Starfish Envy

A Sad Homecoming

Daisy... my sweet, kind, girl... my companion of thirteen years... died on Tuesday.

I said it.  I wrote the words.

I can barely process them, but there they are.  

Daisy died.

She'd been slowly declining, having bad days followed by weeks of good, then a spell of bad.  We did blood tests and x-rays and gave her pills for pain... but the blood test results were fine, and the vet couldn't determine exactly what was wrong.

And then, Sunday night, she started throwing up and was lethargic.  My dogsitter called me in Canada, asking if he should take her to the emergency vet.  I said it was okay to wait until the next morning and take her to her regular vet-- since she had gone through exactly the same thing a few weeks ago, and recovered well, and her regular vet had all her records and knew her better.

My only comfort is that I don't think a different decision in that moment would have changed anything.

So Monday morning, my dogsitter (who is a loving and wonderful guy) took her to her vet, who did x-rays and more blood tests.  Only, this time, the blood test results were alarming.  When the results came back Monday afternoon, Daisy was nearing kidney failure and her liver values were high.  X-rays showed her heart was possibly enlarged.  The vet stabilized her and she stayed all day and overnight for observation and more tests while I tried to figure out if or when I should fly home.  The vet said her prognosis "wasn't great," but didn't know exactly what that meant.  Did she mean a week?  A month?  I knew I was coming home on Saturday, so coming home for a day or two didn't make sense-- if I was leaving Canada, I wouldn't be going back.

I decided to wait to make a decision until I knew what we were dealing with.  Words like cancer were getting floated around, and cancer makes me think of slow declines and treatments and making the brutally hard decision about when to euthanize.

Not in Daisy's case. 

The next morning, she was doing worse, and the vet transfered her to an emergency care facility.  They did an ultrasound, which showed that she had fluid around her heart.  I gave them permission to do a pericardial tap to remove the fluid, and she stabilized.  

For the first time, I breathed a sigh of relief.  She was stable.  Soon we were going to know what was wrong.  I could make a decision about staying or going.

And then-- in the middle of the ultrasound that finally revealed a large growth in her heart-- the fluid around her heart built back up very quickly, and she arrested.  The doctor called and I could hear them doing CPR in the background.  They'd been doing it for several minutes, and Daisy was unresponsive.  I told them to stop.

Of course, I was on set.  Not the best place to completely lose it.  But WP and our wonderful assistants hustled me out the back door to a waiting van, and I spent the rest of the day in my hotel room alternating between crying and crying myself to sleep.

I want to write about all the wonderful things about Daisy.  About how her head smelled like rosemary.  About the sheer joy of watching her run.  About her kindness and boundless energy.  About how she would look at me with concern everytime I got overly enthusiastic watching a hockey game.  About how every time a new dog came into our lives (and over the years there have been several, permanent and foster) she'd look at me as if to say, "Seriously?"

But I just can't yet.

Thirteen years... and I wasn't with her when she died.

I came home to a house that feels empty.  

Moose, huge as he is, can't fill the space that held Daisy.

I know my house will soon fill up again... with a baby and the accompanying joy and chaos.  

But it breaks my heart that this baby in my belly will never know my first, sweet girl.

(That's Daisy, sleeping on both me and Chloe at the same time.)

So... there.

That's what happened.

I promise that tomorrow I will be less maudlin. 

There are so many good, happy things going on right now.  And I haven't forgotten about them.  I don't appreciate them any less.

I just wish Daisy was here, cuddled up beside me on the couch.

Talk To The Animals... Just Imagine It

While I'm out of town for the rest of the month, Moose wants me to be sure to eat my eggs.

How do I know this?

The animal communicator told me!  

You may remember that this time last year, I had an animal communicator (Candi Cane Cooper, for those who are interested) come talk to Daisy and Moose.  I was out of town for several weeks, and Chloe had just died, and I wanted to make sure they knew that I would be back soon, and all would be well.

Last year, I experienced the session over the phone, and even then it was pretty incredible.  

This year, I got the full experience, right in my own living room.  Amazing.

Watching Candi talk to my dogs is fascinating-- particularly when she's talking to Moose.  It really does seem like he's talking to her.  When she asks him things, he looks from me to Daisy, and back to Candi.  Even I can almost follow his train of thought. 

He's worried about Daisy, who's been feeling very punky lately.  He knows I'm going out of town, with my red suitcase, and (as I mentioned) he wants me to be sure to eat my eggs.  What's crazy about the egg thing, is that I have eggs EVERY morning.  Poached, medium well.  It's my favorite part of the day.  But there's no way he could know that, because most days, I don't eat breakfast at home!  Usually, I go to a diner down the street!  Crazy.  Right?  

Anyway.

Moose likes the dogsitter who'll be staying at my house, although he wishes the dogsitter would look at him more.  (Narcissist, much?)  Of course, Moose thinks the dogsitter is just here to feed him (and Daisy, of course.)  Moose is the one who will be watching the house, thank you very much.

And Daisy wants me to know that, although she's having a lot of pain, she's doing fine.  She's just going to be spending a lot of time resting from now on, and she wants to be sure I'm okay with that.  She asked for a new bed in the living room, preferably pink, and she likes the new food I just started giving her yesterday.  The brown stuff does make her feel better (she gets her pain pills in peanut butter).  And she doesn't want to be walked out in front of the house to go potty because she feels like she couldn't react quickly enough if there was another dog out there.  Despite all the steps, she'd rather just go to the back yard, please.

Today's session with Candi was comforting for many of reasons... but primarily because I was starting to think that Daisy might not be with me for much longer.  She's been in pretty rough shape for the last week or so.  We've been spending a lot of time at the vet, with no answers, and she hasn't been getting better.  She hasn't been eating well.  She even peed in her bed one night, which has never ever happened before in her entire life.  I've been wracked with guilt about leaving her for nearly a month, and distraught at the thought of losing her much sooner than I'm ready to.

Just knowing that Daisy's okay-- mentally, at least, if not physically-- is an enormous relief.  Knowing that she wants to rest... but still wants to be here, with me and Moose... takes a massive weight from my chest.

So... deep breath.

All is well.

Oh, and one more thing.  When the baby gets here, Moose says he wants to lick her face.  Then, when she's old enough, he'd be very pleased to give her a ride on his back.

I knew I should have named him Horse. 

The Miracle Cure... For Dogs

Since there seems to be some interest in the fabulous vomit-inducing treatment I used on Moose this weekend...

I'll share it with you!

But keep in mind that all dogs are different.  My particular dog is 90+ lbs (and something of a brat).  So the dose that worked for him, may not be right for your dog.

Check with your vet!

For Moose, my vet said I should give him three tablespoons of hydrogen peroxide, walk him around to let it jostle in his tummy, and then give him another dose of three tablespoons fifteen minutes later.  They said if the dose didn't work the first two times, I could do it a third time... but no more.  

They also said I could dilute the peroxide in milk, which I did for the first dose.  By the second dose, he was on to me, so I had to just open his mouth and pour the peroxide in a tablespoon at a time.

Within a couple minutes of the second dose, BLECCCHHHHH.

And that was that.

Don't say I didn't give you anything for Christmas. :)

An Urban Farm Of My Own

I went to the Rosebowl Flea Market today, and my friend and I both fell in love with these whimsical and wonderful metal animals:

She exercised restraint and got only two small roosters for herself.

I got this big rooster...

And a big pig...

And two baby pigs.

And, okay, I also got an elephant.

The rooster will remain in the living room... the pig family will be on the back deck... and the elephant will find a spot amidst the jungle that is my backyard.  (Pictures coming.)

If I can't actually have chickens and pigs (and elephants)... these guys are definitely the next best thing.

Although the elephant totally freaks out Moose and Daisy.

Fear And Panicking In Los Angeles

Today I got one of those phone calls.  The kind of which I live in fear.  The kind that starts: "Hi, I found your dog, Moose...?"

First, comes the flood of relief that he's been found.  

Then comes the utter panic that he was LOST IN THE FIRST PLACE.  What???  How did he get out?  Where was he?  Is he okay?

Most importantly, WHERE'S DAISY???

Apparently, a guy without a cell phone found Moose wandering in the park near my house. Moose was hanging out with another dog who matched Daisy's description.  Moose came to the man, but the other dog was a little more skitish.  Which sounds exactly like Daisy.  Since he didn't have a cell phone, he asked this woman-- the nicest woman in the world-- to call.  

At this point, I FREAK OUT.  I'm grabbing my purse, and screaming for our assistant, Elysse, to call the dog walkers and find out if anyone's near the park who can look for Daisy, and writing down the address of the woman who has Moose, and running for the office door, WP racing behind me with my water bottle (which, I gotta say, I found oddly touching).  

By the time I was on the freeway, the dog walker was calling to let me know that Moose ran away from the pack on his hike this afternoon.  Apparently he found the horses that live just off the trail to be more interesting than the rest of his canine pals.  

So, whew.  I know what happened.  I know Moose is fine.

But all I can think is WHAT ABOUT DAISY???

My dog walker assures me that Daisy is safe at home.  Whoever this other dog was that sounded like Daisy, was NOT actually Daisy.  Because when Moose left for his hike, Daisy was tucked safely on the couch.  

Which I logically know is probably true.  

Still, I had to get home.  I had to see Daisy IN MY HOUSE and know that she, like Moose, was fine.

So while the dog walkers went to pick up Moose from the incredibly wonderful woman who took him in, I raced through rush hour traffic.  And when I walked in the door... there, indeed, was Daisy.  Nestled happily on the couch.

I cried.

Then Moose came home, and jumped on me as if to say, "Mom, that was scary!"  He's been clingy all night.  

And I am weak with relief.  

It going to rain tonight, and I can't imagine the hell I would be going through if that nice man and that kind woman hadn't found Moose and helped him find his way home.

I'll be forever grateful.  

I'll also take this opportunity to remind everyone: even if your dog is microchipped (as mine are), make sure they're wearing a collar and tags with a legible phone number.

As it did for me today, that one simple thing could save you a world of worry.  

And One More Thing...

I totally forgot the best part of the story!!!

Wednesday morning, before I got the official call from my doctor, I took Daisy and Moose out to the backyard.  Usually, I just leave the doggie door open, and the dogs come and go as they please.

But because my friend Lesley was staying with me, and because she has two cats who were occupying the downstairs, the dogs weren't allowed outside unsupervised.  

The problem is, my downstairs windows look right onto my back patio... and one of Lesley's cats decided immediately that she wanted to be as close to the windows as possible AT ALL TIMES.  Which both Lesley and I feared was going to lead to a dog sticking his or her dumb head through a window in pursuit of some feline breakfast.

Thus the supervision.

Is this sounding at all familiar?  Me going into the backyard at a time I usually wouldn't be going to the backyard?  For dog-related reasons?

Well, it happened again.  A cactus flower, blooming right by my orange tree.  The second one I've seen in the nearly nine years I've lived in my house.

All I can say is... keep talking, Gram.  I'm listening.  

And thanks.

Seven Words I Never Thought I'd Write

I find this Chipotle commercial really moving.

 

Thanks to Cold Antler Farm for sharing it.

Puppy Power!

George is a smarty pants.  

In the last couple days, he's invented a game.  He'll happily play it by himself for half an hour at a time, and would probably stick with it longer if I'd let him.  (But it kind of drives me crazy.)

The game revolves around a squeaky ball.  A pink, fuzzy, squeak squeak squeaky ball.

George "accidentally" lets the ball get stuck under my great-grandma's antique desk. And then he bats at it from all different angles, pouncing and swiping with his paws until he gets it free.  Then he runs around and squeaks the hell out of that ball for about a minute.  And then he flops on the ground by the desk... and "accidentally" lets the ball get stuck again.

He'll do this over and over and over... and no matter how many times he does it, getting that ball is THE MOST EXCITING THING IN THE ENTIRE WORLD.

It's quite clever.  He creates a problem, and then he solves it.  Again and again.

It's kind of amazing, if you think about it.  I know toddlers who don't yet operate at a level that high, thought-wise.  And the whole thing requires a focus that's rare in dogs.

SO WHY WON'T ANYONE ADOPT HIM???

I know some of you think he'll be staying with me, but he's not meant to be my dog.  I really feel like I'm just here to help him get to the right place.  Which is not with me.

But I would like for him to be with someone who will appreciate the things that make him special.  So if you know anyone...

Isn't now a good time to get a puppy? 

 

Water Water Everywhere...

Awwwww.

Cute, right?

UNTIL YOU LOOK AT MY KITCHEN FLOOR.

Every time George gets a drink of water (the bowl is around the corner in the breakfast room), he dunks his whole face in and then just lets it fly while he races from one thing to the next.  It's adorable.  

And gross.

I don't think I'll tell his future people about his drinking problem...

My Old Girl

Daisy is getting old.

Her knees are shot, her shoulders hunched, her fur has taken on a fuzzy, old-dog texture.  Her body gets wider as her face grows gaunt.  She has a hard time getting up and down the stairs. She has a hard time getting up and down at all.  

I'm not ready.

I look at her, and it breaks my heart.

To me, she will always be the dog who bounded up hills and leapt over rocks, who ran until her knees literally gave out.  She will always be the most joyous dog I've ever known.

I hope there's still some joy in her. 

I hope she can stay much, much longer with me.  

But I think I have to start preparing myself for some sadness.

I'm just glad she's home.