Tuesday, March 26, 2013

New routines

I keep asking myself the question "when will life return to normal?"  There are so many things I miss which were part of the daily routine and made my life "normal." I miss Jersey's big old tongue shlurping me on the nose every morning to get up; I miss her nose in my face and looking at me with her deep brown eyes telling me it was time to rise and shine.  I miss the way she would come in and sit on the floor between the kitchen and the family room as she licked her chops and wagged her tail urging me to move faster as I prepared her breakfast. I miss snapping my fingers and pointing at her to sit as I put her bowl on the ground.  I miss the sound of her drinking water when she was finished.  I miss her coming over for her morning pet and hug before she would go back to bed and back to sleep.  I miss walking past her as I would walk out the door to go to work.  She would be sprawled on her pillow on the floor in front of the living room window and would give me a couple of tail thumps in farewell when I would say "see you, Jerz."

For the two years we've been in Maryland and the course of the previous five years, we had fallen into a morning routine.  The last thing I would see was Jersey saying goodbye. This was my "normal" morning.

Mornings still occur on a regular basis and I wake up at the same time everyday. Years of being roused from the bed by a big face licking dog got me used to opening my eyes and getting out of bed.  Now I wake up automatically yet there no sloppy licks across my face.  There are no eyes looking at me from about three inches away.  It takes me a couple of minutes to remember Jersey is not there and never will be again.

Tellie still needs to be let out and fed.  She usually sleeps until I start stirring and throw back the covers.  Her exuberance at the prospect of chasing whatever critters might be in the backyard, lingering in the dark before the sun comes up, is infectious.  I'm thankful her excitement at flying down the back stairs is enough to snap me from the sadness I have been waking up with every morning.  When she comes back into the house she excitedly jumps up on my legs, proudly telling me everything is clear in the backyard, she has chased the birds away.  She sits and waits for breakfast.  She eats and takes a drink of water when she is finished. Instead of a sloppy "SLURP, SLOP, SLURP,SLOP" I hear a dainty "slip, slip, slip."

I still quietly say "see you, Jerz" as I walk out the door even though it's a hard realization saying goodbye to her when she's not there. It's a habit that I know will eventually break. A new "normal" is developing and I welcome it.  Meanwhile though, I am between morning routines. Letting go of the old one and embracing the new one is way more challening than I thought it would be but is essential for me to move on. "See you, Tellie." 

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Ocean Waves


Grief is a funny thing.  Sometimes it washes over you like a wave crashing on the beach.  It dumps itself on your head and knocks you down.  I remember being a kid on the beach at the Jersey Shore.  A powerful wave would lift me up, up up and just as suddenly drop me down into the turbulence and foam at it's base.  I would get thrown around like I was inside a dishwasher.  I remember being breathless and being held down by a force much bigger than myself.  I remember squeezing my eyes tightly closed as I was tumbled upside down and being spun around and around. Eventually I would end up at the water line on shore beaten and scraped up by the sand.  I'd be lying there gasping for breath.  Evenutally I would stagger to my feet and have to shake my head to clear it from the bashing it had just been through.  To me, that's what grief is like. You get that feeling in the pit of your stomach as you try to run away from the wave only to be sucked into it by the water rushing toward it, feeding the swell.  It's beyond your control. Most times, it's just best to float and go along for the ride.

Yesterday I came across a picture of Jersey and I standing on a bulk head overlooking the Chesapeake Bay.  We're both looking out over the water.

Yesterday, I had been doing alright.  I didn't feel distracted, I felt able to concentrate, I didn't feel the unbearable ache I had been experiencing.  Seeing that picture though, brought about such a sense of melancholoy within me that I felt myself slowing down.  I could feel myself being sucked into the wave. It clung to me for the rest of the day and nothing I did could shake it.

It's those times when the only thing to do is to float.  You can't fight the feeling so you might as well work with it the best you can. You've got to grit your teeth and force yourself to remain in the present moment; I'm thankful I had Alexa to talk to about it.  She helped me recognize it for what it is: a moment.  A moment of feeling something that's natural and to be expected.  A moment of sadness that faded as I slept last night.

Today, I look at the picture of Jersey I posted above and don't feel triggered. She looks in her element; She looks strong and powerful with regal bearing. This is how I want to remember her - fully present, enjoying the sights and smells of her world; happy to be with us, without a care and at peace.

This is my Jersey.

Onward...

Monday, March 18, 2013

Little Tellie, the biggest small dog ever

Telluride is our Jack Russell/Cairn Terrier mix.  She is also an integral part of our family but unfortunately was not featured at all in this blog during the course of Jersey's final journey.  She has gone through the process with us but didn't quite understand why our attention all of a sudden was on Jersey.  It was obvious to both of us that she didn't know what to do.  She's a small dog caught in very big circumstances and she keenly felt all that was happening.

Tellie relied on Jersey.  Yes, she depends on us to be fed and let out and she loves us but she relied on Jersey to teach her how to be a dog.

We adopted her from the Aurora, Colorado Animal Shelter three years ago about three month after the loss of another beloved dog, New Years. The shelter staff told us she had been picked up when she was spotted chasing birds in an open field.  Like most shelter dogs, she had no tags and no chip.  They waited for someone to claim her but no one came.  When I first saw her she was in a kennel and seemed to emanate a certain love which drew me in immediately.  I opened the gate of her cage and sat on the floor with her.  She immediately jumped into my lap and greeted me with excited hello's.  She was happy to have a visitor.  She was neither wiggly nor squirmy but sort of confident that she was going to go home with me.  She seemed to convey a feeling of "I like you very much.  When are we going to go home?"  I picked her up and carried her over to Alexa who was visitng with another dog.  I held out this wide eyed small dog who was a little skinny and dirty and said "I think this is the one."  We decided we would wait and if we came back and she was still there, we would adopt her and take her home.

That night, I had a dream about her.  I generally have the type of dreams we all have of flying above tree tops or forgetting the combination to my high school locekr and either wake up with a feeling of anxiety or scratching my head wondering why I can't fly when I'm awake.  This was different though. I don't remember the details of it but I know she figured prominently in the dream I had that night.

Later that afternoon, I was riding my motorcycle on E-470, a major highway by-pass around the city of Denver.  My plan was to take a ride up into the foothills and end up at Red Rocks Park.

I hadn't gone too far when I seemed to be hit with a moment of clarity.  This little dog needed us and was calling "Where are you? I thought you liked me."

I turned around, rode home, picked up Alexa and took the car back to the shelter.  Tellie was still there, and was glad we had come back to adopt her.

Tellie took to Jersey immediately.  Jersey also appeared to accept her pretty quickly.  She had missed playing with New Years and was sad her sister wasn't around anymore.  Tellie was a welcome playmate and they bonded quickly.

Jersey taught her how to be part of our family, how to rough house and play. She taught her how to  crawl under the fence and escape.  They became pals and bosom buddies. They had two very different personalities: Jersey was like the zen master teaching the eager student how to be present; how to fully be a dog.

Now, Tellie is teaching us.  She is showing us love and comfort during this difficult time.  She is showing us it's OK to miss Jersey and that she has our backs.  She is showing us how to move forward and take life one step at a time.  She's top dog now and has risen to the challenge. She is the biggest small dog that has ever found a place in my heart.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Onward

The day after I made my last post, a week ago today, our Jersey died.

Since then we have been grieving and mourning.  The hole in my heart and our lives is beyond description.  We're still reeling and can't quite yet believe she is gone.

Yesterday I posted on the FB group page "Jersey's Place" that I am taking a break from making more in-depth blog posts here.  Both Alexa and I need time to come to terms with our loss.  I'll keep making updates on our progress over there as we move through the next step of the process but my emotions are too raw at the moment to share extended thoughts here. There will come a time when I'll be ready to share memories and stories of her and the way in which she lived. I'd really like you to see why she was such a special being and the many different ways she she enriched my life.

I'm sorry most of you didn't have a chance to meet her.  You would have loved her.  You would have seen her power, her beauty and her huge spirit.  You would have seen the zen like way she fully lived totally in the moment.  You would have been touched. 

I realize it may seem I'm overstating the impact of a dog on one's life.  It may even appear I'm claiming my dog was better than your dog.  That's not the case at all.  I know each of you who have shared or share life experiences with a special friend who happen to be a dog or a cat, feel the same way I do; I know you hold your animals in the same high regard I hold Jersey. I know you feel things as deeply as I do.  I just happen to have decided to write about it.  I just thought giving voice to the special relationship I had with my Jersey Girl might let you know that someone else knows how you feel.  That maybe what I have to say gives a voice to those feelings you feel as deeply as I do.

The story of Jersey's final month has been told.  Suffice to say that sometime in the future I'll be able to share the richness of her life and way she fully occupied Jersey's Place.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Eyes wide open

There are some who say "Oh, it's only a dog." There are some who keep their dogs chained up outside for the majority of the day, no matter what the weather. There are some people who own a dog and don't have its welfare in mind. I make no apologies...Jersey is an integral part of my family.  She's our protector, she's our companion, she's my best friend. Conversely, I protect her.  I am her companion and I am her best friend.  That's right, Jersey and I are are best friends.

I know full well that Jersey is a dog.  She's all dog.  She can be mischievious, she can be stubborn.  She doesn't always obey and she can be very single minded. She can be muddy, she can be messy, she can be frustrating; that's the way dogs are. She is also an angel.

We are her guardians.  And as such we have a huge responsibility to care for this fully alive, fully present, fully aware living being.  I do have her best interests at heart. Anything less is an injustice and not honoring of her spirit. Though I am terribly sad and my heart aches at the way things turned out, I have always had this perspective.

Since the beginning when I first met her at the Santa Fe Animal Shelter, I thought these things. I made a commitment to always be there for her and to do all these things for her for the rest of her life. Now I truly have to honor my commitment. I am duty bound to respect her enough to let her go and help her make the transition.

The finality of death is a jarring concept.  Though I know it is an inevitable part of life, I grapple with it just the same.  In this case it seems inconceivable that Jersey won't be here to bark out the window as some salesman comes to the door; that she won't fall asleep on the couch anymore; that she won't be sitting on the top step surveying her world anymore; that I won't get schlurped in the face every morning to wake me up and begin the day. 

There is no doubt our life will be empty and that we shall grieve.  I will be sad.  ouch

Monday, March 4, 2013

Zen Master

Damn weather forecasters.  When they tell you there's a 10% chance of rain it means one person out of the 10 in their office think it'll rain.  Not very scientific and a lot of shooting in the dark.  I thought the forecast this weekend was supposed to be for sun.  I had planned on having Jersey outside in the backyard so she could lie down and soak up the healing energy of the sunlight.  Unfortunately it didn't happen that way.

Everytime Jersey is out and gets the chance to breathe fresh air and look around, she seems to get energized.  It is so heartening to see her ears up and her nose twitching as she smells stuff in the air.

She has always loved to be outside with her poppa.  The two of us have done so much exploring together. Last week I wrote about her favorite, joyful place - Cherry Creek Dog Park.  She also loved to take long, long walks throughout our neighborhood in Colorado.  The walking paths meandered  through beautiful stands of trees and across open fields.  She loved to torment the prairie dogs as they chatterred while standing lookout, popping up from their holes like a game of "Whack a Mole."

Another favorite thing was to sit at the top of the hill in our backyard.  It wasn't really a hill but the strech of wood chips along the top of the retaining wall.  She was like a zen master as she sat there for hours; content, contemplative and aware.  Nothing got by her and she was interested in it all  She saw all the cars going by, she saw the deer, she let us know when the neighborhood fox would sneak past on it's daily patrol; she knew when the school around the corner got out because she'd greet all the kids and parents walking past with barks. It was almost as if she was saying "I'm here, I'm on patrol so keep on walking by."  The kids would all wave at her and point.  They would excitedly tell their moms who were walking them home, "There's the doggy saying hello."

After we moved to Maryland there was no more hill for her to majestically sit on.  Instead, she'd either sit on the grass and survey the woods looking for critters that might chance to walk past or be mesmerized by the leaves waving at her whenver the wind would blow. She knew that's where the squirrels where and she would watch them climb the trees and hop from limb to limb.

She would also sit on the deck at the top of the stairs leading to the yard.  She could see across the yards of the houses next to us and tell us when one of the neighbors was cutting the lawn.

Now, she spends her time lying in the bed we made for her, looking out the front window.  She still barks when people go past walking their dogs but mainly she watches; her head down on the pillow.  She looks so sad.  I think she's remembering happier times when she would be outside running free and playing "Whack a Mole" with the prairie dogs.

Friday, March 1, 2013

Keen remedy



I never realized how much pleasure I would get from watching Jersey have a bowel movement in the backyard.  She hobbled away from me and stooped over much like an old man stuck half way between standing and sitting down in a Barca Lounger. After I jumped up and down and told her what a good girl she was, she looked at me smugly and slowly but surely walked to the brick patio and slid down to the ground. She looked supremely pleased with herself and was now asking for a snack so she could re-load. My excitement stemmed from the fact there had been nothing over the last 24 hours.  She also was drinking minimal water and I was beginning to worry.
I was worried because though she had eaten she hadn't had a movement since the day before when I discovered she had an accident. She had since been through 2 breakfasts, a couple of hefty snacks and substantial dinner last night. She also chowed on a left over T-bone steak bone I brought home from Denny's last night. In addition, she hadn't been too interested in drinking.
I couldn't tell if she was being stubborn or just wasn't interested in drinking. Not wanting to slurp could be a sign of failing kidneys which would have been a major cause of concern.
A few days ago she had been drinking a lot because of the Prednisone. One of the side effects is increased thirst. Since we had cut her dose, there could be the possibility she wasn't thirsty.
I was worried because though she had eaten she hadn't had a movement since the day before when I discovered she had an accident.  She had since been through 2 breakfasts, a couple of hefty snacks and substantial dinner last night.  She also chowed on a left over T-bone steak bone I brought home from Denny's last night. In addition, she hadn't been too interested in drinking.
 
I couldn't tell if she was being stubborn or just wasn't interested in drinking. Not wanting to slurp could be a sign of failing kidneys which would have been a major cause of concern.
 
A few days ago she had been drinking a lot because of the Prednisone.  One of the side effects is increased thirst. Since we had cut her dose, there could be the possibility she wasn't thirsty.
 
This is one of those times when doing too much research on the Internet can be dangerous.  My mind automaticaly moved into diagnostic mode.  Has she eaten? Yes. Has she had a movement? No. Was she drinking water? No.  "Okay" I decided, she hasn't had enough liquid to keep things loose so it can pass through her easily."  I figured I had a couple of options.  A. I could get the garden hose and shove it down her throat and turn the water on full blast; B. I could pry the hardened stool out of her butt, making a free passage for a movement.  C. I could get down on my hands and knees and demonstrate how to drink from a bowl; D. I could take her outside and shake her backside uop and down until something happened or E. Somehow I could pry her jaws open and pour a bottle of canola oil down her gullet and see what happened.
 
Fortunately, I didn't have to do any of them.  As I was standing there looking at her trying to figure out which option would be the least messy and volcanic, she gave me the look.  The look that speaks volumes.  The look of "If you don't get me outside NOW, the only thing you're going to have to worry about is shovelling shit."  Faced with that command, I had no choice.
 
I gingerly picked her up, being careful to not have my arm press on her belly, and carried her out back.  Needless to say, I've already told you how it ended.
 
The mind is a funny thing.  I never thought I was extreme in my thinking but it turns out I am.  This otherwise rational 50 year old man was actually considering blowing his dog out with water so her poop could freely flow!  It just goes to prove how helpless I otherwise feel and how I want to make things better when there is nothing else to be done.