Dad is Gone

Please say a prayer for my dad.  He passed away last night due to Congestive Heart Failure.

Eternal rest grant unto him O Lord, let perpetual light shine upon him.  Amen.

We'll See What We Can See

This year for our anniversary gift, The Handsome One and I got ourselves a nifty pair of binoculars. 

Now, instead of imagining what things in the distance look like, we can actually see what they look like.

Yes, we'll see the white of their tails and the whites of their eyes!

We got a simple pair of binoculars; point and shoot, so to speak.  The owners manual that came with the binoculars offered helpful advice (in two languages and with pictures).  For example:  don't drop the binoculars, don't look into the sun. 

Clearly, things are looking up.

Lois

Things are in gloom here at the Bad Dog Ranch.

Last week we said good-bye to our dear old friend, Lois.

We miss sweet Lois.

We will always miss sweet Lois.

A Simple Man

My cousin, Bob died last week.  He was what is often described as a simple man.  Bob wasn't famous.  He didn't have a fancy job title.  He liked to fish and to ride his motorcycle.  He loved his dogs.  He raised his daughter in the same city where he grew up.
 

 

I grew up in that city too.  Aunt Jean's house was a five minute bike ride away.  Bob was several years older than me.  He had a way about him, sort of, hey, you may never need my help but I'm watching out for you.  Chivalrous.

As adults, we saw each other now and then.  Bob always seemed glad to see me, to talk to me.
 

Now living two hours away from that hometown, I made the drive for Bob's funeral.  His wife of  31 years, now a widow, stood at the side of Bob's casket.  I hugged her.  "Roseanne, I'm so sorry."  Words that don't seem adequate.  Many people said those same words.  There really isn't anything else to say.  Still, it matters to say them.

A scene from a movie keeps playing in my mind.  Students at the New York ballet academy are walking down a hallway following the first class of the semester.  One girl who performed badly in class, says, "I swear I'm better than that.  I'm just so nervous."  Another girl says, "don't sweat it.  First day doesn't count, OK?"  Another girl, a veteran of the academy says, "everything counts here."

There were lots of  people at Bob's funeral.  Many of them were weeping.  This simple man touched many lives.  

Everything counts here.

Who Shall Abide in God’s Sanctuary?

O Lord, who shall sojourn in thy tent?
    Who shall dwell on thy holy hill?
 He who walks blamelessly, and does what is right,
    and speaks truth from his heart;
 who does not slander with his tongue,
    and does no evil to his friend,
   nor takes up a reproach against his neighbor;
 in whose eyes a reprobate is despised,
    but who honors those who fear the Lord;
who swears to his own hurt and does not change;
 who does not put out his money at interest,
    and does not take a bribe against the innocent.

He who does these things shall never be moved.

 

- Psalm 15:1-5

Birds in Heaven

Winter has winded down and birds are whopping it up.  Robins gather, preparing to pair off.

Beyond the Robin filled tree, the raucous cry of Red-winged Black Birds mingles with the dour cry of Mourning doves.

A pair of swans flying no more than thirty feet overhead, their long necks stretched toward their destination, are silent, but for the whooshing of huge flapping wings.

Certain male ducks are quarrelling, jockeying to be Top Drake.

Mabel was a bird watcher- from the inside Finches to the outside Sparrows.  Last April when we brought baby ducks into the basement, Mabel was so fascinated, that in spite of the discomfort of stiff joints, she repeatedly charged down the stairs to visit the bird youngsters.

Sadly, Mabel didn't get to see the ducks grow up.

Mabel has been on my mind a lot lately.  She has been gone for not quite a year.  I thought I'd used up all my tears.  Not so.

There is, at least, some comfort in the certain hope that there are many many birds in Heaven with Mabel right now.

The Giant Hole

There is no filling the hole Mabel left when she left us.

Well, life goes on and all that.  Grieving is a time consuming process.  Why not fill it with something worthwhile.  Like training a puppy?  Or two?

So.  We've taken in a couple of baby giants that would probably cause Mabel to roll her eyes.

Lily is a Great Pyrenees.  Clover is an Irish Wolfhound.

Meanwhile, Lois is not the sort of gal who rolls her eyes.  Still, sweet Lois is ten and feeling the years.  Even so, no.  Lois didn't roll her eyes.  At first, Lois was not thrilled with the appearance of these two wild babies.  But Lois being sweet Lois, has warmed up to them. 

Perhaps she remembers when Mabel was a pup.

Things have a way of working out.

Five Minutes More

It was difficult to set the alarm clock.  My eyes were watering and it has been so long since I'd had to set it, I'd forgotten how.

You see, Mabel used to wake us promptly at 4:55 AM.  Thus, we had no need to set the alarm clock.

But Mabel had to leave us.

Now the alarm clock goes off at 5:00 AM.  I never dreamed that an extra five minutes of sleep in the morning could make me feel so sad.

The Aging Giant

Mabel is eight years old. When you are a giant breed dog that means you are somewhere around seventy in people years.  (You might think of dogs' aging as faster by the pound.)

Mabel's gait is a bit stiffer these days.  Clearly, her back hurts sometimes.  For a while, aspirin eased her discomfort.  Eventually though, we had to get a Rx from the vet for something stronger.


Speaking of the vet, a few weeks ago, it seemed like Mabel was drinking more water than usual.  This may be symptomatic of any number of things:  dry food, medication side effect, urinary infection, diabetes, Cushings disease, Pyometra, something else, or even nothing at all.

Mabel was due for a physical in April anyway.  So, on a crisp February afternoon, I was juggling a jar of urine, a bag of poop, and the other end of a leash attached to a very reluctant Mabel, heading through the door of our local animal hospital.

Results of the exam:  urine fine, poop fine, blood not so fine.  Turns out Mabel has some extra baby red blood cells.  With nothing else in the tests suggesting a clear reason for these results, the vet uttered the c word. We should look for a "mass".

A few days later, following a six hour fast,  Mabel reported back for her Xray.  She's a big gal so they had to take three views to see all of her abdomen.  (You get used to it.  As with age, with big dogs everything costs by the pound.)  Results:  Mabel has arthritis of the lower spine (we didn't need an Xray to tell us that).

Though the vet was determined to find a "mass" and sure it had to be on the spleen, there was no mass visible on the Xray.  Well, says the vet, we've got an ultra sound!  We can get a better look.  The mass might be hidden behind the spleen or within it's folds (The spleen is like a tongue, you see.  It can sort of undulate, change position).  OK, I say, poor Mabel is still drugged, let's go ahead and search for the "mass" with the ultra sound.

Results.  No mass.  (But it's gotta be there!)  "Sorry," says the vet, "Mabel is so wide I just couldn't see everything.  Here's a referral to Michigan State University Veterinary Teaching Hospital, Small Animal Division" (Wait!  Small Animal?!  Will their ultra sound be able to access Mabel's wideness to find the mass that just has to be on Mabel's spleen?!).

Reality check.  The ONLY diagnosis offered is spleen mass.  The treatment choices are:

1.  Do nothing.  The dog will live out his life for however long that may be.

2.  Cut the dog open, still don't find a mass.  Remove the spleen (the problem has to be the spleen!).    If the dog survives the surgery this might buy him a few extra months of life.

3.  Cut the dog open, find a mass on the spleen (it has to be on the spleen!).  Remove the mass along with the spleen.  If the dog survives the surgery and the mass is benign, this may buy the dog a few extra months of life.  If the mass is cancerous, start chemotherapy.  This may buy the dog a few extra weeks of life.  Or, do nothing more and the dog may live a few fewer weeks of life.

Henry is a Teenager

Little dogs grow faster than big dogs, maybe because they have less growing to do.  Well, not to them.  Anyway, a toy breed dog reaches physical maturity at about nine months of age.  A giant breed dog finishes growing at around two years of age. 

Henry, at five months, weighs a whopping 6.6 pounds.  At nine weeks, he weighed 3 pounds.   

Henry is leggy, his torso is longer now.  The other day while wet from a bath, he resembled a Rat Terrier.  How very symbolic in this stage of Henry's development.  (Massive heartfelt apologies to all Rat Terriers!)

So, we're in the yard.  Henry moves his gangly self under the bird feeder and immediately finds something with his mouth. 

What is it that he is about to swallow?  A stick perhaps, that will poke a hole in his intestine?  Some bird poop carrying a bird disease against which his young immune system cannot fight?  

I bellow, "drop it!"  Henry knows the 'drop it/leave it' command. 

The mystery substance still in his mouth, he looks me in the eye, then squats to pee.  Such a good boy does his business outside.  He moves his gangly self to a flowerbed...  

SOLD

Just a couple brief remarks in between doing the myriad stuff that needs to be done with an impending  move.

 

 

 

Shortly before the lock box was placed on our front doorknob, I got my hair cut.  After telling my hair dresser that we were about to put our home up for sale, she looked off pensively for a moment.  Then she said, "don't worry about it.  Your house will sell in one day."

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are some things I will miss when we move:  the backyard pond, the master bathroom, the bird store, and my hair dresser.    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

New Resident, Bad Dog Ranch

How about them Cowboys?

 

 

 

What do Lois and Mabel think of this new creature?

 

 

 

 

Interloper.  Irritant.

 

 

 

 

He is called Henry.