Dear Dog

Azalea is lying by the bathroom door, napping where she fell. I was lying next to her and she peacefully, slowly closed her eyes and I thought, “Maybe she’s gone. Maybe I don’t have to make this decision. Maybe she can go on her own.” I looked to her furry back which still rose and fell, her breaths even and long. She’s just napping.

She had her third seizure two days ago and she has been doing worse. Her paws are slip-sliding all over the floor, her legs all go in different directions and she looks pained and stuck. Rob or I come running and lift her up with a long wide piece of rubber Rob uses for stretching. We slide it under her belly and pull her up. If we don’t see her fall then slides into an awkward position and then falls to her side, with a whimper.

Rob called me at work last night. I had to step out from a very intense swearing laboring woman and speak gently to him as he quietly told me.

“She can’t get up. She hasn’t eaten. She won’t eat the bones I put in front of her. She seems really sad, Kat.”

“Do you want me to come home?” I asked, fearful he’d say yes. There were more patients coming in and it would be difficult to get out.

He said, “Not yet, I just wanted you to know.”

She rallied when I got home. I pulled her up and took her outside where she peed on the driveway, then she ate dinner and went out again to poop. It is very intense and scary each time we do the stairs. I try and encourage her and get her to trust me, but I’m not sure if she should. I secure her as best as I can, but it hurts her, I think. She approaches the top of the stairs several times before she takes the stumbling plunge. My back is really sore from all the weird desperate lifting and pulling.

I slept downstairs on the futon, with her beside me on the floor.

I took the evening off work tonight, called in sick. I didn’t say it was my dog. I worried management would say dog doesn’t count as family illness. But I am heartsick and that should count.

I want to be a good and loving mother to her. I want to let her go when it is time for her; not when it is convenient for me. I have been asking people about it, mostly women from work who have had many dogs. They say, “You’ll know. She’ll look at you and you’ll know.”

I don’t know yet. She looks a bit sad and stuck, but it’s still her. It’s still those familiar eyes and that familiar look she’s given me for 14 and a half years. I say that over and over. She would be 101 in human years. That is a long life. She’s had a good life.

Today I got my haircut and talked about it with Kristie the woman who cuts my hair. I talked about Azalea’s life; I realized that she does little of what she used to do.

No long walks, her front paw just gives out and she tries to recover. We all pretend it didn’t happen, she looks so embarrassed.

No more going in the car, one of her very favorite things. She used to spend the day in the back of the CRV with the door open, holding court from her perch. It feels like it has been so long since she could jump in and out of there on her own. For a while I lifted her but now it’s too much for one person.

No more swimming. What a water dog she was. Her very favorite thing was to go to a river and fish for rocks. She would step into the water, roll the rocks around and find the perfect one, then she would pick it up gently, her muzzle draining water and move it to wherever she was making a pile. It was methodical and pleasing to her. If she couldn’t get one that she wanted she would moan and mutter, obsessed with the particular underwater rock. We used to say if she ever went missing, we would find her at the nearest stream with a rock in her mouth.

She could swim, too. Across lakes, in the ocean. She was a strong swimmer. Rob trained her, the same way he trained the girls on the monkey bars. From puppyhood there were lots of swamps and rivers, she could even launch off banks.

Slowly she’s become an old dog. We let her out a few times a day. She dozes quietly in her bed. She really likes to eat. Patrolling the floors for any dropped scraps in a way she never did when she was younger.

She always came when she was called which gave her a lot of freedom. She stayed close so we could leave her in the backyard where she could spend hours in her hovel under the cedar trees. Digging around in the moist dirt with flair, she’d send it flying and then, when satisfied, she would settle under the branches and peer out.

Now she can’t hear us when we call, but she doesn’t wander far. We make do, her and I, with eye contact and hand motions. We have a very strict schedule of feeding and going outside that she likes. If I forget; she paces. Her feet don’t pick up off the floor like they used to so the sound is loud and dragging and by now it communicates urgency to me. “I need to go out or I’ll poop in the living room” or “feed me damnit”

She doesn’t get up to greet us like she used to, I wave at her when I enter, before I set my things down and do what I have to do. I let her know when her food is ready, quick walks and meals by waving my hands and arms at her in certain ways. And I wave a goodnight as I finally head upstairs. Part of why her age has snuck up on me is because her eyes are so bright when she looks at me. She gets me. We get each other.

We weren’t sure about her and kids when she was younger. She merely tolerated them until they started hurling food off their high chair tray, then she became exceedingly tolerant. She still doesn’t like unknown toddlers walking toward her, she barks as they walk through the door. But she does love her own pack. Both the girls love her and look to her. The other day Lily and I were scrapping and she started to sob. She didn’t want me to comfort her, which was confusing for her. She turned to Azalea in her bed, stepped over her and curled up beside her holding her close, still crying. I remember that feeling with my dog, Moose, growing up, that no one understood me but the dog.

Surprisingly Azalea loves Georgia, too. The other day after her seizure she was still nervous and she walked over to Georgia and swiped across her, like dogs do, almost knocking Georgia down. Georgia grabbed her fur and spoke to her in a high pitched voice, “It’s OK Azalea. It’s OK.” Georgia sits beside her, hugs her, looks in her mouth, plays with her ears, all of which Azalea seems to appreciate, even now she opens to them when they come over.

I just made the appointment for 5pm tomorrow. Dr Sodorski and his wife will come and euthanize her in her corner on her dog bed and then take her to be cremated. I am so glad to have tonight with her. How strange to plan death. I am still unsure, but glad I have put it off until tomorrow. My friend put out the option of an animal psychic and an acupuncturist who might be able to help with her legs, but I guess I feel pretty grounded that I know what to do. That she is my dog and she will let me know.

I worked in a nursing home this year and was struck by how people would protectively remark about a sick elderly patient, “Leave him alone, he’s 97. Let him go!” I am used to the hospital and heroic measures; fighting death. It is unsettling to be in this position, weighing time, method, cost and comfort. I am thrilled, though, to do it here in her bed. Glad that the girls can be here if they choose and that she won’t be on a hard cool floor. Strange to be writing about it when she’s still here. This is how I prepare myself, by writing, but I’ll go sit with her now. Maybe now, that’s the hard part. Dear dog.

Be Happy

Here's Kellie Finn, the amazing woman who has been teaching me yoga for the last year. I have been lucky enough to drop off Georgia a bit early at school and then go to a class before work about once a week. Usually I am late and flustered as I settle myself on the floor, but I am always welcome. By the end of class I feel like my tiny little struggling stream has been reunited with the huge deep river of life. And it feels wonderful. Sure we do lots of difficult bendy things with our body, but the pervading feeling is one of intense peace. Really lovely.



Today, before yoga, I had worked myself into a tizzy. I had started a list in my head of everything that needs fixing up in the house and how much money we would need to fix it. I got carried away and sort of miserable. All I wanted to do was get away from the children on this beautiful day and write a mangy list. Thankfully I didn't. But I was still feeling tight and annoyed with the world when I showed up to yoga.

Kellie brought up big mind and small mind and how we need them both. Small mind helps us survive and deal with the day to day mundane while big mind is the......Oh I can't remember what she said. She is eloquent and insightful, and really profound in a way that is embedded in everyday life. But I can never recreate what she says. Today what struck me was: if you allow yourself to be in your heart (meditation and yoga are a way inside, as is simply following the breath) and you ask your heart what you need; you realize you already have it. You always have what you need.

My list of complaints poofed into dust. What a relief. Really who gives a crap about the ugly linoleum? Really?
I went from feeling hopeless to buoyant in that hour and a half.
It made me think of a poem I love:


Sometimes I go about pitying myself,
and all along
my soul is being blown by great winds across the sky.
—Ojibway saying

Then I drove by the new Tire Warehouse sign.

Carlo

Azalea had another long seizure today. She was weak and panting after, but we let her outside where she walked and stumbled around the yard. We picked raspberries and kept an eye on her. After a seizure she does goofy things like sneak into the shed with the lawnmower where she gets stuck. Her back legs are so weak, getting her back inside the house involved me holding her back legs up with my fleece under her belly and Lily luring her with a bone, which she snapped at "like a croc" per Lily who has been watching a DVD of Crocodile Hunter this summer.

Here is a poem my mother gave my by Seamus Heaney the Irish poet, about his dog, Carlo.

Carlo
I'm afraid the millennium
means nothing to Carlo.
My heart aches for him

with one eye gone blind
and his whole body slowed.
His bark is still loud

but not as aggressive,
not that rampant "Fuck off"
of a dog in his prime,

hurling and barrelling
round the back yard.
I undervalued

all that at the time
his just being there
like a bolt from the garden,

woofing and panting
or worrying plastic
bottles or bags,

our mad perforator
and show-off performer.
He once bit a writer

or better say nipped--
regrettably "nipped"
has to be the mot just.

He went wild at jet trails.
You'd be conscious of nothing
but sunbeat and lawn-heat

when he's work up a snarl
like a slow Cape Canaveral
burn-up and lift-off,

then launch himself into barking
into the blue.
Then quit and come running

like a form of forgiveness.
Now I'd like to relive
those years of aloofness,

am sorry I didn't
give and take more
notice and pleasure

each hour of each day.
I'd stroke him, of course,
at night and at times

when he didn't expect it,
my sudden meltdowns
of hapless affection,

but mostly the case
was live and let live.
Which is hardly enough.

The film in his eye,
his blindsided trot
reminds me of that.

Seamus Heaney

Uh oh- time to be a grown-up

Here's my horoscope for this week.

http://www.freewillastrology.com/horoscopes/sagittarius.html

Sagittarius Horoscope for week of July 9, 2009 In the Middle Ages, people became adults when they turned seven years old. These days, the threshold is much later. I'm happy about that. In my view, the longer you can hold on to your playful irreverence and innocent lust for life, the better. Still, there is value in taking on the kinds of responsibilities that help you express yourself with grace and power. So I don't mean to rush you, but it might be time to take a step towards being on the verge of tiptoeing to the brink of preparing to accept more adulthood into your heart. You could make the process less harrowing by hanging out with those rare wise guys and wise girrrls who've survived the transition to greater maturity and a higher degree of professionalism with their youthful flair more or less intact. Rob's wallet was stolen and it highlighted the frantic disorganized mess that is our finances. I am so sour about money and never having enough, that I never make it a priority and our bills are paid just-on-time. This horoscope actually got my mind thinking in a different way. Maybe to be organized and responsible about money could be about "express(ing) yourself with grace and power" That seems noble. I certainly want to be a strong example for my children in all arenas, even how we fund our lives. Makes me want to buy a new notebook and pen and get down to business. I also love the idea of a seven year old being an adult when I look at Lily who just turned seven. She could be a pretty functioing adult, but there would be some major glitches. She can make breakfast for Georgia and her. But her bed would be filled with half eaten food and vermin, which might have been common in the Middle Ages. My yoga teacher just said that logic doesn't come in until a person is 7 years old and before that we are ruled by "big mind" Hmm that explains three and a half Georgia and her frequent time-outs for saying "poop" and swatting Lily.

Green River

Spent the afternoon at Green River in Vermont visiting our friends who just relocated up there to a great spot by the river.




















Rob loves to catch the crayfish. This one was big! The girls made a circle of stones and tried to contain them but they snuck out between or under the rocks into the soft sand. Georgia said over and over, "I don't want to hug it. I don't want to hug it." Although no one was suggesting she should. Lily and I did take a try at it.
Georgia adored the newt we found and held it on and off for about a half and hour before I noticed it was looking a little limp and tired so I put it back. She was upset.

Miss Georgia loves worms and newts and salamanders.
























Then we had a thrilling find!
A dragonfly was perched on a rock, not flying away. It's wings were superbly iridescent and moist looking. I bent closer to see and there was the nymph casing it had just emerged from. Amazing. We watched it wait for it's wings to dry, but I got worried when the splashing girls came closer so I picked it up. It carefully stepped onto my finger and sat there tipping it's head, looking around at it's new world of air.
I passed it to Case, after a few moments, it flew up into the trees above us. Magic!






































Then everybody got cold so Michele made a summer lemonade and grape party in the sun.




















Even later, we went to the Marina and had a large expensive dinner we shouldn't have, but it was fun and while wandering around the Marina we looked up and saw a bald eagle fly overhead.












A great summer day.

The Cafe Siren

Georgia eats a cupcake wrapper! Yuck!

We tried The Cafe Siren in Greenfield today and were pleased.

Here's why I was especially pleased.

Rob is addicted to Mocha Joe's coffee so most weekend mornings he finds a way to drag the whole family 20 minutes up to Vermont. There we go to Mocha Joe's where he can have a perfect cup of joe among sullen baristas and sometimes babbling schizophrenics on the couch.

The Cafe Siren is in Greenfield and serves Mocha Joe's coffee which he found "excellent". He is a severe coffee snob so for him to like coffee from anywhere other than his regular haunts is quite amazing. Now it means we can go North to Brat or South to Greenfield without him whining or withdrawing from caffeine.



The food was good, too. With nice bright salads and tasty Izze soda.

The people were nice and the sun was shining in the windows.
I have high hopes.

Tall Ships

Taking the train to Boston



We went to see the tall ships today in Boston. I was tired before we even began, but I remember going as a kid and looking up at the tall sails and rigging and being very impressed.





First we drove to 2 hours to Andover where my parents live and where my brother was visiting. We used the bathroom and grabbed a quick snack and then we took the commuter rail into North Station.

It was the girl's first time on a train. They ate grapes and rice cakes while my mother read them fairy tales from a book she brought with cool creepy drawings. My brother and father tried to nap.


We got to North Station and walked up to Charlestown Pier. Finally a gorgeous sunny day. It wasn't too crowded and there were plenty of porta-potties.


There were slow moving lines to board the big ships which was hard for Georgia who was starving even though she ate more snacks than a teenage boy. I was drained from working the night before and the long drive, but tried to take in the beauty of the ships and they were really beautiful. I had imagined them being in full sail, like the floating ship in Peter Pan, drifting in the moonlight or the glorious ships in Pirates of the Caribbean. But the ships were docked and their sails pulled in, of course. All the masses of people made it hard to focus on the shiny brass and gleaming golden wood, but I tried.
I tried to pack up all the visual images and save them for later when I could mull them over.



On Board the Coast Guard Eagle




This is Bluenose, a ship from Nova Scotia. A small clear jelly fish sighting was the highlight for both the girls. As my brother said, "Critters are always the best thing."