my pet sitter has agreed to walk her again. Indeed, Lucky was a bucking bronco the first three times on the new leash - but I must say I think she likes her new OSU Buckeyes sweater. I can’t believe I’m dressing a dog, especially having a Chow for all these years. But Lucky likes her sweather and now knows the lead is a sign of a good long walk.
Despite this new hope of a possibly trained dog in the near future, we’re still having problems with two things with Lucky - poopin’ in the house despite a walk, or having just been let outside, and the recent and very wonderful discovery of shoes. Shoes are fun, right? Leather tastes so good, right? What a dog tastes in leather is beyond me. But she decided to break out of her kennel while Cody and I were out to get her medicine the other night. She likes to take the shoes from the foyer, bring them into the living room, deposit them, and then play with them, chew them, yeah - so I come home and see Lucky out of her kennel. I’m immediately worried because this dog can do some serious damage in no time flat.
Lucky thinks this is super cool - boss and that mean dog Cody is gone - cool! I can chase cats, see if there ar eany crumbs in the kitchen, oh, and there’s that cool box of goodies downstairs in the basement, and shoot, if I need to go to the bathroom, well, I’ll just run down to that room where the kitties go - and these shoes, I love leather shoes - so chewy and yummy!
So, my beloved Clark shoes - one destroyed, absolutely destroyed. Now why couldn’t she have done the slippers - I never wear those things anyway.
pet proofing the house - huh? I hear ya!
Now, listen, if that dog ever touches my Manolos!!!!!!!! It’s mincemeat time!!!!! Cat food - a new brand - Lucky cat food - in memory of Manolo slingbacks. hide your Manolos, quick, while you can!
So Cody is hacking up her lungs, dry heaving, and watering at the eyes, Max is wandering around my house wondering where the box is, Monroe is talking - Lucky is discovering new shoes and anything else she can play with - the only sane one in this house - my 17 year old cat Misha. he’s wise enough to just stay upstairs where it’s quiet, clean, and very serene.
I’ve given it 17 and 13 years respectively with Cody and Max - I can only hope I have the strength to call the vet tomorrow - and then God help us all on Saturday and Sunday.
19th January 2008
My 4-Legged Kids 2 replies
My 16 1/2 year old orange tabby/marmalade, Max, is dying. He’s actually been dying for about a year. He’s been hyperthyroid for about two years, and has had some really violent bouts of sickness over the past year. The other night, he woke me up around 4 a.m., to let me know he was “not” feeling well at all. He licked his chops and I knew this was more than a hairball. He got quite sick, so bad, that I was doing laundry in the middle of the night. He felt so sick, and was in so much pain, that I made that difficult visit to the vet to arrange his closure on life. I wanted to arrange it for that day.
I have five four-legged kids, three cats, two dogs. I also have four fish but they’re at the office, but they’re not four-legged, right? I’ve had Max and Misha for nearly 17 years. They were adopted from the Humane Society in Columbus - when it was out on Alum Creek. I rescued them from a mean grey kitty cat in the cage, but it was Misha who snagged me, literally as I walked by his cage. He literally reached his mitten paws out and grabbed my shirt. So, I had to take him and his brother home.
Nearly 17 years later, these two kitties have meant the world to me. We think Max has liver cancer, in addition to hyperthyroid disease. The hyperthyroid of course causes his liver numbers to skyrocket.
If you’ve ever put an animal to sleep, it sucks, really, really sucks. The wierd thing though is that every single time Max gets so bad that I actually call the vet to come and put him to sleep, Max gets better, miraculously, by the time the vet might actually make himself/herself available to do the deed. I even told him that day, it’s okay to let go. Max has always been there for me - he’s always baby-sat me and the other animals if they were sick - he’s the one that stood watch - always. http://www.flickr.com/photos/bizresearch/2203413356/in/set-72157603750080571/ He’s saved me from missing a few flights, he’s walked on my back a million times in the middle of the night, he’s launched my bed across the room to tell me it’s time to eat MOM, he’s the best alarm clock in the world. He can get into any bag of food in record time. He’s always had a thing for bagels and any bread product.
Tonight - he curled up with me and his brother on the couch - he’s always had a thing for putting his paws into the dog’s hair, my hair, the cat’s hair. He’s so tender. And, I’m going to really miss him.
