Clayton, RIP

Well, my sweet boy, my woo-woo friend, my pound puppy who was the chosen one because of the white Hershey kiss on your neck and one white leg...you got that leg back today...run far and long! We fought the fight and tried our best...we'll see you again one day "over yonder"...say hello to all those who have gone across the Rainbow Bridge before you...RIP, Clayton...7/2003-4/10/12...

My shadow...

Everybody sees their shadow occasionally -- I saw mine all the time.  My shadow even had a name -- Madigan. She never knew that was her name -- she was completely deaf. But she knew a smile, a gesture of the hand. She was feisty, would pick a fight with the other dogs over next to nothing and smart. And she was one of the best friends I've ever had.

Saturday night, she was in my lap, sitting in such a way that her head was on my chest. Looking down into those brown eyes -- one almost completely obscured by a cataract -- I had the distinct feeling that she and I didn't have much longer together. Perhaps, she knew it, too. Perhaps that's why, on the day before, she brought me a present -- a dead mole. Perhaps it was a parting gift -- I have to say I didn't accept it very gratefully but, one day, I'm going to laugh about it. Right now, I'm trying to comprehend an existence without her under my feet, of seeing that white moon-face watching my every move, of her walking in front of me, swinging her head from side to side to make sure I was still behind her -- her eyes having to tell her, since her ears could not.

She entered my life through the internet. I don't know even know why I was looking but I found her on a rescue site called Bulldawgs of Georgia -- I saw her face and knew she was mine. She had been rescued from a puppy mill (she was a breeder) and, with her deafness, I wasn't sure what I was taking on. She had some "mental" issues to begin with (the breeder called her "Kookie") -- but who wouldn't after being caged for two years with barely any human -- or canine -- interaction? Still, she came into our lives -- and our house -- and before long,  she decided it was good to be queen. She lived a miserable life for her first two years; a royal life for the next ten. She was my shadow, bonded to one person -- me -- as most deaf dogs will do.

Madigan had some health problems over the last couple of years -- hypothyroidism and Cushing's Disease -- she was on medication for both -- and in the last year, her snoring had gotten really loud  -- which is saying a lot, considering she was a short-nosed Boston Terrier.

Last Sunday, around 3 AM, she cried out -- and, when we turned on the light, we found she'd spit up blood. There can be various reasons for this but, in all honesty, it's never a good sign. We took her to the emergency vet -- they took x-rays and there wasn't much guessing at that point -- tumors in the lungs and near her heart. It was a situation that was not going to get better and, in fact, would probably mean an agonizing death.

When we made the decision, in the wee hours of the morning, we took a moment to go into a private room and say our goodbyes. It didn't take long -- however humans and dogs communicate, she and I had said everything we needed to say over the last ten years. I reminded her of all the pups that would be waiting for her across the Rainbow Bridge, then we let her go. I held her as she took her last breath, as her tough old heart had its last beat. She went gently, easily, with complete trust, because she knew I'd never do her wrong -- she was in the arms of the person she loved most in the world. I would not have had it any other way. What a rare privilege having her in my life has been -- and I know, without a doubt, that I was loved completely and unconditionally as only a canine can.

I know the hand of God was in this -- in the last two years, we've lost three other dogs -- and each one taught us a lesson about how long to hold on -- and whether it was for the dog's sake or for ours. I prayed that when it came to this one -- to my Madigan -- that she would not be agony and that neither would we. The quickness of the whole scenario was a blessing, though, in the middle of it, it hardly seemed so.

I think, maybe, I was her angel during the time we had together on earth.

I know that, now, she is mine.

Hot dog...

Hearing about the major snowstorms in parts of the country made me think about something very unusual that happened back in 1973. It snowed in my hometown of Macon in central Georgia. Not a dusting of snow, either, but enough to make watching dachshunds a spectator event (and we had two of them -- Dolly and Missy -- this was before the naming of dogs became so important). We had to make a path for them just so they wouldn't get lost in the snow drifts.

I can't remember if the snowfall was predicted, was worse than it was supposed to be or nobody saw it coming but I do know it took everybody off-guard (which snow around there -- or here -- does, anyway). I was 13 at the time, in the 8th grade -- and what I do remember is that we actually had to make up snow days on Saturdays. We grumbled mightily but I think most of us thought it was worth it.

It was like living in another world -- though it stopped snowing, it was days before it melted. For those who are used to seeing snow every year, our fascination with the stuff is probably quite amusing. For us, it was enough to make the most sane person become unhinged.

I'm sure I took photos back then -- probably with one of those old Kodak cameras -- but where they are, I have no idea. But I still clearly remember walking in a winter wonderland in a place where such things just don't happen very often. In my memory, that was a one-time experience.

There's a part of me which wishes something like that would happen again in these parts -- but, only if I have plenty of food in the house, the electricity stays on and I don't have to go anywhere. A tall order, to be sure.

I think back on that time with fond memories, though the adults back then probably remember it quite differently. It's too bad we tend to lose our wonder as we get older.

And that's a good a reason as any to get a dachshund.

It goes without saying...

but bears repeating...

I just got back from the vet's office after dropping off Daphne, 0ur newest canine -- by age and arrival -- for spaying. It's always hard for me to leave them there -- even for something like this. Those brown eyes, looking up at me as if to say, "what the..."

Adopting dogs and spaying/neutering are my "soapbox" issues. I know that there are people who just can't imagine sharing their home with a mutt but you might be surprised how many purebred dogs have been lost or abandoned and now sit on death row. Their pedigree does not give them an edge. Anyway, at the moment, three of my five dogs are mutts -- they are the smartest and healthiest by far. And I wouldn't take a million dollars for any of them. I'm serious. I wouldn't. They are part of the family and shall remain so until their last breath. I also have two purebred Boston Terriers -- both rescues. That I haven't had most of my dogs since puppyhood makes no difference. We bonded just fine.

I realize if purebred dogs did not have puppies, then the breed would eventually die out but I'm not so sure that's a bad thing. Honestly, I'm not sure why people breed dogs unless they show them or it's their livelihood (and there's a fine line between a livelihood and atrocious puppy mills). And breeding a dog because it's a "good experience for children" is not a good reason. What's good is teaching them to be responsible pet owners -- which includes spaying and neutering. Sure kids love puppies and puppies love kids but there are plenty of puppies to choose from who are already here and who desperately need a loving home.

And what about finding the "right fit"? I understand that people (ages, temperament), living arrangements (big dog? small dog?) and whether the dog has a purpose beyond being a pet (in other words, a working dog) have to be taken into consideration but if I had made the decision to get another dog, I would be very unlikely to walk away from an adoption center without taking one with me. It's just not in my psyche to worry whether a dog will fit in -- they aren't a pair of shoes which you decide you don't like after all. Sure, there's an adjustment period but most of the time, it's short and sweet. However, I fully accept that sometimes unexpected and awful things happen -- no matter how good things seem. That, I have learned, is just life in general.

As anybody who's been reading this blog knows, I'm pretty passionate about this. No, I don't feel superior to people who purchase purebred dogs -- everybody is free to make their choices and I respect that -- but I always wonder how folks seem to turn a blind eye to the fact that four million cats and dogs—about one every eight seconds—are put down in U.S. shelters each year.

Maybe they feel that rescuing one dog is just a drop in the bucket -- so why bother?

I don't think any rescued pet would agree.

I am tired of this...

You probably think I'm going to say I'm tired of all the painting and the house being in an uproar. While that is true, I have something else that I'm tired of -- and that's taking dogs to the vet. Don't get me wrong -- everyone who knows me knows how much I love my dogs so, when they're sick or hurt, I'm going to take them immediately if not sooner.

Before this last year, it seemed that I seldom had to take them in except for their yearly check-up. But, starting last December, with Butler getting sick and then having to put him down, it's been one thing after another. We had to deal with Spencer having multiple hernia operations, his blindness and, finally, the normal aging process which reached its end in October. Then, in July, we lost Darcy, the pug. On Monday, when I let the dogs back into the rest of the house (after painting was finished for the day), Neville (Boston Terrier) came in with a bloody and swollen eye. There could be multiple causes -- he could have poked something in there (like a stick out in the yard) or it could have come from fighting with the other dogs -- though there were no other signs of an altercation. It could have come from roughhousing -- he may have taken a tooth or claw to the eye.

With these bug-eyed dogs, the chance of eye injury is higher than for other dogs. We always keep eye antibiotic (for dogs) around because of that so I immediately put some in, called the vet and was off (they had to work us in and I had to wait a long time but I really had no choice). Anyway, I was told to continue with the ointment and was given some other drops -- which we are to use for a week.

By Tuesday, the eye looked better but, with a sinking feeling, I thought that he was not seeing out of it (on Monday, the vet said he could see). Today, though, he seems to be blinking if I put a hand in front of that eye so I'm hoping this was temporary and due to swelling and inflammation but I'm really not sure. It's not that he can't see out of the other eye but then I go into overdrive thinking if it happened once, it could happen again.

So, I'm tired of having dog problems -- injuries, sickness and personality conflicts. I guess I'm comparing things to how they were -- the peaceable kingdom we used to have is gone. This configuration of dogs is different -- they're more likely to spar, more likely to get agitated. It's something I'm still getting used to, though both Darcy's and Spencer's death taught me that you just never know.

So, I'm a little agitated myself. Waiting for the house to be finished, waiting to decorate for Christmas, waiting to see if Neville's vision will be okay -- though, if it's not, there's really nothing we can do.

So, send up a little doggie prayer as I, as always, muddle through.

Ruh-roh!!

When I was in elementary school, I used to rush home every afternoon to watch the spooky soap, Dark Shadows. I remember dreading Thursdays because I had Girl Scouts that day and had to miss it -- for any youngsters reading this, this was way back before there was such a thing as VCRs, not to mention TiVo -- if you weren't home to watch, you were out of luck. There was also no such thing as -- gasp -- the Internet -- if a show got canceled, you pretty much didn't know it until it was suddenly off the air. I can vividly remember the last episode of Dark Shadows -- I had no idea the end was near but suddenly they were tying up loose ends and saying something heartbreaking like "the dark shadows at Collinwood were no more" -- and that was that. I remember running outside, into the woods behind our house, and crying like a baby for a good solid hour.

One of my favorite characters on Dark Shadows was a ghost named Daphne, played by a very young, just-starting-0ut, Kate Jackson. I loved the character and I fell in love with the name. My first-born daughter, I insisted, would be Daphne. Well, I didn't take into account there'd be a husband who'd also get a vote and he nixed the name. It was not an argument worth pursuing -- you pick your battles and this was not one of them. We settled on Shannon, a name that pleased us both. By the way, I did get my wish with my son's name -- Wesley -- another name I'd desired since childhood -- though, for the life of me, I can't remember why.

I continued to love the name Daphne, though you don't hear it that often. There's a Daphne in Scooby-Doo, there was also a Daphne in the sitcom, Frasier -- and, there's author Daphne Du Maurier, one of my all-time favorites. The only real-life Daphne I "know" is Daphne, from Tanzanite's Shelf and Stuff (one of my favorite historical fiction blogs).

I'm really surprised that I never named one of my fictional characters Daphne. I don't know why I haven't -- but, then again, my characters pick their own names and nobody has ever chosen that one.

Yesterday, as many have suspected we would -- including anyone who read my last post -- we added another pup to our household. She's a little mutt who will probably grow up to be a medium-sized dog -- she's nearly all black except for a couple of white toes on her back feet and a white mark on her chest. We'd come up with several names -- chiefly Jorja (as in actress Jorja Fox) and Gretl (another Sound of Music name to go along with Liesl) but Carrie mentioned my old favorite and then I knew I was finally going to have a Daphne in my household -- not human but canine -- but you take what you can get.

So, say hello to Daphne...

Stop me before I rescue again...

I don't really want another dog right now. Coming from me, that's a huge statement, considering I've often said I really need to live out in the country somewhere so that I can have a canine sanctuary.

The thing is, we've lost three dogs in less than a year. Anybody who's been reading this blog or my forum knows all about it. For folks like us, who eat and sleep with their dogs, losing one is like losing a member of the family -- so, we've had a very rough year. We lost Spencer less than a month ago -- he was old and it was expected so it's been easier to bear but it's meant that we now only have four dogs instead of five. To most people, that probably sounds like three too many but we're used to it -- so adding another dog into the mix is probably only a matter of time.

But I'd really like to wait -- for what, I don't know -- but it just seems a reasonable thing to do. However, Mark has a stepbrother who has a mutt who has given birth to a big litter of puppies (I think they are between 2 or 3 months old now) and he is desperate to find homes for them. So, here we are, able to take one but not really desiring to do so. We've seen the mama dog -- she's not small -- and they say the father is some sort of terrier (the idea of these match-ups always amuse me). But we have no idea what these pups look like or what they will become. No, looks aren't everything but I do know I don't want a long-haired dog -- nor do I want one with the snippy behavior of some terriers -- nor do I want one which will become a giant. Which is another nutty statement, considering every time I see that commercial with a Great Dane, I say, "I want one of those".

Anyway, there is a distinct possibility that we will see some of these puppies this weekend. And, if we do, will we be able to say no? The only guarantee I have of not taking one would be not to see them -- and even that is debatable.

Well, I've always said that I will be led to the dogs I'm supposed to have. And we have said we'd like a puppy next time -- since we haven't had a true puppy since we got Clayton, our now 70 pound mutt. And, we've lost Spencer right at the time these puppies are available. And there is a black and white female, though brindle Liesl has already put an end to having an all black and white pack. And I'm afraid, if homes aren't found for these pups, they will end up with a rescue group -- or worse, in the pound.

So, I don't know. We'll see. I don't know that I'm ready to deal with a puppy and all that entails. But, I've done it before -- I know what to do and how to do it. And I think I'm going to offer to pay to get the mama dog fixed.

Sometimes I wonder exactly what God has put me here for and maybe, just maybe, this is it.

Like the corner of my mind...

I actually feel rather peaceful about Spencer's death. It's been different than when Butler and Darcy (see the canines label) died as both deaths were sudden and unexpected. Spencer was old and feeble and, on Monday morning, there was no turning back for him -- it was time for him to meander across the "Rainbow Bridge". I would love to know who was there to greet him on the other side. Maybe I'll get a sign -- I hope, if I do, I recognize it for what it is. There have been a few times, after we've lost other dogs, that I think I hear them. It's usually at night, once everything is quiet. One time in particular, I remember saying to Mark, "I think I just heard Dax" and he said, without missing a beat, "I did, too." It's almost as if they are checking in, making sure we're okay before they head on.

With the last two dog deaths, it took a long time before I really was able to remember the good times -- and, with Darcy, who died only two months ago (it feels like years with him, while Butler still feels like yesterday), I don't think I've gotten to that point yet. But, with Spencer, I can already bring up warm remembrances.

Memories like opening up a box from Windsor Jewelers (Christmas, '97) and finding a Boston Terrier charm for my bracelet, then opening up a second box and finding a tiny dog collar and a photo of a tiny puppy.

"Where is he?" I asked through my tears, wondering if Mark had, somehow hidden him under the tree --he hadn't -- we had to trek out to the breeder's kennel to pick him up. I have no idea what other gifts I -- or anybody else -- got that Christmas.

I can already laugh at the image of Spencer, diving in our pool, after a torpedo toy -- he could go down about four feet -- eyes wide open, eyes bulging, holding his breath -- with his black and white coloring, I always said he looked like a penguin. He liked to be wherever humans were -- well, I guess most dogs are that way -- but he was like a Wal-mart greeter -- come on in, how you doing, what can I do to make your day brighter...

I remember when Shannon had a bunch of friends over for her 18th birthday (I think that's when it was), Mark and I would occasionally wander through the crowd (because, as a parent, that's what you do) and we always found Spencer in the thick of things, while the other dogs were like, "who are these people?"

One of the funniest things was the way Spencer sat. We called him "turkey legs" because he'd be in a sitting position with his back legs out behind him. It's a little hard to see in the photo but those are the bottoms of his back feet.

And, while I often call the dogs by some version of their names (like Clayby for Clayton 0r Mads for Madigan), Spencer had a totally separate nickname -- Diddle -- babytalk for "little" -- which he responded to as well as his "real" name.

So, the good and funny memories are already coming, making me grateful that he was in my life, even if 12 years isn't nearly enough.

All Dogs Go to Heaven...

Fifteen or so years ago, I informed my husband what I wanted for my 40th birthday -- a Boston Terrier puppy. I'd grown up with a Boston and, when I met Mark, the first thing that bonded us was the fact that he had two Bostons. A year later, we found out that his male Boston was the father of my Boston. Meant to be? I think you can safely say we were a match made in Heaven.

So, with my 40th on the horizon ( in 1999), I told him that was what I expected -- didn't want jewelry or a trip. I wanted a Boston Terrier. Mark being Mark, though, decided to ignore my timetable and, on Christmas morning, 1997, I got a big surprise in a tiny package. I named him Spencer after Princess Diana who had died (on my birthday) just a few months before.

Today, after a long, happy and fun-filled life, Spencer has left us. Blind and getting more feeble by the day, we knew it was a matter of time. But, as we've always done, we waited until we knew it was time to let go. This morning, I heard him crying -- if it wasn't him, it was a guardian angel letting me know that the day had arrived. I called Mark, then cradled Spencer in my arms, telling him he could go, that we'd be okay. I think, at some point today, he would have lost his battle on his own, but we just couldn't watch him do it.

So, now Stewart's Royal Spencer is getting a pat from Princess Diana, is diving in a pool (one of his favorite things) and is romping with Butler, Darcy, Casey and Dax and, best of all, he can see again. I just know he can.

As I've always said, only half-jokingly, "if there are no dogs in Heaven, I'm not going..."

Some are angels...

Over to the right, you can see a painting I commissioned from artist Angela C. Alexander. Mark and I had purchased a couple of her prints on a visit to Asheville, NC. Then, on a subsequent visit, we met her and, after talking to her awhile, I decided I wanted to commemorate my black and white gang, figuring this might be the only time when all of my dogs were those colors.

I've had the painting since last autumn and had planned to write about it and put up a photo immediately. But, as things happen, I got busy and, then suddenly, we learned that Butler had cancer and within a couple of weeks he was gone. Such was the grief that any thought of sharing the painting -- though it hung on my wall -- and still does -- just went out the window. Months went by and then suddenly Darcy was gone as well. Two beloved dogs unexpectedly gone. Two dogs which I would have never thought would be the first to go. If you'd like to read about them -- and my other pups -- please click on canines in the label list.

So, now three out of the original five remain and two more (Liesl & Neville) have joined the family -- I may have to look into getting them immortalized as well.

Why I chose to share this today, I have no idea. But I've had a lot of moments, lately, of doing things without knowing why, then later realizing there was a purpose. So, if there is one, I'll let you know.

God is always working behind the scenes.

(From left to right: Butler, Darcy, Clayton, Madigan, Spencer)

A kingdom rearranged

The last week has been a strange one -- the sorrow at the loss of Darcy combined with the joy at seeing Adam Lambert and the other American Idols (but mostly Adam) on tour. Talk about a low and a high all within the space of a few days. Now, coming down off of that high, it's time to take stock of where we are in this household.

First of all, the humans are depressed. Today marks a week since Darcy died. I've had a hard time sleeping because, when I close my eyes, all I can see is the picture which greeted me when I found him already near death. I've always wondered how I would react in an absolute emergency -- I guess I've been blessed in that I've never really had to make decisions, by myself, before about something which was literally life and death. All I can tell you is that adrenaline -- or something -- kicked in and both Carrie and I did what we had to do. Neither of us thought about getting blood all over us -- or that both of us were in need of a shower -- she because of volleyball practice, me because I hadn't gotten around to taking one yet. It didn't matter that she still had on her practice clothes or that I had on the bummiest clothing imaginable. Or that I didn't have one bit of make-up on. We just grabbed him and ran. Looking back, I'm not sure how we even got from Point A (our house) to Point B (the vet) but we did. I am so proud of Carrie who, in her grief, did everything just right as we tried to save Darcy's life.

I've always wondered what dogs "think" when one of their pack is no longer with them. Do they understand death and dying? Do they miss the one who is no longer here? I don't know. What I do know is this -- that no matter how much I love my dogs, no matter how much I think they are feeling and thinking , in the end, they are not humans and they don't process things the way we do. I have to stop fretting about what was going through Reese's head when she attacked Darcy -- was she trying to kill him? Or was it just a moment of frenzy gone horribly wrong? No matter what, it was a moment -- I was gone for less than 15 minutes -- and it's still hard to believe that when I left all was well and when I returned it was not. I really just have to put everything out of my mind because it really doesn't matter now -- and nothing can be changed.

The canine behavior in this house has totally changed and rearranged. Now that Reese is no longer here, the frenetic rough-housing between her and Liesl is gone. Liesl has calmed down considerably -- she's cuddlier, quieter and calmer without her partner in crime -- and, yes, I think she had a hand in Darcy's death, though I don't think she was the instigator. Madigan, the old deaf Boston, has returned to her former feisty ways as if she'd put a lid on it while Reese was here. Neville, the new Boston, is finding his place in the pack. Clayton, our big boy, is as accommodating as usual -- once he established, with Neville, that he is, indeed, the big boy. And Spencer, the blind, old Boston, doesn't give a flying fig as long as he's getting something to eat.

Awhile back, I would have called our house the peaceable kingdom. For a year, it really wasn't, though I never expected the alignment to change the way it did. As the dogs realign and figure out what's what -- and while the humans in the household are still on edge -- peace has not returned entirely. But I think it will as time creeps on its petty pace from day to day.

Joy and sorrow...joy and sorrow...

That's life in a nutshell.

Not the day I had planned

When Butler died last December, I was devastated -- but, even though the time was short between his cancer diagnosis and his death, there was, at least, a window of time to prepare ourselves for the inevitable.

Today, there was no time at all.

Darcy, our lovable black pug, is dead.

He was basically mauled by a chihuahua-mix -- she'd been after him before -- it was like the school bully going after the weakest student -- but never like this. In the space of me being out of the house for no more than 15 minutes, he was attacked (most likely by Reese and the Boston/Pug mix, Liesl -- who tended to follow Reese blindly -- a perfect example of mob mentality -- so we'll have to watch her for continued bad behavior) and never recovered. My youngest daughter and I raced him to the vet, both of us covered in blood, but, though they tried -- and, in fact, thought he was doing better -- we lost him. He did not die of his injuries but of shock and respiratory arrest. I have absolutely no idea why this happened today -- or why it happened at all. I've left them hundreds of times. Hundreds.

It was not the kind of day I expected -- but who would? It just shows us how we never know what our day will hold.

Last Saturday, we brought home a new dog. We knew we were crazy but we were thinking about losing Spencer and thought bringing a young Boston into the house would help ease that transition, whenever it comes. I never thought it would be to help us with the loss of Darcy.

Darcy was a "dog of divorce" -- we took him in after Mark's brother needed help with his animals, after his wife walked out. We only had him for two years but it seems like much longer. I feel like I let him down -- so I'll have to work on the guilt as well as the grief.

The irony is that Reese is my eldest daughter's dog -- we've had her for over a year and, probably next week, she was going to finally get to go to her "real" home.

One more week and this wouldn't have happened. But I can't hate her. I just can't. She's gone now -- Shannon came and got her today. So, for all practical purposes, I've lost two dogs today, not just one. I knew Reese would leave me eventually but I didn't expect it to be under these circumstances.

But I can't live in what ifs.

I just have to go with what is.

But, right now, what is sucks.

I have your dog

I have somebody's dog.

He was taken to a high-kill animal shelter with a collar but no identification, nor was he microchipped. He was filthy. A rescue group got him out of there and he ended up with his picture on Petfinder.

And then I saw his face.

Wasn't really in the market for another dog but, hey, what are you going to do?

I know some things just happen. Well-loved children slip out and end up, tragically, in a pool. Teenagers who have been taught better drive like maniacs or experiment with drugs or alcohol and end up dead. People make stupid choices for all kinds of reasons.

And, sometimes, a dog will slip out and run away. And, maybe he runs so fast and so hard that you couldn't catch him.

But you could have checked the pound or the humane society.

But nobody seems to have done that for this pup. A full-blooded pup.

He is already house-trained. He sits on command. Somebody taught him.

And, somebody loved him, I presume.

So, if you're wondering what happened to him, you can stop worrying.

I have your dog.

He's in my house and will be spoiled rotten all the days of his life.

He's mine now.

With Great Purpose

As anybody who's been reading this blog or my forum knows, we lost one of our Boston Terriers last December. It was unexpected, sudden and everything played out very quickly. I can tell you, quite honestly, that I've not experienced that kind of grief often. I'm not ashamed to say that Butler was not "just a dog". None of them are -- they are family.

But now, we've almost come to that point again. Could be very soon, could be longer than we think. Spencer, our eldest pup -- and also a Boston -- is really on his last legs. He's totally blind and has had two hernia surgeries in the last six months but, beyond that, he just seems to be getting more feeble every day. The vet thinks he's had a mild stroke and we're not sure he hasn't had more than one. He's having trouble balancing and is starting to "tip over" even when he's sitting. He's also begun to have problems making it outside to do his business -- and, this morning, he has vomited twice. The last time, he fell over and was laying on the floor and I didn't quite know if he was going to get back up but he did.

God has already been in motion, though -- silently, as he often does, but with great purpose.

I had not been looking on Petfinder because I had no room for another dog and because it upsets me every time I see all the homeless pets. But, for some reason, I checked out the site a couple of days ago and there was a Boston Terrier listed with a local group.

No, I said. No way.

We'd already adopted a Bugg (Boston/Pug mix) after Butler's death and, even though my eldest will be soon be taking my "granddog" (Reese) away soon, we really weren't going to actively pursue getting another dog until something actually happened to one of the others.

However, there the little angel was, looking at me from the computer screen. I told Mark about him and, at first, he only said, "hmmph" but then, a few minutes later, he asked when we could see him -- because it might just be what we needed -- to have a young Boston coming in, as an old one leaves. So, the next morning, taking him at his word, I sent in an application and, well, we're supposed to meet "Angus" on Saturday. If he approves of us (he will) and we approve of him (ditto), he'll be able to come home with us that day. We don't need to wait -- he will not come to replace anybody -- he will come because he needs us and we need him.

He won't remain "Angus". All my animals are named after someone real or a character and "Angus" will be no different. We've all been thinking about names -- though we might be jumping the gun -- he's not ours yet -- but I'd like to start calling him his new name as soon as possible. I've heard that some rescue groups think that it's detrimental to give a dog a new name but, with experience, I'll just say that's hogwash. I've been in the dog-adopting business for years and I know a thing or two about it.

So, now, we wait. We watch. And, once again -- not for the first time or the last -- we prepare to say goodbye. It's more bearable knowing Spencer has lived a long, full life. But, as anyone who's looked into the trusting face of a beloved pet knows, it's never, ever easy.

Say it ain't so!

As some of you who've kept up with this blog or visited my forum might know, I live in a dog house. No, not because I'm in trouble but because there are six dogs (and three humans, one bird, one chinchilla) living here.

One of the dogs is actually my daughter's dog -- when Shannon got married in June '08, she and her husband were going to be living in motels while Greg trained with CSX Railroad, so two of their dogs went to live on his folks' farm down in Waycross, Georgia, but the little one -- chihuahua-mix, Reese (in the photo, she's the all brown one, with the underbite; the other one is Liesl, a "bugg"-- Boston Terrier/Pug mix -- and Reese's BFF), came to us. Little did we know that the training period would extend for nearly a year (I don't know how anybody with a family could have done it). So, Reese has been a part of our daily life for all this time. But, now, Shannon and Greg have been placed in a permanent location and, as soon as they get a house, Reese will go live with them.

I've known this was coming and it's always been in the back of my mind but, now that the time approaches, it's really starting to weigh on me. Last night, I dreamed that some animal group came and took Reese -- as if we'd only been fostering her -- and I was wailing about her "waking up with some strange family". Now, is that my inner soul screaming or what?

Anyway, I know I have to let her go -- she is my "granddog" and I will see her again. I worry about her, though -- about Shannon going to work full-time and leaving her all day when she's used to having me around and in and out. Yeah, the other two dogs will be there eventually but is that really the same, I ask you?!

Anyway, life is full of goodbyes in varying degrees. This will just be another one. And, honestly, if I can send my children off to college, you'd think this wouldn't be so hard!

Spencer

I've just come back from taking our oldest dog, Spencer (Boston Terrier), to the vet for surgery. He had a hernia which was repaired last January but he's having to go back and have it redone -- this time, they will use a patch which, from what I understand, carries more chance of infection.

Spencer will be 12 years old in September. He can no longer see (in fact, one eye had to be removed -- he looks like a pirate), can't hear that well, has a few continence issues but, otherwise, seems relatively content. His appetite is more than good and he gets around the house pretty well unless we change things around -- or leave large items in his path. He's learned to walk with his head down so, if he bumps into something, his hard, ol' Boston head gets whacked first.

For those of you who have been reading this blog, you will know that, last December, we had to put another of our dogs down. He was also a Boston, named Butler (after actor Gerard Butler) and his sudden illness (cancer) and death came as quite a shock. It took a long time to feel better about that -- I won't say "get over it" because you never really do but, eventually, it did become bearable.

I'm not ready to say goodbye to another one but I know that, at Spencer's age, something could happen at any time -- and surgery is worrisome, even though, if his time is up, going while under anesthesia would be an easy and painless way to go.

So, now I wait to call the vet later to check on him -- hoping they don't call me because if they do, then that means something is probably wrong.

Still, with all the worry and the sorrow when they leave us, I can't imagine a house without a pack of dogs. Right now, we still have six -- though one belongs to my daughter. Reese has been with us for a year and, I imagine, when Shannon finally has a house to take her to, it will feel like a little death.

But I ought to be used to it by now. I've had dogs -- and given up dogs -- all my life. I just don't want to do it again today.

This too shall pass...

Well, here we are, a new year! It's hard to believe it's 2009 when it seems like only yesterday we were worrying about whether computers were going to crash when it turned 2000.

This will be a big year for me -- well, in the birthday department, anyway. This is the year I'll turn 50 (8 months to go!) -- talk about hard to believe! In my head, I still feel, oh, I don't know, 25 or 30 -- but my body begs to differ. At any rate, when I turned 40, it actually felt freeing. We'll see what 50 does to me. Condolences and/or congratulations will be accepted here.

As anyone who has kept up with this blog knows, the end of 2008 was not a good one and we are still reeling from our loss. But, this too shall pass -- and, eventually, we'll be able to look back and smile about the dog we had for much too short a time. And, of course, the new puppy is already making us laugh like fools. I've always maintained that God knows what we need when we need it -- although we have to listen and accept His bounty -- and, even though, I wondered if getting Liesl so soon was the right thing, I think she was sent to us by divine intervention. As I write this, I don't know what part of the house she is wrecking havoc in -- considering that she goes non-stop all day, it's about time for her to crash.

Last night, we shot off a few fireworks. We have to travel across the Savannah River to Wacky Wayne's to buy them -- at least the kind we want. Certain fireworks -- the good ones -- are illegal in Georgia. Anyway, we didn't buy as many as usual but we sort of expected that some of the neighbors would have bought a few, too -- we usually have a small gathering and watch the "show" from the bottom of our driveway. Anyway, I don't know if it's because all the kids are growing up around here (there are a few who are much younger) and they are no longer interested in this tame display (only one adult neighbor actually joined us) but my youngest two (16 & 21) had a blast (literally) so that's what counts. But, maybe, we've reached the end of the road for the neighborhood New Year and 4th of July fireworks fun. Of course, both of my youngest two always did like to play with fire so, as long as they are into it, I guess we'll continue -- even if it's just us. It sort of feels like one of those passing of the torch moments, though.

Well, one of the things a new year brings is hope -- and, Lord, don't we need it. So many changes for our country, for us personally and probably for you as well. I pray this new year will come with many blessings for us all.

Two Good Dogs

First of all, I'm not very good with photos on the internet -- I get by but sometimes I have to really labor to make things work -- which is why I didn't post a photo of Butler before --
I couldn't figure out how to make it small enough -- but I finally figured it out -- so here is my much-loved and always-to-be-missed brindle boy.

Some of you may know that not only do I have a personal forum (which you can visit by clicking on the banner above right) but I also run a forum for British actor, Jason Flemyng (look on the right side, under "Fangurl" for link). Jason is currently playing the father of Benjamin Button in THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON, now playing in theaters everywhere (and, no, I haven't seen it yet). Anyway, several days ago, I sent Jason an e-mail to wish him a merry Christmas and, knowing he is a animal-lover, I told him about Butler. In turn, Jason told me about his dog, Holly, who was very sick -- and that he and his wife, Elly, were facing the decision about putting her down -- which they, unfortunately, had to do yesterday.

Now, I wouldn't wish this on anybody but there is some comfort in knowing that, when we grieve, we are not alone -- and, whether we are a wanna-be author/housewife in Georgia or an British actor appearing on the big screen, we share our sorrow over our four-footed and furry friends.

I love the way the rays of the sun are coming down over Holly's face in this photo -- I don't know if Jason took this photo or someone else did -- but I think it's a beautiful tribute to a much-loved dog.

Eventually, I am going to get over this sadness. Or maybe not over it but through it. I wish the same for Jason and Elly.

Maybe Butler and Holly are nose to nose -- or, more likely, nose to butt -- right now.

God's Promise

Still reeling from Butler's death, I forced myself to go Christmas shopping. We'd put up a tree but had not decorated it -- and I just didn't have the heart to do things "like we always do" since "like we always do" was not going to be the same, no matter what. So, I went to Michael's and bought several nature-themed garlands and some bright red cardinals to clip onto the tree. Coming out of the store, though, a fresh wave of misery hit me. The Christmas music being played and mixing and mingling with cheerful holiday shoppers just wasn't what I wanted or needed. Throwing my purchases into the back of the car, the tears begin to flow again.

The weather was horrible that day -- my kind of weather actually -- rainy, wind gusting, chilly. Still, the clouds were ominous and I was glad to be heading home. Then, I happened to look up, gazing at the heavens through my tears. Overhead, with no discernible sunshine -- and framed against dark clouds -- was the biggest and most perfect rainbow I'd ever seen. I thought I was seeing things -- I looked away, then back -- but, no, it was no illusion. I looked around me at other shoppers but nobody else seemed to notice, too intent on their business.

I'd always heard of the "rainbow bridge" -- the bridge which, it is said, beloved pets cross to get to the "other side". Now, I know this is something someone made up (the bridge, not the other side) but to have this happen, when it made no sense made me tremble. Was that where my beloved Butler was -- crossing the bridge, where he would wait for us? At once, the rainbow was life-affirming and terrible, a reminder of what I'd lost.

I knew the Biblical story of the rainbow -- that God had placed it in the sky as a promise to Noah -- that he would not destroy the entire earth again by flood. God's promise. Was this my personal promise -- that God would see me through? And, had anybody else even seen the rainbow?

I cried all the way home.

We had already discussed getting another dog -- had actually, before we knew Butler was sick -- talked about how we needed a younger dog in the house because having them bunched so close together in age made for the likelihood of too much sorrow coming down too close together. We said, when we lost one of the dogs, we would get a puppy or, at least, a much younger dog. We never expected it would be Butler who went first or so soon.

Dealing with this loss at Christmas was difficult and we decided that getting another dog during the holiday season -- or so soon -- was probably not a good idea. However, I knew, from past experience, that what is meant to happen will happen -- I decided, other than looking on Petfinder.com (which has always been one of my pastimes), I was not going to actively seek another dog. However, if one fell into my lap, that was another story.

Then I saw her face, staring at me from the computer screen. Part Boston Terrier, part Pug (maybe a little something else), she was not what most people would call a beauty. But I've always been one who liked things a little skewed, a little off-kilter. They called her "Bella" at the rescue shelter -- she was six months old and needed a home. And, I had one to offer. I sent in the application on a whim -- fully expecting them to say that, because we had one dog, though elderly, who was not neutered, we couldn't have her. But my application passed. The only problem was that Bella had the papilloma virus -- which causes warts -- but is also something that usually goes away on its own. Because it's viral and, therefore, contagious, they didn't want to adopt her into a house that already had other dogs. But, it happened I had an appointment with the vet and I asked about it -- my vet said it would be fine, no big deal. I told the rescue group what my vet had said. I didn't expect much but then, in a turnaround, they said yes.

Bella was not a local dog. She was in Roswell, right outside of Atlanta. It would have been ridiculous, no matter how cute she was, to travel to Atlanta to get a dog when there are plenty who need rescuing right here. But, meant-to-be was in full swing. We were heading to Atlanta, anyway, for a wedding. So, all we had to do was swing by and pick her up. And, because it was a family wedding (Mark's brother who is as big a dog lover as we are), we had a place for her to stay while we attended the wedding.

She cannot and will not take Butler's place. He was the one and only, as unique as every dog I've ever had. But we have the means and the love to give a homeless dog a forever home.

We went over names for several days. My requirement for naming pets is that they be named after a fictional character -- or someone real (as Butler was) -- there will never be a Prince or Buddy or Max in this house. I tried to think of something "Christmas-y" but nothing really worked. Many years ago, I had thought about naming Spencer, "Marly" -- as a combination of my and Mark's name. It was a Christmas name in a way -- as in Jacob Marley in Dicken's A Christmas Carol. But, I knew with the book and movie, Marley and Me, that there would be a plethora of dogs named that -- so I had to pass. I rejected every other holiday name I could think of. I then went to my Republican sensibilities -- thought about Palin, Condi, Cheney, Saxby (Georgia senator) -- but Carrie would have none of it. Though, my word is final, I wanted to give her a say in the matter.

We were driving somewhere when she said, how about Liesl? My immediate thought was, how did she know? The Sound of Music is one of my all-time favorite movies -- one of those I can watch repeatedly and not get tired of it. It reminds me of when I was very young and thought Julie Andrews was the best thing since sliced bread. Liesl was the name of the oldest daughter of the Von Trapp family. And then there was Carrie herself -- sixteen going on seventeen. I could hear all the puzzle pieces locking into place.

I tried the name out, said it, yelled it. Then I looked it up to see what the meaning was. Liesl is a diminutive of Elizabeth.

And it means God's Promise

Meet Liesl.

These have been quiet days...

when was the last time I wanted to sing...

I keep hearing those lyrics from Heart's "Love Me Like Music".

Though the rest of the song doesn't necessarily fit what I'm feeling, those beginning lines sure do. It is quiet around here. Yes, the other dogs are barking and running, as usual (I still wonder -- what do they understand? Anything? Nothing?) but there's one less voice and four less feet. I keep expecting to look up and see Butler's sweet face smiling at me.

There are moments when I think it's all been a bad dream but, then, reality hits and I know it's not. He was here and now he's gone. I don't know if there are dogs in heaven but, if they aren't, I'm not at all sure I want to go -- because any place without dogs is not my idea of heaven.

I know that we made the right choice but I'm having a hard time with the fact that it happened at all. I know things will get better. I know it. I've been here before, though never quite like this. I went out Christmas shopping today -- not because I want to but because I have to -- but the piped-in Christmas music just about did me in. I ended up in the bookstore because it's the one place that seems to always make me feel better. I also got my hair cut -- I'd had the appointment already -- and that was pleasant. My stylist is also a friend and in my Sunday School class -- and just lost a dog herself two weeks ago.

I've managed not to cry today. That doesn't mean I won't. There are still plenty of hours left. Yesterday was a bad day. I don't know why -- maybe it was because everybody else went to work or school and I was here alone (well, with no humans) for the first time. It's very hard to do all of my routine stuff -- without one of my routines walking along beside me.

I've never been Christmas-y person. Oh, the real meaning of Christmas, I'm all for -- but all the shopping and decorating have never done a thing for me. This year, it's even worse and I'm living for the day after Christmas. No, everything isn't going to be better just because of what day it is but I'm hoping that the next few weeks will bring a measure of peace and closure.

I am blessed that I had Butler in my life as long as I did. He was meant to be here, just as, I suppose, he was meant to go. Will there be another pup in my life? Of course there will. I'm thinking I need to wait until Reese, my oldest's daughter's dog (chihuahua mix), goes back to live with the newlyweds (my son-in-law is still in the training program with CSX Railroad and they are living in hotels at the moment).

But, then again, though nobody can ever replace Butler, I still have plenty of love to go around -- and it pretty much goes without saying that some homeless dog is going to hit the jackpot before long.