Our baby girl has left the building

Butthead has always been our little girl. Not little in the sense that she’s smol (she has been at the 100lb mark for quite some time), just that she came to us at 18 months old and we really see her as the energetic, happy girl. After Le Moo died, Butthead changed. Not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. She became a senior dog almost overnight…grumpy, moody, needy, and her body began to show her age. Her backend became weakened, she started showing signs of advanced arthritis, and she limped more often than not.

Ignore my legs.

It was like she waited until after Le Moo had passed to need us. Not that she wasn’t attached to us and wanted our attention all the time, but it was not health-attention, it was happy attention. We called her Miss Congeniality, because she loved everyone. Even people who didn’t like dogs, she loved them despite that (we don’t have many of those types in our lives), and wanted pets from everyone. Once she made the circuit of a room, she would happily settle with someone…then do it all over again at some point.

She loved to run in the yard and chase and bark at birds. She learned this from Le Moo, and she kept up with this custom until her last week. Well, not the running so much, but the bird barking was in full force. Despite the fact that the other two dogs were not necessarily dog-dogs (none of them played together), they all got along without any issue. Even with Grumpuss (Butthead) and Golden Girl (also grumpy and still withdrawn) and Tator Tot not being playful or engaging, they were a fine pack.

Can you see Golden Girl in the background? That’s her favorite spot.

Ugh, ignore the hairy carpet!

Well, Butthead went ahead and got old. Her backend got weak, she began dragging her back feet, and her front wrist had terrible arthritis. She was on so much medication that our shelf looked like a pharmacy. Three times a day she got pills…and she hated it. She fought us every time, spitting out pills after she sucked off all the peanut butter. We had to change our routine time and again to trick her. At the end, she was just refusing altogether. She didn’t give up on life, though, and as often as she could muster, she would run out into the yard to try to keep up with Golden Girl. Sometimes she would fall, sometimes her knees would collapse and she would end up dragging herself for a short bit before we stopped her from her forward motion. I will say that her last couple of days, a week maybe, it snowed here and she was still trying to walk through to snow even though she could barely walk on her own. We had her in a harness to help her, but she was so determined to go where she wanted to that it made it hard for us to keep up. During her last week with us, she was in an assistance harness, where we could help her walk, get up, hold her up while she peed or pooped, and generally help her be mobile.

For about a week to 10 days before she left us, she was panting a lot and was extremely restless. We were worried she was in pain and so we attempted to increase her pain medication. When that didn’t help, we set an appointment at the vet’s to see what was going on. That was on a Tuesday, and the appointment was Thursday night. In between, she was panting so much and so hard that it scared me. At one point, she was asleep, breathing heavily, and we had trouble waking her up. Finally, we were at the appointment time and the vet came in for the exam. They listened to her heart and lungs, then started palpating her abdomen…and asked if they could go do xrays. Which of course we said yes, and they took her from the room, with the vet tech using the harness to help her walk.

The vet came back without Butthead, and I felt a flutter of panic. The vet said they found a mass that they believe is on her spleen, but they wanted to ultrasound to get a better idea for what was going on. They were looking to confirm the mass’s location, and also look for free fluid in her abdominal cavity. We agreed and the vet disappeared to do the ultrasound. This time they brought our baby girl back into the room, and the vet said she had a tumor on her spleen. It was 50/50 chance that it was benign or malignant…no way to know without a biopsy and that required surgery. They said the surgery was an option to remove the spleen and the mass, since they didn’t see any free fluid (blood) leaking from the tumor, and there were no other masses in her organs that they could see with an xray. That didn’t mean there weren’t any other tumors, or microscopic tumors, that would indicate malignancy and spread…it just meant they couldn’t see them (yet). The vet was ready to set up surgery for the next day, but we weren’t ready. The problem was, these types of tumors were known to rupture without warning, and that is not a good way for a dog to go. We had very little time to make our decision…and not a ton of solid information to go on.

But I had reservations, because of Butthead’s age and quality of life. So we took her home and put her on steroids in the hopes that she would have some energy to move around and do the things she needed to do until we could make our decision for surgery or not. And “not” meant this was the end for her. Hub and I talked a lot the next day about options, survival rates (if the tumor was malignant, the best we could hope for was 3 or 4 months, the worst was her dying on the table…or dying during recovery, or dying in a week), and her quality of life. Even if the tumor was benign, she would have to had gone through a major and traumatic open abdominal surgery and recovery from said surgery. At that time, she was not able to get up and stand on her own, how were we going to lift her to her feet (100lbs of her) and assist her mobility if she had stitches from chest to groin? And again, even if the tumor was benign, at 12 years old with the other issues she had that would not resolve from the surgery, how much longer would we want her to go on like that?

My beautiful, loving, aging Grumpuss. What did we see for her future? What did we want to put her through to hold onto her for another 3 months? 6 months? Thursday night was the vet appointment, Friday afternoon we decided it wasn’t fair to her to ask her to go through this big surgery that might or might not buy her some extra time…where she would need our constant assistance to stand, move, pee, poop…and might STILL be in pain and anxious and maybe living with cancer ravaging her body. Because if this was malignant, it was likely a hemangiosarcoma, which is an aggressive tumor that spreads through the blood vessels…and would likely invade every organ. (Due to her age and the size of the tumor, I suspected it was a malignant hemangiosarcoma…this is a common cancer for large, old dogs.)

I called the in-home vet service we used for Le Moo, and at Hub’s request held off the appointment until Monday. Then we just started spending as much time with her as possible. We gave her delicious foods, people food and dog food, and hardly left her alone. But as Friday went on, and Saturday moved in…she was clearly struggling to breathe. The large tumor was moving her organs around and they were pressing on her lungs and her heart. And I feared the idea that we were keeping her alive for just an extra day or two with the potential for the mass to rupture at any time. The steroids didn’t seem to be helping, and if we were treating her anxiety enough to make her feel better then she was too doped up to go outside to potty, or even move, or even wake up. She went almost 2 days without pooping even though we were feeding her. Saturday at noon I called the vet service and they were able to reschedule for Sunday….and so we did.

We continued to spend time with her and we cried. A lot. And at some point realized that not only did this take Butthead away, but it was the final connection we had with Le Moo as well. So it felt doubly hard, and I feel we are grieving for Le Moo all over again. We watched Butthead carefully and panicked a little bit every time her breathing became extremely labored. I don’t think either of us slept Saturday night, and Sunday came too quickly and too slowly. She was clearly not feeling well and she remained restless. If she slept it was for short periods of time, then she would just start panting again.

The lovely and amazing vet arrived, and took a few minutes to ask us about Butthead, as well as Tator Tot and Golden Girl. I had already setup the room for Butthead, and Hub carried her in there. We brought in some tasty foods, and we closed the other two dogs out of the room. And we fed Butthead chocolate chip cookies (which she ate maybe 3/4 of one) and meat loaf. She devoured the meat loaf, which I had warmed up in the microwave (along with the cookies). She also ate some whipped cream, which Hub always shared with her when she was well, which she lapped up off my hand. The vet quietly and gently reminded us what she was going to do and what might happen, and while we were feeding Butthead, she injected a sedative into Butthead’s shoulder that would make her sleepy.

At this point with Le Moo, I remember her head getting very heavy and I remember her falling asleep with a long, deep sigh. Like she was finally able to relax from her dementia and her anxiety and her physical pain. Le Moo did everything with confidence, and I think she had no qualms about falling asleep. Butthead was the meeker of the two, and generally more anxious. Butthead fought the sedative…and I don’t mean that in a physical way. Every time she put her head down and closed her eyes, we thought she had drifted off. But as soon as one of us moved, she would lift her head and look at us again. Three or four times this happened, and the vet let us know that this wasn’t unusual…the sedative was really just so that Butthead wouldn’t jerk her leg away when the final medication was injected. And the vet let us know when she felt Butthead was ready, but encouraged us to take the time we wanted and needed with Butthead. Finally Hub said we would never be ready, and told her it was okay. It took much longer than with Le Moo for the vet to confirm Butthead’s heart had stopped…and again I think she fought it. I don’t know why I feel that way, but something inside me said she fought. Not that she wasn’t ready to go, just that she didn’t quite understand what was happening.

The vet gave us private time with Butthead, and we let the other dogs into the room so they could understand what was happening. Not surprisingly, Tator Tot went right to look for the food she could smell in the room and completely ignored Butthead’s body. Golden Girl seemed uninterested, but Hub says on the way out she did inspect Butthead’s body. When the vet came back in, she and Hub wrapped up Butthead with her favorite toy (Ella-phante) and the heart I crocheted for her…and they carried her away. I was alone in the room, and although I didn’t cry a lot during, at that moment I basically collapsed to the floor, sobbing. I’m pretty sure I was wailing, but my face was pressed into the carpet because I couldn’t move. I was so weighed down with the pain and the grief that I just stayed splayed on the floor. Finally, I attempted to sit up, but my body folded in half because it felt like I was being pressed to the ground with a weight that would never let up. Hub came back in to find me that way and we sat on the floor together and wept. For what felt like forever, but was probably closer to 15 minutes.

We helped each other up and went to tend to the other dogs.

I will never ever forget that day, or that dog, or how our lives changed in that moment. Because like when they come to us, we become different people…when they leave us, we are also changed forever.

Good night my girlie. Please come and visit when you can. And know that our love for you extends beyond this realm.

 

And then there were THREE?!

It’s been over a year since I posted about Jujube coming to join our pack…she’s now nicknamed Tater Tot, because she’s a small potato in comparison to most Bernese Mountain Dogs. She arrived at 100lbs, and I knew she needed to lose weight to protect her joints. We actually were able to slim her down to 75lbs, but then our current vet was like, yeah she needs to put on a few pounds…and that was hella easy! She’s resting now somewhere around 85lbs and I think she’s okay at that weight. She’s still short and stocky, and I constantly remind her how tiny she is, but she’s a good girl. We actually had very little issue housetraining her as she didn’t have any accidents in the house at all. We crate trained her–as we did with Butthead–and she sleeps in her crate on and off at night in our bedroom. The crate door stays open so she has freedom to move about the bedroom all night, which she does.

This is Tater Tot. She’s four years old now and still happy and crazy and attached to Hub like nobody’s business. She has realized that I give good butt scratchies so she does come to me for affection, but mostly she is still Hub’s little baby. She, unfortunately, has some bad habits (poop eating) and she’s very chompy to take treats out of our hands, but we continue to work on these things. She’s also still a pretty nervous dog. If we drop anything on the floor or move our chairs too fast, or someone comes in the house she doesn’t know, she jumps and runs off. These days she’s more likely to come back and investigate whatever scared her, but still she’s a nervous nelly.

So now I said THREE in the title, because about four months after Tater Tot came to us, I accidentally fell in love with another dog. Integrating Tater Tot was actually pretty easy, in that she really didn’t seem to care about Butthead. Butthead really wanted to play, but Tater Tot has no idea how to play with her. So they were able to exist in the same pack without too much issue. Once or twice Butthead may have quietly corrected Tater Tot, but honestly Tater Tot is so happy and kind of dumb that she didn’t take offense. She was like “sure, whatever old lady, I’ll just go over here instead” and that was it. Since Tater Tot fit in so well, with little issue, I was halfway watching the rescue postings on my FB feed. I really didn’t PLAN on a third dog–we have never had three dogs full-time–but I saw a picture.

I saw a picture on my FB feed and read the story about our Golden Girl and I cried. I cried big tears and I sent the story to Hub and I was like “she needs us.” At the time of her listing she was 8 years old, they decided she was a great pyrenees mix because she had the rear dew claws that GP’s have. She had been with her foster for almost a year because she needed several surgeries and had to recover from them before she could be adopted out. They found her in a hoarding situation on a dairy farm with a ton of other dogs at 7 years old. She had horrendous hip dysplasia on both sides, so she had hip surgery on both hips, first one–then recovery-then the other, and recovery. She also had an emergency hysterectomy due to a bad infection–and recovery–and then they removed both mammary chains because they found tumors (that turned out to be benign)–and recovery. Four major surgeries in a year, each requiring somewhat lengthy recoveries. They also found bacteria in her system during one of the surgeries that only COWS get…that’s how terrible the dairy farm hoarding situation was. The vet had never seen anything like it.

Hub, being the sucker that he is, said “sure, go ahead and apply for her.” I told him everyone was going to want her, so it was probably a waste of time. I put in the application on a Thursday, talked to the rescue that evening, and Friday morning they said “she’s loading up on our transport and you can meet the van at about 1am to pick her up.” Seriously, no one else wanted her. We couldn’t imagine, and here we were with a pack that was still getting accustomed to each other, including us with a new routine with Tater Tot. But Golden Girl…something in her just drew me and I felt we were the right home for her. We were told she had some mobility issues from her hip surgeries–which we were well versed in from the last couple of years of Le Moo’s life–and that she was not well socialized to people. Again, another outdoor dog and another dog who wasn’t really sure about people.

We picked her up at the meeting point and Hub had to basically lift her into our van. She was so shut down she didn’t want to move or do anything. She had a blank stare and a frozen body…and she did not seem thrilled about Hub. He’s a big guy and often overwhelms smaller dogs, but Golden Girl was about 95lbs and wasn’t small, but her life had been so small…

I had never met a dog so shut down before in my life. She didn’t want to be touched, she didn’t want to be looked at. She refused treats and refused our affection and refused us. Literally, ran from us. We had to put her on a leash to get her outside in the yard so she could go to the bathroom. Again, another “outdoor” dog who had zero issues being housetrained, but she just seemed to be dead on the inside. We followed her lead and let her be except for taking her outside. We thought, sure, a couple of months and things will calm down…she’s going to love us.

She did not love us. She didn’t interact with the other dogs, she just…existed in her shell of a body. We talked to her all the time but did not touch her unless necessary. We told her again and again that she was going to love us. She did not love us. She kept to herself in another room, one that we kept dark with heavy curtains on the windows. At some point she began following me, but would not really come close. She wouldn’t go near Hub at all, but she started shadowing me inside and outside the house. I started taking more risks with her…touching her as she walked by me, or putting my hand on her when she was nearby. She still skirted away and she still refused treats and any signs of affection. Six months in, we were still in the same standoff. She had no personality, no quirks, no reactions, no emotions. Six months…it was torture for us. We only wanted to love her, but she didn’t want us to. And she didn’t want to love us.

I decided that we had given her plenty of time to realize that we respected her and her needs…and that we were going to love her even if she didn’t love us. I was ready to move forward, so I started touching her every time she was near me. Inside the house, outside the house, nighttime, daytime…touch touch touch touch. We would celebrate every time she let me touch her, or when she didn’t actually run away from me. Another month, I just kept pushing her tiny bits at a time. And I encouraged Hub to start touching her as well. She ran from us a lot, but we didn’t give up. And every accomplishment was celebrated.

And one day, outside on the deck, I announced to her that I was going to hug her. And I did. And she stood there and allowed it. She did not respond, her body was stiff, but she stayed where she was until I let her go…and she ran away from me. I didn’t care because I had hugged her and she had let me. Day by day, I would just do a little more hugging, a little more touching, a little more loving. She was taking treats from me and would occasionally allow Hub to toss a treat in her direction. And again, another day I up and announced that I was going to kiss her, and I pressed a kiss on her big gold noggin. And she let me. It’s been all uphill since then. Well, slow uphill. She’s still stand-offish, still a little resistant, but we keep pressing forward.

She loves to roll in the yard, especially when the grass is wet. She loves to rub along the fence, we have no idea why. She gives us happ face now, and lets us touch her and hug her and kiss her more. She will still skirt away from us sometimes, but it’s okay because we know that she knows she’s going to get loved no matter what. She barks at everyone who comes in the house, and oftentimes won’t stop until they leave. We’re working on that. She doesn’t let other people touch her, but that’s okay…she has her boundaries and we’re okay with that. We just celebrated her one year gotcha day with homemade doggy cake…and she loved it.

The three dogs get along fine. Golden Girl sometimes guards the water bowl, but we just correct her and she moves away. There’s some minor interaction between them, but more often than not they are lying near each other. Golden Girl and Tater Tot seem to do that more often, kind of like they are the two new kids who have kind of bonded over being new kids.

Butthead is old–around 12 or 13 years old–and has been not 100% healthy these last months. She’s lost a ton of hair and her muscles have atrophied. She has weakness in her back end that pain medication has not been able to help. Her mobility is low, and we are sort of hoping that a new medication due out in the fall might help her. Right now she’s cranked up on a ton of pain killers and getting weekly acupuncture treatments, with limited success. We’re trying to keep her quality of life good but some days it is a struggle.

Hub actually kept his job all through COVID–we were extremely lucky. This past December he got a promotion and a raise…and then unceremoniously and shockingly got laid off from his job. He was out of work for about four months and we were lucky to be able to make it through, despite him only being given a month of severance (plus two weeks of leave he had saved up). He has since started a new job that he doesn’t love, but it’s definitely paying the bills. He has to go into the office once a week, which isn’t horrible but it’s basically a three hour round trip in traffic. For now, it will do.

I’m still struggling on and off with migraine attacks. At present I’m in the midst of an attack and it sucks. I’ve been continuing to try new medications and new medical devices with some minor success. Unfortunately, once I get into a migraine attack, I seem stuck there until it lifts on its own…and that’s a royal pain in the ass.

I’m not sure how long I’m going to blog again, but today I felt the need to. Hope everyone here is still doing well.

 

Well, she here…

And already completely attached to Hub.

That’s Hub’s elbow there as he’s napping on the couch since he barely slept last night. Also, 10+ hour drive yesterday to pick her up. So overnight we put her in a crate, but he was paranoid that she was going to chew the plastic crate pan because her owners said she chews and eats everything! (she did not chew or eat the crate pan overnight.)

Good grief, every time he adjusts on the couch her head pops up. Yeesh.

She’s been ok so far, but if we try to confine her out of view of Hub, she breaks out (with the exception of the crate, but we don’t want her confined to a crate except for the time being as we learn her and she learns her boundaries). So at the moment, she’s on a leash–which I am monitoring–as she tries to nap next to Hub napping. Good news is, she’s gentle and sweet, no jumping or barking (yet), and she really has very little interest so far with Butthead.

On the other hand, our goofy and playful Butthead has turned into my grumpy old lady. She’s been kind of growly at Jujube (not her real name) and we haven’t yet figured out why. Twice today outside she tried to do a little bit of a playful pounce, but in the house she’s definitely wary and growly. Jujube doesn’t even respond to the growls yet, so that’s good. But again, everything is VERRRY new for all of us. It’s going to take adjustment, as Hub and I are aware. He’s pretty upset that she won’t really talk to me but I’m okay with it. I am definitely slower to adjust and attach than Hub…he was attached as soon as he met her. It’s both a good thing and a bad thing, but we are committed to this girl so right now it’s all good. I know that change is difficult for me, stresses me out, and already I have had some migraine flares due to all the stress. So I move slowly and I kind of marinate in the changes before I really can take them in.

Plus, she’s not exactly what I expected. She’s short and fat and stubby…not what I understood Bernese Mountain dogs to be. But apparently she’s all kinds of “non-compliant” with the breed standard, so…whatev. Anyway, she’s got short legs, a round body, kind of looks like an inflated cocker spaniel to me…and I expected (and wanted) a big dog like all our previous dogs. So I have some disappointment, which Hub is very upset to hear. Eventually it will be fine, I’ll adjust and find my way and so will she. We’ll be a family unit and all will be well. Based on my blogging of Butthead, that should happen in, oh, about four months. LOL

Aaaanyway, there she is. Did I mention she’s fat? Our vet is going to have a shit-fit when he sees her. And really, she does need to lose some pounds, even I–who like fat dogs–think she’s a big too fat for her frame. I don’t judge, but I do worry about her joints because already at 2 1/2 we know she has some mild elbow dysplasia and I saw that her hips have some “irregularities”. So we’re gonna do our best to trim her down a bit…she has a long life ahead and is starting behind the eight-ball with her joints.

Also you can’t see in the photo above, but she has a really big forehead. What’s UP with that. Here…

Well, there’s the news. More to come, I’m sure. She’s toileting outside appropriately, which was a surprise to us, and really wants to be in the house…also a surprise since she was mostly an outdoor dog with access to a kennel. Hopefully the good housetraining continues!

 

This is why I came back

Y’all, this is Jujube (not her actual name, of course). By the time this post is published, said fruity snack will be here in our home.

Le Moo left us the first week of January. I had real reservations about getting another dog because after Butthead (OMG I read back through my posts about when she arrived and the stress and strain and etc) I wasn’t sure I could go through all that again. I’m old, I’ve turned 50, do I want to have to house train another dog and clean up after it and get acquainted and integrate with Butthead and our lives. And everything changes…schedules, habits, normal life. Ugh. So I really had to give it thought…

But the truth is, part of my purpose here is to love dogs that need love. To take care of dogs who don’t have other options. To save an animal that needs saving. Sure that sounds dramatic, and to that animal it is. So with trepidation, I started looking at petfinder and adoptadog, and I went to the rescues we’ve had success with before and put in applications…and I went to a few breed rescues that are affiliated with certain breeds. I’d love another newfoundland, particularly the landseer (like Butthead), and like her, I have no issues with getting a mixed breed. All of our dogs have been mixed breed dogs and I love them no matter what. The other breed we enjoy are Great Pyrenees, of which Le Moo was a mix. I’m soooo interested in Leonbergers and I signed up for their rescue but, uh, they don’t really get dogs who need rescuing. Leonbergers are pretty rare and their owners are a pretty tight group. And it’s damn hard to even get a purebred Leonberger even if you were willing to pay for a puppy…so I knew a rescue was not likely to happen. The last breed I have wanted for many years is a Bernese Mountain dog. Sweet Pea with a Berner mix, and I’ve always wanted another. Bernese are also relatively rare (in comparison to like, a labrador) and rescues are also rare. One of the most involved Bernese rescues basically says they get 50 dogs for rescue per year…and THOUSANDS of applications a year. UGH. I wasn’t even finding that many Berner mixes (and of course you never know if they guess right on the breed, unless they see momma/poppa dog). I was seeing that most of the Bernese rescues were coming from backyard or puppymill breeders. They use up the poor momma then dump her on the street or in a shelter, and then the breed rescues scoop them up and save them and place them in good, patient homes.

But the idea of looking into a breeder who might be retiring a dog led me down a different path. Very accidentally I found a breeder who was looking to rehome their 2 1/2 year old female because she has birthed 2 litters that both all died. They didn’t want to bother breeding her again because they felt there was something wrong with her. I got in touch with them and while investigating the idea of rescuing a retired or “rejected” breeding dog, I found out this place was a “Doodler”. They basically just breed different breed females with their Poodle studs. They call them “designer dogs”, but in reality they are mixed breed dogs. The person I spoke to at this doodle ranch seemed nice enough, but when I asked about vet records and getting a health certificate (which is required by federal law for crossing state lines so as not to spread disease), the person lied and said it wasn’t necessary. Which sort of told me the dog probably never had actual veterinary care. I already knew they were not a good breeder, and I couldn’t risk moving a dog cross many state lines illegally…and what if she was sick and brought something into my house and infected Butthead? Or Cray Cray Lab? So I told them we had changed our mind and I went back to the search via petfinder, etc.

There are SO MANY DOGS who need homes. Puppies for days. It’s incredibly sad to spend weeks or months looking at websites where you start to recognize pictures. It hurt my heart. I was feeling depressed and full of heartache. I would stop looking for a day or so, but then I would go back because I had major FOMO. I was so worried that the “right” dog would come and I would miss her.

I found a listing by a family looking to rehome their Bernese because they were moving and couldn’t take her. And they were almost local, so I got very excited. I emailed back and forth with them for a week or two, but they were always slow to respond and they were noncommittal. I finally gave up on them and again went back to petfinder and adoptadog. I also joined a local facebook group for the Bernese breed and I asked around about anyone knowing of a dog who needed rescue or rehoming. I had a couple of people respond and one who said she had a dog for me. So I contacted her and we talked via facebook for a day or so. I asked tons of questions about the dog–who was retired and about 4 years old–and Hub and I got very excited. So the breeder said she would send me a questionnaire to make sure we were appropriate for her girl. I got the email, opened it, and found that the woman wanted to sell us her dog for several thousand dollars. I could have spent less and gotten a puppy from a legit breeder…I thought I was rescuing a retired dog who needed her own family to spoil her and love her. The breeder thought we were desperate for a dog so she was willing to consider letting one of hers go. I could see she was trying to be kind, but it wasn’t the situation I wanted. So I said as much, that I wanted a dog who needed us, and her dog had someone to love her.

But the idea of a retired breeding dog was still in the back of my head. I looked around to see if there were any breeders in our state, but oddly there weren’t many for Bernese. On the other hand, Pennsylvania is generally filled with breeders, often in the Amish communities. And generally not the best breeders, though I am sure there are many good ones.

Anyway, I found a breeder who actually was looking to rehome a rejected breeding dog, due to bad joints and bloodwork showing she carried a hereditary disease (but didn’t actually have the disease). I just stumbled onto her site and saw the almost brand-new post about rehoming her dog. I contacted the breeder and we talked in email for quite some time. The dog has some issues–being that she lives in a kennel (and often outdoors), is not house trained, not socialized to people other than the people on the farm, and hasn’t had any training or really any attention. I asked for videos of the dog…she’s a chonky monkey, which is exactly the way Hub and I like our dogs. She’s adorable and seems very happy, even though she has no training and little socialization. So Hub and my brother, B3, are picking her up this weekend (the day before this posting), because I still can’t be in the car for extended periods. And this is a multi-hour trip, one way. We’ve already talked to a trainer to get some suggestions and insight into helping a dog like this, since we’ve not really dealt with an outside and unsocialized dog before.

I hope to blog through this experience like I did with Butthead (and somewhat with Le Moo), so that one day I can come back and see that we managed to live through it. Beforehand it seems so overwhelming and like it’s going to be hell on earth. And probably sometimes during it does feel that way, but looking back I know we were able to manage. And we were able to give this dog–who is basically a stray “feral” dog who had regular access to food, water, and shelter–an amazing life. Like those who came before her. And I’ll be reminded that part of my purposes is just that…to give an animal an amazing life with us. Saving one at a time.

This time, it’s a chonky almost 3 year old Bernese Mountain dog.

 

I don’t know why

I’m not entirely sure why I stopped blogging, besides being sick. Once I started feeling better, I could have come back and resumed my journaling. Part of me knows that since last June we have been dealing with Le Moo’s decline. And I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to admit it, even though I admitted it in my reality. Maybe not writing it made it not as catastrophic as it really was? Or maybe I just needed the time to be with her because I knew the time was running down.

Le Moo is gone. It’s still devastates me to say or write that. We miss her so much I cannot even find words for it. My Sweet Pea, she was my heart dog…she was pretty attached to me and when she passed a piece of my heart tore away and went with her. It was like losing a limb, and I grieved her so hard that for the first time in my life I actually allowed myself to go to therapy. I had wanted to go to therapy but felt that I would be wasting money on myself. But after SP, I needed help and I went for it. Le Moo was my soul dog. I attached with her in a different way, and I felt that connection down in my soul. When we had her humanely euthanized here at home, my soul tore and left a gaping hole so deep inside that it will never be whole again. Le Moo was an old soul.

Le Moo was having many physical and mental issues. She had severe arthritis in her leg joints, her spine, and her hips. We tried to keep her comfortable with medication and laser therapy, but it benefits seemed to wane. She also started having doggie dementia, which is an actual thing (canine cognitive disfunction–CCD), which left her anxious and distressed a lot of the time. The symptoms got worse and worse, and her physical decline continued to the point where we had to help her get up from a laying position even when she had good traction. Our girl was strong and stubborn, and we could see she didn’t want to leave us because she knew how it would hurt us. But we knew it was her time, so we had a vet service who does only at-home euthanasia come in to the house. The vet came in and explained everything (even though we have been through this before) and he was very kind. Hub and I were ready with forbidden fruits for Le Moo–M&Ms and homemade chocolate chocolate chip cookies (my mother’s recipe/specialty)–so when the vet gave her the first sedative, we gave her the treat. She ate FOUR chocolate chocolate chip cookies with gusto, and snatched up every M&M hub had. When she finished the treats, her head began to slowly lower and I held her face in my hands. I told her she was amazing and that we loved her bigger than the sky and deeper than the ocean. And that it was time for her to move to the next world where she wouldn’t have a physical body to slow her down. I just kept talking to her as she fell asleep, and I had my body curled over hers as the vet gave her the last medicine. My beautiful, stubborn, amazing, loving, soulful girl went to the next world with cookie crumbs on her face.

We had her cremated–something I’ve never had done before–because I had seen these glass memorials where they take some of the ashes and create a work of art. We had that done and now this glass memorial, sprinkled with ashes–sits on top of a rotating platform, lit with led lights from below–is here with us. It’s a beautiful handblown piece of art, and it was one of the best decisions I have ever made.

We had devoted lots of time and energy to Le Moo over the last year. For the last three months of her life, Hub was basically sleeping a couple of hours in bed, then a couple of hours downstairs with Le Moo because her dementia made her restless and need to go outside to pace. We rarely left her alone, and when she became anxious or distressed, one of us went to her to reassure her. We were extremely lucky that she didn’t forget who we were but I have heard that does happen. Doggie dementia is a terrible, heart-breaking disease. There is no rationalizing with your dog, no way to explain anything…and for us there was no medication that made any difference. Nothing to stop or slow the disease, and nothing to alleviate the symptoms. We tried everything available but nothing worked. We couldn’t even help with her anxiety.

So, she’s gone. We thought Butthead would be panicking and looking for Le Moo. We let her see Le Moo after the procedure and before the vet took her body away. Only once that afternoon did Butthead wander in and out of all the rooms looking for Le Moo, but then she seemed resigned. She’s been extra clingy and depressed, but we really thought she would freak out. She used to freak out when Le Moo would leave the house for appointments or to get walkies without Butthead. But none of that happened. I’m grateful, but I see how the loss has changed all three of us.

Our lives will never be the same.

 

What the fu…?

I’m closing in on fifty. Hub is about 2 years behind me. I’m the youngest in my family, he’s the oldest in his. This means my parents are definitely older than his. And it also means his mother (and aunt) are older than us. His half-brother is younger, but very much an adult in age. He has 2 children, he will soon be divorced from his first wife, he’s currently in a relationship (and cohabitating) with a new girlfriend.

Adults.

Just setting the scene.

We had his family over for a barbeque on Sunday. I haven’t seen them in probably close to 2 years due to COVID and my migraine disease. I’m not really able to be in the car for the hour plus it takes to get to their house, and they rarely come here. But they came on Sunday, after some concerns about last minute cancelation because their dog was in the ER for an infection due to a bite wound. Turns out the ER was not ready to release their dog so they came over as scheduled.

In preparation for this family get-together, Hub and I baked desserts (cake and cookies and rice crispie treats) and made ice cream (for his mom and aunt, a favorite flavor they often request). We also went shopping for barbeque foods, bought/made and grilled hot dogs, hamburgers (homemade), and chicken breasts. Hub bought several bags of chips, we made roasted veggies, boiled fresh sweet corn on the cob, etc.

We baked the desserts because I had a (brief) conversation with his mother on Facebook about whether I would be up to baking for the get-together because I had just baked a TON of desserts for our local crisis shelter residents and staff. I promised I would come up with something since seeing them all was such a special occasion after almost two years. I baked the chocolate fudge cake from scratch, frosted it with homemade frosting, Hub decorated the top. I helped him bake special giant fun cookies from scratch, I helped him make the ice cream from scratch, and I made the rice crispies treats drizzled with melted white chocolate chips and butterscotch chips (this was for me since I can’t eat any of the other desserts).

So we were ready for a food-filled day, lots of which were homemade and special for his family.

His family arrived, we put out the chips for snacking (which they ate a lot of), they brought (non-alcoholic) drinks for them and the kids (Hub and I basically drink water/hot tea/coffee). There was much hugging and lots of “how are yous?” and “it’s been so long!” exclamations. I had a puzzle setup in the dining room so they migrated in to check it out and try to put some pieces in (after asking if they could). Hub and I were cooking food, putting condiments on the table, etc. Conversation turned to whether or not I had been up to baking for them, so Hub gently grabbed his mother and guided her into the pantry where we had the desserts waiting for later.

You would have thought none of these people had eaten in the last two years. Hub left the pantry to go check on the grill, so the rest of his family raced into the pantry and began exclaiming over the desserts. Then they opened the containers that the desserts were in and started taking them and shoving the food into their mouths.

WHAT THE FUCK.

Adults. Like goddamn children who had never been taught manners. OPENED MY CLOSED FOOD CONTAINERS AND BEGAN GRABBING FOOD WITH THEIR HANDS AND SHOVING IT IN THEIR MOUTHS. I guess I should have been grateful that they didn’t start digging their fingers into the cake and jamming it in their food-holes with their hands. They were laughing at my anger, completely ignoring how upset I was. And you couldn’t miss it, I did not hide my emotional state.

I was so appalled…and enraged. I stomped into the pantry and yelled at them to get out. Then I closed the door behind us. My mother-in-law had TWO rice crispie treats in her hands, marshmallow goo on her fingers and all around her mouth, and she’s cackling and chewing and screaming with her mouth open, “I didn’t take anything!” Haw haw haw. His brother had taken one of the giant cookies and (I was informed an hour later that he had only taken ONE cookie and everyone else had snatched pieces of his stolen cookie) and was eating it heartily. FINALLY, he said, they had been able to eat some of the delicious desserts they had been seeing posted on Facebook (mostly that I have donated to local charities/the fire department/the police station).

I was so angry my vision had turned red. Angry, disgusted, disrespected. I went back to whatever I had been doing at my kitchen island, preparing food for them (I literally ate chicken and roasted veggies, and that was it). They were discussing that maybe there were MORE treats hidden somewhere. Like was there ICE CREAM IN THE FREEZER.

Y’all, they went back into my pantry and began moving the desserts off the chest freezer so they could open my fucking freezer to see if there was homemade ice cream inside.

Are you goddamn kidding me? ADULTS.

I went right back in there, nearly slammed the freezer top shut (just barely removing a child’s hand from the way first) and shrieked at them to get out of the room. I grabbed the dessert containers and put them back on top of the chest freezer, returned the cake to the top of the freezer, and pushed them out of the room once more.

They’re laughing, grinning, so excited at their discoveries. How fun for them!

I made it through dinner without any felonies. They ate meat, meat, and buns. A couple of ears of corn, two or three people ate a pittance of the roasted veggies. We cleaned up, re-set the table for dessert, and we set out the remainder of the desserts which included the afore mentioned homemade ice cream, plus several other flavors of store-bought ice cream, caramel and fudge sauce, and whipped cream. Hub cut the cake and served it to those who requested a piece. They ate a bunch of the big cookies, ate more of my rice crispies treats than I would have preferred, ate only the homemade ice cream…and then left tons of the food on their plates because they were so full from pre-dinner theft and chips grazing and meat/bread at dinner.

We began cleaning up, piling dessert dishes in the sink for later, running the dishwasher from dinner, making sure all the food was wrapped and put away. I made some doggie bags for Hub’s mother and aunt, his brother packed himself some cookies without asking. Once the kitchen was in order (at least for the time being), we moved into the family room to sit and talk and pet the dogs. I actually stepped outside for a bit with one of the dogs to try to recover some of my energy…I could have stayed out there for the remainder of the evening, but I didn’t. They hung out as Hub showed off some of his new electronic toys, and generally spent time. When they were ready to leave, we handed out the doggie bags, made sure everyone had everything, then saw them off. For me, it was time to get back to the kitchen to do a better clean and organize what remained from the evening food-wise. It also meant throwing things away and taking out the full trashbags from the kitchen. And then I found it…

Someone threw out an entire uneaten piece of cake by shoving it into my kitchen trashcan–missing the bag so that the chocolate cake was smeared down the inside of the can. And the mess was covered with a large wad of paper towels. Who did they think was going to clean that up when they went to empty the trash later? The maid? Who was going to empty the trash and miss the entire piece of chocolate cake with frosting smashed in there?

I mean sure, you didn’t have enough room? DON’T TAKE AN ENTIRE PIECE OF CAKE along with the cookies and rice crispies treats and ice cream. Didn’t like the cake? That’s fine, I’m not insulted…don’t jam it carelessly into the trashcan and leave me an extra fucking mess to clean up after I’d been on my feet prepping and cooking and setting up since 9am that morning for them. Don’t be so goddamn rude and disrespectful in my home. MY HOME. Repeatedly. Obnoxiously.

I would NEVER behave like any of that in someone else’s home, let alone my husband’s family’s home. Or my family. Never. Not even as a CHILD would I have been that obnoxious in someone else’s home, family or otherwise. NEVER. I knew better.

Later that evening, I sent my therapist, T, a message.

What do you do when the rude and inconsiderate people you would like to cut out of your life for your sanity are your in-laws?
Asking for a friend.
And can the friend bar these people from ever coming back to their home?

The end result of that conversation was that it was my house and my rules. No yelling–because that means you know your voice isn’t being heard–just stating the rules and keeping the rules of the house. As if they were obvious rules. (Which they should have been.) And that there doesn’t need to be black or white. I don’t have to bar them from the house, but I certainly don’t have to be there if they come to visit. I can do whatever I want–bar them from the house, don’t go to their house, don’t ever see them again–but make those decisions with a conscious understanding of the consequences.

I would never hurt my husband by never seeing his family again. I would never hurt him by telling him he couldn’t invite them to our house. I would never hurt him by treating them disrespectfully.

And I’m never going to let them treat me the way they treat him (they are so shitty to him, no joke I have complained about this for more years than I can remember). My house, my rules. Don’t like it? Don’t come over.

I would also NEVER disrespect them the way they disrespected me in my own home. NEVER. Not even after what they’ve done to me in my home.

Hub knows and understands how I feel. He agreed that it was disrespectful, but I don’t think he feels as strongly as I do about it. That’s okay, the fact that he acknowledged my feelings about it is good enough for me.

I’m still recovering from the evening, which is about par for the course for me. It’s a lot of physical work and standing and moving…and it’s a lot of mental energy of just participating. And not committing any felonies.

 

Flubba-pause-dubba…not?

So I’m sitting here waiting to get a call back from the CRNP from my cardiologist’s office. I turned in my halter monitor and it was received by the company on April 29th. Then I heard nothing.

And still nothing.

And then some more nothing.

Yesterday I got annoyed (the app said my doctor’s office should have gotten the report 2-3 days after my halter monitor arrived to the company on April 29th. Yesterday was May 11th. So I left a message last night in my portal for the CRNP, asking her what had happened to my halter monitor test…and what were the results.

Someone called my cell phone at about 1pm, but the caller ID said nothing so I didn’t answer. I rarely give out my cell number and I don’t answer unknown calls because they are usually crap. Unfortunately, this didn’t turn out to be crap, it turned out to be the CRNP with my test results. Her voicemail left me with more questions than answers, so I called her back but she was on another call.

So now I wait.

The voicemail said the halter monitor caught “episodes” of Supraventricular tachycardia. Defined as heart rate above 100bpm at rest. Hub has had unresolvable episodes of SVTs, for which he had to get very bad medication either in an ambulance or at the hospital to resolve his SVTs. I’m assuming since my heart rate isn’t high (based on my cheap watch) on a regular basis, my SVTs resolve fairly quickly. SVTs are generally benign (just like PVCs – premature VENTRICULAR contractions) but can rarely be caused by other heart issues and/or some types of medications and also thyroid issues. I have been tested for thyroid problems my whole life because I’m fat. It always comes back normal, but doctors can’t seem to accept that I’m just fat and not thyroid-ish.

So I don’t know how many episodes over the three day test, and I don’t know how long each episode was. I assume they self-resolved, but…? The CNRP suggested looking into beta blockers, while also noting I am already ON a beta blocker (for migraines). She asked me to call back so we can discuss. I had 3-4 days of what I thought was PVCs…some days they seemed to be on and off repeatedly, some of the days there was one or two episodes over the whole day. Since that “week” of weirdness, I have felt nothing in the way of what I thought was PVC episodes.

I’m hoping the CRNP will suggest I go on as I am and just keep track of what’s happening. I don’t want to mess with my migraine meds while they are still working for me. If the SVTs are benign and I don’t need to worry about them, I’d like to stay as-is. If they recommend I do something, I will consider it. I have an echocardiogram scheduled in a couple of weeks, so maybe they will wait to see if that shows anything concerning before considering a medication change. I will finish this blog after I’ve spoken to her…

ETA: and she never called me back. Helpful…not. I used to love this cardiologist, but his office and CNRP are not high on my list. Arg.

 

Friday Fotos

I had an opportunity to take photos of my mom’s irises this year, so here they are! (flowers, not eyes)

 

Fauci Ouchie #2

I’m writing this blog a few days before shot #2 of Pfizer’s COVID vaccine. By the time this posts, I should not only be done with the actual ouchie (the shot doesn’t actually hurt, but the term for it is too cute to not use), but I should also be done with any side effects or reactions.

Hub got his 2nd Moderna shot yesterday at lunchtime. A few hours later he had a small headache that he staved off with Advil. As the rest of the day wore on, he started getting body aches, which he also was able to manage with Advil. Before bed he took an Advil for the aches, and then again this morning for the same. His arm hurts a lot, but that also happened the first time for him. I hope the aches go away soon…I know people say the side effects don’t actually last too long, so we’ll see.

At the moment, I’m holed up in our “media room” which has no media but is an actual “room”. (ha ha). We expected to make it a full-on media room when we built the house…it has yet to come to pass. It’s mostly a room where the dogs sleep and we have a couple of recliners and old couches. We bought the recliners in expectation of the media room, but they just sit in here empty except when Hub has a work meeting and doesn’t feel like going upstairs to his office. So I’m in here, sitting in a recliner I HATE (it’s fake leather and is electric) hiding from our cleaning people. We stopped using them at the height of the pandemic and went about six months without them. It was fine, I’ve been feeling better and so keeping the house relatively clean wasn’t too bad. But man, we missed their deep clean of our bathrooms and our kitchen…and all the dog drool on the tile floors. When we felt comfortable enough, we started back on a regular schedule (they come every three weeks to do their excellent cleaning, and we keep the house in between) because it’s something we can afford to pay someone else to deal with. I don’t have to hurt myself cleaning the bathrooms or kitchen when they need scrubbing, Hub doesn’t have yet another chore on his list, and we are contributing to a small business and to keeping their employees paid. I know it sounds like a weird thing to think of, but we are able to afford to pay them (they are actually VERY reasonable with their rates) and we are putting money back into our community. I’m grateful to be able to do so.

However, since the pandemic, they have new restrictions in place to keep their staff healthy and to keep us healthy. We are not allowed to be in the same space as them, and they wear booties and gloves and facemasks to clean. Since this room is the easiest to close off and easy to keep clean, this is where I hide while they are working. We have changed out this room for another so we didn’t have to pay them any less and we still get our full clean. Generally we don’t have them clean the whole house because there are some rooms that really get no use. Instead of cleaning this room they have been alternating cleaning two of the upstairs bathrooms. We have a hall bath that Hub uses occasionally when he’s in his office (it’s next door), and we also have a bathroom in the guest bedroom–which rarely gets used. However we have used it to bathe the dogs on occasion. Why am I telling you all this? NO CLUE.

Back to my post…so this morning as we’re preparing for the cleaning people to come (picking up stuff sitting around so they don’t have to move our junk around), I asked Hub if he thought one day soon we wouldn’t have to hide while they are cleaning (he goes in the basement with the dogs). I said in 2 weeks he and I would be fully vaccinated, but the owner of the cleaning company has not told us if her staff is fully vaccinated. Don’t you think that would be a big announcement for her to make? She has not said anything yet, so I’m assuming they are not quite all fully vaccinated. I mean, I’m fine to hang out in here while they are cleaning, but at some point I’m hoping to feel more normal and be able to move about the house while they are here.

I had lots of nerves before the first shot. I expect I will also have lots of nerves before the second, because this is the one with after-effects. The first one I was worried about a reaction to the shot…this one I am worrying about how bad the side effects will be. Lots of people in my migraine support group had bad migraine attacks and some had vertigo attacks. I am prone to both, so feeling distressed that I might have to deal with either or both. Of course lots of people in the support group also had light, few, or no side effects at all. I keep telling myself that I will manage whatever it is, and hopefully it will be short-lived, but…ugh. I just want it to be over with so I don’t have to keep thinking about it.

SOON! Hope you are on your way to be vaccinated as well.

 

No thank you

There are many times when I am very happy that I have an anonymous blog. It’s not that I want to say bad things about other people, it’s that I want to be able to share very personal things when I need to. It often helps me to write things out, and who knows maybe someone else is dealing with something similar…it helps to know you’re not alone.

I’ve been learning to meditate on my younger self. I have few memories of my youth–pre- middle school–and no clue why. I have memories that have been given to me by others, but first-hand in-person memories are few and far between. When my therapist first heard me say this, we have a very long discussion about trauma…she was concerned I had some past trauma that was being blocked. But we were never able to suss it out, and after several different attempts she felt confident that there was no hidden major trauma lurking in my younger years. It’s likely I had “mini” traumas that I had going along (like being bullied in school) that my mind decided wasn’t important for my adult living. But losing those “mini” trauma memories also meant losing a lot of my formative growing up years/lessons. My therapist (“T”) has been using forms of meditation to connect with her own younger selves to work on her own issues, and she has encouraged me to try to do the same. Maybe my younger me can help me deal with some of my present issues.

I have not had much success “speaking” to my younger self. For many years of my therapy I kind of put this idea aside as too “woo-woo” for me. I had no idea what to do or how to do it. My fallback is writing, but even writing didn’t seem to work for me. I have, however, been able to use writing more recently to address some of my on-going issues. I’ll share that another time.

So I started meditating when I’ve been ready to go to sleep. And as I meditated, I’ve tried to build my “safe place” in my younger years, which was my bedroom. I don’t “picture” things the way other people do, but I can bring up the memory of my childhood bedroom. I build the room in my head, writing up the details of the small and very pink space. Then I build a picture of what I looked like at younger ages, and I just start thinking about questions I have about my youth. And as I meditate, I find answers coming to me as if I am actually having a conversation with that young person. I’ve done this a couple of times and I didn’t always get useful/helpful responses.

That younger version of me seemed sullen and uninterested in sharing, but one of the times it seemed like she was telling me that it was more that she more feeling sad and lonely. I spent a lot of my time alone as a child, and my feeling about it was because I didn’t really want to be with other people. But when I asked her why she felt lonely, she said she didn’t want to be alone. So I asked why she didn’t try to be with other people–siblings, friends, cousins–and she said she was afraid to be rejected, so in order to not be hurt by rejection, she chose to be alone. It was easier to reject others before they could reject her.

It was so sad. I always felt like I just hated to be with people. I was incredibly shy as a child, and I figured that the shyness made everything painful and therefore I was really just born an introvert. I still believe I am an introvert–it’s so ingrained in me–and I still am shy and don’t like talking with strangers or being in front of a group. But I also see that I do try to push people away before they can hurt me or push me away themselves. I feel like I’ve spent a lot of my life being hurt by others, just reinforcing the desire to keep others at a distance. People who I love have abandoned me over and over again throughout my life, why then would I trust anyone outside my “love” circle to not abandon or reject me?

Two nights ago, I was having an especially bad night. Every time I managed to fall asleep, I had a terrible nightmare. I woke up at one point, feeling so terrorized that I actually woke Hub and asked him if HE was ok. He was in my nightmare and I thought someone was physically attacking us in our bed. He said he was okay and what was going on? I told him that it was just nightmare after nightmare, every time I closed my eyes. He asked if it would help if he held me for a while–which was very sweet–and the first thing that came into my head was that I didn’t want to be held if he was just going to end up falling asleep and leaving me alone…again. It was 4:30 in the morning, I had woken him from a dead sleep, and I was only thinking about how I would feel rejected and abandoned if he fell asleep while trying to make me feel better by holding me.

On one hand…this is kind of an issue with him. If we’re not talking (and even sometimes if we are) or doing other things while holding each other in bed, he falls asleep. If I didn’t know better, I would have assumed he had narcolepsy. He doesn’t, he’s been checked. But I hate when he wants to cuddle and then just…falls asleep. I end up feeling lonely and rejected and like I wasn’t worth his time. So I rejected him before he could potentially (based on past experiences) abandon and therefore reject me.

I was eternally polite when I said “no, but thank you for offering” at 4:30 in the morning. And then I spent the next hour thinking about how I had just performed that “reject them before they reject me” play. I’m not even sure he remembers having the interaction that night…he didn’t bring it up and neither have I.

It’s a conversation I intend to have, because I do think it explains some of my actions a little better. And I intend to work on not doing that, because I don’t want to spend my life running from things because I might be rejected…for whatever the reason.

I have also tried meditating again to contact my younger self. I haven’t had too much success recently, but I will keep trying. Just in case I have something important to learn from me.