TIME PASSES

Cooper is still around. He has three legs instead of four and his appetite isn't too hot, but he tries.
I try, too.
One day I know what I should do. I should have them do chemo. I cannot, obviously, until he has quit vomiting and having diarrhea and is eating a bit better. But we are working on all that. He is eating very little right now. Yesterday he ate some actual dog food-- kibble. Today he ate less kibble but wanted green beans which I have never known him to like. Chicken and Turkey make him sick.
He watches me.
I watch him.
We went out back tonight and watched it snow.
I thought, this is probably his last winter. His favorite season. Silly dog.

My heart is torn apart. Some days, most days, I am just fine. Other times, like tonight, I can barely stand it. Every one of these dogs will someday break my heart. Maybe not quite like this, but it will happen.
Why do I have these dogs? I know what will happen. The day I bring them home, all ears and feet, the end begins. We all know this. We do it over and over again. We don't think in those terms. Not until the dog is older and in trouble physically. And then we think: why did I do this...again?

Because we love them. And they love us. Because they make us laugh even when we know we will cry later.
Cooper stands alone among the pygmy Bassets, but the Bassets have made his life infinitely more interesting. Cooper has less of a sense of humor than do the Bassets, but that is just his nature.

Cooper has contributed his knowledge and protection to any number of Bassets. He insists they behave--- except Zelda, his adopted daughter I swear. Maybe all dogs end up in the same place: maybe Cooper will be reunited with Zelda. I don't know. My belief systems are very thin.

Conley.......keep me going.

"MAKE HIM VOMIT".....

So. Last evening my nose was really congested and bothering me so I decided to take a couple of John's Coricidin. It comes two to a little blister pak. Conley was of course sitting on my feet "helping", in case I dropped a steak or something that needed his immediate attention. I popped the packet open with my thumbnail and thought I felt something hit my foot. I turned the packet over and it was empty. It was unlikely John had left an empty thingie in the package which meant the Coricidin, with 325 mgs of Acetaminophen in each pill, had fallen on the floor at the large feet of my Basset.

I got the Flashlight. The pills (they are technically Tablets because they are coated) are fire engine red and my rug and floor is ignored dark. No tablets. John came and assisted. Nothing. I looked at Conley and knew that somehow he had managed to snarf up those pills.

Mr Innocence peered back at me, thumping his tail.

I grabbed the phone and called the Vetspital. I got Dr. Johnson, a dear friend as well as a wonderful Vet. She listened and said "Make him vomit. Hydrogen peroxide, 5 ccs, followed by 5 ccs of water. Keep it up until he vomits."

Ohhhhhhh......*****.
So I grabbed a leash, a husband, a syringe (No needle) the peroxide and a glass of water. It was dark outside and cold so we settled on the warm, well-lit kitchen floor. I shot the peroxide and water down Conley and waited. Did it again. Waited. I was conscious of every tick of the clock. I had, I figured, about 20 minutes to get those pills out of him. I did it again and he started with The Pre-Barf Look of Consternation. Then he puked.
Instantly I am on my knees picking through the slime.
John watched with a look of profound distaste. I said "When it's my dog, I can do anything." And I knew it was true.

Nothing.
Some food. Some grass. Some stuff I would rather not think about much less describe to others. No pills. Nevertheless, we went through the whole thing a second time.

I picked through it all. He puked a total of about 8 times until it was just foam. Nothing. No pills. Nothing that even faintly resembled a pill even maybe partially digested. We were clean. Conley was still puking.

He has a show in the morning. Ringtime is 8 a.m.

Finally he stopped barfing on my kitchen floor. I was scrubbing already. The instant he stopped he lifted his empty little head, wagged his tail and asked for a biscuit. Which he got. He trotted off happily, none the worse for wear as I continued cleaning the floor and the throw rug (throw-up rug?). Then I staggered to my feet and thought once again about the virtues of raising African Violets.

I have never known an African Violet (which I actively dislike) that had to be made to vomit.
*********************

At three this morning Cooper woke me to go out and have diarrhea and then to vomit all over the new doormat, the kind with the little spikes on them.  This is, apparently going to be a trend.

And it is becoming a long weekend........

THANKSGIVING

Today is Thanksgiving. We are having ours tomorrow. My daughter, her wonderful husband John, and my very good friend Susan are coming for dinner.
I have a HUGE turkey.
I am not at all sure why it is so big. The only thing that occurs to me is that it is my old rebellious nature kicking in.

In Kindergarten they wanted to hold me back a year. I was 4 when I started school, just ahead of the December 1st cutoff.
Kindergarten thought I was not "socialized". Actually I was, but I didn't like most people even then, and I liked doing what I wanted to. I often wandered off mentally into my own little world. I no longer remember what it entailed, only that I stared out the window a lot.
The only thing I remember clearly about Kindergarten is the infamous Circle Of Puking Children. I think Patti May started it. We were in the reading circle. Somebody puked. The next kid got a whiff and puked and so on and so on.
I don't know if I threw up or not: I have always had a steady stomach when it comes to things like that, but maybe I did.
Anyway. My Mother made them send me on to 1st grade.
Most of my school-life was full of comments such as  :"Daydreams--wastes time" and "Beverly is not paying attention in class" and "Does not work well with others."

I have never pretended to work well with others, altho I have tried.

I was asked to leave Brownie Scouts. I am not sure what happened. I hated it anyway.
I went to camp one year. The place was fabulous. I caught a terrible cold. They counselors of course would not give me anything for my cold, altho I pleaded, begged and wept. When my parents came to visit they were horrified. I, who had wanted nothing more than to go home, suddenly refused to go home. No, by God, I was going to finish this. Besides, with the cold I couldn't smell the outhouse. I stuck it out.

But the weekly rituals of Brownies set my teeth on edge. Maybe I said something rude to the Brownie leader. Or more likely, one of the girls. Whatever, one day Mother sat me down and asked if I really wanted to be a Brownie. I said no, not at all.
My parents were always trying to get me to finish what I started. This time there was none of that. My Mother sighed with relief and stood. "Ok," she said, "You're out." Later I found out Mrs. Mueller, the leader, had called and suggested I would be happier (and I am sure everyone else would be, too) if I quit.

So here I am all grown up and responsible and very fat. And I have people who care for me trying to get me to lose weight. And I diet for a week or two and then practically binge. Not quite, but almost.

So it is Turkey day tomorrow, for us, and I have a huge bird so I am guaranteed mega leftovers. I have not a clue whether it is some deep-seated way of sabatoging myself, or whether it is just me, waving my middle finger at everyone again.

I rather think it is the latter. But I will never admit it.

Happy Thanksgiving to Everyone. I hope you all have had a wonderful day.

WEATHER

Yesterday I drove to Indiana to pick up some jewelry that was in a sale. LOL. Mine didn't. Sell that is.
Anyway I also had lunch with Katie Poore, and some wonderful conversation and a great time. I took Cooper. I put lots of blankets in the back of the Van, broke my rule about traveling only in crates, and let him sprawl. He curled up against the back hatch door off the blankets. Hmmm.
On the way home (before the Weather) I stopped at PetCo and bought him one of those rolls of meaty type food which he loves. I cut several pieces off for him and about a half mile down the road pulled over, ran around to the back, and retrieved the pieces he was trying to bury in the carpet. I had visions of a bloody nose, he was so passionate about getting rid of them. He has been getting store-bought chicken at home: he held out for that.
Then the  Weather hit. It was very warm-- 67 according to my car thermometer which is fairly accurate. The rain....oh my sweet... it was HORRIBLE. It made it hard to see even with the wipers going full blast. It was so heavy that I nearly passed my turn towards home. Cooper slept. His faith in my driving is one of his more charming characteristics.
This morning it is 28.
There was ice on the top of the garbage can as I rolled it to the curb and it was clear my days of nocoat are over.
And the trees are bare.

This is what I see when I look at them instead of the green leafies--or even the brown leafies of a few weeks ago. I could stand to live someplace where summer stayed just a month longer. Three months on and nine off doesn't seem like much of a deal. I have more sweatshirts than t-shirts and I really do not like putting on 13 layers just to walk to the car.

However, thinking about this, this morning, as I came back into the house I made an interesting discovery.
There, in the front, almost buried by leaves were two of the last hold-outs for summer and fall. Two brave souls who have made it through the frosts, the rain, the wind and now the freezes:

It made me smile, even as I felt sorry that they were sacrificing themselves for the greater good. (Brightening my day is ALWAYS the greater good.) And so I salute my two little flowers, brave and intrepid souls, probably already regretting their decision to be the last rudbeckia (I think) standing.
Happy winter.

WHAT I HAVE LEARNED SINCE LAST WEEK

Last week Cooper had a front leg removed because he has Osteosarcoma. Typically, what I anticipated was much worse than what the reality turned out to be. He did not, to begin with, die on the table. I knew I had terrific Vets working on him, but my faith does not include the idiosyncracies of the canine system. Thanks and apologies to my ever-patient, highly skilled Veterinarians.

I did not, either, expect Cooper to "walk" out of the hospital. But here he came, hopping along, wagging his tail slightly as if it was too much to ask him to wag and walk at the same time. Kudos to the canid sense of survival, determination and, as it seems, payback.

I expected an almost completely shaved dog with huge incisions and the basic "Frankendog" appearance. I will not say it is pretty, but it is not anything similar to that which my ever overworking imagination had predicted.

He looks very uncomfortable but he isn't. He may be gorked but getting used to the innertube has been a chore. At first I thought he might not need anything but by the second day he was paying passing attention to the incision. We are NOT going to prolong the healing time by letting him at it. The Bassets learned quickly it was not for examination. They also learned that Cooper may be gimpy but he hasn't lost his sense of Alpha-ism. By day 2 they were carefully respecting his space. Gradually, I see that eroding as they become used to this strange apparition.
I have learned that Boy Belgians DO NOT WANT HELP when they go out to pee. Despite falling over and over his solution is simply not to pee. This is driving me crazy but if I touch him he won't go either, and I mean TOUCH him, anywhere.

I have learned that walking a three-legged dog in your pajamas and coat and muck boots in the morning when the kiddies are lining up for the school bus probably gives them something to talk about on the ride.

I have learned that despite my feelings before the surgery and during it, Life goes On.

I have learned once again that Bassets make me laugh whether I am in the midst of tears of sadness or not, and that nothing is set in stone.
I have been taught once again that Friends and relatives can be everything. That they can mean the difference between the depths of despair and the latitudes of hope.
And that a good Vet is worth her weight in gold.

LIVING

Volumes have been written about living each day to it's fullest because it might be your last but come on, now-- we never really expect that it will be: nor do we get up in the morning and, as we drink our coffee (or coke in my case) do we think "Gee maybe something will happen today to change my life."
And then it does.

As passionate as I am about my Basset boys, this boy with the big ears is my heart and soul. And so it was not nice when I noticed that he was limping, and I thought well maybe he has a soft tissue injury and it will resolve in a few days. But he continued. And I thought, maybe he twisted his foot and it will resolve itself.
But of course, it didn't.
And deep in my soul I felt a quiver, and then a shudder, and I thought: I KNOW why he is limping. He is ten. I have seen this a thousand times. But not MY dog, not my heart and soul, not my friend. He does NOT HAVE Osteosarcoma in that leg he does not he does not he does not.

But of course, he does.
One x-ray. I looked up on the screen and one x-ray. The bone ruffled and displaced, roughened, pieces moved.....a nice rad of Osteosarcoma. I looked at Doc and he looked at me. He said
"Do you want to take the leg off today or tomorrow?"

What? One of those beautiful long legs with the feathers that have never been cut? I thought: maybe putting him down now would be more humane. How do you explain to a dog that you are going to hurt him horribly to make him better---and probably only for a short time? A hole opened in my heart, my brain. Tomorrow--- I guess tomorrow. Let me talk to John.

And he said, is there no other way?

And there is not. Other than putting the dog down no, there is no other option. Well maybe there is at the University but I had already decided we were sticking close to home. There is the matter of being retired. The money.

The going back and forth in winter...everything I have always said one must do I did not do. I wept. My beautiful, faithful companion, who ever only asked to be with me, and now this. How unfair is that?

Well..to be honest, how fair is cancer, ever?

So he is not here tonight. He is someplace close geographically but a thousand miles away emotionally. He is drugged, he is, I hope, alseep and pain-free, and he is three-legged. There is an echo in my heart. He will come home but probably not for long. Osteosarcoma is one of the most unforgiving of cancers.

Remember this the next time your dog gets you up in the middle of night and you get up, angry and tired, and snarl at him. Remember this the next time you trip over her carrying your coffee and spill it and yell at the dog. Remember this the next time you vacuum and it is all dog hair and you think My God, is there no end to this?

Because there is. And it can come without warning, any day.

MORNING

Dis morning we got she up early. See evry morning we gets her up about 3:30 to go out. Dis morning we let she sleep cuz she lets us ousside lass night about eleben. Late. Cuz she open da dore to let we ousside about earlyer an clost it right away an say NOBODY GOIN NOWHERE: SKONK. We nose dat.
Not sure whut dat is but we nose dem alla time sometime reel close. I think they them liddel kittie things what are black an white that look like fat kitties but dont smell like kitties. Mr. Cooper Sir he say stay way away frum dem. Enyways dat why we didnt go ousside the youshuall time bout ...whaddebber.

So we ledder sleep dis morning until bout 4:30 den we gotta go out. So we did. We do dis ebber morning and den go back to bed in we crates scept Llewis he get to sleep wif no crate and ob course Cooper too. She say me an Conley too much likely get inna fite in da middel ob da nite an den she hafta kill boff of we. We think she kidding. But we ok inna crates juss in case she not.
Gidder up at 4:30 an we goes out an comes in an gets a cookie an den we go back inna crates and she go beke to bed. BUT.

See, dis da prollem.

An I meens, dat reely da prollem. Now we awl nose Cooper he got heer first. We nose too dat no madder how hard she try Cooper she nummer won dog and we not. We nose dis. Specially me, Nigel. But it wrinkle. (Whut, Llewis? Oh...) But it rankel.

So ebber mornin latelely Cooper he clime inna bed wif MomPerson  affer we goes out an she lay dere wif HIM and cuddel and pet and coo an all dat disgustin stoff she shud be doin wif we. An da worser part is dis is all about three feets from we crates.

So I komplane. Frum dat crate I goes
Oh pleese. Oh pleese. Me. Pet me. He nuffin. Oh Pleese. I be good. Pleese.
and I keeps it up. Affer a bit she say shuddup, Nigel. So I nose she heer me.
So I quite for a few den start agin.
She try so hard not to pretent she heer me. She say nuffin for a long time so I gets louder. She say SHUDDUP NIGEL. So Ise quite. Den affer a minute I says
Oh pleeeeeeeeeeeeeese lemme out. Lemme out too. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeese.
So finley she tell Cooper Dats All and he git down an leeb. (He prollem be dat he axshully do what she say. He nebber lern not to. Sumfin in he brain I fink. You open da gate an say no go thro an we be 6 blox away an he still stanning in da yart barkin YOU CANT DO DAT. But we can.)

(See he juss wating for we to do sumfin wrong, den he bark an tell on we.)

Enyways so I starts up agin and dis time dere a big, loud SIIIIIGGGGGHHH from da bed and SHE GETS UP! And whuts more she heet up some special beef stoff she mede and mixes it wiff are kibbutz.....(.Llewis what now? I done did ebberfing rite. I ...itsa whut? Oh. So whatre dese? Dey are? Ok.
She mix da stoff wif our KIBBLE. (Sorry.))))) (dem fun to play wif.)

And now we up. She up. And we up. Sort of. So youall hab a nice day cuz it look like dis gonna be a good one for we. Full tumies and bin ousside an no skonks and ebberfing. Best ob da day to youse.

Love frum Nigel an Llewis an Conley an eben Cooper.

FALLING BACK WITH DOGS

The whining started at ...wait. What? 2:30 in the morning? Awww, come on doggies. No. It's 3:30, the usual time. But it isn't. Four dog biological clocks, artificially and painstakingly re-set six months ago agree that it is 3:30 in the morning and time for their middle-of-the-night trip for pee and a biscuit. (Not spoiled, these boys.) Then, between four and six in the morning it is time for breakfast. Or now, between three and five in the morning.
This ain't right.

But this is the type of expression that greets me when I finally haul myself up to turn on the light.
Pleading
Resigned
Accusatory
Intelligent
Demanding.

No sane dog, this expression says, would change the clocks. If you change the clocks, this face tells me, then be prepared to deal with the consequences of your actions. And the consequence today is:
we want to go pee and get a biscuit.

So out they go. I stagger to the back light and turn it on and view four dogs, all with raised legs. Moments later they are at the door. They rush in, get in their crates and wait for their reward for prying me out of bed into the cold, dark, unfriendly artificially-timed middle of the night.
We are good. I turn out the light and creep back into bed.
*****

The whining begins at...no. No. This cannot be. I was just up wasn't I just up?  It is pitch black outside. It used to be light at this time, which is....I squint blindly looking for the lights of the clock across the room. The clock says it is 4 in the morning. Something heavy is pressing down on me, shoving my ample body into the thin mattress. Something hot, hot and wet drips on my bare neck EEEEeeuuuwww! Attempting to sit up I re-focus my attention.

There is a huge black dog in my face.
He says:
It is time to get up and feed us. I, who have no crate, have been elected to remind you that your artificial time system, changed though you THINK it is, is not and WE, the majority in this household, say it is time to get out of bed and feed us, freshen our water, let us out of our crates into the day, even though according to you, it is far too early.

I get up. There is anticipatory whimpering and the sound of tails happily hitting the sides of crates.
SHE LIVES!
I feed everyone. I water everyone. I let them out. I sigh and moan and glare at the clock. It is an obscene time of day according to the clock but the  Basset Alarms have spoken. About the time they are used to the new schedule, it should be time to re-set the clocks again.
I get dressed. Turn on the coffee. Glare at the clocks.
The dogs, tummies full, thirst sated, morning ablutions complete do what they do best.

So much for the Government mandated "time change".

GETTING THE GROOVE BACK

Trying to get things settled again and think forward. Hard to do. I keep going back and looking at the horse photos and thinking of all the ones I missed-- all the 8 hitches, and yeah, Susie wanted me to stand outside the barn in the morning and photograph the horses being walked, and I didn't, because it was cold and I'm a wuss. And the people I didn't take photos of, and the dogs I missed...

And all the questions I had that I never asked. And yes, they dock the tails when the foals are very little--a day or two old or maybe even before that I am not sure at all. It is similar to removing dewclaws on a puppy which is done at 3 days. Not all of them are docked but for halter classes they are. This is a handsome little filly.
While the Judge looks at all of the horse, the rear is the part we saw the most. I think it was our seating...
There were professional photographers there running around in the ring. Two that I saw. One was French altho he spoke English.

Just like always, the Percherons have sheets and blankets that they wear a lot of the time when they are not working. Some had hoods (I do not know the proper term) as well, as did this one. Several belonging to one stable had wild hoods-- zebra prints and geometric designs. I tried to photograph them but ended up deleting those because you really could not tell what you were looking at. Photography in the barn is always a bit trickier than outside, plus these were black horses (for the most part) in a dark place.... This was early in the morning. Wake-up walk. The horse is a colt or filly, not nearly grown

Again this is early morning. Someone walks the horses and someone cleans the stalls. Then they are fed and watered. There was a lot of traffic in the barns so early in the morning. Intersections were always jamming up with horses waiting to come back in and horses going out and coming around the corners, so everyone was especially alert, or tried to be.

And then there was the job of cleaning the horses-- some methods more orthodox than others,(I had a photo in here of a young man vacuuming a horse. However, he is a minor and I do not have waiver and so decided not to use it. He was standing on a bench vacuuming the back of the horse. Use your imagination.) and inspecting and cleaning and polishing the harnesses. Worth thousands of dollars, these pieces of equipment are kept absolutely spotless, cleaned before and after use, inspected for wear and tear.

And finally, they are off to the ring.

MEETING STRANGE DOGS

While I was in Des Moines I witnessed an interesting situation. A man came into the Hospitality suite with his intact Doberman. Now. A lot of people bring dogs to watch the tack or the trucks, so some of these dogs are very sweet until you try to walk into their territory. This was a big, handsome, intact male Dobe and by his body language he was clearly an alpha dog. I was sitting in a chair. I said hello to him, rubbed his ears and when he seemed not very interested, let it go.
Susie went over and also talked to him, (he was on a leash) and he was less stand-offish with her.
One of the volunteers was seated behind a table in front of which the dog was standing, very alert. She stood, cooed at the dog, placed her hands on the table and leaned forward to talk to him. Immediately, he stiffened. I watched very carefully because the room was crowded. The volunteer continued to lean forward, looking directly at the dog who by then had began staring back, and cooed and gurgled at him.
Nothing in the dog's physical appearance suggested friendliness. Ears up, tail up, on toes, perfectly still, staring. And then I heard it., The very low, almost inaudible rumbles. Someone started to reach to pet the dog and I shook my head and said "Not now" and then told the volunteer to look away and sit down in a tone that left no room for argument. As soon as she broke her gaze the dog relaxed, and stopped growling.

Later I told her never to stare at a dog, particularly a dog like that. She had no clue. Absolutely stunned. No wonder people get bitten!

This little dog I never touched. She did not seem interested in being friends and I have been nailed by enough tiny dogs to be a bit wary.

I didn't get photos of the Cattle dogs, or the Swiss Mountain dog (who was a sweetie.)

There were two Corgis at least-- the other that I saw was a tri.
This was dinnertime the first day.
They said she never gets people food and she never stops trying, which made me think maybe she does. (Get people food) since the behavior should be extinguished if it is never rewarded.

I was also surprised at the number of horses whose owners were adamant that the horses never get treats-- not apples or carrots or peppermint (Horses have a sweet tooth.) I used to know a Saddlebred who drank Nehi Tropical Punch.

And of course, there was Flash.

                               The blur you see is Flash's tail.

HITCHING UP (more horse stuff)

The last day we were there, (at the 2010 World Percheron Congress) as evening approached, we had to move the car because the street on which we were parked, right by the hospitality suite, was also right outside one of the horse barns where Priefert harnessed their horses. You can (or someone can, certainly not I) harness the horses up in the barn but you cannot hitch them and drive them through the barn. It would be horribly dangerous, as, being horses, they DO now and then spook.
One Percheron spooking is a real handful. Having a team of anywhere from 2 to 8 horses spook (all it takes is one to start it) would be tragic.

So while I waited for Susie to appear, I began photographing the Priefert people hitching up:

This is the beginning. One of the wheel team horses has been harnessed and brought out. Now he is attached to the wagon. There are, of course, real names for every part of the harness and wagon but I am ignorant of what they are. I know what I THINK they are, but am not sure enough to write it down. The other horse will be hitched where the woman is standing.

In the meantime, while they wait for the second horse in the wheel team, the polishing and cleaning of both horse and harness and wagon continues, unabated. The amount of work that goes into hitching a team for show is mind-boggling. The attention to detail is essential. All this time these two are examing the harnesses, bridles, hitchings and wagon for broken or worn pieces, errors, things that might prove a disaster at a high trot in a ringful of other rigs. And it happens.

The first horse is hitched and you get a good look at how big and long this hitch is going to be. This is one horse.
By the time they are done, there will be 5 more.

Here comes Jason with the second wheel horse. He will lead him around the near horse and back him into place, then attach the tongue (I think that's what it is ) of the wagon to the harness and the harness to all the hooks and rings and clips and bits and pieces that keep everything in place.

Ok. Now we have the wheel team
attached to the wagon, and Jason, who will drive them, is in between fastening and checking the harnesses. I was hoping to watch all
six get hitched but about this time the Priefert people began giving the car (the little blue Prius in the photo)  "significant" looks. Susie would never, ever get in the way and we knew we were moving momentarily, out of their way.

Meanwhile, out came the second section for the next two horses. You can see by the length of the section exactly how long this hitch is going to be. There will be one more section after this one. Two horses hitched to this, and then two more in front. These are normal-sized adult male and female people. The horses make them look tiny...about now Susie came out and with some slick driving of her own, managed to get the car out of the way.

This is the Priefert six-horse-hitch in the ring, albeit a bad shot. This is how it looked all put together.

                     and this is what a team looks like from behind.