Showing posts with label dogs have needs too. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dogs have needs too. Show all posts

Thursday, March 22, 2012

The photo-bomber strikes again!

Okay, these made me laugh. This is the kind of comedy relief I have always appreciated in my life. At the best of times, but most of all.... at the worst of times. It reminds me that without laughter and humour, I am not truly living a balanced life.

Here's what happened:

I got the camera out after calling and making the euthanasia appointment with the vets. They were due in a couple of hours. I hardly left Pepper's side that morning and just lay with her.

Our dear dog, Jazz - not to be outdone (as it is with all little sisters, no?) and being true to photo-bombing form - muscled in on the very last photos I was taking of Pepper just before the vets arrived at home.

She couldn't help herself. Take this photo below, for example:




All very innocent, very cute. Right? Hmmmm. Let me now put it into context for you:











Lucky she is a funny, cute little shit or I would have been right upset.

Thanks for the comedy relief, Jazz, you narc!


"Cheeeeeeeese!"





Friday, March 16, 2012

Change and growth together

Hello and welcome to post #1199! Add that to the 500 posts I published on my old blog and.... my goodness, you'd think I'd have ironed out the bumps by now, wouldn't you? But no. That's just the kinda fly-by-the-seat-o'-my-pants, unstructured writer I am. It's a curse, not a skill.

I thought I would use this post to make a couple of announcements.

1.  I am seriously investigating - those other times were just dalliances, forays into what was involved (read: all too hard to change platforms and for no real gain) - moving to a self-hosted Wordpress blog. *GAG-FACE* I KNOW! It's just that I have direction now, I have things I want to do, ways to make this a more useful place rather than me just spewing forth my words. That, and, they have the most amazing plug-ins and ways to make your blog look pretty that I can no longer pretend it doesn't make my designer/visual-eye's heart flutter to think of the possibilities....

This will be a very positive step forward, I think, for my blog's direction. But I want to give you ample time to fling yourself at my feet and weep "NOOOOO! Not Wordpress, no!" if you must. Are you pleased with this move? Or does it strike fear in the heart? Essentially, nothing should change - however, any of you out there reading this in a Blogger-connected reader (I really should be more knowledgeable about all this, but meh) who are concerned you'll lose track of me, please wave your hand at me and make yourself (and your concerns) known and I'll try and find a way to appease you too!

2.  I am very excited to be working on a project in conjunction with Sands Victoria which involves the use of my blog space. It will take a little while yet, but there's something in the works and it makes my heart feel full. In the meantime, here is my first call-out to any readers who have a parent (mum or dad) who has lost a newborn or suffered a miscarriage or stillbirth and who would like to share their story here (can be anonymous).  Contact me via email (details are in my profile or feel free to drop me a line on my Facebook page). Spread the word too! I believe stories are meant to be shared and love to hear about people, their interesting lives, how they survived, how they thrived... in any number of circumstances.

I, for one, would have dearly loved to learn first-hand from the older generation how they stepped through the loss of their baby. So if you know anyone who might like to add their voice, please do invite them to contact me.  I will be making a proper stand-alone post about it soon, but here's a precursory, toe-dipping call-out!

3.  Things are heating up heading towards the Digital Parents Conference. It's all systems GO here and we are receiving, surely, more boxes than a matchstick factory. They contain the incredible amount of swag on offer from companies who are all too happy to throw freebies at bloggers - there are 200 delegates, to be exact, and I am getting up close and personal with each of their swag bags as Steve and I are filling them.... in the sort of methodological, "boy" way you can imagine. I went my own way for a while there, just piffing stuff in - "The bag's huuuuge, there's plenty of room", said I, but Steve was right; proper stacking made for even more much-needed room, so you'll know if you get one of the bags I packed because it'll look like someone just took a rampage through a garage sale, dumping stuff in a cotton bag. Hmmm. Sorry 'bout that.

Anyway, big thanks already to Naomi for flat-packing a stack almost as high as my ceiling with me this week. Go and check out her pretty new blog look. She's fixed the stupid hacks now! It no longer takes you to websites that shall remain nameless....... (don't ya hate it when meddlesome computer geeks crack your firewall?)

And to finish off, a post from me this past month wouldn't be complete without mentioning.... Pepper. See what I did here? It's a brief little photo gallery, come and see me (and her) in our glossy-coated youth - we both had shinier manes back in the day. Sigh. Ah, Pep  :-) I know somewhere she's still smiling her teddy-dog smile.

Humour me, folks. That is all. And have a lovely weekend!  Chat next week.


"Love" - by Nancy Adams, from the movie "Robin Hood" (1973)


p.s. Did you spy Jazz as a pup??!?! Awwwwwwww!  And I should've warned you about the IVF needle shot, sorry...




Tuesday, March 13, 2012

You know the moments?

When you look outside at the cloudless sky and the sun hasn't even risen yet? And you can still see a star or two? And the freshness, the newness, the potential of the dawn threatens to burst out of your chest because you feel just so compelled to move towards it and get out amongst it?

When your existence - not your life (subtle difference there) - feels so full you actually appreciate the air you breathe and the clear dawn sky above you? And even though the invasion of work and family duty pressures await you, this time is yours to free-think as you will. And so you make it good-thoughts thinking time because you've grown to realise how much healthier you feel for it?

When you look around your dishevelled messy cesspit of a lived-in home and marvel at what you have created? And you're not actually referring to said dishevelled mess, but the piece of land that is yours to plant and nurture at will, with its quirky house, sturdy roof, painted walls, furniture that means something to you, happy toddler-drawn pictures, birthday invitations on the fridge, knick-knacks that hold great sentimental value because of where you bought them or who gave them to you?

When you glance over at your dog because she is is whining in her sleep and you see with great affection for her that has actually fallen asleep with her ball in her mouth? And you spend a moment pondering how happy and simple a dog's life is but instead of envying or begrudging her you soak it up a little and take a lesson from it this time? And in that moment, you see how far you've come in your own motherhood (and related obstacles) journey, that you are no longer envious... of a dog?


When you are shown your own strength in such an obvious illustration because you single-handedly took a piece of earth
from this...



... to this? 


And you feel like you really nurtured yourself there because it was something you wanted to do so you just.... did it? And you stand back and give thanks that you are not only able-bodied enough to grab that pick and work over the hard, heavy, bogged clay soil, but that you were clear in seeing through the vision in the first place, that spurred you on to completion? How good is it to complete something you set out to start? Something you did "just because" you knew how much joy it would bring to your weepy heart?


Yeh. All those right now. And more. I'm loving and appreciating all of them.


What moments are filling you up right now?






Friday, March 9, 2012

Girl Meets Dog(s): The very first introduction

As with all things regarding Pepper - who might very easily have been a "dangerous dog" due to her breed/instinctive nature - we were very careful and methodical with her introduction to our new arrival.

I have mentioned previously the irony of my sometimes one and only saviour in a years-long strive for children being not the most ideal choice for family pet where young children might be concerned. It didn't mean we were ever going to give her away - give up on her - when our only surviving child finally came along. In fact, it meant we could finally complete our family (in a strange mixed-species kind of way).

I am having a really difficult night of it. Could be the end of an emotional week. Could be the fact that Steve inadvertently slipped that he was going to go and "feed the dogs"..... before looking at me with a pained, apologetic look. But I lost it. I was sitting on the LGBB's bed at the time and just let go the tears.

I miss her still. Dreadfully. The more old (young, prime) photos and video footage I see, the more I yearn. It is right this way, though. She lived a very long, full life. She was a dog to top all dogs - no, not yours! of course - and no matter if we rescued another fifty dogs, we will never find another Pepper.

How freaking lucky was I, to find her? I will appreciate that girl for the rest of my days.

Here she is, being introduced to our daughter (aged about four months, is my guess) for the first time. Note how she is all about me, regardless of the new "thing" that she knew was taking all our time and attention away. Loyal, always loyal, to her masters. Putting herself at the end of the line, where any well-serving, dutiful dog should go.

And then there's Jazz. Gorgeous in her own way, but so happy-go-lucky that it kind of makes me want to slap it out of her some days. It always did. Where Pepper had the weight of the world - the weight of my reality, really - on her shoulders, Jazz had only the buoyant promise of New Life on hers. Like the yin-yang of life itself. I do so love and cherish them both. But my heart will forever be with Pepper. She was like a saviour to me.

Today, I don't mind saying..... I am really, really feeling her absence and feel misunderstood by everyone. She always "got" me (mostly 'cause she couldn't talk and stuff up! Don't you love how dogs do that for you? Just give and never take? Sweet relief)



Sunday, February 26, 2012

If it wasn't for the nights

Okay, while you read this, you've gotta do something for me. It might go against every grain of sensibility in you. But... will you make an exception? And play the following clip?

The short of it is, this is just about my most favourite ABBA song. It's one of their best. I could listen to it every day and not get sick of it. But then... I was a MASSIVE fan back in the day!

Go on... hit play... if you're not tapping some part of your body or trying to sing the chorus by the end, well.... it's lost on you (and let's never speak of my adoration of ABBA again, in that case):


The long of it is, at the moment it's kinda bloody true! See, I'm going really well - I haven't cried for Pepper in days now, it's been a week and a bit since I helped her go to sleep on our kitchen floor.

Thing is, though, even though I saw that big ol' needle going in and held her head on my hands and reassured her to her death, I have been haunted by dreams that the drug didn't work and that she is actually still alive.

Three times now I have dreamed very real dreams where I have to decide whether to call the vets and tell them it didn't work or just shrug and say, "Well... we tried, Pep, looks like you're here until you really want to go."

They are absolute torture! Last night, during the dream, I actually told myself she was really dead. The needle had actually worked. I hope it signals the end of them. I don't know what it means, I haven't analysed them and I'm not asking or expecting you to, gentle reader. But man! I am nearly at the point of putting my fists on my hips and asking the wise Universe.... What gives?!




"If It Wasn't For The Nights"

I got appointments, work I have to do
Keeping me so busy all the day through
They're the things that keep me from thinking of you
Ohhh baby, I miss you so, I know I'm never gonna make it
Oh, I'm so restless, I don't care what I say
And I lose my temper ten times a day
Still it's even worse when the night's on its way
It's bad, oh, so bad

Somehow I'd be doing alright if it wasn't for the nights
(If it wasn't for the nights I think that I could make it)
I'd have courage left to fight if it wasn't for the nights
(If it wasn't for the nights I think that I could take it)
How I fear the time when shadows start to fall
Sitting here alone and staring at the wall
Even I could see a light if it wasn't for the nights
(Even I could see a light I think that I could make it)
Somehow I'd be doing alright if it wasn't for the nights
(If it wasn't for the nights I think that I could take it)

No one to turn to, you know how it is
I was not prepared for something like this
Now I see them clearly, the things that I miss
Ohhh baby, I feel so bad, I know I'm never gonna make it
I got my business to help me through the day
People I must write to, bills I must pay
But everything's so different when night's on its way
It's bad, oh, so bad

Somehow I'd be doing alright if it wasn't for the nights
(If it wasn't for the nights I think that I could make it)
I'd have courage left to fight if it wasn't for the nights
(If it wasn't for the nights I think that I could take it)
How I fear the time when shadows start to fall
Sitting here alone and staring at the wall
Even I could see a light if it wasn't for the nights
(Even I could see a light I think that I could make it)
Guess my future would look bright if it wasn't for the nights
(If it wasn't for the nights I think that I could make it)

If it wasn't for the nights
(If it wasn't for the nights I think that I could take it)
if it wasn't for the nights
(If it wasn't for the nights I think that I could make it)

Even I could see a light if it wasn't for the nights
(Even I could see a light I think that I could make it)
Guess my future would look bright if it wasn't for the nights
(If it wasn't for the nights I think that I could take it)

If it wasn't for the nights
(If it wasn't for the nights I think that I could make it)
If it wasn't for the nights
(If it wasn't for the nights I think that I could take it)

Even I could see a light if it wasn't for the nights
(Even I could see a light I think that I could make it)
Guess my future would look bright if it wasn't for the nights




Wednesday, February 22, 2012

The Irony


“Oh, Pep,” I said with a sigh, placing a hand on her head. Pepper looked up at me dolefully. She was getting old, this girl of mine. I could see the greying around her eyes and down her long snout. I hadn’t looked at her closely for some months, distracted as I was. Yet here she had still been, ready and attentive and by my side at a moment’s notice. All I had to do was look at her and she knew, like an old friend, when I needed her. Pepper, our quietly unassuming one-time stray who had firmly and appreciatively asserted a place for herself in our little family, had brought me through so many times when I felt like I had no one to lean on. The love and devotion of this dog had been unwavering throughout my trials, all without uttering a word to me. If only more humans could be like dogs, I mused. All she had ever given me was loving, silent support.
I deduced that a great many overwhelming and emotional episodes of life—where people didn’t need more words or opinions or advice or any sort of support other than a simple, unassuming presence, an ear to lend and some gentle displays of affection—would be much better dealt with if our supporters embodied the devoted loyalty of dogs in those moments.
How could it be that my furry friend had given me far more than most people during these past years, while never having spoken a word? This was something that I did not allow to go unnoticed. Pepper had taught me much about being loyal to myself as well. And now, I was about to inflict a huge change on my “doggy child”, introduce someone else for her to accommodate as she naturally slipped down a rung in the hierarchy of our pack.
- An unedited extract from "Into The Bliss: Having & Holding Ellanor", by K.A. Whatman

If only more humans could be like dogs, I mused. 
All she had ever given me was loving, silent support.


This moment of the book was from 2006. It was the day I went in to hospital to have the LGBB. In fact, it was only about an hour before we left.

I realise, retrospectively, that Pepper was attached to the Me who was pre-LGBB. She was never meant to last this long. I looked out the window at her over a year ago and heard, in a flash, "She forgot to die." I hung onto the statement for it was like a bolt out of the clear blue. And it was true. I honestly believed from that day forward that this dog had sort of .... well, just simply forgotten to slip away. Her To Do list was quite short in the end. I think much of it was forgotten. But one thing she never ever forgot was, "Look for my Master."

That'd be me.

It seems to me that everything that came to pass during 2004-2006 went exactly as it should. She supported me through my greatest trial. She saw me through the next full (and to date, second only successful) pregnancy. She carried my lonely heart through three more pregnancies in between the two girls. She was by my side for every one of those pregnancies and their varying outcomes.

Sometime not too long ago, I put to rest my desire for three children. We had borne two. We now had just one with us. My desire for more had waned and given over to the acceptance that I have all I need (and am meant to have) now.

That was supposed to be it.

She wasn't supposed to stick around for anything much of the LGBB's life. I'm sure of it. She stayed for me. And she forgot to go. I had to tell her to go. I will write a post one day about that, for it is - quite simply - profound what happened last Thursday and she deserves the honour of her passing to be a separate entry.

By the time she went, she was Lolly's "favourite". She had also enabled our daughter to witness what it is to care for an ailing, aged animal. Sure, I lost my temper sometimes over it - it was very stressful managing her in the final year, especially - but ultimately, what Lolly has been gifted with is the opportunity to understand the profound importance of ALL life. Even that which is often deemed at a brief glance to be unworthy/wasted time, resources and reserves.

The irony is, Pepper was always terrible with people. Children and men, specifically. Women she was fine with. So I had to watch her like a hawk for her entire life with us. That's a long seventeen years of scrupulous herding, shielding, fencing-off, instruction, training. And tolerance.

There was no WAY, in her younger years, we could ever keep her and have a child. I've never said that in writing before. I guess I've never had to. Because it simply didn't happen. The two realities never overlapped. By the time Lolly was born, Pepper was already losing her grip. She wasn't as fast or responsive. She was dropping catches. She was easier to manage, we could slip more things past her unnoticed. And I also knew her inside and out by then.

So there it is. The dog who could've possibly been cast as the sinister villain (okay, granted, she'd never have been in one scene) in an even more awkward telemovie remake of Evil Angels was actually my saviour during the period where I was trying to bring a child into existence. And even after Lolly was born, for the first two years at least, as Steve and I see snippets of home movies this week while we catalogue them to preserve her memory and her prominent place in our lives, she remained duty-bound to me. In one scene, Steve is playing with a 12-month-old Lolly on the patio outside. I am behind the video, walking through the house to the door. And there is Pepper. Sitting guard at the door, waiting for me, minding the entrance to the house, casting an eye over the scene before her but still on duty. For me.

I knew she was loyal when she was on her game. I just forgot for such a long time because these last few years she'd been so slow. Perhaps I took her for granted.

Ah, death. The great equalizer, huh?



Monday, February 20, 2012

Spare me

In classic Me fashion, I am going to say (rather ambiguously) that I'm sorry but... I make no apology for feeling the loss of my dear friend deeply and fully. I suppose you only get a real sense of how much this dog did for me when you read my book. I promise one day more than a handful of you will have that opportunity! *pumping fatigued unconvincing fist to the sky*

Writing my way through this is the only healthy way for me to honour the devotion she showed me. It's what I do and it's what she did. And it seems it did not go unnoticed all this time by my family. The outpouring of condolences from them, the tears, the fondness in their recollections of her as a "lovely old lady", the happy stories of being held captive to play ball with a dog who could fetch and return far longer than anyone ever wanted to play with her have helped to round out the significance Steve and I have always felt about her place in our home.

To me, my dog was always home.

We rescued her from a shelter just two years after Steve and I moved in together. I was 20, Steve was 23, the day we went and chose her out of those 35 other full cages. Steve will turn 40 in April and I will be 37 this year. At our wedding 13 years ago, Rusty (his cat) and Pepper were immortalized by the Best Man in the speeches. Everybody knew who they were. Pep got about with us like "one of the buddies" and anyone who came over had to acknowledge the dog. If I didn't mention her and they otherwise didn't take any notice of her, Pepper would make sure of it at some point.

From the moment she let go of her last breath last Thursday, my mind has been flooded with all of those wonderful, rich memories of my faithful dog.

I am keeping my head above water quite well now. The past three days have seen me break down at least every hour. Today is better. I am distracting my tired brain with some excellent comedy podcasts and also Tina Fey's "Bossypants" audio book - awesomely funny! - because every song is too sad and leaves too much room for my mind to wander back to Pepper. No, I'll do it this way. With distract and deflect tactics.

Her life was my joy. I want to be happy when I remember what she gave me.

This will not be the last post on the subject. And again, while on the one hand I'm sorry for that if you a) don't particularly care for dogs or b) am already rather tired of my bleating on the subject, on the other hand I say.... it's a big wide web out there with a zillion other blogs. I won't be offended in the slightest if you can't read mine for the time being.

But like all other times since starting this space, I turn here to express myself and connect with like souls.

I have to do this.

For now, I'll leave you with an absolutely delightful video I found on the weekend whilst cataloguing every digital photo we ever took of her. Oh yes... a slideshow is a must. And it's in the works but might be slow coming to fruition, as much as my heart and energy permits me to work on it.


What an honour it was to have her in my life.


The following footage is typical Pepper. The slight "I wanna say something but I won't" huff. The doleful expression. The paw on me in thanks for me saying "good girl".... even though I wasn't talking to her this time. We were in the part-regretful, part-trying-to-be-firm transition phase of shuffling her off her top spot - she had to make room for the LGBB. I am doing a separate post on that soon, because it is a huge thing for the loyal animals of a long-term TTC'er (TTC=Trying To Conceive) to step aside.

In this video, you can hear me (embarrassingly using baby-talk with the dog) trying to break it to Pep that I won't always be talking to her any more when there are no other adult humans around....

oh and p.s. if you were wondering, "Reenie" as in Pepperini, was her nickname - she had several, but this one stuck (even Lol called her Reenie).







Friday, February 17, 2012

Shake it off with shuffling

Hey folks.

In my vain attempts to distract myself today, I took to the home video collection and found this pearler taken earlier this month of the LGBB in her new ballet get-up. Bless her cotton socks nylon ballet tights. She shows off a groovy bit of dancing complete with snarly looks - the snarly pout indicates the older/adolescent female version of herself, which she tries on whenever she wants to feel grown up (oh dear) - and is blissfully unaware I have propped up the iPhone camera whilst under the guise of cooking dinner.

Never let it be said I always have a clean house, but just a disclaimer: that dining room table always seems to have things draped on it/over it/under it whenever anything filmable happens in the kitchen! I see a discarded ball (thanks Jazz), a pet bed or two (thanks Pepper), a teddy/friend blanket made by yours truly strewn across the bench seat (thanks Lolly... or is that, thanks me?) and just no end of junk to be put away, really.

So enjoy my mess and my daughter's dancing.

Oh, p.s. Astute watchers will note the bit-part cameos from Pepper, interjecting at two intervals with her latter-years signature bark (in time with the music, I might add). The staccato "Whaddabout me?!" bark for my attention that slowly drove me insane but that I'd give anything to hear today. Well.... maybe not. On second thoughts, it did most royally shit me and wasn't ever her most endearing feature.

Anyway! To the video!


Thursday, February 16, 2012

Music and laughter through searing pain: My familiar dose of medicine

It's the song that has been playing over and over in my head. The little earworm since I called the vet this morning to call them out to see Pepper this afternoon at home. It's a song I haven't heard in I don't know how many years and bears no importance or relevance in my life.

Until now.

And I realise, with an amused smile, that this is SO Pepper. The chorus could have been written by her. If... y'know... she had opposable thumbs.

So as we sit here waiting for her time to go, she and I, please have a listen to "our song" and smile with me:





If you leave me, can I come too? 
We can always stay
But if you leave me, can I come too? 
And if you go, can I come too?



Wednesday, February 15, 2012

"Can I go now?" Helping my old girl stand down


The day that would never come.


There's come a time when I've realised something I hadn't seen before. I always professed I wanted Pepper to end her days by herself. Naturally. My hope was for her to have a dignified end but that if pain was making living too hard, I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. 

I'm walking on the bridge now. And I have a big juicy bone enticing my old faithful girl to follow me.

I did not even see, before yesterday, that she won't go until I lead her. She is too obedient. She is too apologetic. Look at that photo up there. That is the doleful look she has always had. The grateful look. The care-taking "may I help you?" look. To this day, stumbling and disoriented as she is now, she waits to be ushered inside (or out) and never assumes to go anywhere we haven't directed her. Why would she not look for my guidance now? Jazz is another story. A different energy altogether. She barges her way past all of us, whacking Pep in the face with that kangaroo-strength tail of hers. She waits for no one and has to be reminded of the correct etiquette (she knows it, she just takes liberties all the time). 

Pepper wouldn't dare. She's not even going to die without being given permission.

Before yesterday, I thought it would be wrong somehow of me to snuff Pepper's lights out. But she seems to have reached a point where she needs me. Needs help to stand down. An insightful Facebook friend I've known for a number of years suggested the poignant timing of this turn of events for our old girl. On the back of my last post where I mused that I really felt "okay" now.... here she is, turning up beside me to hang her lead on the hook and hand in her badge collar. 

Forcing my hand.

Willing me to choose.

Now we are deciding on burial spots in the backyard and whether we'll opt for a call-out from the vet or if I will take her on one final car ride.

I have been torn by this for so long. But now it's no turning back. There will be no more false alarms for dear Pepper. Remember that rather embarrassing time two years ago when I thought her number was up but she had just gorged herself on dog food? That was an embarrassing laugh (only with hindsight, I hastily add). I don't want her to be in pain. A trip to the vet this morning confirmed she has lost most of the feeling in one back leg, the other is not too crash hot. Her front legs are barely holding her weight and she has lost so much muscle tone that her lower back is now compromised. The way she falls (hard) and the increased frequency of her slips mean that I just cannot allow her to go on any longer.

And I realised, not more than three hours ago, that it is only appropriate that it is me who has to be with her. She and I. The two of us. Alone. Together. We spent so many days this way over the past seventeen years. I would literally burst outside to find her if I had become overwhelmed by my grief during the long days when Steve was at work. I'd call Pep - she was never far away - and she would sit with me, whine alongside me as I would sob and sob and sob. She'd slip a paw up into my hand and rest her head on me. Always.
[As an aside, how the hell Steve coped going to work through that, I will never know. If anyone, wants some assistance with understanding from a male's perspective, I encourage them to seek out this excellent blog for fathers.] 

Pepper hasn't been able to do what she instinctively has always done. It's been about a year since she was able to properly balance her weight so she could give me a paw. I wanted to nurse her through her geriatric months, which have turned into years. But now I see what I didn't see before.

I need to relieve her of her duties to me. It's okay for her to go. I've told her many times over, at first when I didn't really even believe it. But there is a profoundness in having to do this for her as well. It is right this way, I've come to accept it quite quickly. It makes sense to me that a dog so fiercely brave and loyal will never lay down and snuff out. As it is today, she senses something is up - I have had to sit beside her and MAKE her lie down to rest. She has been trying to stand beside me since we returned from the vets.

They are no fools, these animals who sacrifice their lives for us. I'd like to think I am about to receive one hell of a guardian angel when she slips peacefully across the void. It makes it only ever so slightly less painful to hope.

And hey.... just an update - look at this: we did it, she's leaving after seventeen years - that one was a super-important post about my girl. So. I can officially say I really have lived with Pepper for as many years as I lived with my mother! I rest my case.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

When cyclists attack: Dog vs Man

"If you don't know how to do it, I'll show you how to walk the dawg."


The other morning, the LGBB and I took Jazz for a walk to her school. It took us around an hour. There is a bike track that goes all the way there. It's a really lovely gently downhill walk all the way, and there are many spots where you could almost imagine you're walking on a path through the bush, not through the back of suburbia.

On this deserted path, I decided to allow Jazz some free roaming time. She is harmless. I know this. Despite knowing this, I have the eagle eye of an experienced dog owner. Some, granted, would say that an "experienced dog owner" would not have let the dog off its lead on council land where it is common knowledge that dogs should be walked on lead only. Weighing up the risks compared with the short bit of off-lead time I was giving her, I made the measured decision to keep a watchful eye on my dog and let her run in the grass verge to the side of the track. Many groups and individuals passed us over a ten minute period, mostly on bike but a few on foot. They passed us without fuss or fret. Jazz gave them barely a glance, if that, and continued her foraging in the lush grass - she loves to scratch her back and snout in grass for some reason, I've heard other Kelpie owners say their dogs love to do this too, perhaps it's a trait of the breed.

Lolly and I were making good time. Steve was going to meet us at the school with the car to give us a lift back, a wisely pre-arranged plan we made before we left home, sans phone.

Along came a man of quite decent, solid build. He looked to be roughly in his forties and in very good shape. He was riding a bike and coming towards us. I checked where Jazz was as he headed our way; she was sniffing the base of a gum tree at the edge of the path. I saw by the way the rider's face was set determinedly that he was in some sort of deep concentration and deduced he would not be an individual who would share a nod, a smile or any grunt in recognition of sharing the path and early morning with us. That's cool. I've been in the zone before while exercising. Sometimes you do, sometimes you don't acknowledge a passer-by.

When he rode past us, I was only mildly alarmed that he came quite close to the LGBB - thankfully, she kept her gait steady and didn't wobble into his path or he would have clipped her. Perhaps he felt we should get off the path completely, for we had already moved out of his way over to our side of the shared walkway. It was a fleeting glance, but I saw him jerk his head sharply in the direction of Jazz as he rounded the tree under which she was gaily sniffing. In a moment, he was gone - mere seconds and he had passed us by - and we continued on.

Not more than two minutes passed and, just as Lolly was launching into some new endless sentence without a break about some desperately important bit of information she needed to impart in one continuous breath, I heard someone shout something from behind her down the track a ways. It took me a few moments to register the words in my brain... something about "dog on the fucking lead"...

The man on the bike was making his way back, obviously reaching some turning point in his ride and coming back the way he came. Lolly was oblivious and thought I had stopped ahead of her to turn back and wait for her to catch up - it's hard to concentrate on your single minutes-long sentence and keep a good walking pace, didn't you know? - but I was mostly watching the situation with my dog and this fast-approaching bike rider who by now I realised had the shits up about Jazz being off lead.

"She's fine," I assured him as he cycled past Lolly making his way past me next. The dog hadn't even lifted her head and was at this point a few metres from the path to my right, still under my control and posing absolutely no obstacle or danger to anyone, least of all the big burly man.

"Get FUCKED," he shrieked like a madman. "Should be on a lead." He rapidly rode into the distance past me. The whole exchange took less than five seconds.

The moment got the better of me and I was instantly riled, as if something had leapt off the rider and onto me. I was baited, hook, line and sinker. I took it. Without hesitating (or thinking), I fired back, "Calm down, sir." I have absolutely no idea why I added "sir" the way I did. Perhaps I thought it'd soften it. I immediately wanted to gulp my words back in. It was wrong to shout anything after him. I had visions of him dismounting and coming back and punching me in the face. I felt like I had been hit in the stomach as it was. He was just so angry!

The LGBB was concerned. She caught up to me, asking questions about "the man" and wanting to know - word for word - what he said and what I had called after him. I tried to wave it off but she persisted. I had to feed my words back to her, regurgitating them as if she was trying to make me be more accountable for my part in the exchange. Mostly, I was mortified that having the dog off lead, despite her perfect behaviour and temperament, had been so gruffly pointed out to me.

"What did he say to you?" Lolly probed.

"He said Jazz should be on her lead... and he's right," I replied truthfully.

"But why was he mad? And what did you say to him?" she asked, a most concerned look on her face. She's at an age where such juicy social exchanges are referenced and filed for use in her next dollhouse or Barbie game - there's always an antagonist these days if I listen in long enough.

"He was telling me Jazz should be walking next to us because maybe he thought she would trip him over," I said. It was the first logical thing that came into my head, probably not far from the truth either. I'd like to think he was an upstanding citizen who was concerned for the safety of others.... something tells me that wasn't the reason for his policing attitude, but still. I'll never know. "And I asked him to calm down because he seemed angry."

I felt a fool, spelling it out to her. I shouldn't have yelled after him. It was idiotic and made me feel worse because I was contributing to the exchange and buying in to whatever he was already carrying. That kind of venom isn't spat out at a stranger without it having brewed to that point long before the situation even arises. He was just seizing the opportunity to let some steam out of his inner pressure cooker. I get that.

"But why was he so angry about Jazz?"  See? Even a five year-old knows Jazz is nothing to be concerned about. That dog is the definition of "nice".

"Because..." getting a little frustrated now, just drop it already, sheeezus! "...some people are just so angry in their hearts that they yell at other people, even sometimes people they don't even know. It's a shame, isn't it?"

It was the closest to a full explanation as I wanted to get that day. Lol seemed satisfied after that. Her face relaxed back to neutral and she changed the subject to something completely unrelated. I love the way kids do that! I wish more adults could do it. But that's an entirely different blog post......

Look, I knew it was essentially wrong of me to have Jazz off her lead. But I'd love to take a poll of dog owners and ask them if they haven't given their dog a few minutes off the lead here and there over the life of the dog. Come on. I'd like to think I am a sensible, responsible person (some would say I am often painfully too responsible and morally upright!)  - I know my dog and I know she would no sooner rush at someone than take down a wildebeast.

Other dogs are a different matter: as soon as another dog comes along, mostly for the safety of my own dog I will restrain her if she is at that point having a sniff off the lead. It's just not worth the potential for a dog-barney in the road. A brief exchange with the other dog owner will determine whether we let them have a run together. It seems the unwritten rule of engagement out there and most, if not all, dog owners I have ever met have been very reasonable and more than keen to let Fido have a run and tumble with my dog too - we know the joy these social creatures get from connecting with their own kind. In fact, it's a big part of the joy of owning a dog.

It's a can of worms, I know, asking where you stand on the issue of dogs off lead. I myself would not like to be anywhere in a shared public place with a dog off its lead - heck, some people seem to have a hard time stopping/controlling their dog even when they are on lead! If I see kids - on foot or on bikes - she goes back on straight away. If I see other dogs in the distance, same thing - back on straight away. If there is nowhere for her to roam or get off the path and it's being shared with walkers and cyclists, she also doesn't get off the lead. If there is anything unpredictable (a windy day, poor visibility, anything that just doesn't feel right), she stays by my side and doesn't go off lead. You can see that there isn't much opportunity for time where she is let off! An rightfully so. Dogs should come last in the chain in public spaces, always. BUT... if it is mostly deserted and there's plenty of space and a decent stretch of path where I can see people coming in either direction from a fair distance away, then yes. I let her off.

What are your habits walking your own dog? What are your thoughts? And ummm... what's better or worse: having a harmless dog off its lead or shouting expletives in a threatening manner in front of a small child in an essentially deserted area? I have to tell you (now I'm safe at home) it was one of those hair-raising moments where I saw in a flash what can happen - and how easily these road rage (bike path rage?) bashing stories end up on the news.




Update: Wed. 25/1, 11am - I am closing comments on this post now. If you feel moved to add something that hasn't already been discussed, please feel free to visit my Facebook page instead. 
I would like to point out that the second last paragraph in this post clearly describes the conditions in which I give my dog a rare chance to walk off-lead - in a safe and controlled environment, not in parks full of people, at shopping centres (heaven forbid!) or anywhere where there are children. 
I would also remind, respectfully, that I am not representative of (or advocating for) irresponsible and inconsiderate owners who seem not to respect shared public places with their out of control dogs. They give all dog owners (and dogs!) an unfair bad name. 
Thank you to all who contributed to the discussion.




Friday, November 25, 2011

Elderly and infirm: Take note!

Under NO circumstances should you attempt to sleep resting on a football, unless you have a loved one on hand to help fish you out of the predicament you'll find yourself in when you wake and feel all shaky in the bot-bot and then panic when you discover it's because you're resting on a football.

Also? Using an Aussie Rules footy is easier because it will only roll out from under you in one direction. Just a tip.

There are three simple steps to this exercise:


The blissfully unaware stage. Also known as "butt-teetering"....


The "why can't I... Get... Up?" wake-in-panic stage. Upside-down pirouette pose optional.

The "oh shite, I'm really stuck now" realisation sinks in.
If your loved one is kind, they will help you without fuss and keep guffaws to a minimum.
Until they're inside where you can't see them.

This post starred:  Pepper the 18-ish-year-old Wonder Dog with her pointy ears (all the better to hear absolutely NOTHING with, my dear). She's still here. We don't know why, but it appears she is determined to stay for the long haul and/or to prove a point to the upstart "pup" who is now middle-aged herself.

Monday, November 7, 2011

On the importance of walking in your neighbourhood

When it comes to communities, I've only lived in a few in my life. Steve and I tend not to move around very much. As it is, the home we built just before we were married, we thought, would be the place we grew old in. It didn't happen that way.

Good thing too. For if we hadn't moved here, we would never have discovered the way one can truly be happy where they live.

There is no better way to learn about your community than walking or riding or jogging amongst it. I have come to realise that part of my lack of movement and desire to get out of the house and exercise was that I wanted to avoid people. You can see people who don't want to be disturbed or nodded to or "Good morning"-ed at as you pass each other and it is something I respect. It doesn't mean they're rude, it doesn't mean they're unfriendly. It could mean a number of other things, though.

But those who are up for a chat, well.... what a treat. In the past week, here are some new residents I have met on my pavement-pounding with Jazz:

•  Frank. I put out a tweet about him on Saturday because I was so taken by his crack-up line. Picture an elderly, barely shuffling gentleman, baggy walking clothes hanging on narrow, frail frame. Cap on head. Surprisingly unlined rough-shaven face and bright blue, sharp eyes. His lovely-natured Doberman is also elderly, but still has plenty of life in her - like dog, like owner. Frank tells me he's been coming to this particular park for twenty-five years. He and his wife retired here to Australia from England when he was in his sixties. That's some life, I think to myself. Frank takes a daily walk with a woman who specifically comes to this park to walk with them and her dog. They have met like this for over six years. When I meet her, I realise why it is either of them would take the time to walk with the other. They are both such wonderful, warm, friendly people and I can tell it is natural for them to just... be as I find them. Refreshing. I feel very blessed, as we walk, that they have allowed me, the interloping stranger with the dog who is barking shrilly because she's not getting a "turn" of the ball - oh, Jazz *sigh* - to join them on their daily ritual and I give quiet thanks that I have been given this opportunity to meet two people in my community whom I previously never knew existed.

"I'm 98," Frank tells me, half-proud and half-disbelieving tone... and then he corrects himself out loud, "Oh no, I'm not. Wait a minute, I'm 89. Oh, what's another decade."

Loved meeting him. I hope there will be other times. It's funny, isn't it, the instant care and concern one can feel towards another. I think this might be the essence of pure love - the detached care for another. Imagine if more of us felt this for more people (indeed, for all living things) without agendas, conditions, judgement or hierarchy. The world would be a far more evolved place, I can bet safely, I'm sure.

•  This morning, I took a 6-kilometre tough round trip that took me over an hour. Steep hills, blissful scenery and bush. I finally wound my way back down into "civilisation" and paved pathways. Jazz and I turned onto a street where there was a bloke in his forties, turning down the same street but on the opposite path. He was in a suit and carried a small terrier under his arm.

"That's a funny handbag," I nodded to him. He grinned (thank God... as soon as I opened my mouth to let out the first thing that hit my brain before I could censor myself, I thought this could end very embarrassingly).

"I couldn't find his lead this morning," the man replied. "And I have to take him for his walk."

I nearly bent over double laughing at the gorgeousness of this. Here's this guy, taking his dog for his morning "walk" because the dog can't do without it. I am still wiping tears. For some reason, this has struck me as so charming. Perhaps it was his suit. Or the fact that it was such a regal-looking little dog, up there in its chariot. Or maybe it's simply because I am recalling the rest of the encounter was one of those rather awkward moments where you don't know if the stranger is still talking to you.... you hear them talking but you're not expecting any more conversation so you've moved on, moved away. And then you hear them say something else. But are they talking to you? There was no one else, he was talking in a loud enough volume that I think I was supposed to hear. But I couldn't hear him. And he wasn't looking at me. But he was doing that loud-talking thing. Aaagh! So I did what any self-respecting stranger would do: I plastered a smile on my face and pretended I wasn't looking over at him to try and catch what he said and I looked off into the middle distance instead. Still with my smile on.

I think we both came away thinking the other was a little strange/crazy. Him for talking to himself and me for grinning at nothing like a loon.

Who's the crazy one? I ask you.

Do you enjoy your neighbourhood?

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

One for the Cat vs Dog People: Keeping Tabs

I'm not a cat person. I prefer dogs.

Cats are too aloof for me.

Dogs, on the other hand, are joyous pleasers. I love and really appreciate a doggy's bliss in the simple things - I have been known to laugh myself to tears (quickly) at the image of a dog with its head out a car window. Why, Pepper herself has been the source of amusement at one time or another in this house when she's partaken in a journey in the car. Steve and I worked out many years ago that Pep's speed limit for external-head travel is about 58km/h, for this is the speed - test after test - that she would retract her little red pointy-eared head and concede defeat.

So it was that I accepted with not a little surprise the affection bestowed on me by our adopted cat.

Miss Tabitha.

Tabbez
A skitzy, belligerent (giving Jazz a run for her money), expectant and over-affectionate puss if ever I knew one. This cat has Velcro-ed herself to me. She meaows and bays and mews for me if I go to the toilet and she can't see me. If I go to bed to watch TV, she comes and sits ON MY CHEST. The cat cannot get close enough to me. And only me.

For a non-cat person, this has come as rather a distasteful shock.

But after 19 months now of having her around and getting used to her, I have to say.... she is a gem. Don't tell her I told you. She is here to stay, most definitely. It's as if we always had her. Not that she will ever, could ever, take the place of Steve's first cat, Rusty, though. Now HE was an awesome, none-like-him cat. He has appeared to me in dreams - even recently - like some big sphynx-like, larger than life, living, breathing statue. What a beauty he was.

I still prefer my clunky, dufus doggies, yes. But this cat has wormed her way into my cat-free heart.

That reminds me: Note to self - must worm cat.


Monday, September 26, 2011

She's falling, she's failing

Old Lady Pep earlier today during a game of doctors and patients...
She was the kindly old surgery receptionist.

How many near misses can one dog have? I do not know. All I know is, about five years ago I started regretfully preparing for her "last summer", "last winter"...

A few months ago, I was sent into fits of tears over several days as Pep looked to be slipping off the perch. When that happened, I wrote this post and expected it to be over with within the week. But no. I'm quite surprised - followed closely by a kind of anticipatory dread - that I wrote that in July and here we are, over two months later, and I'm still astounded she's here.

Now Pepper has a swollen right foreleg. She doesn't seem to be in any pain. But then, she never did complain. My gosh, the pain this dog has absorbed. All of mine, all of Steve's. She has been a true godsend.

But now she is falling. Falling down stairs to get to the back yard. Stumbling and butting her head into the ground or losing her footing and bashing into the wall opposite the back stairs. I've laid soft matting there so the scrapes aren't so harsh.

I'm getting close, Internet. I can't let her hurt herself and I am monitoring it closely. It's not quite time for me to intervene. But if it becomes apparent, of course I will have her put at peace without a second regret.

Our li'l Princess! How I will weep for her - how I do already - when she finally goes. Those doleful eyes. And you know what, she still leans in to me for cuddles. She hasn't done that for quite some time but she's begun again these past few days. I would assume it's her giving me last comforts and goodbyes.

But with this old battleax.... I just don't know any more!


Whaaat? Can you speak up, deary?

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Princess dogs

I was going to show you photos from my morning walk today. But I've run out of time to do anything meaningful.

So instead, please indulge me (or yourself) as I show you the moment this past week where our dear LGBB decided to play princesses with the two obliging doggies.



The Two Posing Show Ponies 


Best. Kid-dog. Everrr.
Jazz poses like that forever if it means getting a photo taken

Not to be outdone, our old dog looks rather whimsical in pink. Don't you think?
Sweet 18 and never been....
Dear Pepper, she barely stood for this one



I'm joining in Maxabella's Grateful For this weekend... hosted today by the ever-lovely Kymmie from A Day In The Life. But a warning to the dieting: there are scrumptious food photos on her post!









Tuesday, August 9, 2011

How I feel after today: Re-enacted in a single shot


This... is Jazz. Too tired to even get off the couch she knows she shouldn't be on.

Any resemblance to actual owner purely incidental


I am absolutely beat.

Hope your day has fared better. Care to share? How has your week been shaping up so far?







Friday, July 15, 2011

The forlorn photobomber

(this is a post kinda especially for Jodie from Mummy Mayhem - I know she hearts the idiotic antics of my photobombing dog)


Today, I bring you.....


Pensive Jazz


Regular readers will recall that our little Waggedy-Ann loves a good old-fashioned photo-bomb. The tricky trickster that she is. Please see here (for Exhibit A) and here (when she returned). These are by far not the only times she's done it, but they are the most recent. Over time, perhaps I'll dig out some others.

I'm starting to wonder if Jazz thinks there's not enough attention on he...... BWAAAAAAHAHAHA I can't even finish that sentence without guffawing. This has got to be the most attention-seeking (and getting) dog I have ever come across, although I hazard a guess there are plenty of others out there. Do you know one?

It all happened today when I decided to take a photo of the LGBB in her under-desk cubby hole. Eating a lollipop and listening to Shirley Barber's Fairy Stories on her headphones ("when you hear this tinkly sound, turn the page"... didn't you just LOVE those as a kid?).



Except.... Jazz caught on straight away. One "click" of the DSLR and she was over by my side in a flash, practically sitting on me so that I couldn't not take her photo, like this one time - last week - when I was trying to take a photo for posterity of my dear Pepper and Jazz actually did sit on me in a most passive-aggressive display. Don't believe me? Here, look at the evidence:


Ahh, a slumbering old lady...



Oh... you have camera? You want to snap MEEEEE! Yes?

Story. Of. My. Elderly. Life *woeful Eeyore look - Peppy's so good at those*

Oh don't yell at me and tell me to get out of the... here I'll just lie at your knee...

No, wait, I'll SIT ON your knee - you shuddup, you, over there *grrr-woof*

There. Isn't that better? I We got what we wanted. Yes? *Arooof*

Jazz is sorry. Very, very sorry. But she can't stop doing it. When she sees me with a camera, she has to come and be in the frame.

Strike a pose.






You will tell me when you think it's time for an intervention on her, won't you, dear reader(s)?



I am grateful to my dear dog, Jazz, who herself is not getting any younger (she's 7 now but acts like a pup, always), for helping me smile after the post about our elderly matron earlier this week. No change in old Pepper, but still very much here and sticking to my side.... perhaps frustratingly so, as I can't seem to move in any direction without her being there and I have to be careful not to kick her over. Yes. That close.

Thanks for popping by if you've come from Maxabella's lovely place, I hope to visit you at yours if you've linked up there this weekend:







Wednesday, July 13, 2011

My friend, my doula, my Nightingale dog. Pepper.

I recently mentioned on Facebook that I had lived with my dog now for as long as I have lived with my own mother. Counting accurately, it's not exactly true. But it's close enough.

I was seventeen when my mother kicked me out. That's seventeen years I spent under her roof. We've been living with Pepper since 1995. That's sixteen years this coming Christmas.

This is a post I have been putting off for a while now. Long-timers to my blog have probably seen me post at least once each season for the past few years (at least) that I doubt she will see out another winter/summer. And still, this old battleaxe is chomping through the days. Well, I suppose now she's gumming them.

One of my favourites for showing Pepper's younger personality:
This was taken the day after Ella was born, she was so happy to see Steve!


In the time we have had Pepper, my fingers have had a lot of hours to rub her ears, stroke her head, massage her doggy shoulders and back, find the spots where she loves most to be itched. Those would be on her rump - she would give me the best doggy grins and "huffy-puff", as Steve and I called it, really showing her appreciation for the scratch of our hands - and also a thumb and forefinger drawing a slow line into a pinch from the base of each ear to the centre of the back of her neck. She still loves that one.

But it's hard for me now, to do it. Each time I interact with my dearest friend in the world, I'm reminded: she's not quite all here and not yet all... there. The shape of her skull has changed, I noticed just tonight. Another thing to add to the mental list I've been compiling. The space in front of those beautiful, almost regal, proudly pointy intelligent ears (can ears be intelligent?? Hers were very smart on her, that's all I know) has hollowed. Her top lip protrudes now, unhindered by strong, full length teeth. Her breath is foul. Her rump - once the subject of much discussion with her vet - is now my main cause for concern, for twice today, her back end has collapsed under her feather-weight. I dread... I just dread the next bit.

I want to have it over with - I curse her numerous times a day for still being here (it is really very difficult nursing a palliative care dog!) but find myself tending her for countless minutes as well. This is where my lost time is spent. Where once I used to gaze at my baby, I now gaze at this old girl before me (as I type, right next to my feet - she is still happiest and most settled there, where she knows we are).

In her heyday, Pepper was a portly 25kg at her heaviest - may not sound like much but she had to be under 20kg to be healthy. It wasn't the last time I worked hard to help her lose weight - it helped me too - and several months later, she tipped the scales 6kg lighter. The vet said she should be the poster dog for weight loss and commended both of us. Peppy huffed her audible, huffy-puff smile. It was a telltale symptom that would eventually turn out to be a collapsed larynx in her later years (something that good ol' homoeopathics has been easing lately, would you believe! Yes, so? I had a consultation for my dog... so what about it?)

I just know I am going to be so bereft without her. Ahhh, shite. Made myself cry thinking about it. It's so close, Internets. I can really feel it now. In so many ways, this dog has surpassed the Tour of Duty any dog makes for its owner. She has caught so many countless of my tears in her fur that even to this day (literally, today), she knows when I am giving her a hug... it is because I really need a hug too. And bless her sweet, age-addled heart, she gives it back. I wish I could balance a camera in one hand to show you what we look like together.

I'm angst-ridden. I looked at Steve tonight as she sat in a very awkward dead-legged position, unable to shift her light weight to stand up and said softly, "It's not going to be long now."

Bugger it.

We've had so very long together, my doggy and I. She has meant more than I can express - when nobody knew how to deal with me after Ellanor died, she was my only comfort each day. I would cling to her and weep and she would sit there and whine softly as I did so. You cannot pay any therapist to do that for you. She's surpassed being simply a "dog" to me - I suppose the good ones always do, don't they? I am tending her now as she tended me in my deepest, most bereaved years. She never ever failed me. Ever. There's not quite enough words to convey just how much she has meant to me, how connected I feel to her. All the ways we used to be connected - gazes for seemingly ever into each others' eyes, her ability to come from anywhere to sit by my side when I was upset, countless word and visual cues (she was the smartest dog who applied herself so diligently, almost anxiously, unlike the smarter Jazz who doesn't apply herself nearly as well and has a devil-may-care attitude and a whippy bloody weapon of a tail to match) - have all fizzled and petered out now to virtually none. The only connection I have to her, one of the only distinctly Pepper things about her are those gorgeous, velvety ears. She looks at me and I know half the time she doesn't remember a thing. I can see it in her face. Yet somehow, she also knows she needs to be near me. These days, I am the comforter. And while I do have my many moments when I'm frustrated to tears by the mere fact she is still existing, I don't, can't, imagine her not existing now. I marvel with Steve often that she is still here. And we still joke regularly that she may just outlive our seven year-old "puppy" yet....

I never expected to get more than ten years with her. That would have made her twelve. We thought that was old. She shouldn't be alive. Kelpies don't live (very well) past about sixteen. Pep's turned eighteen this year. She's gotta go soon. And I can't bear the wait.

Just cannot stand it.

And you know what hasn't been helping as I write this?  It's one of the most beautiful songs that came on my iTunes playlist (one I actually played over and over when I was pregnant with my little Lolly). I can almost hear all the final seasons in this song that she has lived - out-lived - and it's getting close now. Real close.

If I go missing anytime in the next few months without word.... will you promise to remember why? I just don't know if I'll be able to post about it.



Ever faithful, even with impending arrival #2 a short month away.
Never turned an eye or an ear from me, until her faculties began to fail her in 2009.

That lovely bushy tail is a mere lifeless stick now.
And once again, Jazz the photo-bomber stole her thunder....


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