Has it really been ten years?

For some reason, until a few days ago, it didn't dawn on me that we were on the verge of a new decade. This, despite reading Decade in Review articles in the Tucson newspaper, and watching various broadcasts detailing the events of the last ten years. This morning, I realized that the year 1999 turned over to 2000 was the first New Year's Eve that Grant and I ever spent together. 10 years ago, I still lived in San Francisco, I was still (technically) married to my ex, my younger nephew was only 3 months old and my dog was a youthful 6 years. I was still working in sales and had never set foot in a classroom as either a volunteer or an employee. My computer was still dial-up and I hadn't discovered the WD.

My life has changed over the last ten years in ways I could never have expected, and all of the people reading this have been there somewhere along the way. I hope that we will be able to look back together in another ten years.

Happy New Year!!

The Best Dog Ever

One day in February, 1994, my ex-husband and I drove north to Sacramento to meet a dog. Once there, we rang the bell and the first face we saw when the door opened was a blue merle Sheltie. It might be an exaggeration to say that we fell in love that minute, but it wouldn't be far from the truth. About an hour later, she climbed into our car and never looked back.

We named her Lucy. Her original name was Louise, "Weezy" for short, but it didn't really seem to suit her, or us. She soon settled into city life; waking up early to take a drive to the park, sleeping all day while we went to work, and greeting us at the window as we climbed the stairs to the front door. She discovered the joys of chasing a tennis ball for hours at a time. She won the hearts of nearly everybody at the park, and quickly learned who had the treats in their pockets. She would make a bee-line for those people and sit expectantly at their feet for her prompt reward.

She made special dog friends and special enemies, too. A house around the corner from ours had two dogs that would always bark at her through the window. Every time we rounded that corner, Lucy would take off, charging her way to bark furiously at her "enemies". We never met those dogs, but they, and Lucy, always gave us a laugh.

Eventually, my ex and I split up, and he graciously let me keep Lucy. It must have been hard for him, but he knew that she was ultimately my dog. Lucy and I ended up moving to Canada, where a whole new life awaited us. There, she became a "tough Canadian dog", revelling in snow and Timbits. She made new friends and new enemies and turned her new daddy into her slave.

Lucy loved her ball and would play for hours, even dropping it on Grant's lap when he tried to take nap. She would sit up, nose out the window when we drove through Tim Horton's, jealously watching to make sure we didn't forget her Timbits. She protected us from evil squirrels outside the window, and evil kitties inside the fireplace. She reminded us what time it was, as long as it was supper time. She hated to get wet, but would attack the stream of water from the hose furiously. And whenever we asked, she would do her "Happy Dance" or collapse to the floor at the sound of "Bang!".

Last March, she turned 16. She had begun to slow down, with arthritis in her hips. She didn't chase the ball anymore, but new games were created and her joy in life continued. Over the summer, her appetite waned, and we took her to the vet. A few new meds and she rebounded enough to enjoy her summer, although her age was suddenly more obvious to all who saw her.

I love to read stories about beloved pets, but the truth of all of those stories is this: eventually the dog or cat dies. We cannot escape the fact that our animal companions do not live as long as we do, and the price we pay for loving them so dearly is to see them in their end days. And our responsibility is to ease those days as much as we can.

Friday afternoon, we took Lucy to the vet for the final time. I held her and whispered to her as she took her final breath. We cried in each others' arms and said goodbye.

She was the best dog.

Ponderings and Posings

• Why is it so easy to read 30 blogs every day and so hard to write just one?
  
• Remember when Heroes used to be good?
  
• I am listening to Fields of Gold by Sting (shut up! I like Sting). Why is it so much sexier when someone kisses "her mouth" instead of "her lips"?
  
• Maybe if I refilled the bird feeder, the pretty birds would come back. Unfortunately, that currently entails navigating the sea of dog poop that is currently my backyard.
  
• You really didn't need that last bit of information, did you?
  
• I didn't give up anything for Lent. I never give up anything for Lent. Do you?
  
• I thought the Academy Awards rocked this year. I especially liked the groups of five previous winners doing the acting nominations. I thought it gave real power to the idea that it was an honour just to be nominated. Seemed to me that most of the actors really appreciated the acknowledgment. Since when did giving people compliments become boring?
  
• This is very nearly a BoQ, isn't it? Don't you miss BOQs? How do you write bOq?
  
• I had iTunes Genius make me some playlists from my music. It pretty much scored a home run.
  
• Are you looking forward to baseball season? Do you ever look forward to a sporting season?
  
• I have fingerling potatoes to roast for supper tonight. You envy me, don't you?
  
• What state would you most like to visit?
  
• After I wrote the last item, the Genius playlist just moved to New York State of Mind. It really is a Genius, isn't it?
  
• Have you watched Life on Mars? You really should. Trust me.
  
• Which reminds me: I am actually feeling somewhat nostalgic for the 70s. I blame Milk, The Pursuit of Happyness and the aforementions LOM. What decade do you feel nostalgia for?
  
• I think this one is done for now. Thanks for playing
  

Sunday morning

The dog decided at 6 o'clock this morning that she needed to go out. I got up, put on robe and slippers, picked up the dog and carried her downstairs, put her out, checked to make sure she was accomplishing something, coaxed her back up the icy steps outside, and carried her back up to bed.

At 7, she decided she needed to do the whole thing again. And again at 8:30. Since the alternative is an accident in the bedroom, I obliged her. Reluctantly. You may wonder why I didn't just get up and stay up the first (or second) time she got me out of bed. The answer is that Sunday is the ONE day I get to sleep in, and dammit! I really wanted to this morning. Fail.

But...

I am sitting at my computer, alternately reading and writing; I have a large cup of coffee at my elbow; I am listening to the glorious sounds of Audra MacDonald singing in "110 in the Shade"; the sun is just reaching the fence in the backyard and the smell of fried apples is filling the air. Soon there will be bacon and Scottish oatmeal. I guess there are worse ways to spend a Sunday morning.

Of corn, dogs and autumn leaves

Okay, so I haven't actually spent the last 10 days husking corn, then slicing off the cob, then scooping it into small ziploc bags and freezing it.

It only felt that way.

Word to the wise: corn is entirely too easy to pick. Before you know it, you will have 7 large canvas bags full of ears piled up in the back of you itty bitty SUV. And you will be all chuffed with your bad corn-fed self. Until the husking, boiling and slicing begins. Until you remember that you don't have a deep freezer in your basement. Until you would rather die than look at another ear of corn.

Anyway, most of it is frozen. Some more of it was given away. I look forward to enjoying it again someday.

In other news, in the last month Lucy has fallen off the dock and off a sheer bank into the lake opposite our dock slip. Both at night. She managed not to die of shoc and seems no worse for the experience, for which we are grateful. But, let me tell, clambering down that same sheer bank, retrieving an elderly dog and finding a way to get back up that same bank with said dog in one's arms is difficult at any time of day, but is particularly difficult at 5:30 am while suffering the after-effects of too much vodka from the night before.

Three more weekends of boating left. The weather was spectacular this weekend and the trees are just starting to turn to gold, crimson and orange. I hope we are just as lucky for the next few weeks.

I also hope that Lucy manages to stay out of the water.

KaBOOM!!!

We are having a big ole thunderstorm tonight. The lightning has been so close a couple of times that the thunder sounded nearly simultaneously, but not quite. Is it true that if you hear the thunder at the same time you have been hit? Maybe not, but it makes for a thrilling and scary thought.

I would like to go upstairs and take a bath, but I am having second thoughts. One of the things I learned about lightning since moving to Canada (Not many thunderstorms in the Bay Area, which is why I am always really annoyed when television and movies show thunderstorms in San Francisco) is that you don't go swimming. I don't know if baths apply as well, but since I actually experienced getting an electrical shock once while resting my feet against the spigot, I am reluctant to submerge myself as long as the storm is overhead. And no, the electrical shock was not due to thunderstorm. It actually occurred in my old house in SF (the place without thunderstorms, remember?) and was due to a wire that was not grounded properly and came into contact with the bathroom pipes. Let me tell you, getting even a mild electric shock while reclining in a full tub of water is not a pleasant experience.

Anyway, the storm has nearly passed, so maybe I can go take that bath. The dog is barking like mad at the door. She used to be terrified of storms, but now she is nearly deaf. Instead, she seems to think that someone (maybe the pesky raccoon who keeps breaking into our composter) is trying to-- well, I am not exactly sure what she thinks. But whatever she thinks, she is going to make sure that in order to get to her mom and dad, that whatever is going to have to go through Lucy the dog! I feel safe.

And the storm has indeed passed.

Snow. Many snow. Much snow.

Just so you don't think I am complaining about nothing.

February 6th



February 13th



Cute dog

Mortality

My dog is 15 years old. She moves a lot slower then she once did, is pretty much deaf and sleeps nearly all day long. Nearly every time my husband and I see her sleeping like one dead, we check carefully for breathing. There have been a couple of times that I have touched her or called her name and she has simply not moved. I think "She's gone." for a heart-stopping instant and then she takes a breath or starts awake and all is normal again. It's not like we have any reason to assume she will die any time soon...but 15 is not a youthful dog. According to this chart, Lucy is nearly 85 years of age in human years.

My dad just turned 85. My mother will be 85 in May. I don't find myself as aware of their ages as I am of my dog's, perhaps because I only see them about once a year. Still, my equivalent of "checking the breathing" occurs every time the phone rings in the middle of the night. For just a moment, the world stands still. I imagine the worst scenario. For that frozen moment, I hold on to the world I know, knowing that when I pick up the phone, my world may be irrevocably changed.

Every day I practice preparing for loss with my beloved dog and by extension, my beloved parents. But in my heart, I know I can never prepare. All I can do is treasure each moment we have together. So, I am going home for Christmas. San Francisco, not Tucson. I want to be with my family, in our family home, with all our furniture, traditions and all the familiar baggage. I only wish the dog could be there, too.

Finally, some real snow

No, we are not monsters. Yes, she loves being out in the snow. And rain. And wind. Her ancestors came from Shetland, after all.

An Accidental Haven

As part our fall cleanup, Grant and I ended up rearranging our bedroom. I had been vaguely wanting to do something with that room for quite a while, but as we were limited in how we could arrange our furniture, I didn't pursue it. But the acquisition of a new television and stand for our living room necessitated that we move our pine armoire...somewhere.

For an armoire, it's not all that large, but getting it downstairs to the basement proved impossible. My stepson happily volunteered to take it to his room over at his mother's, but I found myself oddly reluctant to let this piece of furniture go. We lugged it upstairs and put it in the spare bedroom. And I pondered.

I finally suggested to Grant that if we tried by putting the head of the bed across the corner, we might make enough room for the armoire. So we did.

Here is the result.





I find this arrangement deeply satisfying. I enjoy spending time in my bedroom now (aside from the usual time I spend sleeping and in other activities). In fact, I like it so much that I have convinced Grant that we need a new television for the bedroom. I envision much DVD watching while snuggled in my quilt.

My friends, The Bears, may also notice another addition to my bedroom.

The large Bear in the middle is B.B. Bear, the smaller one is Troy Bear and the third one is simply Monkey. (Monkey came with Grant, but when I asked what his name was, Grant couldn't actually remember. So we asked the monkey. He thought we were pretty dumb.) I am sorry to say that in the past, they spent nearly all their time on the bottom of the comforter rack that stands in the corner. But now they have a new home and lots of DVDs to watch while Grant and I are at work!

Even Lucy seems to like it better now. She keeps sneaking upstairs to take naps.

Haunted

There is a ghost in my house.

She lurks just outside my vision, with a whisk of a tail. She knows she is welcome, but never stays for more than an instant.

There is a ghost in my house.

Random blogging without bullets

Would someone tell me how to do bullets? Thanks.

I think I am getting a new refrigerator. And a really big television. This means I can eat more food while exercising less, which does not bode well for my skinny clothes fitting much longer.

My computer is apparently superceding my husband's computer when it comes to online connectivity. In other words, the wireless likes me better. I can't really blame it; after all I am a charming and talented individual, but it is starting to effect my marriage. Would it be possible for the person who knows how to make bullets to also give us a fix for the wireless issue?

It's the little things that really get you. We didn't let the kitty up on the top floor of the house, where the bedrooms are. Grant is really allergic, so we needed at least one cat-free area. We had a child-gate at the top of the stairs, which we regularly climbed over in our travels up and down the stairs. After I got home from the vet, I cleaned up all of her dishes and packed away her food. I emptied the cat pans and washed the blankets she had been sleeping on. Then, that night, I went upstairs, climbed over the gate and went to bed. The next morning when I got up, Grant had removed the gate. I just stood still for a minute, and that's when I knew that she was really gone. I think I will feel that pang for a very long time.

Elections really suck. Negative election tactics suck even worse. I'm just sayin'.

And now I must retire. Partially so I can take a bath and then get some very much-needed sleep, but mainly because my darling husband is looking daggers at my computer from across the room.

Katy Catgirl: April 11, 1988- November 3, 2006

Sleep well, sweet kitty.



We will miss you.