Ok.
Ima tell you right up front, this one is kind of hitting to all fields. I guess that happens when you go a month(!) between posts...
I just settled in to my local happy place (with a lovely vanilla latte) after getting home from a 48. For the uninitiated, a 48 is what we around the firehouse call it when we work two shifts back-to-back. Our annual union golf outing (where we raise money for these folks) was yesterday, and, since I learned a long time ago my temperament is not conducive to happiness on the golf course (it does, however, dovetail nicely into creative use of bad words) I wasn't planning on going. My Lieutenant was going to get "forced back" to work yesterday. That means exactly what you think it means. Since I wasn't golfing, he asked if I could take the force back for him. Bob, in addition to being a good (shameless pandering since I know he reads this stuff) dude is also VP of our local so it was, to me, kind of a big deal that he be there. Btw Bob, I heard you won some swag yesterday... just sayin... any way, I worked a 48 in the high-rise district. It was basically uneventful, busyish both days but not crazy. Apparently someone turned the gravity up in beautiful DG since several of our calls the last two days involved picking up someone unable to do so on their own. Typically the people most affected by this uptick in the Earth's gravitational pull are, shall we say, full figured. Additionally, it's rare that these folks are injured, other than maybe bruised pride.
That doesn't always go both ways either. The last two people we helped to regain verticality were both in excess of 350 pounds. It's also, btw, rare that these folks are left in a position that lends itself to proper lift technique. You know, lift with your legs and not your back? Yeah, that's often just not possible in the real world. So there are two main goals here-
A.) don't cause further harm to the patient.
B.) don't cause harm to any of our crew.
But when said patient is wedged alongside her car with the door hanging open it's not easy to get enough people in there to make a lift while spreading the work to enough of our people so that no one had to move awkwardly.
This is also one of the reasons I'm as active politically as I am. The laws of unintended consequences are fully involved in things like, oh... say... Tier II pensions. These came about due to some "sky is falling" types that said public safety pensions wrecked, and would ultimately destroy, America as we know it. And quite possibly the entire planet if not the entire solar system. Tier II came about as compromise legislation by all involved stakeholders and, among other things, it raises the minimum retirement age from 50 to 55 along with raising minimum service time from 20 years to 25 years.
At face value these moves are no big deal, right?
Life rarely operates on face value only.
When people ask me why I'm retiring, I often tell them I know it's time because "everything aches, nothing hurts" and while I say it to bring a chuckle, it's also pretty accurate. Twenty eight years of picking up people that fought the law (of physics) and the law won has taken a toll on my body. Without going into details I'll just say that the longer I stay, the more likely I'm going to get hurt or cause injury to one of the guys I work with.
Neither is an acceptable outcome.
Ever.
What I'm getting at here is this; the guys that are now Tier II employees are going to, I believe, have a much higher incidence of on-the-job injuries than my generation has had. I mean, through no fault of their own, it's just the aging process of the human body. There's no way a 55 year-old can do the things as well as she or he could do at 40, 45, or 50. The differences may be negligible, but when compounded over time, they show up. In the form of more workers comp claims. Something our very own governor (small "g"intended) Nero is trying to address by making it harder for employees to qualify for, file for, and claim, workers comp injury. And that's assuming no one comes on the job above age 30.
That's messed up, imho.
Last thing; if you start today at 35 years of age, the maximum here in Illinois, you'll be 60 years old when you're eligible to retire. I do know a couple guys that worked or are working into their 60's and believe me, they are the exception and not the rule. That's not throwing shade at anyone either, merely my opinion.
So, back to my 48.
One of the perks to this recent 48, which is very likely my last one because did you even read what I just wrote, is the Lt. I worked with yesterday is a wonderful baker and he made for me (us) a blueberry cobbler from scratch. Can I just say that my belly was very happy? Despite a mild admonition at my annual physical to cut down on sweets, I had a chunk for breakfast too because, again, did you read what I just wrote?
BLUEBERRY.
COBBLER.
Yes, please.
I kind of wanted to say a little more here, but when I got home this morning the pooch was off her game a little, I think due to my absence, so I'm gonna head back and hang out with her a little longer. Besides, I think I hear an ice pack calling out for my back...
Peace
Showing posts with label Sophie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sophie. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
Saturday, September 3, 2016
Let's go for a walk
These words invariably elicit a prompt response from an otherwise sedentary dog. Namely, mine.
Sophie is, as I've mentioned here before, my very favorite dog of all time. And this is one of my favorite pictures of her, odd as it may seem. It will forever put a smile on my face because, when she's laying down like this, if I lay down in front of her, like I did to take this picture, her tail immediately starts rhythmically thumping the floor. So, I mean, obvs, right?
Today, she and I are celebrating her 11th birthday. I'd like to say I remember the day we brought her home, but that would be a lie. Of sorts. I don't have any clear recollections of that day. I do, however, vividly remember the day I found out we were going to get her.
I'm pretty sure I've mentioned here, multiple times, Tobi the Jack Russell terrorist (not an autocorrect) and how he ruled the roost. So, adding a dog to the family wasn't something I'd really considered, even though (maybe especially because) we'd taken an ill-fated attempt at taking in a Lab that needed a new home. As it turned out the reason the Lab needed a new home was her inability to get along with other dogs... $600.00 worth of vet bills later, the Lab was out and Tobi was recuperating.
So, when the Quiet Child remarked how she'd like to get a puppy so that the soon-to-be-born Boy Genius would have a puppy to grow up with, Diane offered up her assistance and even recommended a breeder that lives near us. She called and found out that he did, in fact, have two litters of puppies to check out. Diane made an appointment to see said puppies the next day.
While I was at work.
My phone rang the next afternoon. It was Diane. What follows are direct quotes, etched in my memory...
Me: Hi
Diane: These puppies are so frickin' cute!
M: You want one don't you?
D: Can we?
Like I really had any say in the matter. Picking out which puppy went similarly...
Diane: Do you want a Black Lab or a Yellow Lab?
Me: (after several seconds of careful consideration) you know, I'm kind of a traditionalist. I think I'd like a Black Lab.
D: We're getting a Yellow one.
M: Ok
Even though Diane was the one to take Sophie to obedience classes as soon as Soph was old enough, and she worked with her every. single. day. Sophie always gravitated to me, a trait which continues to this day.
We've been through a lot together, Sophie and I, over the last 10+ years. From Diane's passing to two moves to my divorce from the pirate. And through so many times when I didn't really care to interact with people, Sophie was always there, laying at my feet, completely non-judgmentally supporting me as only a dog can. So the least I can do for her is try and make her life as comfortable as I can.
That's not always easy for this dog. She's got a dietary condition that, if left untreated results in explosive (not an exaggeration) diarrhea (sorry for the visual) along with arthritis in both hips and synthetic ligaments in both knees. If someone had told me ten years ago that I would spend THAT much money on a dog I'd have laughed in their face. Now? How could I not?
At this point in her life, Sophie isn't really up for long walks. Or moving rapidly. Instead, we take four or five walks of maybe a half-mile or so over the course of the day when I'm home. These walks take anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour. Allow me to try and reproduce a typical timeline-
9:03 Leave the house.
9:04 Sniff the neighbor's yard.
9:07 Sniff the neighbor's yard three houses down. Also, lose interest in her squeaky ball.
9:12 Take care of business.
9:17 Lay down in the shade.
9:24 Sniff the shrubbery on the corner.
9:25 Lay down in the shade.
9:31 Cross the street.
9:40 "Visit" with one of our neighbors and her Black Lab Junie.
9:46 Gaze longingly at Junie's kiddie pool while I tell her no.
9:55 Lay down in the shade. Roll around in something disgusting.
10:02 Grudgingly go back into the house.
Due in large part to our walk routine, we have met most of our neighbors. In fact, more neighbors know her name than mine. And I'm not even joking.
She's been good for me in so many ways, getting me up and out of the house so many times when that wasn't necessarily something I was prepared to do. Sometimes like this.
Subtle, no?
Over the years, she has offered no solid advice yet listens patiently whenever I need to vent. To say I've been through a lot in the last ten years is kind of an understatement. And Sophie has been there for me every step of the way. She regularly brings a smile to my face.
Sometimes when I need it most.
Let's go for a walk.
Peace
Sophie is, as I've mentioned here before, my very favorite dog of all time. And this is one of my favorite pictures of her, odd as it may seem. It will forever put a smile on my face because, when she's laying down like this, if I lay down in front of her, like I did to take this picture, her tail immediately starts rhythmically thumping the floor. So, I mean, obvs, right?
Today, she and I are celebrating her 11th birthday. I'd like to say I remember the day we brought her home, but that would be a lie. Of sorts. I don't have any clear recollections of that day. I do, however, vividly remember the day I found out we were going to get her.
I'm pretty sure I've mentioned here, multiple times, Tobi the Jack Russell terrorist (not an autocorrect) and how he ruled the roost. So, adding a dog to the family wasn't something I'd really considered, even though (maybe especially because) we'd taken an ill-fated attempt at taking in a Lab that needed a new home. As it turned out the reason the Lab needed a new home was her inability to get along with other dogs... $600.00 worth of vet bills later, the Lab was out and Tobi was recuperating.
So, when the Quiet Child remarked how she'd like to get a puppy so that the soon-to-be-born Boy Genius would have a puppy to grow up with, Diane offered up her assistance and even recommended a breeder that lives near us. She called and found out that he did, in fact, have two litters of puppies to check out. Diane made an appointment to see said puppies the next day.
While I was at work.
My phone rang the next afternoon. It was Diane. What follows are direct quotes, etched in my memory...
Me: Hi
Diane: These puppies are so frickin' cute!
M: You want one don't you?
D: Can we?
Like I really had any say in the matter. Picking out which puppy went similarly...
Diane: Do you want a Black Lab or a Yellow Lab?
Me: (after several seconds of careful consideration) you know, I'm kind of a traditionalist. I think I'd like a Black Lab.
D: We're getting a Yellow one.
M: Ok
Even though Diane was the one to take Sophie to obedience classes as soon as Soph was old enough, and she worked with her every. single. day. Sophie always gravitated to me, a trait which continues to this day.
We've been through a lot together, Sophie and I, over the last 10+ years. From Diane's passing to two moves to my divorce from the pirate. And through so many times when I didn't really care to interact with people, Sophie was always there, laying at my feet, completely non-judgmentally supporting me as only a dog can. So the least I can do for her is try and make her life as comfortable as I can.
That's not always easy for this dog. She's got a dietary condition that, if left untreated results in explosive (not an exaggeration) diarrhea (sorry for the visual) along with arthritis in both hips and synthetic ligaments in both knees. If someone had told me ten years ago that I would spend THAT much money on a dog I'd have laughed in their face. Now? How could I not?
At this point in her life, Sophie isn't really up for long walks. Or moving rapidly. Instead, we take four or five walks of maybe a half-mile or so over the course of the day when I'm home. These walks take anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour. Allow me to try and reproduce a typical timeline-
9:03 Leave the house.
9:04 Sniff the neighbor's yard.
9:07 Sniff the neighbor's yard three houses down. Also, lose interest in her squeaky ball.
9:12 Take care of business.
9:17 Lay down in the shade.
9:24 Sniff the shrubbery on the corner.
9:25 Lay down in the shade.
9:31 Cross the street.
9:40 "Visit" with one of our neighbors and her Black Lab Junie.
9:46 Gaze longingly at Junie's kiddie pool while I tell her no.
9:55 Lay down in the shade. Roll around in something disgusting.
10:02 Grudgingly go back into the house.
Due in large part to our walk routine, we have met most of our neighbors. In fact, more neighbors know her name than mine. And I'm not even joking.
She's been good for me in so many ways, getting me up and out of the house so many times when that wasn't necessarily something I was prepared to do. Sometimes like this.
Subtle, no?
Over the years, she has offered no solid advice yet listens patiently whenever I need to vent. To say I've been through a lot in the last ten years is kind of an understatement. And Sophie has been there for me every step of the way. She regularly brings a smile to my face.
Sometimes when I need it most.
Let's go for a walk.
Peace
Sunday, August 7, 2016
August is the cruelest month.
With apologies to T.S. Eliot, I really don't know what to make of August.
The current month, over the course of my life (specifically the last 21 years) has brought towering joy and crippling pain. Probably everything in between too, but me being what (who?) I am, these are the markers I follow.
August of 1995 was not easy. Dad passed away on the 31st. His last several months had not been easy for him. He had COPD, a heart attack about ten years earlier had weakened him too. That in itself wasn't easy for me to accept, in retrospect. Here was a man that, although I stood about six inches taller than and outweighed by close to thirty pounds, I never doubted could kick my ass if he chose to. Not that he ever exhibited that temperament though. Dad was (still is) the most laid-back, even-tempered person I've ever known. And that's made all the more remarkable by being married to Mom for 52 years, lol. To say nothing of my siblings and I.
Well, them at least.
I never gave them any trouble...
Ahem.
So to watch Dad in this condition, to see him, in his last weeks, confined to a hospital bed after a devastating stroke, was something so foreign to me, well all of us really, but since I'm the one writing this, you know. One of my most lasting impressions, one that comes fresh to my mind every time I let my (now) greying beard go for three or four days between shaves, is of Dad, unable to do that for himself. He asked me if I could shave him. Of course I did, gladly.
I also remember Dad's cardiologist, after the stroke had left him unable to speak clearly, which frustrated him to no end, commenting on how Dad was an angry old man. Never in my life did I want to punch someone as much as I did this doctor. I refuse to capitalize those words btw. I don't know where he's practicing now. He was pretty young so I'm sure he's still in practice. Hopefully he's learned some bedside manners.
My most lasting impression of that time though, is that Dad wouldn't let Mom call for the ambulance if I was at work. He'd tell her "Wait. Joe will be home tomorrow. You can call then." That happened four or five times his last year. The first couple times I was able to function as his paramedic as well as his son. After that, I couldn't do both. I had to be his son and let the crew perform what needed to be done for him. That was a difficult reality to come to grips with.
Let's move ahead now to August of 2000. And the birth of the Heir to the Throne. What an amazing moment. My first grandchild. He was perfect in every way.
Now?
Wellllllllll...
The truth of the matter is he really is a pretty great kid and I count him among my blessings every single day of my life. He's growing into a fine young man and I couldn't possibly be more proud of him than I am. I remember how thrilled Diane was to go in to the delivery room with the Oldest One. And how she wasn't sure what to make of this whole "Grandma" thing she was experiencing. She did kind of dig it though when people would tell her she looked too young to be a Grandma. She also doted on the HttT every chance she could get, right up to the end.
Which, btw, came in August of 2006.
Diane picked him up one morning, the week before he was supposed to start Kindergarten. We were going to keep him for a few days and just goof off. Whatever he wanted to do, that was our plan. Life, of course, got in the way as it usually does.
That afternoon we were playing in the pool we had in the back yard. Diane got out, said she had some stuff to do in the house, so I got the HttT out of the pool and dried him off. We went in to the house and Diane told me she'd experienced some discomfort in her chest while she was in the pool and again climbing the stairs. She said she felt fine now but had never felt anything like that before. We talked about the dozen different things it might be but agreed the smart thing to do was to get it checked out. We called the Boy Child and asked him to come over and hang out with the HttT while we went to the ED. I vaguely remember calling him a few hours later and telling him they were keeping her overnight and calling the Oldest One and making up a story about why we had to bail on our plans. At that point Diane didn't want anyone to know what had happened. At her request I didn't even call the Quiet Child to tell her any of this yet.
When I say the week spiraled downhill from there it doesn't begin to describe the next six days. Let me just say that it ended with me, sitting cross-legged on the floor; in the bedroom at the house of one of my nieces; trying to explain to my five year-old grandson why the Nana that adored him, that he worshipped, was never coming home. The memory often brings tears to my eyes, even today, ten years later. It is the single most difficult thing I've ever had to do.
Fortunately, in time, August made a move toward redemption. Last year my favorite gemstone joined the family. The old saying goes- "Diamonds are a girls best friend" right? Well, I may not be her bestie but my fifth grandchild and second granddaughter made her appearance to rave reviews. She, like the Reigning Princess before her, had me wrapped around her little finger from the start. Her personality is showing more and more each day and she cracks me up regularly. The Boy Child and my favorite daughter-in-law (still working on an actual nome de plume for her) have become my go to Sophie sitters when I need to go out of town for a few days. Both of the littles are great with Sophie, but my little Diamond squeals with glee every time she sees Sophie, even if only moments have passed since the last time she saw her. Literally. Almost "peekabooish" and it's hilarious.
She's also very watchful of Sophie's dietary intake as this photo clearly shows.
The current month, over the course of my life (specifically the last 21 years) has brought towering joy and crippling pain. Probably everything in between too, but me being what (who?) I am, these are the markers I follow.
August of 1995 was not easy. Dad passed away on the 31st. His last several months had not been easy for him. He had COPD, a heart attack about ten years earlier had weakened him too. That in itself wasn't easy for me to accept, in retrospect. Here was a man that, although I stood about six inches taller than and outweighed by close to thirty pounds, I never doubted could kick my ass if he chose to. Not that he ever exhibited that temperament though. Dad was (still is) the most laid-back, even-tempered person I've ever known. And that's made all the more remarkable by being married to Mom for 52 years, lol. To say nothing of my siblings and I.
Well, them at least.
I never gave them any trouble...
Ahem.
So to watch Dad in this condition, to see him, in his last weeks, confined to a hospital bed after a devastating stroke, was something so foreign to me, well all of us really, but since I'm the one writing this, you know. One of my most lasting impressions, one that comes fresh to my mind every time I let my (now) greying beard go for three or four days between shaves, is of Dad, unable to do that for himself. He asked me if I could shave him. Of course I did, gladly.
My most lasting impression of that time though, is that Dad wouldn't let Mom call for the ambulance if I was at work. He'd tell her "Wait. Joe will be home tomorrow. You can call then." That happened four or five times his last year. The first couple times I was able to function as his paramedic as well as his son. After that, I couldn't do both. I had to be his son and let the crew perform what needed to be done for him. That was a difficult reality to come to grips with.
Let's move ahead now to August of 2000. And the birth of the Heir to the Throne. What an amazing moment. My first grandchild. He was perfect in every way.
Now?
Wellllllllll...
The truth of the matter is he really is a pretty great kid and I count him among my blessings every single day of my life. He's growing into a fine young man and I couldn't possibly be more proud of him than I am. I remember how thrilled Diane was to go in to the delivery room with the Oldest One. And how she wasn't sure what to make of this whole "Grandma" thing she was experiencing. She did kind of dig it though when people would tell her she looked too young to be a Grandma. She also doted on the HttT every chance she could get, right up to the end.
Which, btw, came in August of 2006.
Diane picked him up one morning, the week before he was supposed to start Kindergarten. We were going to keep him for a few days and just goof off. Whatever he wanted to do, that was our plan. Life, of course, got in the way as it usually does.
That afternoon we were playing in the pool we had in the back yard. Diane got out, said she had some stuff to do in the house, so I got the HttT out of the pool and dried him off. We went in to the house and Diane told me she'd experienced some discomfort in her chest while she was in the pool and again climbing the stairs. She said she felt fine now but had never felt anything like that before. We talked about the dozen different things it might be but agreed the smart thing to do was to get it checked out. We called the Boy Child and asked him to come over and hang out with the HttT while we went to the ED. I vaguely remember calling him a few hours later and telling him they were keeping her overnight and calling the Oldest One and making up a story about why we had to bail on our plans. At that point Diane didn't want anyone to know what had happened. At her request I didn't even call the Quiet Child to tell her any of this yet.
When I say the week spiraled downhill from there it doesn't begin to describe the next six days. Let me just say that it ended with me, sitting cross-legged on the floor; in the bedroom at the house of one of my nieces; trying to explain to my five year-old grandson why the Nana that adored him, that he worshipped, was never coming home. The memory often brings tears to my eyes, even today, ten years later. It is the single most difficult thing I've ever had to do.
Fortunately, in time, August made a move toward redemption. Last year my favorite gemstone joined the family. The old saying goes- "Diamonds are a girls best friend" right? Well, I may not be her bestie but my fifth grandchild and second granddaughter made her appearance to rave reviews. She, like the Reigning Princess before her, had me wrapped around her little finger from the start. Her personality is showing more and more each day and she cracks me up regularly. The Boy Child and my favorite daughter-in-law (still working on an actual nome de plume for her) have become my go to Sophie sitters when I need to go out of town for a few days. Both of the littles are great with Sophie, but my little Diamond squeals with glee every time she sees Sophie, even if only moments have passed since the last time she saw her. Literally. Almost "peekabooish" and it's hilarious.
She's also very watchful of Sophie's dietary intake as this photo clearly shows.
You can see how pleased she is that Sophie is eating.
As plans are finalized for celebrating the little Diamonds first birthday I fully realize that August, fickle beast that it is, is currently a happy place. Time has taught me that it may only be temporary. So, I think I have really only one last thing to say, and, while it's hardly an original thought, it's certainly one we should all heed. Enjoy your commas. No, that's not it, although I do enjoy them.
Rather, it's enjoy the life you live. We all have little to no control over it, so stress as little as possible and embrace the warm fuzzy moments when they present themselves.
Peace
Monday, December 21, 2015
Good Girl
I took Sophie for a walk this morning, in the rain.
Actually "walk" is not the most accurate way to describe what we do. When asked by one of the many neighbors she's caused me to meet, I usually describe it as "going for a sniff". She's 10 years old, has arthritis in both hips and has synthetic ligaments in both knees, so she doesn't really tolerate long distances. Instead, we go for four to six blocks, pausing often in favorite yards for a break and sniffing, what seems like, every possible smell she can find. These short distances take us, typically, thirty minutes or more to complete.
She's always off leash when we do this, to be honest, I'm not convinced I know where the leash is at this point. She does a pretty good job of staying by me but I really don't care too much if she wanders a little further from me than she should. She's social with both people and other dogs, but I usually call her close because you never know how others might react to her.
I stood on the sidewalk, watching her blissfully roll in something (probably something disgusting) in somebody's yard, getting rained on.
And it didn't bother me in the least.
I told you that to tell you this.
Good news, bad news.
The good news is, I started my day by hanging out with the Beatle baby (Beatle toddler?) and the little Diamond.
The bad news is, I did it so my son and daughter-in-law could take their beloved boxer, Maggie (aka Good Girl) to the vet.
Her final trip to the vet.
Yes, THAT final trip to the vet.
Maggie was the first boxer I ever met. She was a sweet, sweet dog. She doted on her human babies. And she filled huge portions of R and D's hearts. And will for quite some time.
She would almost always greet me with a toy in her mouth, eager to play tug of war and she loved flashing "puppy eyes" to guilt someone into giving her a treat.
She was 11 years old and for most of that time she was pretty healthy. Knee surgery slowed her down for a bit, but she recovered pretty well from it. Recently, she was diagnosed with kidney failure and while the vet took great care of her and it looked like she was on the mend, it took it's toll on her, leaving her unable to stand without falling and only hobbling around the house.
Maggie had a huge heart and hid her pain well, I think. But it ultimately became obvious there was no choice but to ease her suffering.
Now, before you say something stupid like "it's only a dog" let me just say something...
I've got the grief bona fides down pat, thank you very much, and if you doubt that read here, here, here or here and if you're still of the opinion I'm spending too much time talking about "a dog" save yourself some time and stop reading. Grief is grief and none of us have the right to tell someone else they're doing it wrong.
Lose my web address too. Thanks.
I also wanted to say something to the Boy Child and my favorite daughter-in-law, even though I think they both know it. There may come a time when you decide to get another dog. That's ok.
That time may never come. That's ok too.
You'll know the time if it comes.
So I guess I'll wrap this up by saying-
If you've got a pet of some sort in your life, good for you. Personally, I think they add so much more to our lives than they may be an inconvenience to us. My life has been enriched beyond measure by the animals that I have been around. I still, on occasion, think about some of the ones I've lost.
Even Tobi, the Jack Russell terrorist.
And always, I smile at their memories.
Take good care of your pets, they do so much for us, and all they ask in return is a little love.
It seems to me they're getting the bad end of the deal.
Peace.
Actually "walk" is not the most accurate way to describe what we do. When asked by one of the many neighbors she's caused me to meet, I usually describe it as "going for a sniff". She's 10 years old, has arthritis in both hips and has synthetic ligaments in both knees, so she doesn't really tolerate long distances. Instead, we go for four to six blocks, pausing often in favorite yards for a break and sniffing, what seems like, every possible smell she can find. These short distances take us, typically, thirty minutes or more to complete.
She's always off leash when we do this, to be honest, I'm not convinced I know where the leash is at this point. She does a pretty good job of staying by me but I really don't care too much if she wanders a little further from me than she should. She's social with both people and other dogs, but I usually call her close because you never know how others might react to her.
I stood on the sidewalk, watching her blissfully roll in something (probably something disgusting) in somebody's yard, getting rained on.
And it didn't bother me in the least.
I told you that to tell you this.
Good news, bad news.
The good news is, I started my day by hanging out with the Beatle baby (Beatle toddler?) and the little Diamond.
The bad news is, I did it so my son and daughter-in-law could take their beloved boxer, Maggie (aka Good Girl) to the vet.
Her final trip to the vet.
Yes, THAT final trip to the vet.
Maggie was the first boxer I ever met. She was a sweet, sweet dog. She doted on her human babies. And she filled huge portions of R and D's hearts. And will for quite some time.
She would almost always greet me with a toy in her mouth, eager to play tug of war and she loved flashing "puppy eyes" to guilt someone into giving her a treat.
She was 11 years old and for most of that time she was pretty healthy. Knee surgery slowed her down for a bit, but she recovered pretty well from it. Recently, she was diagnosed with kidney failure and while the vet took great care of her and it looked like she was on the mend, it took it's toll on her, leaving her unable to stand without falling and only hobbling around the house.
Maggie had a huge heart and hid her pain well, I think. But it ultimately became obvious there was no choice but to ease her suffering.
Now, before you say something stupid like "it's only a dog" let me just say something...
I've got the grief bona fides down pat, thank you very much, and if you doubt that read here, here, here or here and if you're still of the opinion I'm spending too much time talking about "a dog" save yourself some time and stop reading. Grief is grief and none of us have the right to tell someone else they're doing it wrong.
Lose my web address too. Thanks.
I also wanted to say something to the Boy Child and my favorite daughter-in-law, even though I think they both know it. There may come a time when you decide to get another dog. That's ok.
That time may never come. That's ok too.
You'll know the time if it comes.
So I guess I'll wrap this up by saying-
If you've got a pet of some sort in your life, good for you. Personally, I think they add so much more to our lives than they may be an inconvenience to us. My life has been enriched beyond measure by the animals that I have been around. I still, on occasion, think about some of the ones I've lost.
Even Tobi, the Jack Russell terrorist.
And always, I smile at their memories.
Take good care of your pets, they do so much for us, and all they ask in return is a little love.
It seems to me they're getting the bad end of the deal.
Peace.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
The Blonde Dog
Meet my favorite four-legged being in the history of the world -
Forgive the grainy quality of that picture, it was taken several years ago and technology wasn't quite what it is today. Nevertheless, this ranks among my favorite pictures of my goofy dog. "Someone" had the audacity to put one of her tennis balls in the garbage and she wanted to know why she couldn't have it. In my defense, it was a shell of it's former self.
Literally.
The cover had been ripped off and it was almost in two pieces. Still, it was hers and she wanted it back.
Until I showed her the new and improved (Now with squeaker!) version.
I remember, pretty vividly, how she came to enter our lives. The Quiet Child had come home for a visit. She was around 4 months pregnant with the Boy Genius and one evening we were all sitting on the front porch when she told us she wanted to get a puppy. She figured she could get it trained more or less before the baby was due and she thought it would be good for the two to grow up together. I admit I was surprised when she said she was thinking about a Lab. I'd thought she would go for a Rot or Pit Bull. I'm not sure why I thought that, but I remember thinking it. Her mother mentioned there was a breeder (spare me the hate, I know it's far better to rescue. I'm merely telling you how it went down back then) just around the corner from us, maybe they could go look at puppies.
They did. The next day.
I was (surprise, surprise) at work.
I got a phone call that started off, and I quote -
"These puppies are so frickin' cute!" (again, surprise, surprise)
"You want one don't you?"
"Do you mind?" (like I had any actual say in the matter)
So, this face
Became a part of our household. I think that date is pretty accurate too. We got her at about 6 weeks old and from the start, she was a pretty easy dog. And by that I mean she was pretty easy to housebreak and she was also very laid-back. I've heard Labs are either complete spazz's until they're about 6 years old or they're pretty mellow and Sophie was always mellow. I still remember the first "big girl" bark she let out. She scared herself at the sound of her own voice, like she didn't recognize that she had made the noise and she wondered where the other dog was.
There was, btw, an "other" dog. A Jack Russell terrorist (no, that's not a misprint) named Tobi and here they are
Especially this...
Forgive the grainy quality of that picture, it was taken several years ago and technology wasn't quite what it is today. Nevertheless, this ranks among my favorite pictures of my goofy dog. "Someone" had the audacity to put one of her tennis balls in the garbage and she wanted to know why she couldn't have it. In my defense, it was a shell of it's former self.
Literally.
The cover had been ripped off and it was almost in two pieces. Still, it was hers and she wanted it back.
Until I showed her the new and improved (Now with squeaker!) version.
I remember, pretty vividly, how she came to enter our lives. The Quiet Child had come home for a visit. She was around 4 months pregnant with the Boy Genius and one evening we were all sitting on the front porch when she told us she wanted to get a puppy. She figured she could get it trained more or less before the baby was due and she thought it would be good for the two to grow up together. I admit I was surprised when she said she was thinking about a Lab. I'd thought she would go for a Rot or Pit Bull. I'm not sure why I thought that, but I remember thinking it. Her mother mentioned there was a breeder (spare me the hate, I know it's far better to rescue. I'm merely telling you how it went down back then) just around the corner from us, maybe they could go look at puppies.
They did. The next day.
I was (surprise, surprise) at work.
I got a phone call that started off, and I quote -
"These puppies are so frickin' cute!" (again, surprise, surprise)
"You want one don't you?"
"Do you mind?" (like I had any actual say in the matter)
So, this face
Became a part of our household. I think that date is pretty accurate too. We got her at about 6 weeks old and from the start, she was a pretty easy dog. And by that I mean she was pretty easy to housebreak and she was also very laid-back. I've heard Labs are either complete spazz's until they're about 6 years old or they're pretty mellow and Sophie was always mellow. I still remember the first "big girl" bark she let out. She scared herself at the sound of her own voice, like she didn't recognize that she had made the noise and she wondered where the other dog was.
There was, btw, an "other" dog. A Jack Russell terrorist (no, that's not a misprint) named Tobi and here they are
It's funny, looking back at this picture, because even though Sophie grew to outweigh Tobi by about 5 to 1, they always treated each other like they were still this size. Tobi would only have to curl his lip at her and she would cower down. He was king of the dog castle and it was never questioned.
She has always, always, been the most gentle dog I've known.
Like here
She could have easily shoo'd the kitten away and snarfed the food, but she laid there, watching, waiting, "oh please, oh please" for the kitten to finish so she could sneak in and claim the spoils of food war. Check out the look on her face. "I'm not here, you can't see me, pay no attention to the dog behind the curtain" all at once.
And there's also the "what did I do to deserve this?" look. Like here, when she shared her dog bed with the other two knuckleheads
She loves many things, my Sophie.
Like kiddie pools in the summer...
And almost anything in the winter...
I apologize if the audio is a bit loud, I'm not sure how to manage that, and rest assured, no animals were harmed in the production of that video. I don't know why she loves biting the snow as it leaves the snowblower, but it's probably her favorite thing in the world.
Sophie has been one of the few constants in my life for the last 10 years. If you know me in RL or if you're a regular visitor here, you know my family has experienced our share of sorrows. And I don't say that, ever, because I'm looking for sympathy from anyone, merely as a frame of reference. I fully recognize, and will offer up if asked, that my life has been blessed with more good fortune than any one person should ever get. wonderful friends, great family, awesome kids and grandkids, I'm one lucky son of a gun.
But Sophie helped me out of a lot of funks when I didn't really want to be a functioning member of society. She always wanted to go out and play, walk, sniff things, whatever dogs enjoy. And I couldn't sit there like a mope when she needed to do what she needed to do.
Funny thing about Sophie, when we got her, Diane was the one that trained with her. Took her to obedience class, worked her on her commands every day, the whole nine yards. But whenever I came home, whether it was after five minutes or a full 48 at the firehouse, Sophie was at my side.
Right from the start.
I don't know why, but she was. Still is.
I'm so very lucky to have her and I don't know what I'll do when the time comes and she's no longer with me.
I'm going to go ahead and close this gem out now, I've been far too long "crafting" this piece and I need to pick up a Sophie-friendly birthday treat for her.
Peace
PS.
Because there's (almost) always a PS, I'm not sure if that last video is going to function or not. If it didn't my bad, but you're SOL
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