PHOTOS THAT MAKE ME LAUGH

My children are not at the end of this. They were supposed to be at the beginning but the program refused to co-operate.

There are a thousand more photos that make me smile or make me laugh.

Most are the dogs, because I have so few of the family. This is something I hope my family is well-prepared for. LOL.

Top photo: Sophie-- a stray who was found
2. Conley in the snow
3 Washing a Percheron
4. Da Brudders-- Nigel and Llewis
5. Prince--the dog I grew up with
6. Julie Hopkins and my daughter Stacey. Photo by Wynn Hopkins
7. Conley
8.Mary Shane's cat. There is a raccoon outside in a tree.
9. Our cat, Arsenal
10. Christopher, my son
11. Stacey, my daughter

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.