LOVE DOGS? THIS IS YOUR HAPPY PLACE FOR TODAY!

Mending holes in the fabric of life...

It’s been a long time since I’ve made an entry here.

I have a reason or two.

My German Shepherd, Blade, whose photo appears here and in earlier posts (try the beginning) has been diagnosed with osteosarcoma. My vet said he didn’t need to put Blade through intensive tests; that his hands would tell the story. The story was what I expected and it has cast a pall over life on Sleepy Creek.

Blade is very clumsy; his sheer physical size makes it impossible for him to be graceful in small spaces. Last time I weighed him before taking him to the vet’s last week was on the same scale. Then he weighed 145 pounds. He’s a huge dog. He has lost ten pounds. He’s still huge. But so is the bony, hot tumor that has appeared rather suddenly at his hock.

Two months ago, he was limping suddenly. I thought maybe he had caught a toenail in the AC duct cover on the kitchen floor. It’s not screwed down because I was going to replace it, and I thought maybe he went through it with the other leg. That would make sense, mechanically. It began swelling that afternoon, and just went from there. He held his leg up for three days, walking on three. And then he began testing it to balance first, then putting weight on it gradually. When he’s in the yard and can extend himself, you can see just a bit of a limp or a weakness. But he’s happy, eating well. Had one or two not-so-good days and I gave him a prescribed pain reliever. The research I’ve done on canine osteosarcoma said that when the tumor erupts, it has already metastasized to the lungs. But he’s not coughing or short of breath. Yet. He’s just barely slower than usual, more content to lounge on the sofa. He’s not out much; it’s been hot. I’m keeping it cool for him inside. He’s out when he wishes.

The decision was made to introduce another dog to the pack. I put my rescue feelers out and ‘lo and behold, there was a beautiful German Shepherd female in the neighborhood in need of a home. Never one to not investigate a dog in need, I got in the van, not really wanting another until Blade was gone. Fate works strangely and in this case, via an email from someone I wasn't sure about a German Shepherd (did I really want another? I was thinking Doberman.) But when the door opened and I saw who was there to greet me on the other side, I dropped to the floor to make friends. Needless to say, Maya (her collar says Maia but I like this spelling best and not because of my name), came home.

She’s been a handful, but I can’t say I blame her. Maya suffers from separation anxiety. Her all too familiar story goes like this. A puppy was taken to a new home. The puppy grew up; the family couldn’t take her on their move, or didn’t want her, and she was put in one of our animal controls or the Humane Soc. of Bay County. Then, a rescue found her and she was put into a foster home. Last November, she was adopted by the girl who gave her to me. She is going to law school and can only take two dogs, not three; not her fault. Last Saturday, Maya came home for good.

Maya’s great with the cats, who disregard the dogs as excessively stupid and classless, although Dottie finds great joy in ambushing and chasing them. And so too, she is good with the other dogs. She will rip up a newspaper (not a big problem). Since she has decided to become my shadow, we are dealing with her insecurity and separation anxiety, which is her greatest problem.

Left for an hour the first day, she tried every window and then opened the back door, letting everyone out. Roxy stayed in the house in the air conditioning, Sophie was on the top back step; Maya and Holly were outside the gate (which had been pushed open, though clasped). I ran in to get a head count. Back outside, I bellowed for the others…Buffy, Bernie, Maggie (Blade stayed in his hole by the barn), and the three vagabonds came running from a romp down by the water. Not good. Alligators.

I made Maya her tag and attached it to her collar.

Went to town to the mall Saturday, and again, all the dogs were standing at the gate waiting, panting, but inside. I filled the kiddie pool, to make sure they could all cool off if it happened again..

Yesterday morning, assuring myself the door was closed securely and a cement block placed on the top step, I went for a paddle. As I expected, most of them met me at the gate.

Now that she knows she can open doors, Maya’s not going to give up. I am introducing her by short periods (like ten minutes) to a roomy kennel under a pole shed, and hoping she doesn’t feel the need to try walking up the chainlink and over. I’ve seen that done before by a Queensland Heeler. Doesn’t even ruin the manicure if it’s done right.

Fortunately, Blade’s having a good day, though the vet said he would start showing signs maybe as soon as this week. But he seems no worse. He was prescribed meds for his pain, which I’ve only given him three times, but vets can’t prescribe us humans anything for our pain that comes from waiting and watching: The deathwatch.

Meanwhile, he’s still blocking my path when I walk up to the house, pressing close, then turning to sit on my feet before throwing himself down for a belly rub and scratching his back on the sand. He’s eating like a pig – actually, more than I’ve ever seen. The long-acting prednisone may be responsible for that. His eyes are still bright and he seems happy. I saw him chase a squirrel yesterday. He’s not ready to check out yet. He still reminds the others that he's the alpha male.
Life as an abused puppy has long been forgotten.

When the time comes, I think he might like some of his ashes placed under the gardenia bush. He has a special branch he loves to rub his back on. It has grown tall and full over the years, and the fragrance spreads over the yard like a blanket in May. It’s just to the side of the front gate. He’ll be able to guard his yard from there. It’s cool and shady underneath. He's always been a "hot" boy.

The question is when will I know? Lucky told me with one look with her jaundiced, yellow eyes.
The week before, she just didn't seem "right". She didn't want her cookie. When I looked at her beautiful Rottweiler face, I noticed immediately the sclera was yellow. I knew immediately what was happening, and off to the vet we went. Again, I had guessed right. Her liver had failed. A week of meds did nothing. She lies peacefully in the garden with the others. How will he tell me, and am I right to wait? Do I make the decision before I see him suffering with no quality of life?

To me, daily life is made of fabric. The familiar faces of those we love make the tapestry, and there aren’t any holes until one face is missing. That hole, until it is mended and filled by time, doesn’t mean that I’ll forget. Not at all. But over the years I’ve found that the best way for me to fill that void is to place another responsive face near that hole. It makes the emptiness easier to handle. And that’s how life goes on in my head. There are no voids right now, but Blade will leave a big one when it is his time.

It may be the same with dogs. Maya has a big hole in her heart and in the fabric of her life. But we’ll deal with that, won’t we?... one hug, one kiss, one touch, one cookie, one "Good Maya", at a time.

Welcome to your forever home, girl.

A poem for the rescuers...

There are seven dogs in residence and three cats.
Blade's owner beat him severely when he was a puppy and I got him through another
rescuer when he was not quite a year old. He is now past middle age and he weighs 145 pounds.
Buffy, a Wheaten Terrier mix was found by trying to place two Anatolian Shepherds from here, though they were in a high kill Los Angeles shelter. I got them adopted, but on the same page was this winsome face with sad eyes. Through contacts on the internet, she was sprung from the shelter, spayed, made her recovery with a new friend in CA and flown here. Delta Dash was the carrier. She made the trip fine.
Australian Shepherd, Holly, was another internet find. Her owners didn't understand Aussies, especially from herding lines, needed room. The fluffy puppy (a Christmas gift) was fitted with a prong collar, which they didn't know how to use, and it accompanied her in the bag of belongings when we picked her up in Georgia. Kept in various crates all day long until she came here, Holly is a stunning blue merle with blue eyes. (I'm a sucker for dogs with blue eyes.)
Bernie was a street urchin, probably part Shih-tzu. A fuzzy wanderer he, (do you believe there is an acre here and he has to be walked on a retractable leash?) and I eventually had to catch him in a live trap on a bitter March night baited with Limburger cheese.
Roxy was a giveaway Boston, and the eldest of the crew at 11. She is in her Mardi Gras costume that was taken off and put away forever. She hated it.
Maggie was a giveaway Boston, a brindle sable, and she is a sweetheart. This is her third home from which she'll never leave.
Sophie, a Boston, was purchased, and she is nearly six months old. There was no alternative - couldn't find a rescue.
Vern is a red tabby who was left behind when the renters across the street vacated. I took him home and he is content to lie on my desk on a folded towel under the lamp, all nice and cozy. Sweet Pea is an ancient Siamese, an older adult when rescued under the same circumstances as Vern. She potters around, deaf, lame, and maybe slightly vision-impaired. But she's not ready to leave any time soon. Dottie was dumped here twice at the gate. I found her a home, and the people dumped her back here. Sophie thinks Dottie's a Boston, too. All are wonderful with the dogs and Sophie and Pea often keep each other warm, cuddled in a basket.
To all the rescuers of dogs, cats, exotic birds, farm animals, we save and rehome on our journey through life - and I've been all of the above - this poem is for you with my heartfelt thanks for easing their pain and suffering and healing the unseen scars.

Here in this house...

I will never know the loneliness I hear in the barks of the other dogs
'out there'.
I can sleep soundly, assured that when I wake my world will not have
changed.
I will never know hunger, or the fear of not knowing if I'll eat.
I will not shiver in the cold, or grow weary from the heat.
I will feel the sun's heat, and the rain's coolness,
and be allowed to smell all that can reach my nose.
My fur will shine, and never be dirty or matted.

Here in this house...
There will be an effort to communicate with me on my level.
I will be talked to and, even if I don't understand,
I can enjoy the warmth of the words.
I will be given a name so that I may know who I am among many.
My name will be used in joy, and I will love the sound of it!

Here in this house...
I will never be a substitute for anything I am not.
I will never be used to improve peoples' images of themselves.
I will be loved because I am who I am, not someone’s idea of who I should
be.
I will never suffer for someone’s anger, impatience, or stupidity.
I will be taught all the things I need to know to be loved by all.
If I do not learn my lessons well, they will look to my teacher for blame.

Here in this house...
I can trust arms that hold, hands that touch...
knowing that, no matter what they do, they do it for the good of me.
If I am ill, I will be doctored.
If scared, I will be calmed.
If sad, I will be cheered.
No matter what I look like, I will be considered beautiful and known to be
of value.
I will never be cast out because I am too old, too ill, too unruly, or not
cute enough.
My life is a responsibility, and not an afterthought.
I will learn that humans can almost, sometimes, be as kind and as fair as
dogs.

Here in this house...
I will belong.
I will be home.

(author unknown)
Please visit your local shelter, browse through the lists at www.petfinder.com, or look up specific breed rescues in your state. I promise you...these animals know somehow that you have rescued them, and they will repay you every day for the rest of your life, with love, good humor, and companionship.