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Chasing Sand Pipers

We were in Florida over the Thanksgiving Holiday.  We packed up both dogs, Tellie and Skylar and drove 1831 miles there and back to spend time with Alexa's parents.  I knew Tellie would be fine. she climbs in to Alexa's lap and promptly falls asleep.  She is an old pro at being in the car for long distances.  She drove across country with us when we moved from Colorado to Maryland.  Jersey was also so very good at marathon driving.  She would climb into the back of the Jeep and take in the scenery as it passed by the windows.  She also would fall asleep but would excitedly wake up whenever we would make a pee stop.  Driving in the car was always an adventure for her not only because she knew we were going somewhere fun but because she was able to spend time with us.

I didn't know what it would be like for Skylar.  The furthest from home she had been in the car was Annapolis which is 30 miles south of where we live. She hasn't even learned to jump into the car yet and here I was expecting her to not get car sick, be calm and not mind driving a long, long way.  My only experience long distance driving with dogs was based on how good Jersey and Tellie were.  I thought all dogs would behave the same way and have the same reaction to being cooped up for hours at a time.

Aside from whining and pacing from window to window for the first half hour, Skylar settled in and seemed to realize she would be in it for the long haul.

We found the trick to getting her distracted enough to not mind the drive was to give her a huge knuckle bone.  This bone which is as big as my head, was plenty to keep her occupied for hours as we drove through DC, Virginia, North and South Carolina, Georgia and the northern part of Florida. The gnawing, scraping, nipping, peeling, nibbling sounds; the "skishhhhhh, skishhhh, skisssh" of her teeth tearing the fat off the bone mixed with the sounds of snoring told us she was content.

The other key to the drive was leaving the rear windows open about a quarter of the way so she could stick her nose out the window to get the particular smells of each state as we passed through.  I think the noise of the wind rushing along the sides of the car as we drove the highway also soothed any concerns she might have had.  Unfortunately for me and Alexa, it sounded like being in an airplane for hours at a time.  We found ourselves shouting at each other as we struggled to be heard above the cyclonic noise of the wind.  We endured it though because we needed to make sure Skylar would peacefully get to Florida.

Bottom line, we all made it and had a great time, especially when we would walk to the beach.  Skylar discovered the joys of chasing Sand Pipers as they scuttled up and down and back and forth along the waterline while the ocean waves rolled onto the sand. She never gave up the chase as the birds continually fluttered from one place to the next; the big dog charging after them.  Skylar's tongue flapped out of her mouth like a flag blowing in the wind atop a flag pole; her legs galloping like those of a Stallion at a full run, pounding and splashing through the water.  The delight on her face when she would get knocked and bashed by a wave washing ashore left both Alexa and I with a sense of gratitude that this nine month old puppy, revelling in her futile pursuit of birds, had truly become a part of our family.

Tellie spent her time digging holes.  Her front paws furiously throwing sand behind her and through her legs while her face would disappear deeper and deeper into the ever growing trench she was scratching out on the beach.  Every now and then she would take a break and chase Skylar as Skylar chased the birds.  Tellie would leap at Skylar's neck and try to hold on as they both ran down the beach.  She growled with joy trying her best to hold on.  She looked like she was riding a mechanical bull as it would spin around and around, faster and faster.  Eventually she would get thrown off only to get back on her feet and resume the chase, barking all the way.

Alexa and I couldn't help but comment on how much Jersey would have loved to be with us.  She would have relished the sand, the water, the beach and the sun and the chase.  She would have chased the birds and plowed through the ocean just as Skylar was now.  That's when we stopped and looked at each other. Understanding washed over us like the ocean was washing over Skylar. She was enjoying it now and Tellie was engrossed and focused on digging her holes. This is when we realized being in the "now" was filling us with happiness and contentment.  As much as we knew Jersey would have loved it, we knew our chase of Skylar as she ran further and further down the beach after the uncatchable birds was where we had to be and we loved it, too.

Skylar never caught the birds and Tellie didn't dig to China and that's OK.  They'll have the chance to do it again and again and again.

We've arrived at the end

I started this blog last February when we first found out Jersey was sick.  At the time I thought I would share my experiences so that others suffering what I was going through could have a roadmap to navigate the accompanying range of emotions and have some idea of what to expect. Within a month though, my writing turned into an expression of the grief and despair, shock and heartbreak, confusion and loneliness and the anger I was overwhelmed with. I didn't realize at the time that it had also become a kind of theraputic outlet for me.

As a result I've come to see that this particular phase of the journey is complete.  I think I've accomplished what I originally set out to do. So now it's time to say goodbye.

Goodbye to the soul baring posts I made fairly regularly; goodbye to the sadness that engulfed my every waking moment; good bye to the awful hurt which burned painfully in my soul. Goodbye to the all encompassing thoughts which go with the horrible loss of a loved one.  It's time to let it go.

As I do, there remains a deep appreciation for the precious support I received from all of you.  Though I didn't see it at the time, you guided me. You graciously allowed me to share my deepest, innermost feelings and stumble through the ugly thoughts I had until I arrived at the place where they became acceptance of the past, growth toward the future and the wisdom acquired upon passing through the blinding "dark night of the soul." For this, I say thank you.

Thank you and goodbye.

I feel I'm leaving you with a sense of who Jersey was and why she was so important to me.  Maybe you came to love her, too.

I may post here now and again to tell what the future turns out to be.  I'm sure Skylar and Tellie will provide fodder for tales of the joy they bring to the life which lies ahead.

In the meantime, I cherish the time I had with her and will always carry her in my heart. I am eternally grateful that she changed my life forever.

I will always miss my Jersey.

The End.

 

A new feeling

Tellie is the biggest little dog I've ever known.  Skylar is our giant floppy puppy.  Jersey was our teacher, Zen master and beloved companion.  We've loved New Years who showed me what true courage is while suffering from diabetes, IBS, cataracts and received countless vaccinations, was subject to too many needles, had to eat very, very bland food and had way too many trips to the emergency vet clinic  Haley was regal in bearing and was Alexa's forever sould mate.  I've also been touched by Milagro and Sundance and Goldie, the Shetland Sheep dog I grew up with.

Despite the fact my life has been effected by each and every one, I never considered myself an animal advocate.  I've directed live television coverage of city council meetings where people, including Alexa, spoke out strongly on behalf of circus animals; I was hired as the photographer at an awards gala honoring people who took extraordinary actions to speak on behalf of animals; I've created televion programming highlighting a mobile vet service serving dogs and cats in very, very rural New Mexico.  Alexa and I hosted live television coverage of a Pet Parade.  Despite all that I never gave thought that I might be doing something on behalf of an animal and possibly giving voice to their welfare.

Most recently, I feel like I've played a part in speaking on behalf of little Hannah, the dog we rescued and who ended up facing an uncertain and hopeless future in our county animal shelter.

As a result, I recognize I have been given a very special gift.  The gift of comapassion and I'm not the only one who has received it.  I recognize it in those who speak out on behalf of an animal, it can be seen in someone visiting an animal shelter and the way they scrunch down in front of a kennel to spend a couple of minutes and offer a word of encouragement and love to a caged dog. It's obvious in someone walking their dog down the street. They a demonstrate a committment to the care of their pet.  I see it and feel it in the folks who stood up and took action to ensure Hannah would be given a chance at having a life with a loving adopted family.

It is truly a gift that keeps on giving.  Look for your compassion and exercise it. Let it guide your actions.  Do something, anything.  Give it away.  Scrunch down in front of an animal shelter cage and offer a moment of love to a dog or cat who might never have experienced a kind word yet has unlimited loylaty and love to give back. It'll come back to you and change your life.

Saturday at the shelter

Alexa and I went to the shelter late Saturday morning to check in on the pup we rescued last week.

Just to preface this, we can't adopt her and we can't foster her.  We've got some contstraints that make it impossible so our hands are really tied about what we can do for her.

On Friday, I called the shelter to see if I could get an update on her to find out if she had calmed down at all.  I was told she was fine, had received her shots and that she would be put up for adoption the next day.  We were both excited by the news and felt relieved that "Hannah," the name the shelter folks gave her, would be alright.  It sounded like she was on the path to getting a good home.

We had already decided we would visit the shelter to follow up on the pup in person to see how she was doing.  Now, because she would be adopted we were doubly looking forward to seeing her and wishing her well on her journey with a new family

When we showed up, we immediately went to the kennel area where they kept the adoptable dogs.  We went form cage to cage thinking we would see her standing in anticipation, ready to meet the family she would go home with.  Alexa took one aisle and I took the other.  The barking was cacophonous as it echoed off the concrete walls.  Each dog excitedly barked when they saw us.

"Hello! Helloooo! Hello! Take me home!  I am ready to go with you! I know you're the one who's gonna take me out of here!!!"

Each cage held a beautiful dog.  There were Pitties, Terriers, Beagles, a Chow-chow, A little Dachsund, Chihuahua's; puppies, older dogs, young and spritely.  All ready to go home with someone.

We didn't see little Hannah. "Oh, well" we figured, "maybe they haven't put her out yet."

We went to the front desk and asked where she was.  We explained we had been told she would be available for adoption.  We explained we were the one's who rescued her and that we wanted to have a visit.

"Um," the clerk told hesitatingly said.  "She's not adoptable.  She's a snapper and has been determined to be aggressive. We'll try to find a shelter that will take her but we don't think we'll be too successful."

"What!" Alexa asked, incredulously. "What does that mean!!??"

"Since she's aggressive, we'll probably have no choice but to euthanize her."

"Wait a sec. Someone here told us she would be put up for adotpion and you would work on finding her a home! This dog is NOT aggressive!  She's scared to death and needs someone to work with her!  We gained her trust over the course of five days and she licked Eric's hand! She's a 15 pound little dog who doesn't know what to make of her surroundings and you're going to euthanize her???"

The vet tech condescendingly told us it was his determination the dog was aggressive and could not be rehabilitated.

"You all told us she would be adopted and now you're telling us that after five days of being here, you're probably going to put her down???? Don't be so heartless.  Give her a chance, give her a chance."

"Well," the tech said "She's got until at least Tuesday before any action is taken.  The call will be ultimately be made by my supervisor, with my input and I've determined she will not stop being snappy."

Alexa dropped to he knees in shock at this turn of events as tears welled up in her eyes.  "Don't make me beg. Please don't make me beg. I'm pleading with you! Give this little dog a chance!  Please! She can't speak for herself so I'm asking on her behalf" The staff who gathered behind the counter looked uncomfortable, not sure how to respond.

"I see your passion," said the tech who had been speaking to us "but there's nothing I can do.  It's up to my supervisor and she's not in until Tuesday.  The dog has been listed in an e-mail that was blasted to area shelters.  There's a chance one of them will take her in."

Alexa stood.  "Can we at least see her to show her someone cares and is thinking of her?"

"No." he said. "You can't.  She's in isolation.  She's very aggressive."

"Can't you at least pretend to understand what she's talking about?" I said. "What harm is there in saying hello?  We're not going into the cage, we just want her to see us."

The dogs began to bark as he led us into the kennel area that housed the "hopeless" dogs.  We crouched in front of her cage.  She saw us and began wagging her tail in a way that said she recognized us. She bark, bark, barked but approached and came closer.

We looked directly at each other.  Her brown eyes again tearing as she realized we couldn't come in and sit with her.

I stood and had to leave.  I couldn't stay any longer.

I said good bye and told her not to worry, everything would be okay.

I waited for Alexa in the lobby.

As we walked to the car we both had heavy hearts.  Alexa said "at least they'll stop and think before they do anything and maybe a shelter WILL take her. There's nothing else we can do."

Alexa is my hero.  Her passion, compassion and willingness to speak up and give voice to what should be obvious: there is no reason to euthanize this dog.  She very willingly stands up and advocates for any creature that would otherwise be disregarded and tossed aside.

We don't know what's going to happen but Alexa did everything she possibly could to have the life and spirit of this little dog spared.  Her passion has given the shelter staff reason for pause before they take any drastic action.

Alexa's voice is powerful. In this case, she willingly used it to speak on behalf of Hannah.

Alexa is a guardian angel.

UPDATE: Little Lost Dog

It seems harsh to use the word "caught" or "trapped" when I refer to the little dog that had been behind our neighbor's house for a few days last week and and over the past weekend.  So, I'll use the word corral.  We managed to corral him into a portable enclosure so that our county Animal Control folks could transport him to the shelter.

I had gotten him to the point of trusting me enough to come within a foot of me to eat the piece of bacon I held out and tossed onto the blanket we had left out for him.  With Tellie at my side, I showed the little guy that I was OK.  Hopefully, I was showing that I wasn't hurting Tellie and I was feeding her by hand, that I was safe.

Though the dog didn't get close enough to eat directly out of my hand, he did decide to trust me enough to get close. I think he thought since Tellie was eating, he could probably get in on the action as well.

I sort of felt his skitteshness disapate as he chowed down on the bacon. He didn't totally surrender and completely trust me but it was good progress and probably would have led to me being able to touch him.

An Animal Control Officer did show up earlier in the afternoon to see the situation first hand.  They decided the best course of action would be to lure the dog into a cage, similar to a racoon trap.  We set it up and laid down a trail of baloney which hopefully would lead him in far enough to trip the mechanism which would snap the gate close behind him.

Eventually, everything worked according to plan.  The poor guy was very, very interested in the trail of meat and ultimately went far enough into the cage to activate the trap door.

It was vey hard to watch as the startled, firghtened dog ran around in frantic circles, trying to find a way out.  His bark sounded terrified the more and more he threw himself around looking for an exit.

Eventually, he settled down as the shock of the moment set in.  He had no idea what was happening. He couldn't and didn't understand that it was the only way to ensure he would be safe and not have to spend anymore time outside, fending for himself facing an uncertain future.

It sort of hurt my heart as I slowly approached the cage.  I had facilitated tricking him and violating any sense of trust he may have built up toward me. 

As I sat down next to him, the first thing I noticed was that "he" was a "she." Her eyes were brown and big and had a very frightened look in them.  She had an underbite and a appeared to be older than we originally thought. She had a little head and floppy ears and with a nose longer than it seemed from across the backyard.  Her fur was longer than I anticiapted because from a distance, it looked pretty smooth and short like that of a Pug.

I began to talk to her, apologizing for what I had done but trying to explain that it was for her higher good.  I quitely asked St. Francis to watch out for her and for Jersey to be with her and let her calming spirit provide some comfort.

As she intently looked at me, I could hear her saying to me in a resigned fashion, "I trusted you.  What did you do to me?"

While we looked into each others eyes, what appeared to be tears welling up began to drop from the corner of her eyes.  I know there are some dogs that have leaky eyes and they tend to water on a regular basis but this girl had none of those tell-tale signs.

I reached out and put a knuckle into the cage.  She reached forward, gave me a tender nip and licked me.  She then retreated back into her self and sat down. We had touched and made contact.

Animal Control eventually arrived and we carried her into the back of the van.  The officer shut the door and drove off.

The next day I called the administrative office of the kennel to see how she did after she got checked in and examined.  The first thing I was told was that they named her Hannah! The second thing they told me was that she was exhibiting signs of aggressiveness by barking and snapping at the kennel attendant. I'd bark and snap too if I was frightened by the strange surroundings and constant noise from the other dogs.

I asked if she was going to be adopted out after the quartine period of five days was over.  I was told there were three possibilities.  If she settled down and the kennel tech thought she had become calm enough to get some practice loose leash walking and being taught some basic manners, she would be put up for adoption.  If she remained wary of anyone that approached her, they might try to find a shelter where someone might work closely with her to ultimately bring her around.  Finally, if they thought she she couldn't be rehabilitated, they would be left with no choice.  They would have to take drastic, irreversible action.

I felt sick to my stomache as I heard that news.  In an effort to extend assistance, I opened the possibility of something horrible happening to this little dog who, through no fault of her own, was abandoned. I'm sure the fear she developed of people was because of the way she was probably treated by a heartless guardian.  They totally disregarded the responsibility they had for her care and protection.

I don't know what will happen and can't help but pray she gets what every dog deserves a long, secure life with a loving open-hearted guardian.

I almost grieve for the disregard and lack of compassion some people exhibit.  I'll never fathom how a living, conscious, feeling innocent being like little Hannah can end up in a cage, in a shelter, facing the possibility of having the light in her eyes go dark.

Please, adopt a stray, unwanted animal.  Have them spayed or neutered and love them. They deserve compassion and a happy, safe, protected life.

A little lost dog

Someone abandoned a dog in our neighborhood last week.  I'm assuming it was last Thursday.  It was a rainy afternoon and the little fellow was discovered huddled under the overhang of our front porch by the electrican we were expecting to do some service in our house.  The dog darted off when he came up the walk to the door. 

When I got home from work that afternoon, I saw the dog hovering under the eaves over the deck of our neighbor's house.  By this time a steady light rain was falling and he was doing what he could to stay dry.  I went over with a handful of dog treats to try and coax him over so we might help him.

He's a little dog.  We think he's some kind of Boston Terrier/Pug mix.  When I walked up the stairs he started barking and ran to the deck railing, trying to squeeze through two of the balusters holding up the railing.  At this, I figured it would be best to leave him alone.

The next day I saw him in the back yard of another neighbor's house, two doors down from us.  He was looking in the direction of our house as if he was wondering if we would come out.  I brought him food and water and put it against the house next door.  I had ripped up some chicken and put it on top of the kibble I had put in the bowl.  As I approached to put it down he barked and barked and barked, warning me not to invade his space.

Later in the day I checked the bowls and he had eaten the chicken bits but left the kibble.  Turns out he was finicky in what he'd eat.

Both Alexa and I spent time trying to lure him to us. We sat on the ground a respectful distance away and tried to be as non-threatening as possible, We wanted to earn his trust.  He stopped barking and came closer to check us out.  He had his limits though.  He wouldn't come closer than 15 feet but seemed curious in what we were doing.

Later in the day I refilled his bowls and moved them closer to the wheelbarrow he had been sleeping under so he might feel more comfortable eating.  I figured if the food was right there, he might be tempted to eat.

That evening the temperature was dropping so Alexa took an old blanket out to him and put it under the wheelbarrow that had become his makeshft home.  We figured at least he could keep a little warmer and drier if he wasn't sleeping directly on the ground.

The next morning we awoke to find him again watching for us.  Though he still barked when he saw us and backed away when we approached, he was at least he wagging his tail.  I went over to retrieve the bowls and discovered he had eaten a good portion of the dry food and drank a good amount of water during the night.  I refilled both and brought them back so he could eat during the day if he wanted.

We called Animal Control to get them to come out and pick the little fellow up.  To my surprise, they told me if I couldn't catch him, they probably couldn't catch him and didn't even want to come out.  They suggested we come and pick up a trap which we could set up and lure him into it with some smelly canned dog food.

They also told us if we could get him in the cage, they wouldn't be able to pick him up until tuesday as they were closed Sunday and Monday.  We had no choice but try on our own to help this pup out.

We spent the next day again trying to get him closer.  We even brought Tellie (who is about the same size)  over to say hello to him, thinking she would be non-threatening and might draw the dog to her and possibly follow her to our house.

No such luck.

Bottom line it's the beginning of the fourth day and he's still out back watching for us.  We're not sure what to do but need to figure something out pretty quick.  It's supposed to get a little colder.  It's supposed to rain.  Absent any other help, it seems it's up to us to try and do something.  I don't know what's going to happen but I guess ultimately, we'll figure something out.

I don't know how some people can be so mean and cruel as to abandon a dog. Whoever did it has no heart and should be ashamed of themselves. Whoever it was took off his collar and for some reason left him to fend for himself.  I can understand a changing situation and it's not practical to care for a dog any more.  I can even understand having buyer's remorse after bringing the dog home.  I can't understand leaving a dog homeless. It seems a better choice, rather than dump him on the street, is to turn it in to an animal shelter, preferably a no-kill shelter.  There are a number of them in our area and they are equipped to care for dogs in a situation like this.  At least then the little fella would have a chance of being adopted and finding a home where he might be loved.

Seeing the future

Two days ago I ran across a couple of pictures of Jersey.  The one was a picture I've posted in this blog before.  It's of Jersey and Tellie sitting on the top step of the deck, looking out.  I don't know what they were so intent on but whatever had captures their attention was off in the distance.  Maybe it was a rabbit, maybe they were looking into the future.  Jersey was very much alive and was in her prime.  She was clearly engaged, she was strong and she was healthy.

The other was the picture I use as a profile picture on Facebook.  It's my favorite because I feel it perfectly encapsulates the relationship I had with her and the bond between us.  It was taken during what turned out to be her last visit visit to the beach at Sandy Point State Park.  It was the place where she could run free, off leash and unfettered.  I didn't know at the time that we'd never go there again.  I didn't know it was the last time we would be at the place we visited so many times during the course of the last couple of years.  I didn't know it would be the last time we would sit in the sun on the sand looking out over the bay.  I'm so thankful we had that last time together.  It was a moment to cherish.  We were together and it didn't get any better than that.

I told Alexa I had seen these pictures and that it really made me miss her more than I already do.  She gave me a hug and asked me what I miss about Jersey.

I miss her eyes and the way they sparkled.  I miss the space between her ears where I could rest my outstretched fingers on top of her and not touch either of them.  I miss her up turned fluffy tail and the way it curved over her back.  I miss her crooked smile.  I miss her smell when I would bury my face in the think fur of her neck. I miss the way the two middle toes of both her front paws fit perfectly together.  I miss her black and pink tongue and the way it would flap out of her mouth when she ran.  I miss her snore.  I miss the sound of her eating.  I miss her bark.  I miss walking with her and exploring with her and experiencing life with her.  The list goes on.

I think of her everyday but manage to go about my business without a crushing sense of grief plaguing me anymore. However, there are still times when I get sad and miss her a lot.  Six months and six days later, I still find myself imagining her sitting on the top step of the deck as she looked out, gazing into the future.

Six months

My Jersey left us six months ago today.  It hurts.

This has absolutely been the longest, shortest period of time in my entire 50 years.

Life seemed to slow down that day.  It was like being thrust into a slow-motion movie from which I can't escape; it is like existing in the place between sleep and wakefullness when I can't figure out if the nightmare I had was real or just a dream; it is like not really remembering if I got out of bed in the middle of the night to turn off the ceiling fan; it's like having trouble distinguishing something imagined from reality.

I was in a car accident once.  The other vehicle jumped the intersection and T-boned my car.  I remember spinning and spinning around.  I remember looking through the windshield as the landscape around me passed by turning slower than a snail crossing a sidewalk; I distinctly remember thinking there was nothing I could do. Life crystallized in that moment.  Everything came into sharp focus and briefly became a snapshot of a moment.

That's what life has been like since she left.

As slowly as each day passes, life has gone on.  Each moment, each second, each minute ticks off as the next one begins.  I get further and further away from that moment yet I can't help but feel I've left something vitally important behind and that I can't quite reach back to retrieve it.

I continue to be numb.

Skylar came to us and I rejoice. However, I can't shake the nagging feeling that Jersey should be here with us, teaching her how to truly become a fully realized dog. She'll be fine though.  Tellie learned from Jersey and she is setting the example for Skylar to follow.  Tellie learned well, Skylar is coming into her own.

Even with all the commotion of Tellie and Skylar rough and tumbling and rolling around like tumbleweeds on the ground, even with all stumbling I do when I don't notice the toys they have left on the ground and I trip over them, even with all the excited barking when the two of them realize they are going for a walk or ride in the car, I am still haunted by the thought that something is missing.

This is what it's like for me.

Running shoes

Skylar has been playing with one of my old sneakers.  I gave it to her pretty soon after we brought her home.  My thinking was that if she was going to be a chewer she'd eventually discover shoes.  It made sense to me that she would be more inclined to play with her own shoe rather than hunt down another one.  Over the past few months she would sporadically play with it.  She'd pick it up and walk around with it in her mouth only to discard it when she would find something more interesting to play with. Her bones and balls and stuffed toys and socks and sticks and Tellie were all more fun than the stinky old shoe I gave her.  Until about two days ago.

I think she figured out that when she tosses the sneaker in the air it makes a delightful thud when it hit the floor.  She found out that it is a great chew toy; she realized that the sneaker tongue made a great handle to grab so she could flip it over her head.  She likes the tast of leather and has begun gnawing on the rubber sole. (Did you notice I got in a clever Beatle's reference?  Rubber sole, Rubber Soul?)

She has taken to running furiously around the table in the middle of the TV room with the sneaker in her mouth.  She runs until she gets dizzy and collapses on the floor.  After she catches her breathe she'll pick it back up and look for her boon companion, Tellie.  She'll poke her in the face with it in order to entice her to play.  "This is a really cool toy and I want to share it with you.  C'mon, let's play.  You take it and I'll chase you!"

Jersey used to run around the table, too.  She would explode for one reason or another and scramble, and skootch and scratch like a crazy dog chasing it's tail.  She would run even harder if someone would clap for her or try to chase her.  Jersey would run so hard around and around and around that the floor would shake.  She'd then blast off and run the circuit from TV room to kitchen, through the dining room and down the hallway, over and over and over while Alexa and I would encourage her with shouts of "Go Jersey!"  We would reach out to try and touch her and she would zig-zag away from our fingers. She would run and run and run until she, too collapsed on the floor panting and breathing hard.

I miss the rumble and shake of the floor.  As Skylar gets her run on, I see Jersey.  It's times like these I realize how much joy there is in the simple things like running in circles and chewing on sneakers and the connection it affords me to my Jersey

Telluride!

Our Telluride came to us in October of 2010.  She quickly got a nickname, Tellie, and has become the big girl in our family.

The previous July another of our pups, New Years, lost her battle with IBD and Diabetes. As with any beloved companion who passes away, it was devastating on so many levels.  However, she had been sick for a long time and her poor little physical body couldn't hold on any longer.  She had a great life with us and was truly our angel.

I was working during motorcycle riding season at Mile-High Harley Davidson in Aurora, CO which is right down the street from the City of Aurora Animal Shelter.  It was there where I found Tellie.  When I first saw her she was a little sprout and didn't seem to be overly concerned about being in a cage.  I had gone to the shelter during a lunch break with no desire or inclination to get another dog.  It had only been a few months since New Years passed and we were still processing all that happened with her over the past couple of years.  I was only thinking I would go to visit the homeless, shelter dogs.

Tellie was in the second enclosure I came upon.  She emerged through the opening which connected both sides of her cage and looked up at me.  She looked at me with an open, friendly face.  She seemed to be saying "Oh, there you are!  I've been waiting for you to get here." I opend the gate gate and steppend into the cage and sat down on the cement floor.  She climbed into my lap and put her paws onto my shoulders.  She looked me directly in the eyes almost as if she was checking me out to make sure I was the one the one she had been expecting.  She licked my nose and settled into my lap.  She was very calm and confident that she had found her new Papa.

Since I only had a half hour break, I soon had to leave and ge back to work.  I lifted her off my lap and put her back on the floor.  I turned around as I walked away to see if she had any reaction to me leaving.  Her tail wagged contedly waving back and forth as she said "Goodbye.  See you later."

The next day I brought Alexa with me to meet this puppy.  The little white dog looked to be young since she was pretty small and her fur wasn't grown in all the way.  She recognized me and matter of factly indicated she had expecting me to come back to say hello.  I again went into the cage and sat with her as Alexa visited with some other pooches. After a couple of minutes I scooped her up and took her to meet Alexa.  It turned out Alexa had also found a little Yorkie friend and was bringing her to meet me.  We brought both of them outside to the fenced in "Meet and Greet area."  In the few mintues we had, we wanted to try and get a feel for their personalities and try to see which one was interested in possibly coming home with us.  Tellie followed me, then did an about face to visit with Alexa.  The Yorkie puppy was excitedly bouncing around running back and forth between the two of us.  She wasn't sure what was happening but was excited that someone was playing with her and had given her a chance to stretch her legs and run a little bit. Unbeknownst to us, it was Telluride who stole our hearts.

That night, I had a dream about her.  She was lying down looking up at me. The expectant look she was giving me was full of of a "Alright, I like you, you like me, when are you coming back to take me home with you?" I woke up in the morning with the very real feeling that she was going to be ours.

I had the day off from the dealer and was going to spend the late morning taking a motorcycle ride.  It was my intention to head off to the foothills to the west of Denver and take the twists and turns leading up, up, up and back down the other side and ride into the mountains.  I had only gotten less than two miles from home when I heard, clearer than a clear summer day, that Tellie was indeed our dog and that we had to go and get her.  We had to go get her NOW.

I turned around and headed back home to tell Alexa what had happened.  She didn't look at me like I was crazy as I told her about my dream and the strong feeling I had that we were supposed to adopt this little puppy with the deep brown eyes and waggy tail.  She simply gathered her purse and said "let's go."

Long story short, Tellie was ours that day. When we went to pick her up, we took Jersey with us.  We hadn't been allowed to bring Jersey in to meet her and we weren't allowed to bring Tellie out to see how she would get along with Jersey.  The first time the two met was when we walked Tellie out to the car.  Jersey knew what was happening and didn't have a problem with the new addition to our family.  We were relieved. Jersey was a one family dog and had gotten used to the idea that New Year's wasn't around anymore.  She had gotten very close to both Alexa and I.  We weren't sure how she would react.  Thankfully, Jersey took it all in stride.

Tellie made herself at home very quickly.  She developed a very close bond with Jersey and loved having another dog to show her the ropes, how things worked in our house.

Today, Tellie is the big sister.  Skylar came to us a floppy, silly, puppy all pin teeth and floppy legs. Tellie was a little unsure at first but eventually accepted Skylar as someone to play with, someone to pal around with, someone to be a dog with.

She had been a little confused when Jersey passed away.  She knew something was a different and that her big sister wasn't around anymore.  It was obvious she was sad and missed her big companion and friend.

Now, Tellie has become the teacher.  Not only is she teaching Skylar how to be a dog, she taught me to listen to some of the voices in my head and heart and follow my instincts.  She knew before I did that she was to find a home with us.  She told me and for the first time, I listened.

 

In the dark

Jersey's candle is out and didn't light up last night.

"This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.
Let it shine, let it shine, let it SHINE."

BELIEVE in a cure...

Raison d'etre

I was thinking yesterday about why I continue to post here and came to the conclusion that it's about more than me and Jersey and the sadness I feel at her loss. Sure, it's a venue for me to exorcise my feelings but it's bigger than that. Not only is it my way "to get over it" it's for whomever might benefit by what my experience has been.  It's for whomever has lost their own "Jersey" and doesn't know what's going on; whose head might be spinning around because they've lost their beloved companion; it's for those who have been devestated by their loss and might not realize that what they're feeling is normal.  It's for those who might feel alone in their grief.

If one person is touched by what I share and they can say to themselves "I get it.  This upside down, topsy-turvy vortex I have been thrown into is what happens." then I feel it's been successful.  I started out wanting to share her beauty and spirit but it has evolved into more than that. Though it is about Jersey, it's also about me and you and anyone and everyone who has been touched by grief. I know my experience is universal and is one thing we all have in commonl.  If what I am going through can be of benefit to just one person it means Jersey has been a teacher for them as well.

My wish is that people understand they're not alone and that someone else understands.

Jersey was my gift and I share it with you.  I hope it's a gift that fits.

Waning light

There is only the dimmest pinpoint of light from the candle now.  I expect that anynight, I will go into Jersey's room and the little electric candle flame will be dark.  It's barely there now.  The light from the streetlamp and moonlight shining through the window make it almost impossible to see if is is still burning.  It doesn't shine in the darkness anymore.  Actually, what's left is more like the glowing wick of a candle after it has been blown out.  If it was an actual flame, there wouldn't be enough light to do anything except ponder the darkness.

The practice of talking to Jersey while contemplating her light has had a strange effect on me.  I kind of look forward to it going out but will miss its comforting flame.

I look forward to it going out because I have a feeling that symbolically, it marks the end of something.  My heart tells me that when I can't see it anymore and when it is out, this intial period of mourning will be complete.  There is a part of me that wants to hang onto it.  I don't want to feel further and further away from her.  I don't want to let her go.

The truth is, I realize I have.

Though I'm still sad and think of her everyday, I think I've arrived at a place where I've come to accept what has happened.  I don't feel like I'm hanging onto her.  She has been released.  I feel like I've arrived at a place where my life is not being measured by how long she's been gone.

I'm now watching Skylar grow into a dog instead of being a puppy; I'm experiencing the joy Tellie brings us everyday. Alexa and I are making each other laugh and it's OK.

I think the carousel has stopped and the calliope has stopped "rooting-tooting." Maybe I'll go find the fortune teller and she can tell me what's next.  Nah, I think I'll get a hot dog instead.

Rear view mirror

Annapolis is about a half hour south of where Alexa and I live in Maryland.  Aside from being the state capital, it's a nice place to go for a quick "get out of town" visit.  There are different places we go on a regular basis: Quiet Waters Dog Park, Sandy Point State park where the beach I have written about is, Whole Foods, a couple of restaurants, Old Town.

The only reason I mention all this is because we went to Annapolis yesterday afternoon.  Actually, we went down twice.  Once to run a couple of errands, the second time was to take the dogs to Quiet Waters.

On the way back from our first Annapolis visit of the day, Alexa mentioned how she had been looking at baby pictures of Jersey the night before and how much she missed her. This was enough to get me remembering all the trips back and forth to the beach in Annapolis we made when Jersey was with us.  Specifically, it got me to thinking about Jersey's eyes.  I could look into the rearview mirror and would be able to see her brown, brown eyes either gleaming in anticipation of how much free running she could do or the look of contentment that could be found there as we drove home. A look of satisfaction which would come with being exhausted from exploring every inch of the shoreline, running unbound through the forest and discovering critters she could chase.  Her eyes would hold a certain look while she seemed to think her journey down the jetty as she poked her head into the nooks made by the uneven boulders grouped together, stretching out into the bay as she tried to find a crab to play with or some cast off fish bait to eat.

I thought of all this while Alexa was relating how much she wanted to throw her arms around Jersey's big, old, hairy neck. I thought of this and remembered our loss and that Jersey's eyes were no longer looking back at me through the rear view mirror.

I began to weep as I drove.

I think of Jersey every day.  She is never far from my thoughts.  I have come to a place when I recall a certain adventure we had or how she would sit at the top of the back stairs surveying her world.  I will think about her when Skylar sits in the same spot, in the same way. I've come to a place that through time, these memories don't have the sting they used to. The memory doesn't hurt the way it did.  I can think back and know how fortunate and blessed I was to have her in my life.

However, there are times when out of the blue, like yesterday, I look for her and she's not looking back. It's those unexpected times when I am blindsided by the feeling of her absence. It's those instances when I continue to mourn her loss and I am struck by saddness and I begin to weep.

Our lives are moving on and I am adjusting to life without her.  It doesn't mean the grief isn't there though. it is. What it does mean is that there is a sense of balance that comes with time.  There's a feeling that there is a place for those feelings, that it somehow all fits together. It also means that I will feel sad and that I will be moved to tears. Equalibrium hasn't been reached yet but at least it seems life is settling down.

My life has been moving on. I'm coming to terms with the fact that Jersey's big brown eyes aren't looking back at me in the rearview mirror.

Speechless

This past Saturday I was at a loss for words at the memorial service I wrote about last week.  It seems I am best at expressing myself when I write about Jersey and the effect her loss has had on me.  I've shared many stories about her. I've told what it is like for me as I go through this mourning process.  I've shared funny ones, sad ones, serious ones.  I feel like I have been open about what it's been like. When it came time to speak about her in front of people though, I hemmed and hawed, stuttered and repeated myself and don't think I was too successful sharing a couple of anecdotes about her.

I really wanted to eulogize her. It turned out that at the little ceremony each person shared a couple of stories about how their pups made them smile or gave them joy. It was an entirely appropriate way to honor the memory of the beloved companions we all miss so much.

I had spent a lot of time trying to think of just the right words to express what Jersey meant to me and the impact she had on my life and I couldn't come up with anything.  I use my best words here and was left struggling for what to say.

When people started sharing memories, I scrambled to think of something to say and decided to offer a couple of anecdotes about Jersey's escape artist skills.  It was entirely off the cuff and improvised and I feel I didn't do her justice.  I suppose it doesn't really matter because I'm sure no one really cared what words I used.  The important thing was I was there.

Last night though, I realized what I might have said instead:

"A day or two before Jersey passed, I was sitting with her in the man cave, talking softly to her.  I was telling her I loved her, that she was a great friend; that she was my best friend.  I lay down next to her as she shifted about trying to find a comfortable position. Her head was next to mine as I began to sing softly in her ear.
                                                 "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.
                                                  This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.
                                                  This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.
                                                   Let it shine, let shine, let it shine."

I kept singing it over and over until she calmed down and fell asleep.  I'm thankful she found comfort as I sang and gently stroked her side. I took comfort in the peace that settled upon us.  I was next to my Jersey and she fell asleep in my arms.

Her light continues to shine and it will stay shining in my heart forever."

Then I would have lit her candle.

The dark night seemed to soften in the glowing, spreading light as more and more candles were lit. I shared what I shared that night and it was fine for the occasion.

However if I could do it over, this would have been my eulogy.  This would have been what I wanted the people there to hear about my Jersey.  I would have liked to share about her light and that it continues to shine, shine, shine.

Eulogy

This coming Saturday we've been invited to attend a candle light memorial service to honor beloved puppos and allow their people to remember them.  I was very, very touched when I was asked if we wanted Jersey to be included. It seems perfect to have Jersey's spirit remembered in this way.  To some degree it feels as if it is an opportunity to bring closure to the first half of the year that saw Jersey get sick and lose her fight against multi-centric subcutaneous canine lymphoma. I hope it will put a salve on the wound left in my heart when she was abruptly taken away.

A few years ago I had made contact with a girl I was friends with when I was in high school.  I haven't seen her in almost 35 years.  It turns out she has also experienced the loss of a cherished companion and surprised me when she asked us if we wanted to attend the annual ceremony she holds in her backyard.  She does agility training with her dogs and has raised a number of champion performers. I was pleased to learn of her passion and the love she has for her dogs. She is one of those who has allowed me to see that the shared experiences of the past keep us bound together in the present.  She is one of those who understand what we are experiencing

I hadn't planned on writing about our plans to attend the service because it's something I was feeling that I would keep private. I've since decide otherwise because for the first time, I am at a loss for words.  It's an opportunity to eulogize my Jersey and I feel speechless.  I don't know what to say and am at a loss for adequate words.

I have been very honest in this blog about what I've experienced during this grieving process. It has been valuable for me to have a forum in which I can release what I'm thinking, feeling, remembering about Jersey.  It's one thing to write about it.  It's another thing to speak about it.

I have the feeling that giving an actual voice to our experience will truly make it concrete and real. Sharing it with people who aren't physically present in front of me and are regular readers of this blog allows me some degree of freedom because I feel that I am addressing an invisible audience.  Though I know this blog is read regularly, actually speaking to folks about Jersey's beauty and spirit and being able to look them directly in the eye really lets me see that they are listening and hearing  me. Putting my thoughts in written form means I can take the words I want to express and massage them, change them or erase them as necessary. Once something is verbalized and spoken aloud it can't be taken back and is really out there for all time

I want my spoken words to be a fitting tribute for her.  People will actually hear what I am saying and will see me saying them. I think I prefer to be invisible so I can hide and people won't witness my grief in person.

As a consequence, I'm stuck for what to say.

It seems the only solution I have for this "stage fright" is to speak honestly and how her light and my love for her live on in my heart.

The eternal flame

The candle is still burning in the window of Jersey's Room.  I sort of half expected it would be out by now.  When I wrote about it the other day I thought it was on its last legs.  I really thought I would find a dark room the other night.  It is still coming on, albeit weakly but seems determined to keep burning until it can't burn anymore. It reminds me of Jersey's last day.

Though she was physically spent, her spirit was very much alive.  When I carried her into the backyard on that Tuesday afternoon, it was very obvious she enjoyed being outside.  The fresh air and sunshine seemed to bring her relief and a sense of contentment.  It almost appeared to revive her spirit. She lay on her blanket in the grass, her ears at attention, her nose twitching as she caught the different smells in the air.  She could hear Alexa and I talking to her; she could hear the sound of the birds.  She was aware and drinking in all that was going on around her.  I almost thought she was taking it all in so she could have a cherished memory of what her life was like to take along with her.

Her light refused to go out.  It burned until the last possible minute.

When the time came it was clear her light was ready to go out. She accepted it. I could not.  I didn't realize I was afraid of the dark, the dark from the coming absence of her bright, bright spirit and presence.

It is the same with the candle.

The battery lit flame is practically out of  power, yet it continues to shine.  The room continues to get darker and darker, yet it continues to shine. The dancing flame is dimmer and dimmer, yet it continues to shine.

One night, I will show up in the doorway and the candle will be out.  I will close the door and remember the flame, her light which burned brightly. This time though, I'm not as afraid. Her light still burns within me and illuminates my heart.

Training

Our Skylar just finished a round of puppy training. It was six weeks long and covered all the typical commands one would associate with a beginner class. She was taught how to walk nicely on a leash, sit, lie down, come, stay and leave it.  She did very well within the class; as a matter of fact she usually received weekly praise from the instructor who commented about how well behaved she is.  As is typical though, she was usually only well behaved in class.  Being home is another story.

For the most part she has learned what she is supposed to do.  Sometimes she walks calmly at the end of the leash.  It is a pleasure when she pleasantly keeps pace and isn't distracted by the bugs or blowing leaves or the landscape guys who may be on the other side of the street.  It sometimes takes an exasperated tug and a frustrated "SKYLAR" to get her back on track but eventually she falls into line.

She does know how to sit on command though Alexa and I have been utilizing different hand signals to get her to comply.  I figure we're probably confusing the dog since we're sending her mixed signals.  Alexa very calmly motions uses the motion the instructor suggested and mattter of factly tells her to sit.  Skylar sits.  I on the other hand am more forceful and do what I had done with Jersey.  I snap my fingers and point to the ceiling with one finger and strongly say "sit." Skylar will sit but she usually looks at me like I'm out of my mind.  I'll do it about 10 times, snapping harder and my voice raising in exasperation.  It seems that Skylar walks walks away from me more often than she sits. I'm sure she thinks that I'm an idiot and will give up as she turns away.

Jersey was the same way.  She didn't really take me seriously and knew I would let her get away with murder.  It took her a long, long time to decide to come when she was called.  Even then she would mosey back when she was done doing whatever she had been doing.  It would take numerous tugs on the leash and  repeated pleas of "easy" before she would slow down and stop pulling so hard.  About the only thing she did on a regular basis was to sit down as I would get her food and put the bowl down onto the floor.  She would wait patiently until I told her to go ahead, it was OK to eat.  Other than that, most everything else was on her own timetable.

Jersey went to training, too.  We actually took her to two different classes.  The first one she was so small, she could hide under the folding seats that were placed in a circle in the classroom.  She needed a lot of coaxing and reassurance to get her to emerge and demonstrate the skills she was shown.  In the next class, she was much bigger.  She couldn't fit under a chair anymore and wasn't sure what to make of the other pups in the class.  She would eventually comply with what she was asked to do often enough to receive a diploma, though her lessons never really took.

As much as I loved her, Jersey was stubborn.  She was smart enough to know that if she escaped from the backyard, I wouldn't be able to catch her unless she wanted to be caught.

My point is that as I remember trying to train Jersey, I'm seeing the same problems with Skylar.  I think I'm too much of a mush to be stern with a commanding presence.  I allow myself to be walked over, which is the one time she doesn't pull on the leash.

A dying candle

A couple of months ago I wrote about the candle I have in the window of Jersey's room and that I spend some time talking to her each night as I contemplate the flickering light.  It's one of those battery operated electric candles that actually has a timer and will flip on at the same time every evening and turn itself off sometime after midnight. It reflects in the window glass and casts a soft glow in the room.  It's comforting to me, being in that light.  It seems to dance around on the walls as it shimmers, winking and blinking, appearing to be blown about in a gentle breeze.

I finish my daily silent conversation telling her that her light shines in the darkness and out the window so anyone passing by can see how beautiful she was.  I also tell her I'll leave the light burning so she can always see where we are.

I noticed last night that the flame has gotten very, very weak.  It is nowhere near as bright as it first was when it was lit four months ago. It is getting dimmer and dimmer and is barely strong enough to shine.  I doubt it can even be seen from the street. The batteries are running low and will evenutally run out of juice while they work to keep the light burning.  I could replace the batteries or I could get a new candle.  I'm also thinking about just letting it extinguish.

I'm sort of wary of letting the room go dark and not having her flame burn. It will be almost a tangible sign that she is really gone and that it's time to move on.  I don't know if I'm ready to let her go.  On the other hand, I don't want to get stuck in a constant state of missing her and remain in an overwhelming sense of loss.  I tell myself that it's only been four months and that I have to allow myself to move through the grief process naturally and on its own pace.  Maybe the candle burning down to the point of not being lit anymore is now gently telling me it's time.  Time to begin to let go.

I don't know if I'm ready. I don't know if I can.  Maybe I'll just get another candle and replace the one which is now dying. Or maybe, just maybe, I'll shut the door when the candle finally does go dark.  Jersey knows where we are and people can still see how beautiful she is.  This blog can show them, my stories can show them, our pictures can show them.  She's never going to be gone from my heart or far away from my thoughts.  Maybe it is time to let the candle go out.

Barking

There was something in the woods behind our house this morning that both Tellie and Skylar either heard or smelled.  When I let them out at 5:30 they barked and barked and barked and barked.  It pierced the early morning quiet and overpowered the birdsongs being tweeted by the Robins as they welcomed the day.  I'm sure the incessant barking woke the neighbors and were making them grumble "Damn, dogs. Why don't those people shut them up?"  I expected the police to show up at any moment and arrest us because the woofing dogs  had broken some sort of county sound ordinance which limited undue noise.

Skylar stood in the door way, frantically shouting "I know you're there and you know you're there now show your face and let me get a look at you!"  Tellie had come back into the house and was pawing at a window in the TV room.  She seemed to be telling Skylar "There are deer out there, there deer out there!"   I of course couldn't see anything untoward.  I didn't hear anything except the frantic barking. I couldn't smell anything which would have indicated the presence of some wayward animal forraging in the thick forest bordering the backyard.

I of course knew it's almost impossible to get the attention of a dog whose attention is focused on something important like a rabbit or deer or fox.  I tried to get them to quiet down but eventually gave up.  "Fine" I thought.  "Let the cops come and take me away.  At least it will be quieter in a jail cell."

As all this mayhem was happening, I was struck by a thought which gave me pause.  If Jersey was here, she'd be the ringleader of all this noise.  She'd be the one who would have squeeled in anticipation of seeing what was in the yard.  She would have been the one barking loudest.  It was then I realized I don't remember the sound of her bark.

I recall when she was first getting sick, something happened which caused her to unleash her roar over and over and over and over again.  I took joy in the sound of her cries.  I knew she was feeling the moment and was truly being a dog.  I swore to myself that I would remember the moment and remember the timber, the volume, the deepness of her voice.

Now, four months later, I struggled to recall what she sounded like.  I'm sure if I heard it, I would instantly recognize it.  But absent that, I can't hear it anymore.  I think I have forgotten.

It was the one thing I had hoped I would always have with me.  I was sure it was one of the memories I would always have and be able to cherish.  I was certain that memory would help keep her alive. Now all I hear is her silence.

It's a little unsettling to recognize I won't hear her again.  I'm discomforted to have a picture of her in mind but can't put a sound to it.  It's like watching a silent movie after being able to hear in hi-fi, stereophonic, glorious sound.

Now, the house is quiet.  Skylar and Tellie will continue to bark and keep providing the soundtrack of my life.  Unfortunately, the recording has changed.  Jersey's voice is missing.

Cleaning up

About two days after Jersey passed away, I asked Alexa to move the blankets and pillows we had put in the front room for Jersey to lay on so she could look out the windows left cracked open so she could smell all the smells on the breeze during her last days.  It was much too painful to walk past the living room and see the stuff piled up in the spot where she left us.

The blankets that had become soiled were thrown away; I think the pillows were put into a closet and the rug which had been on the floor in case she had to pee was rolled up and put into the basement. The room was empty, all traces of what had happened there were put away.  Of course there would always a heart skipping pang when I walk past the room but the reminders wouldn't be there.

We picked up her water and food bowls, put her collar and harness away and stored the various beds she would lie on in her favorite spots in the house. I gave away the long lead we used for her which kept her from leaping over the backyard fence so she wouldn't get loose and run away while she was chasing rabbits.

I didn't want to erase her from the house.  It was simply a matter of allowing us to resume life without daily, tangible reminders of the mighty space she occupied in my life.

This past weekend I took what was probably the final action in cleaning up.  I got my car washed and had the interior vacummed and polished.

Anyone who hauls a dog around knows what it is like to have fur balls the size of tumbleweeds blowing around the itnerior.  The dog owner can accept the dirt and sand and mud which builds up in the floor mats and carpets.  They get used to the smell of wet dogs.  The sounds of balls rolling around on the car floor become background noise.  They learn to live with nose prints, slobber and paw prints on the windows.  The dog smell permeates the interior and for me at least become a part of normal, everyday life.

The thing that caused me to consider getting the car cleaned up was Skylar having a pee accident on the blankets which I used to cover the back of the jeep.  We had taken a day trip to the ocean which is a couple of hours away from our house this past weekend.  Though I stopped during the drive so she and Tellie could have a bathroom break, Skylar waited until we were back in the car and continuing our drive before she considered emptying her blatter.  Puppy pee stinks and I had to take drastic action.  I decided to take my car to a full service car wash and detail place and have them try to de-dog the car's itnerior.

I mention all this because there were still vestiges of Jersey throught the car.  Sand from our trips to Sandy Point State Park was still on the back of the seats which I keep folded down to have more room for dogs to lie down;  a couple of sticks she had picked up were still under the seats, there were lots of stray hairs clinging to the fabric of the car ceiling and on the rugs.  They were all reminders of how much time we spent together driving to our next adventure; how she would be sprawled in the back, looking out the windows at the passing scenery trying to figure out where we might be going.

With each squirt of window cleaner, with each push of the vacuum hose, with each thing thrown into the garbage can, with each swirl of a wash rag her presence was wiped from the car.

The people who detailed the car did a great job.  It's now sparkly and shiny with a new car scent wafting through the interior.  Still, whenever I look in the rear view mirror to see how Tellie and Skylar are doing on one of our drives, I still see Jersey looking back at me asking "are we there yet?"

Though the car has been cleaned she's never really washed away.  She's in my heart and on my mind beyond the reach of cleaners and buckets of water.

Research and uncharted territory

Over this past weekend I spent some time trying to find a new place for us all to visit.  We can't go to Sandy Point State Park during the summer season.  No dogs are allowed from Memorial Day through October 1.  We tried to go to the Howard County Dog park a few weeks ago but they wouldn't let us in because Skylar was too young.  They didn't let dogs in who are under four moths old.  Besides, it's not our favorite place.  There is a $5 charge to get in and they've got volunteers guarding the gate.  They REALLY don't want people who don't pay or aren't members to gain entry.  On Saturday's we had been going to a High School athletic field for letting both Tellie and Skylar off-leash to get some running around time.  However, it's been way to hot for being outside.  There is no shade, no water and high humidity.  Not only is it miserable for the dogs, it kills me, too.

The only regularly visited park that's left is Quiet Waters Park in Annapolis.  It's a nice enough park and they've got a fenced in dog area.  Skylar has gotten nicely socialized with other pups while running around within the confined area and has rough and tumbled to her hearts content.  Tellie has also gotten into the action though she is more selective about the dogs she plays with.  Ultimately, she'd rather sit with us on the bench and take in all the in puppoy havoc.

All this led me to begin looking for new placse for us to go.  We've been visiting the same places time and time again during the last two years and are in need of a change.

I realized yesterday that in the past when Jersey was with us, I spent a lot of time trying to find places that she would like.  I searched for parks with water access, hiking trails, off leash areas or open fields.  Jersey loved to ride in the car and visit new places.  She got a kick out of new experiences and exploring.  She loved taking hikes, she loved splashing in rivers, she loved playing in water, she liked running free.

Yesterday, I was struck by another thought.  Neither Tellie nor Skylar are much interested in stuff like that.  Tellie would rather take a walk and Skylar is happy doing whatever Tellie is doing.  Sure they enjoy riding in the car but they don't really care about new places.  The important thing for them is that our whole pack is together.  They are totally happy just spending time with us. I don't trust either of them to be off-leash while exploring a forest and they don't care for water.  At least Tellie doesn't, I'm not sure about Skylar yet.

Though I'm still going to look for uncharted territory, my focus has changed and it makes me a little sad.

I loved taking Jersey to all the exciting places we used to go.  It was a great outlet for both of us and was also a great way to get some regular exercise.  Now, the thought of going to the Sandy Point Beach without Jersey is too much for me to think about yet.  I'm sort of thankful there is dog access during the summer season. 

It's different now, Tellie and Skylar will do whatever we do. Jersey would, too.  The difference is Jersey had joy in being adventureous; she was up for anything.  The dogs now are a little more cautious and aren't as curious about what is at the top of the next hill or the next pool around the bend in the river.

Not only was it exciting for Jersey, I loved taking Jersey to these places.  it was exciting for me too and I miss those times of exploring with her.

I love Tellie and Skylar.  Life is just different.  The new normal is setting in.

Squeals of delight

Jersey and I used to love to hike and walk.  We would go almost anywhere at anytime to explore, run, poke around and just "be." We had our favorite places and spots; some hidden and private, some not so private.  It didn't matter.  What mattered was being outside.

I'm sorry that when we lived in Colorado we never expanded our area wider than Cherry Creek Dog Park.  We never went up to the mountains, we never went to the prairies.  We spent most of our time in and around the area of where we lived in Aurora.  As limited as it may sound, we never wanted for new experiences, new sights and smells.

The development we lived in was fairly large and kept expanding.  Jersey and I must have explored every inch of it and as much of the surrounding farmland and forest as possible.  There were walking trails both paved and unpaved.  There were streams, there were prairie dog holes, there were pine trees and there were some wide open spaces.  Jersey never seemed to mind that we were within a couple miles of our house, I like to think she was just happy being with me as we wandered outside.

In an earlier post I mentioned bushwacking at Cherry Creek Dog Park.  This was another place we loved to go and get out of our minds splashing through the river and running unbound through wheat fields. We always managed to get out to the "Back of Beyond" and to places where there would be no other people.  We would have these unexplored worlds to ourselves.

After we moved to Maryland it was key for me to find places we could go and run and explore.  I discovered  the Maryland State Park system. I bought our first season pass a couple of years and began looking for those places we could call our own. One of those was Patapsco State Park.

This park is huge and stretches for miles through multiple counties.  There were thick forests, hills, unmarked paths and best of all, no people in those places we would choose to go.  One of those places was a picnic area which was off the beaten path where a trail led from the parking lot and stopped at the edge of a creek.

This was our secret place.  One could wander up the creek bed, exploring the pools which were filled by the clear running stream.  There were rocks to climb over and crawl under.  There was a steep embankement covered with wet leaves, mud holes, fallen trees and boulders. There was a glade to climb up which eventually dumped out to a wide swath running underneath high tension wires. Best of all, there were deer to chase.

Jersey would bolt after deer she would see.  I would never spot them because they blended into the background so well.  Jersey would first smell their scent on the air.  She would stop and stick her nose up into the breeze, her tail wagging faster and faster.  She would frantically start looking around while starting to squeal in anticipation of the coming chase.  When she zeroed in on where they might be standing, she would take off like she was exploding from a cannon.  The deer would bound away.  With each leap they would pull further and further away from her.  She would run even faster until she disappeared from sight.  I never worried though.  I could hear her yelps as she crashed through the underbrush while she charged after them, further and further away from me.

There would be no use chasing after her.  It would have been a futile.  No amount of yelling her name or shouting "JERSEY, GET BACK HERE."  would dissuade her from her task.

The only thing I could do was sit down and wait.  I might whistle out loud, letting her get her bearings so she could follow the sound and know which direction to go.  She always come back and she never got lost.  Eventually she would appear through the trees looking extremely happy and pleased with her self.  She would dance around, happily expressing her delight in the chase and how she almost caught them.  I'd smile and shake my head and turn around to make our way back to the car. She'd always fall asleep on the way home, a happy smile on her face as I wondered what she would have done if she had caught up to a deer.

Today it's been months since we explored a stream bed. I've still got a current park pass which is hanging from the rearview mirror of my Jeep. I long to keep hiking and exploring but I haven't been able to do it without Jersey or return to any of those places we ran free.  Tellie is too little to explore uncharted territory by herself without Jersey to lead her and Skylar is way to young for being let off leash unsupervised in a forest with deer and other critters.

I guess Jersey's now got endless forests to run through and herds of deer to run after though I know she'll still never catch one. For her, it has always been and I'm sure continues to be about the chase. That's her doggy heaven.

An oft used cliche

I feel Jersey moving further and further away from me.  It's not necessarily a bad thing though, I don't think. It's just that through the passage of time, life seems to be moving on.  I'm getting caught up in the mundane routines, details and activities associated with living day to day. It's not spectacular, there's nothing wonderful going on. It's just that bathrooms still need to be cleaned, dishes still need to be washed, food shopping still has to be done; worst of all, the lawn still has to be cut.

These are mundane tasks and require concentration to attend to them Yes, there are still things and thoughts I encounter on a daily basis which remind me of her and only magnify how much I miss her but there are other considerations, too. We've got a new puppy to care for; there are tasks at work which require attention; a lot of activities which call for being present in the here and now.

The body and mind have a tremendous capacity to heal them selves  I believe grief is an automatic response to a loss.  I also believe the healing of the wound is also automatic.  Just as there is not really anything to be done to lessen the feelings of loss, there is nothing to be done to move into healing.  It just natuarally happens.

I miss Jersey but ever advancing time is pushing me on, pushing me forward. I am being healed in spite of myself.  I really don't like the sense of loss and feeling broken apart, it's very uncomfortable.  With time though those feelings are dissapating and being replaced with the feeling that life is returning to normal.  Granted it's a new normal.  Life will never return to the way it used to be.  How can it?  Jersey is gone. However, a new normal is taking over and I'm beginning to fall into new patterns. routines and a new way of living life. Time is making it happen and it has nothing to do with me and it's beyond my control.  Time really does heal all wounds.

Chesapeake Bay smells and sea breezes

A couple of weeks ago we took Skylar and Tellie to Quiet Waters Dog Park in Annapolis.  It was Skylar's first visit and her head almost exploded with all the puppies she was able to play with.  She ran after dogs, knocking them over with one swat of her baseball mit sized paw.  Conversely, she was chased around and around until she tripped over her own legs and somersaulted head first onto her back, only to have her belly pounced on by her new found friend.  Tellie, who can't usually be bothered by other dogs, got so caught up in the action she danced in delight with her tail wagging like a metronome as she sniffed the butts of of similar sized smaller pups.

Yesterday, after another round of rough and tumble, Alexa and I walked them down the path to the bulkhead on the Chesapeake Bay at the furthest edge of the park.  Skylar had never seen water before and was mesmerized by not only the wide expanse but the sound of the lap, lap, lap against the pier.  Most of all she was taken by all the smells coming off the water as they were carried on the ever blowing sea breeze..  Supposedly, a dogs sense of smell is 400 times greater than a humans in which case Skylar's limited life experience was increased a thousand fold. I'm sure the smell of fish, the brackish water, the sea spray and the other things that collect along the shore was probably similar to what it's like for us as we watch a Technicolor movie for the first time when life bursts forth in all it's spectacular hues and shades.

Besides letting Skylar take all this in for the first time, it was also the first time making this familiar journey without Jersey. We had spent many hours watching the boats bounce across the water and the sea gulls dive bombing for small fish swimmng too close to the surface.  I could picture Jersey sitting next to me with her nose twitching in the air, catching the various smells floating across the Bay. Her absense was palbable even though I was watching Skylar to make sure she wouldn't charge into the water, chasing an errant crab or picking up an oyster shell.

Each first visit to a place I spent time with Jersey is hard.  Going to them with Alexa, Tellie and Skylar makes it easier but it doesn't soothe the realization the Jersey is not with us.  I do know that the first trip anywhere without her is going to be the hardest.  I also know that subsequent visits will be easier and easier as I adjust to life without her, especially when I'm joined byAlexa, Tellie and Skylar as we revisit those places that hold strong associations with my Jersey.

Doggy Disneyland

Back when I started this blog I shared about how much Jersey lovd Cherry Creek Dog Park in Aurora, Colorado.  I shared about how big and wide open it is; I shared about the stream running through the middle of it; I shared about bushwacking with Jersey out in the back of beyond.  Well, I found a few pictures of some of our many trips to this "Doggy Disneyland."  They don't really do justice to the width and breadth of the place.  Suffice to say that for Jersey it was Heaven on Earth.  Though there were some major league hard things going on in my life at the time, being with here with Jersey allowed me to put things in perspective.  Our daily journeys to this magical place were calming and peaceful.  It was a place that truly allowed us to bond.  Truthfully, it had become Heaven on Earth for me.

Today, I know Jersey is in Heaven and it fills my heart knowing that I got to share it with her.