Goodbye, Daisy

If you follow this blog at all, you'll know I've had a very hard time posting since we lost Loretta. It's hard to explain, because we've had dogs since February 1974 - our first, Schatze, a rough coat collie, came to live with us less than two months into our married lives - and so we've had over the last 37 years what sometimes seems more than our share of good-byes. But Loretta was just special, and her death was so untimely.

We lost Loretta in November 2009, and we lost Daisy in November 2010. It was different with Daisy, though. She was 13 - a remarkable age for a golden retriever, an astonishing age in "big dog" land. Tony always called her our "two-fer." We contracted for Loretta before she was even born, and the breeder let us visit the litter about 3 weeks after they were born. So, we didn't even know who Loretta was yet, in a matter of speaking! When we visited at 4 weeks, Daisy had been returned to the breeder (per a contract that puppy purchasers must sign) because her owners didn't want her anymore. They were childless, got a designer dog because they couldn't get pregnant, got pregnant and then didn't want the dog. Daisy was 4 1/2 years old, and in critical health - basically, she'd been neglected physically, and worse in golden retriever land had been neglected emotionally. Tony and I said we wanted her, and the breeder said that she didn't think Daisy would live, but if her health turned around she was ours. So, two weeks before we were able to bring Loretta home, Daisy came home, too.

It took almost two years to turn Daisy around. She would do all the "good dog" things she was supposed to - ask to go outside, come when called, etc. But she had absolutely no joy. And then, all of a sudden - she came to life! She romped, played, barked, and generally became a no-good, worthless, rotten dog in the best tradition of such. She knew she was ours, and more importantly that we belonged to her. Every day after that was pure joy. Her physical health never compltely recovered - she had to stay on thyroid medication, and at about the time she emotionally recovered she got mast-cell cancer. We had a couple of tumors removed, but when she was about 10 one came on her side that was bascially too large to remove without a very difficult recovery, so we opted to leave well enough alone. And she lived another 6 or 7 happy years, so we did the right thing.

Every dog we've ever had has taught me something. Daisy taught me that it's perfectly okay to be silly, and that maybe there always is a warm bed, good food, people who love you, and most importantly, a way home.

The mobile vet

Yes, expensive, but worth it. About 3 years ago Emily started having seizures whenever we'd try to move her, including picking her up. As she has very bad arthritis in her hips, there are a number of things that require her to be picked up - for example, lifting her into the bathtub for a bath (she can't jump even close to that distance any more) and into the car for trips to the vet. She can no longer hop into the car. We solved the bath problem by buying an attachment for the kitchen sink so that we're able to hook up a hose, snake it through the living room, out through the garage, and into the back yard. Voila! Warm water for baths with no lifting or stress. We had the mobile vet (www.mobilevetaustin) to the house when she needed her routine physical, about 6 months ago. We knew it would most likely be pricey, but thought it might be the best solution. To my delight, although it was a bit expensive, I adored the vet - Carol-Lynne Meissner. She got right down in the floor with Emily and gave her a VERY thorough exam. Emily stayed on her pillow the whole time, primarily just enjoying hte individual attention.

A couple of weeks ago, Emily had a horrible gastrointestinal something going on. As it came on early in the week, Tony said, "Well, I just take her to the vet on Wednesday (his day off). I'll back the car up to the porch and she can just step right in." His thinking was 1) it would be easy (and different this time?) and 2) it would be a good deal cheaper than the Mobile Vet. As Carol-Lynne is "on the road," she doesn't have her own lab facilities, so everything has to outsource. Anyway. Emily had a very small seizure as we were getting her in the car (NO, of COURSE she didn't just want to "step in!). But, she had a MAJOR seizure when Tony pulled into the vet's parking lot. Like 2 or 3 minutes. Tony knows Emily is MY dog, and I'm truthfully surprised HE survived the episode. He called the vet from his mobile, and they came right out to the parking lot with a Valium shot - but by that time she was fine. Long story short (I know I know too late) he brought her home without any tests being run. Don't ask me why, he's a man, explanation enough. So, when Emily got worse later in the week, I called Carol-Lynne. She was out the same day, and gave Emily all the loving attention and good care that Emily deserved. YES, holy crap, it was expensive. But worth every every penny.

Emily seems fine now, still waiting on the last test result from A&M. I don't there will be any further discussion about Mobile Vet expense....

Can't save them all...

Had to say that to myself over and over again last Thursday morning. I was on my way to work - it had been pouring rain just a few minutes before. As I turned on to a side street off a VERY busy main street, I thought I saw a dog laying in the grass, not three feet from the busy road. "Couldn't be," I said to myself. And, of course, quickly said, "What could I do anyway?" But of course I turned around. I'm in the "new" car - the one with the ivory-colored leather seats....sigh. Sure enough, there's this big dog just laying in the rain. He looked at me, and I put out my hand, and he came right to me. Smoke colored with liquid brown eyes. What now? I opened the back seat door and he climbed right in the car, but immediately broke my heart as I could tell he had arthritis. I keep a blanket in the back seat for dog-transporting events, and he sat right down on it. Calm, sweet, old.

As he was male - and I'm pretty sure I heard him cough a couple of times - I had no choice but to take him to the animal shelter. I couldn't risk exposing the girls to whatever. One of the hardest things I've ever had to do. The guy there asked me to fill out paperwork, and I started crying. I think he thought it was my dog, that I was abandoning him, and he told me that I didn't have to complete it if I didn't want to. That solid stainless steel door clanging shut. Ugh.

I placed an ad in the paper, and on PetFinders. Called all the veterinarian offices in the vicinity. Drove the entire neighborhood Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Made sure his picture was listed on the animal shelter's website. But I haven't had the heart to go back and see if somebody claimed him.

If only I COULD save them all. Or better yet if they didn't NEED saving at all.

Life in the pack

Life with the other girls is good. Daisy turned 14 in April! That's old for any dog, and very old for a golden retriever. Ruby will be 12 in July - also impossible.

Our pack extends to our yard, as well. Squirrels and birds abound (and probably other things that I don't want to know about!). On Saturday morning, I had to do squirrel rescue. We have a pair of corn cob holders in the oak tree outside the living room window. They're a wire spiral, wider at the top than the bottom, and as they near the bottom the wire is coiled more tightly. We've had them up for years, but Saturday morning a squirrel managed to get caught in one - he somehow managed to get one of his toes caught in the lower part of the spiral. He was trying to get away in the opposite direction of the spiral, so he was only successful in getting himself (please don't ask me how I know it was a he...) more firmly stuck. I stood in the living room for a couple of minutes, watching him struggle, thinking about who I could call. When I saw him start trying to bite off his foot I knew it was up to me. So, in my robe, I went out and climbed up on the milk crate we used to restock the corn. Squirrel freaking out. Yep, toe firmly caught. I climbed down, grabbed my thickest pair of garden gloves. Back on the milk crate, I grabbed his foot in one hand (please don't bite me please don't bite me) and the holder in the other hand and twisted in opposite directions. Voila! Freedom.

Time for update

Obviously, this blog has been even more silent than the bead blog.

We lost Loretta the day after Thanksgiving. I'm still literally heartbroken. Just can't seem to move past it. I took a day off sick the 12th of November, which allowed me a few extra minutes in bed. Loretta rolled over on her back for a tummy rub, and as I was rubbing I felt this large swelling. She shifted, and I couldn't feel it...but I was just so sure I'd felt something. I got up and called the vet, and Tony and I took her out there that afternoon. They did an ultrasound, and found a tumor - a hemangiosarcoma - on her spleen. They removed her spleen on Friday. She didn't do particularly well after that, but enough so that we decided to put her on chemo. Loretta was one of those dogs that, even though a golden retriever, wasn't particularly animated. So, it wasn't always easy to tell if she felt bad. Anyway, we were going to start the chemo, which at best would have given us about 7 to 8 months, on Monday, but she didn't make it until then. She died at home late Friday night, only 8 1/2 years old.

Since then I've read that this kind of tumor isn't particularly uncommon in dogs, and is most common in German Shepherds and Goldens. It's very aggressive and the outcome is almost never good. I'll just say for now that we're in discussions about a new puppy - Tony is holding out, I'm as ready as I can be. We actually bought Loretta from a top breeder after loosing Susanna (the original Yellow Dog) to leukemia. We took every precaution that she was well-bred as possible to eliminate any kind of problems. Daisy - now going on 14, which is exceptionally old for a large dog - is from the same breeder. We miss her every day.

Wow - I didn't know they came that small!

One of the women in the Kim Fields class traveled from Washington state to take the class (and, her boyfriend lives here, too - nice deal, huh?) and she brought her little dog Bonzai. I was completely enchanted - that dog was SO TINY! All we have are monster-girls! I snapped this shot just because I thought it was so cute....Bonzai is a Chihuahua, and had a really great personality. Yes, of COURSE I held him!

The Bark

We subscribe to an absolutely charming magazine called The Bark – and they have a wonderful website as well. What I like about the magazine is that they have a terrific mix of the frivolous and the serious – just like life with dogs. The stories will make you laugh and make you weep. A recent issue was devoted to the effect of the economic crisis on dogs. Not what you might expect. Although shelters and organizations are definitely feeling the pinch due to decreased giving, there are increasing numbers of dogs being forfeited because their owners can no longer afford their care – especially true with aging dogs, as their care costs – just like ours – increase with age. I can’t even imagine….Check out Old Dog Haven, an organization that shelters and helps find homes for senior dogs.

If there's any doubt...

that I’m spinning a tale when I talk about doggie love for the bedroom air conditioner….

A pet's diary...

I borrowed today’s entry from one of the many dog/pet-related sites I subscribe to. They didn’t have an author acknowledgement, so if I’m stepping on anybody’s toes I’ll apologize now. If you do know the author, let me know and I’ll include credit. The entries are written from the perspective of pets with diaries. Probably pretty close to what the truth would be….

From a Dog's Daily Diary:

8:00 am
Oh Boy! Dog food! My favorite!

9:30 am
Oh Boy! A Car Ride! My Favorite!

9:40 am
Oh Boy! A Walk! My Favorite!

10:00am
Oh Boy! Getting petted! My favorite!

11:30 am
Oh Boy! Dog Food! My Favorite!

Noon
Oh Boy! The Kids! My Favorite!

1:00 pm
Oh Boy! The Yard! My Favorite!

4:00 pm
Oh Boy! To the Park! My Favorite!

5:00 pm
Oh Boy! Dog Food! My Favorite!

5:30 pm
Oh Boy! Pretty Mums! My Favorite!

6:00 pm
Oh Boy! Playing Ball! My Favorite!

6:30 pm
Oh Boy! Watching TV with my Master! My Favorite!

8:30 pm
Oh Boy! Sleeping in Master's bed! My Favorite!

From a Cat's Daily Diary:

Day 483 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh food while I am forced to eat dry cereal.

The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape and the mild scolding I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant.

Today my attempt to kill my captors by winding around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded; must try this at the top of the stairs.

In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair; must try this on their bed.

Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body in an attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was.

Hmmmm, not working according to plan.

There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary confinement throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell of food. More importantly, I overheard that my confinement was due to my power of "allergies". I must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.

I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit.

The bird, on the other hand, has got to be an informant. He speaks with them regularly, and I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room, his safety is assured.

But I can wait; it is only a matter of time.

Backyard wildlife

We had a bird emergency last weekend. (No, sadly, Ike the parrot has not been seen since Thanksgiving Day 2008). We have a number of bird feeders hanging from a post in the backyard. They are always well-attended by all kinds of birds, and, of course, by squirrels. Occasionally the squirrels manage to knock the feeders to the ground – which happened last Saturday with the copper one – a long cylindrical shape. I know I should have gone out to pick it up, but laziness prevailed. On Sunday morning I glanced out the back window and saw flapping wings, but couldn’t really see a bird – and all the feeders were empty. I’m not sure why/how, but I knew immediately that a bird had crawled in the feeder on the ground and got stuck (no, don’t be afraid to read on, the story has a happy ending). I knew he could haven’t been there long as 1) the dogs would have raised hell, and 2) if it were too hot/too long, he (she?) would be dead. So, we headed on a rescue mission. It was a beautiful dove, and it was indeed in sad shape – didn’t seem really hurt, but exhausted and unable to fly. Tony had to take all the screws out of the feeder to get him out. We got a cage that we had constructed to protect the tomatoes from the deer (yeah, right, like THAT worked), and put the dove, along with some water and food, under the cage for some protection. I dripped water on his beak to get some moisture into him – I could tell it was working because he was swallowing. But still very weak – I was fairly certain he wouldn’t make it. We covered the top part of the cage with weighted cardboard to keep the heat down, and left him alone. After an hour, he didn’t really seem much better – acting drowsy (sorry, must resort to anthropomorphisms for description). We decided to give him another hour, then reevaluate. Well, at the end of the determined hour he was much more responsive. Tony put a thick branch in the “cage” so he could have a perch if he wanted. We decided at that point that he would recover, and that he could spend the night in the garage if need be. Next trip out, he was on the perch, and as Tony approached he squeezed through the bars of the cage and vigorously flew away.

Don’t you just love stories with happy endings? They’re so few and far between…

Rosalita's quandry

Hanging out with the girls always makes me feel better. Doesn’t matter how crappy my week has been, how low the bank account is, or how dirty my hair is – they still love me. But notice that I didn’t reference the pantry – if that wasn’t fully stocked, the love might not be there LOL. Rosalita has had a tough summer. She LOVES to be in my lap if I’m up, under the covers in bed. And, it’s just been too hot. If she can stand it, I can’t (a dog’s regular temperature is 102 degrees, so they’re warm little things). She will go under the covers and go to sleep, but she’ll bolt awake and then push out from under the covers as fast as she can, gasping for air. Really quite funny. I have no doubt that if she could talk she’d be saying, “OMG I’m so HOT!”

Loretta update

Loretta’s eye seems to be good. We went to steroid drops only one time a day this week, and so far so good. I think I’ll have to say what vets have said for a long time – mongrel dogs are healthier. Ruby and Rosalita have never had a health problem. Ever. Loretta’s kidney problems aren’t really her fault of course (nasty bout of Leptospirosis two summers ago), and it’s possible that the golden retriever uveitis was a result of that infection (which apparently always hangs around). But Emily has bum hips, and Daisy has cancer…does make you wonder.

Border collies rule

We’re all feeling the heat. Daisy and Ruby vie for the bedroom air conditioner. We’re filling up the 3 gallon automatic water dispenser every couple of days. None of the girls stay outside for more than a minute or two if we’re not out there, and not much longer if we are (and we venture out only to water or to fill up various feeders). Emily, of course, will stay out as long as one of us is out there. There is just nothing in the world like a border collie.

Oh, I just LOVE your.....

Of all the comments I get on my website, the one I get most often is, "Oh I just LOVE your beads!."

Well, okay, yes of course I'm lying. The number one top-rated comment is...(I feel a bit like David Letterman here...) is "Oh, I just love the pictures of your dogs!" I guess my feelings would be hurt if they weren't such beautiful babies:



This is, of course, the magnificent Ruby. An all-round good girl. Her claws only look scary - I've not once been scratched by her. Which I mention because would you believe her nails have NEVER been trimmed? And she just turned 11. She was probably 3 years old before I could even hold her paw in my hand - just a fear for her. I've always wondered if trimming the nails is necessary. Our other dogs, who've all had their nails trimmed, must now have them trimmed regularly or they get huge... I don't know if it's Ruby's breed (malamute/rottie) that has something to do with them staying the same length, or that they've never been trimmed.

Daisy - the rotten years....

Daisy is making me crazy. As I’ve mentioned, the house has been hot. HOT. I’m sure the AC needs to be upgraded; god only knows what condition the vents are in. And, of course, WHAT insulation. Anyway. So, we’ve been running a very small window unit AC in the bedroom. It’s right at the foot of the bed – my side – and Daisy just LOVES it. She starts begging for it to be turned on around 4 in the afternoon if we’re home, right after her supper if we aren’t. She just heads in there, climbs up on the bed (at 14 she’s too old to jump), and lays down RIGHT IN FRONT of the AC unit. Cute cute cute – but there’s no place for me when I come to bed. If it were only Daisy, I could probably cope. But Ruby also wants in front of the AC, Loretta wants up by our heads, and Rosalita wants under the covers because she’s freezing. I would give anything in the world for a second bedroom, with a second bed. The couch is pretty comfortable, though….

Loretta - our million $ baby

So, yes, Loretta had to go to the doggie ophthalmologist. I’m just SO thrilled to be able to put another veterinarian’s child though college. Or grandchild. Whatever, you get the idea. The initial diagnosis – which wasn’t really a diagnosis so much as hunting and fishing by the ophthalmologist – was a bit scary. Anything from “golden retriever uveitis,” basically an inflammatory disease mostly found in goldens, to a tumor. I’m not slamming the doc, not at all – he was VERY thorough, and actually very reasonably priced. (Dr. Shifrin at the Austin Animal Eye Clinic, but don’t head out there with your fur-baby as you have to have a referral from your regular vet.) Loretta just presented a bit unusually. Anyway, antibiotics and steroidal drops later, she seems to be on the mend. She had a checkup last Monday, and most evidence of the “whatever” was gone. She stays on the eye drops for the next 6 weeks, a follow-up visit then.