Do You Realize?

Let's Try This Again...

I just couldn't stay away.  It's been more than a year since I last posted, the night before our oldest, beloved dog died of a massive cancerous lung tumor.  Some things have changed, some are the same.  What's happened since then?

Poogan died quite traumatically in my arms a few hours after my last post at the veterinarian's office.  

My vehicular bad luck continued for another couple of months.  I was rear-ended a third time, and then I was front-ended by another. Yes, you read that right. I was waiting to exit a CVS parking lot behind another car. As she pulled out into the street, I pulled forward. When she was almost completely pulled out, she braked, put the car in reverse and backed into the front of my car. What kind of moron does this? The kind whose moron boyfriend drops his keys out the window into the street while the car is moving, apparently. Only, instead of continuing forward motion & pulling into the next parking lot ten feet away, she decided to put the car in reverse & back her car back into the parking lot, regardless of the bright red vehicular obstacle in her way.

We had another full battery of neuropsychological testing for Youngest, who has gotten an "upgrade" on his diagnosis.  The new flavor of mental illness is "schizoaffective disorder."  In a nutshell, he has the distinction of symptoms of both schizophrenia and some sort of affective, or mood, disorder (in his case, bipolar disorder), and that he can experience the symptoms of both at the same time or independently of one another at any given time. I know, upgrades are usually exciting to win, but for some reason I can't quite muster up any fervor for this one. Maybe it's the raging paranoia or the complete and utter lack of ability to connect with reality, but that's just a guess.

I never did post about our experience with Youngest and the residential treatment center, but that's okay, because he may be going back. We had a slightly emergent situation arise at school yesterday, and he's spending two days at home, and we have a slightly emergent Saturday double scoop of psychiatry bright and early tomorrow morning.

After more than a year of cheating on Louis trying another purse, we replaced my Louis Vuitton Batignolles Horizontal bag.  I even tried a different style of LV bag, but I carried it for two days and took it back for the perfect bag for me, the same exact one some skank stole that was stolen.

I made Jello shots for New Year's Eve again... all different flavors this year, none of which I really remember.  I also didn't take photos because my camera was doing crazy stupid things (which were later alleviated by purchasing all-new data cards).

We still love our water-saving toilets and energy/water efficient front-loading LG Tromm washer & dryer. And I still owe a review of the washer & dryer.  And we have a new Energy Star GE Profile refrigerator to love.

We got a new really damned annoying precious puppy.  His name is Keller, as he is very visually impaired.  His name was thisclosetobeing Merkin, as he is a black kinky-haired poodle. I will gripe blog about him a lot, I'm sure.

I finally went back to college!  I'm a Cougar! (This status has nothing to do with my age or my age preference in men.)  I've been wanting to do this for quite some time now, and I'm on my third semester of part-time classes.  

I'm still a master procrastinator, and I'll still probably only post sporadically, especially when life gets crazy. Which it does quite often here.

Of Dogs and Death

It's 4:35 a.m., and I'm sitting in my living room, listening to our dog struggle mightily to take in enough oxygen to keep her little body alive. My husband & I were in bed, with Poogan at our feet making the same brave attempts to breathe, taking turns lying down beside her and in our regular positions in bed. As we lay there with our heads next to hers, petting on her, my husband posed an interesting idea, one that some might find painful. The idea was simply this: Might Poogan be more comfortable downstairs, instead of on the bed? We made the decision to go downstairs. We put Poogan in the floor, in the spot where she loves to lie, and we went to the sofa to camp. She's moved about downstairs as she wishes, and, not surprisingly, she's not stayed with us for more than a couple of minutes.

This was so hard for us to do. As human pet owners, with human emotions and attachments, we want to be there with our pets for every one of their last moments. But do they want us there? We like to think that, yes, they are put at ease by having us there, but I actually think the opposite might be true. I think having us there, hovering, doting, worrying, only adds to any anxiety they may be feeling. They are dogs, and dogs are not humans. We share some of the same emotions, yes, but not our attitudes of death.

Think of how dogs choose to die, if given the choice. Alone. Away from their pack. Even domestic dogs do this. I grew up with animals, and I could never understand my parent's gentle but mysterious explanations when a dog "went off to die." But I've always known that they do. And yet, in a dog's final moments, we still want to "be there for her (or him)." In times of grief, rational thought need not apply.

When I die, I do, indeed, want my "pack" around me. I don't think I want to be alone. But, then, I'm only human.

And it just keeps coming...

So, the week from hell is still barreling relentlessly forward.

Today I found out I could possibly have a parotid gland tumor; I have a CTScan scheduled for Wednesday and will get the results next Monday. A huge percentage (80-99%, depending on whom you believe) are benign, but require removal anyway, because they just continue to grow.

Also today, I was so distracted I ran out of gas.

Also also today, Youngest got himself bitten by a rat. Not a pet rat. A real, bona fide, disease harboring rat. And so we spent our evening in the emergency room.

What lovely experiences could tomorrow have in store that could even remotely compare to the week I've had thus far? I can hardly stand the anticipation.

I'll start posting again more regularly when I can dig out of this dung heap. This exciting and interesting dung heap. But a dung heap nonetheless.

Photo Hunt Saturday--Colorful

This week's theme is: Colorful. And since I love colorful photographs, I have a few to share this week.

This colorful anthias is a fascinating little fish. The female to male ratio in a "cloud" of anthias can be as high as 36 to 1. All anthias start life as a female; when the harem's male dies, the highest ranking female changes sex and becomes the new male.

This colorful shot was taken one night in Austin, Texas, when fireworks started up as we were just walking down the street. I haven't eaten at Jo's yet, but it's been packed every morning we've ever driven past.

And, finally, I couldn't resist including this one, even though the composition is not great. I saw this super colorful Cow Parade cow when I was visiting RedMolly in Portland, Oregon, last summer. I love cows. I love Cow Parade cows. If I could have stuffed him in my trunk, I would have.

Edited to add: I always visit the sites of those who have visited me each week. If I do not leave a comment, it is because I can't for whatever reason; most often it is because the comments on your site have been set up to accept only Google bloggers or OpenID. I will reply to those people here at my blog. If I haven't replied here, I have done so at your blog! Thanks!

Tripawed Tuesday

As you may recall, Poogan was officially tripawed on Monday of last week, because of a soft tissue sarcoma. I am officially in awe of this dog's (and every animal's really, as they are so much tougher than we humans) resiliency. Day One post-returning-home saw her able to go upstairs on her own; by Day Three she could also go downstairs, a much tougher task when the paw missing is a front paw. By Day Five, she could jump up onto and down from the sofa and eat from her bowl in the floor (another tricky one, requiring more balance than one would imagine). On Day Six, two days ago, I can officially say she made my heart swell with joy and pride.

Every evening, around 7 or 8 o'clock, we walk the dogs. They all seem to know what time it is, and the indoor dogs all get excited when they see us head for the back door to gather the leashes. Lorcan starts sneezing uncontrollably, Nibbles starts tap-dancing in circles, and Poogan winds up her Jack-Nicholson-in-The-Shining-smile (you know, when you can see her last molars and her eyes take on a slight smidge of madness).

Every day up until Sunday, Poogan didn't show much interest at walk time, but Sunday, she lined up with everyone else, channeling Jack in full force. She's still not wearing a collar, so I couldn't leash her up, but I figured, "Hey, she's missing a leg. We can catch her if she decides to run off." We also fully expected to carry her most of the way. Not a chance. She was very good to stay with the pack, but when her feet hit grass she was bounding like a puppy. She made it almost all the way around the block before I made hubby pick her up & carry her; she likely would have kept going but she was panting pretty hard, and I didn't want to risk her overdoing it.

Watching her return to her former self and abilities has been an inspiring lesson in sticktoitiveness. It's amazing to see her nonchalant response to a slip of the paw and resulting face-plant. A human's reaction would include self-consciousness and embarrassment, but all she thinks about is trying again to get it right. We all could learn something from our courageous canine counterparts. Here's to you, Poogan!

(This photo was taken on Sunday morning, when Poogan decided we should just lie in the driveway for fifteen minutes or so and enjoy the breeze and the quiet at 7:00 a.m. She's so wise; it was lovely.)

P.S. On a totally unrelated note, Middle, his girlfriend, and I rented Cloverfield last night. While I liked the movie, it was no better for sensitive stomachs on a television than the big screen. I missed a half hour or so while I regurgitated my dinner, my lunch, and my breakfast, and possibly even dinner from the night before. Dramamine, people, Dramamine. They weren't lying.

Osteosarcoma

It even sounds insidious, doesn't it? We just got an initial diagnosis of it for Poogan yesterday afternoon. I'm headed to a specialist this morning for confirmation. Please send positive thoughts and even prayers, if prayers are more your thing. Thank you!

Update Friday 5/30/08:  Yesterday's visit to the surgeon brought good and bad news. The bad news is that this is, indeed, a cancer, and amputation will still be necessary, so Monday begins a new challenge of three-leggedness for Poogan. The good news is that he does not suspect osteosarcoma, which is very aggressive and invasive. Rather, because of its presentation, he suspects a rarer, but less aggressive, form of cancer, synovial cell cancer. Only pathology of the limb will tell us for sure, and that will take about a week post-surgery.

A Tuesday Ten--Got Milk? Edition

On Saturday, Hubby & I spent several hours at a local farm whose incredibly tasty products we recently fell in love with. I wrote about this yesterday. If you haven't read it yet, do it now. Really. It will make you all warm inside.

During our time there, I learned a lot of new information about dairy production, and I learned a lot of  information I thought I knew about dairy production. Here's what I learned, in no particular order. As you'll soon see, a lot of hot button issues really simply depend on the dairy and their individual practices.

1. Mechanical milking is not necessarily bad for cows. In reality, there is no way to physically express all the milk from a cow's udders by hand milking, nor can a single calf drink all the milk in her udders. A milking machine most efficiently expresses all the milk, reducing a cow's risk of developing mastitis. As Todd Moore (owner/operator of Lavon Farms, which supplies the milk for Lucky Layla Farms' delectable products) pointed out, his cows show up willingly in the mornings at the sound of his voice to be milked. If the machines hurt them, they wouldn't be such willing participants.

2. Different cows satisfy different priorities. Just as different breeds of beef cattle produce different grades of meat, different breeds of dairy cattle serve different purposes. Moore's family farm has been raising Guernsey and Jersey cows since the 1930's. These breeds were chosen, Moore points out, because their milk is of exceptional quality, with high butter-fat and protein content, though the quantity is much less than other breeds. For example, Guernseys & Jerseys produce about five gallons of milk daily, whereas Holsteins produce at least twice that amount but of lower quality.

3. Pasteurization is necessary, but somewhat evil. We tasted raw milk while we were at the farm, and it was absolutely delicious. Unfortunately, the law prohibits any farm that has a creamery from selling raw milk in addition to the finished, pasteurized products, due to possible cross-contamination. Pasteurization, unfortunately, kills a lot of luscious flavor in addition to the germs. If run in a clean, safe manner, dairies can produce raw milk that is as safe as pasteurized, but the law is designed, I'm guessing, to protect consumers from the farms who are operating for quantity of sales, not quality of conditions.

4. "Antibiotic-free" is a marketing ploy which ultimately means nothing. Having organic certification means that we are guaranteed that cows are not being given a steady stream of antibiotics to try to prevent infections, thus possibly increasing antibiotic resistance in humans. Sounds okay so far, right? However, it also means that a farmer cannot give a single round of antibiotics to a cow who has a non-transmissable, but still painful, infection like, say, mastitis. Additionally, milk is so highly regulated that farmers have to submit milk for testing on a regular basis; if any antibiotic is found, the milk isn't accepted. Antibiotics very rarely will ever make it into the food chain; you may as well buy "gasoline-free" milk. Knowing your dairy is very important, as is being able to ask them questions. If you can't find a local dairy, try Organic Valley. They are a sort of co-op situation that works with individual family farms. Horizon Organic may as well be a factory farm; they've been questioned numerous times for pushing the limits of technicalities for their organic certification.

5. The national average lifespan of a dairy cow is a pitiful three years. I wholly believe this is due to the stress of constant antibiotics and growth hormones given to increase productivity; sooner, rather than later, those cow's bodies wear out. Moore's cows live fully twice the national average, and this cow, named Sybil, who was getting ready for an appearance at Whole Foods, is ten years old. And due to calf in June. Happy cows apparently live longer lives. Imagine that.

6. Calves weigh between 40-100 pounds at birth. I never, ever would have guessed this. Looking at these "adolescent" calves, at about 12 weeks old, I wouldn't guess their weight to be 200-400 pounds, either. Guernseys & Jerseys weigh in at adulthood between 1000-1300 pounds.

7. Gestation for cows is nine months, the same as humans. Sometimes human intervention is required for calving, but most often cows handle delivery all on their own. Hubby, who is an anesthesiologist, and I found it quite amusing when Todd relayed that his wife, after giving birth the first time, came home and proclaimed that all the cows should be given epidurals when they labor.

8. Calves do not stay in the pasture with their mothers. The first surprise that greeted us as we drove up the driveway was the area where calves are kept. I wanted to be appalled; after all, the calves are kept tethered to their own individual "cow house" (my term) and the ground cover is large pea gravel, not grass. Upon inquiry, however, we learned that the babies are separated very early to prevent sickness. Just like sending a kid to daycare, if one baby, with a weaker immune system than adults, gets sick, it can spread like wildfire. After 10-12 weeks, the babies are moved to a pasture with other youngsters for a time before heading out with the big cows. The pea gravel was very clean, and the babies were well-fed and well-tended.

9. Horns are removed almost immediately. While many claim it is barbaric, it really is for the safety of the cows. If there is ever a "disagreement," these cows will fight to the death to settle it, so horn removal is necessary if the cows are kept communally in a pasture.

10. Cows are very smart and each has its own distinct personality. Some of them were timid, some of them were curious, some were very loving, and others were simply indifferent. (This one, whom we nicknamed Bucksnort, would snort and hop around if Hubby quit petting on her.) But all of them, Moore insists, are very, very smart. Do not be fooled by the somewhat vacant expressions (I personally consider it "serene," not "vacant"); it's all an act.

You Learn Something New Every Day

While considering plants for our large outdoor pots, we were thinking sago palms in one set and replacement Rum Runner hibiscus in the others. Then we remembered Marshmallow's tendency to snack on everything she can get her teeth on (yesterday she ate cotton burr compost like it was cereal) and decided maybe(!) it would be a good idea to check toxicity of these plants for dogs.

A quick Internet search ruled out sago palm; even a small amount of this plant will cause swift renal failure in dogs. But hibiscus is a different story. There are conflicting reports. Some lists of poisonous plants have hibiscus included on them, some don't.  And so it was that I sat on the phone for fifteen minutes with the ASPCA Poison Control Center. Nevermind that we had already purchased the hibiscus online. According to the ASPCA vet I spoke with, the hibiscus will cause some pretty severe gastrointestinal upset, but it is not life-threatening to dogs. We decided to proceed with the planting and place some chicken wire around the plants until they no longer seem like a novelty to Destruct-o-Dog.

So, that's what I learned yesterday. That, and hard manual labor outside with only dogs for company is not nearly as much fun as with a friend, with, say, speech capabilities and opposable thumbs and an innate revulsion to caprophagia.

Photo Hunt Saturday--Party

Before we get to today's Photo Hunt, let me remind you of my Blogiversary Giveaways. Today, I’ll be giving away a CD with TEN of my favorite original photographic images that you can use for your computer desktop or screen saver. A few will probably be ones you've seen on a previous Photo Hunt Saturday, and a few others will be ones you've never seen. But, you can be assured, they will all be lovely! Remember, you have to comment to be included in the drawing.

Today's Photo Hunt theme is: Party. I love this photo of the little impromptu party that Sapphire decided to host... hehehe. She definitely has friends of all size, shape, and color, just as we all should!

Photo Hunt Saturday--Free

When I read this week's theme, free, I started thinking: Is anything in life really, truly free? Then my head started hurting from thinking too much, and I chose instead to use this as a FREE day to post any photo I want to share with you. Besides, in northern Australia, Varied Lorikeets like this one fly free in their native habitat.

This photo was taken at the interactive aviary exhibit at the Ft. Worth Zoo; this little fellow was incredibly gregarious, and we made fast friends. It must have been my name that he liked. The photo was taken in February 2005 with a 105mm lens; I love this one so much it is one of my desktop images that I routinely use.