Barnmaven

We owe them

The first time I had to have a dog euthanized (no, I don't pretty it up, that's what it is) my daughter was just starting to walk and the pit mix we'd had since we moved in together started being food aggressive.  Because she was already completely animal-aggressive, we made the tough decision to have her humanely euthanized.  We loved our dog, and we knew if she went to the shelter, her breed would ensure she would very likely not be adoptable, and we didn't feel comfortable placing the responsibility for keeping her and others safe on anyone else's shoulders.

The vet asked me if I wanted to stay in the room with her.

Did I want to?  Absolutely not.  I wanted to be as far away from that place as humanly possible.  No, I did not want to watch my dog die. 

But I owed it to her to be there.

I was the person who took responsibility for her when I signed the adoption paperwork at the shelter.  I was the person who had made the decision to end her life.  Yes, the reasons for doing it were the right reasons, the safety of people always comes first, but it was still my decision and I needed to own that.  And being faced with the choice of being there for my dog or abandoning her to the care of strangers for the final moments of her life cemented in me a belief that I still hold to firmly.  Our household pets rely on us for affection, attention, leadership and companionship.  In the final moments of their lives, when those moments have been scheduled by us, we owe them nothing less than our full presence. 

I've been present for dogs who didn't belong to me because their owners couldn't or wouldn't give them that final gift, and I mourned their passing as much as I mourn the passing of my own.

I believe to my bones that Hercules had a good death.  He was so very sick.  His heart was grossly enlarged, and the drugs that the vet gave me to try to ease his discomfort were doing nothing at all to help him.  All he could do was stand and try to breathe.  He couldn't lie down, it put too much pressure on his lungs and chest and he would panic and start to choke.  He stood there yesterday, looking at me with eyes that were frightened and confused, eyes that begged me to make things better.   Because there was absolutely nothing I could do to ease his condition, I did the only thing I could - I chose to end his suffering.

Before the children left to go to their dads they each got to hug him and tell him they loved him, and when my ex came to pick them up he spent some time with him as well.  And when the time came, when he died, he was in his own home, on his favorite blanket, with his head in my arms.  I stroked his soft ears and kissed his crusty old nose and petted his head and told him over and over again what a good boy he was, how much he was loved, and that I was sorry he was so sick.  I told him that we would see each other again someday, that he had been the best dog, the smartest dog, the sweetest dog that ever lived.  He never flinched, never felt the drugs that finally let him have peace. 

It was earlier this fall that I did the math in my head and realized that the Hercapotamus was almost twelve.  He had already lived the top range of life expectancy for his breed.  I knew then that I would be lucky to have him very much longer.  Just weeks ago he was still himself, bouncy and exuberant.  When he started to walk into the house after being outside rather than run, I sort of knew what was coming.  But I waited for him to tell me it was time to go.  And so he did.

Dogs teach us what it means to love fully and without reservation.  Because their time with us is so brief, they allow us to experience the full circle of life, from childhood to death, and from that cycle we learn how to cope with enormous loss.  The love they give is a treasure, something precious and meaningful.  Each dog is unique and special in his or her own way.  No one will ever love you the way your dog loves you.  Your children will grow up, and while they will love you, they won't always need you.  Your partner or your spouse, they are fully actualized adults and while they love you, while they want to be with you, they don't need you.   Your dog, on the other hand, needs you for as long as he lives.  You are the center of his universe.  When he needs comfort it is your hand she seeks, when he is thirsty or hungry or cold, it is you to whom he comes with his need.

Take responsibility for his comfort, his safety.  And when it is his time to leave this world, you owe it to him to usher him on his way with all of the love and presence of mind you can muster.  Don't let his last touch be that of a stranger.  Make sure yours is the last voice he hears as he crosses over, because you are the most important person in the world to him.

 

A Life Well Lived

He entered our lives on one of those frightfully humid days that only New Jersey in August can offer.  He'd been living with a family who couldn't cope with his separation anxiety and so they surrendered him to a local boxer rescue.

We were technically just going to foster him.

But he belonged.

Herc "talked."  Constantly.

He was wise and he was gentle, loyal and trustworthy.  He loved all children.  He was the temperament tester for all of the foster dogs that followed him.

As he got older, his face started to show more gray, but he still had bounce. 

At least, until the last few weeks.  I noticed he didn't come running into the house after being in the yard, he started to walk instead.  He'd still wiggle his nub when people came over, but he wasn't quite as exuberant as he had once been.

A few days ago, he started wheezing and coughing and having trouble breathing.  I figured he had a virus and made an appointment with my vet to have him looked at next week.  We didn't quite make it that long.

 

 

Hercules passed away this afternoon, peacefully in my arms.  His big heart finally gave out on him.

 

Somewhere there is a place where every dog has a house and every house has a dog

There is always a warm patch of sunlight to snooze in

There are always cookies

And the water bowl fills itself.

Nobody says things like "Down!"  "Stay!"  "Out!"  "No!"  "Bad Dog!"

In fact, nobody's even allowed to say "Bad Dog!"

Only dogs get to be on the couch

And the bed

And no one gets mad at you if you lift the last piece of pizza

Right out of the box

You always get your ears scratched

And they get in line for the privilege of rubbing your belly

Naps are sacred

Cats aren't allowed

All the food tastes like hambone

And there aren't any pills you have to swallow.

Your joints don't hurt anymore and you can run and jump and play

Just like you did when you were a pup.

That's where I'm going, at least for now. 

Someday, when you're on your way somewhere else, you'll pass by

And I'll wait for you by the gate.

Then we will finish our last journey together.

And there will be cookies.

 

Rest easy, big man.  Mama loves you.  See you at the Bridge.

Our bleeding hearts

My parents would gently admonish me.  Friends would roll their eyes.  Boyfriends (and later, husbands) would think at first that it was sweet, cute, but eventually they, too, would just sigh and shake their heads.

It could be a dead cat on the side of the highway.  A goose with a broken wing, or one that had lost her mate (they mate for life, you know).  A dog stranded in the middle of the road near the concrete divider.  A racehorse who shattered her leg in the final hundred yards of the race and had to be euthanized on the spot.  Anything.

My heart would crack wide open, the tears would come.  I would imagine their pain, their fear, their suffering, and suffer right along with them. 

The older I get, the more I learn that not everyone loves them the way that I do, that tragedy and loss are a part of life, that we can't fix everyone's suffering.  At least, I pretend to learn these valuable lessons, but secretly, deep inside, I go on grieving those souls.  Animals cannot speak to us in words, but our pets,they give us the best that they have, they love us unconditionally.  Animals in the wild live purely and without guile; they don't know how to be anything but exactly what they are.  They are beautiful beyond words, beyond breath.

My daughter, she has this bleeding heart too.

Picking her up at the aftercare place the other day, I find her tear-streaked and sad-eyed.

"What happened, baby?"

"The other kids were laughing at me.  They were horrible."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart.  What were they saying to you?"

"Well, there was this CAT, mom and it only had three legs.  And it was kind of hopping along, and it was just so sad that I cried."

My heart cracks in two right along with her.  "Oh, baby."

"The other kids all laughed at me and they were teasing me.  They were saying horrible things like about a dog that got hit by a car and another dog that broke its leg.  One kid was telling me about shooting squirrels.  Shooting them!"

I hate their cruelty.  Not just to my daughter, but that they could be so callous about the pain of a living creature.

 

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.               

             ~Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

 

Yes, she has her own thoughts, her own heart.  

 

A bleeding heart, just like her mama. 

Missing her

Its been over a year now since I lost Lady. 

Occasionally she comes in my dreams, at odd random times, as if to let me know she loves me and is watching over us. 

If you're in the mood for sappy, try this on for size.

 

Now that I've totally depressed you, have a nice weekend. 

 

Bits & Pieces

We have a new foster in the house.

Meet Katie:

Katie is an 8-month old retriever mix.  Horrid photo, I know.  She's such a beautiful deep black that its hard to get a decent photo of her with the camera phone.

Katie was adopted once, but the dog at her new home started being really nasty to her, and finally Katie started to fight back.  The original dog is a lot smaller than she is, so her family made the heartwrenching decision to turn her back to the rescue.

She's a real sweetheart, Katie is.  She gets along with the other dogs, she respects the cats, loves the kids.  Mostly perfect.

Her new nickname, though, is "Katydid." 

As in...

"Who chewed up my shoe?"

'Katie did."

"Who chewed up this toy?"

"Katie did."

"Who chewed the vacuum cleaner power cord into THREE SEPARATE PIECES????"

"Katie did."

Sigh.

 

 

This is love

They crowd around me, dancing slightly, grinning, ears cocked, eyes sparkling.  They are so happy.  Life is simple for them -- eat, sleep, poop, chase things.  Mama loves us and we love her.  The short people love us and sometimes they poke us in the eyeballs and pull on our ears, but we love them too and Mama praises us when we are patient with this.  Kitties make treats from their butts that are good to snack on.

And when I free my hands and I pet their big heads, scratch their chests, kiss their noses, the look in their eyes melts into ecstasy.  Life is perfect RIGHT NOW.  She is petting us. She will always pet us.  We are happy. 

I think briefly, "they're so silly," and then I recall a moment this weekend, a snippet of time forever captured in my mind's eye.  A warm afternoon, a weekend spent together.  His large warm hands pull me close, I bury my face in his neck and inhale the scent of him.  He strokes my hair.  I sigh.  Life is perfect right now.  I am happy.  No words are needed.

Not silly at all. 

Tuesday Mismash

My poor neglected blog.

I was AWOL last week, but for really fabulous reasons.  I attended a conference on supply chain put on by a company whose software I use at my job.  They do their conference every year and a half; the last time was in Atlanta, and my company won an award and I had a videotaped interview about the software and the improvements we experienced by using it.  This conference I had no responsibilities other than networking and pestering other folks in my line of work for solutions to some of the issues we currently face.  And the best part?  This conference was held at the Loew's Royal Pacific Resort hotel at Universal Studios Orlando.  Yes, I found a half hour every day to bake my butt at that fabulous pool.  And there really is a lagoon with that float plane in it.  

I stayed an extra day, most of which was spent shopping for things for the kids and lounging by the pool.  I also got to see my soon-to-be-former in-laws (which I suppose makes them outlaws?) for a dinner and a breakfast. 

It was a working vacation, in many ways.  Great conference, great experience.  Lots of people that I met there to email this week reminding them that I am pestering them for things.

S stayed at the house and took care of the zoo, bless his heart.  He's so nonchalant about the craziness of my Dr. Doolittle life.  My folks and my ex managed the kids, and I had fun and even though I missed everyone, I can't describe to you the incredible feeling of sunning yourself by a pool full of screaming kids when NONE OF THEM ARE YOURS.  Tuning out "Mommy!  Mommy!  Mommy!" by turning up my iPod because they're not talking to me! 

I also got to see Blue Man Group in Orlando, which was INCREDIBLE and FABULOUS and I am telling you that if you ever EVER get the chance to go see them live, DO IT.  DOOOOO ITTTTTT.  It was AMAZING and totally worth the cost of the ticket.

By the time I got home, though, I was ready to bury my face in my children's hair and give them six days' worth of hugs and kisses.

Here comes the sad part.

Two things happened while I was gone.  Bella got adopted.  Which I supposed is both happy AND sad.  Happy because she got this family that really really loves her (to the point that the husband has Bella as his wallpaper on his phone - not his kids or his wife) and yay, no more cleaning up puddles of Bella pee but sad in that no more Bella kisses and Bella Belly rubs and calling her Hellz Bellz and Stinkerbella and BellaBellaBella.  Lexie also got adopted, but at least I got home just in time to take her to meet her new family and kiss her goodbye through tears.  I didn't really get to say goodbye to Bella.

And I didn't get to say goodbye to Cin-Cin either.

The chickens have stayed out of the yard as a general rule.  Once Penny got in and I got to her in time to save her from being gummed to death by Hercules, but I had figured that for the most part the Chickens understood that the pasture was theirterritory and the yard belonged to the big furry barking things.  Until Saturday morning.  That's when Cin-Cin for God only knows whatreason decided to venture into the back yard.  And the dogs were there.  And Cin-Cin is no longer with us.

S saved her poor little body for me and I buried her last night after I got home from work.  I cried a whole bunch for that silly little hen.  She was the sweetest thing ever.  She would let you pick her up and cuddle her, when you talked to her she would cluck and chirrup back to you, she would eat food right out of your hand.  She laid the most beautiful small brown eggs, one every day.  

I buried her in the pasture next to Lady.

Now I can go sit out there and talk to both of them.

The kids were glad to have me back, and their dad said I can have them every night this week, even though its not "my" night every night.  (I'm sure he's glad for a break.)  He told them I would pick them up after school yesterday, and I think C misunderstood and when it came time for him to get on the bus to go to aftercare he had a complete meltdown.  To the point where the school called me and said someone had to come get him because they couldn't put him on his bus in that condition.  Thank God and all the angels for K, the director of his aftercare, who when I called her to explain drove straight over there to get him, soothed him and got him through the rest of the day.  I was just about undone when I picked him up and his voice was completely gone from how hard he had been crying.  Poor little man.  We spent a lot of time hugging and cuddling last night, and had fun playing with the toys I brought him from the Universal store.

I am home.  I am glad to be here.

Its just what I do

S asked me the other day why it is that I like having so many animals.

I had a really hard time answering that question.

They certainly complicate life, and fostering (especially fostering highly energetic puppies) makes even the standard daily routine a lot more difficult.  Its not as if I don't have enough on my plate to begin with.

 

I've always loved animals.  We had a dog growing up, a german shephard mix my folks adopted from the Humane Society.   Queenie was a big furry baby sitter to me.  When the big kids were playing too rough, she would pen me in the corner of the yard and not let me out, despite my rather vigorous protests.  If my mom's hands were full with groceries, she would herd me from the car to the porch to the slider door.  She tolerated my attempts to treat her like a horse without ever once losing her temper.  She was my father's dog, loving him the best of all, but she was my other mother.  She was always there, for 15 years, and I can still feel the tug on my heart when I think of how much I miss her. 

When we moved from the city to the country, my parents set the bar for me when it comes to farm life.  We went from being a one-dog city family to a one dog, three cat, five duck, one (and at times two) horse, ten chicken and occasionally a donkey and a steer or two country family.

Rescue and having a large contingent of animals was never something I planned to do, but for whatever reason they just kept showing up.  With one exception, all of the animals who found their way into my life were either strays, adopted from a shelter, or adopted through a rescue.  Its not that I need to have them all - its that I can, and that the need on their part is so great. Each and every one of them is an individual, with unique personality and traits.  Hercules wiggles, Roscoe can be counted on to tolerate the loving abuse of children with equanimity, Juliet rules the house like the little princess she is. 

 

T-Bone, his job is just to follow me and make sure I don't get lost.

I see no reason why people should be irresponsible with the lives of animals.  With dominion comes great responsibility, and it is my fixed opinion that a great number of people have been terribly lacking in their duty to properly care for our planet and the animals who inhabit it.  The best leaders are the people who understand that leadership is not power at all, but a terrible burden.  In the same way, being at the top of the food chain doesn't mean that we ought to be sitting on our front porch having target practice with the neighborhood squirrels or killing animals simply for a trophy set of horns.  We are stewards, and we ought to be mindful of that.  I'm not against hunting and I'm not against eating meat.  What I'm against is the irresponsible decimation of animals for no other reason than sport.  Killing for the sake of killing.

We have, over thousands of years, formed a partnership with dogs and with cats.  We have bred them to be loyal, loving members of our household.  All recognized breeds have a purpose for which they were created, and there are a number of breeds whose only job was to be human companions.

I've seen dogs treated horribly by people, abused, neglected, starved.   They come in to rescue with no reason whatsoever to retain any loyalty to the human race and still they trust us to care for them.  Back in New Jersey we'd get dogs surrendered by the puppy mills in Pennsylvania (there are Amish farmers in PA who use those great big barns as breeding facilities) who had never in their life been out of a crate.  They'd never been OUTSIDE.  Or seen a vet.  Or played with a toy.  Elderly dogs, sick, taken to shelters by owners who couldn't be bothered to care for them in the last days of their life.  Abandoned dogs, starving, barely alive.

I've never been able to see an animal or a child suffer abuse without feeling all the way into the center of my being that I should do something about it.  Now, my therapist has told me that is an emotion I should be on the watch for, as it apparently connotates something unhealthy.  Frankly, I beg to differ.

My mom said in passing a while back, "You know, you really need more acreage for all these animals."  Then she looked at me and laughed and said, "I take it back.  If you had more room you'd just have more animals."  She's right.  I'd run a horse rescue in a heartbeat if I had the acreage and resources.

While browsing one of my favorite horse blogs, I clicked on a link that led me to this story.  I'll warn you that if you click through, you'll see some graphic photos of a horse that was terribly abused and near death.  The person who responded to the craigs list ad for her realized how poor her condition was and convinced the owner to let him take her away for a decent burial.  She couldn't even stand up, and had to be loaded onto his trailer by being carried on a plywood board.

Miracle's story has a happy ending, she has made a remarkable recovery and just last week made the trip to her new adoptive home.  Sadly, for many animals who are abused or neglected, there IS no happy ending.  The people who volunteer for the rescues, who donate food and supplies, who foster, who give us air time and feature our adoptable animals on the news or who write articles about us in the paper, they are the ones standing in the gap. 

I stand with them.  I can't explain to you why - nor should I have to.  Its just something I do.

More than Mommy

Last Thursday and Friday I was in a meeting room at a hotel that faces the waterfront in Portland, Oregon.  For two days I was sharing ideas and planning goals with our operations team.  Its a group of exceptional people, all very smart, all very good at what they do.  Listening to us collectively I was once again struck by how much I like each and every one of my peers and how well we collaborate. 

For a couple of days I was free as a bird, even though I was working.  S took care of the zoo, the kids were at their dad's for a couple of nights. No one was calling my name, needing to be let outside, demanding a snack or requesting my presence.

 

Even after things in my marriage got really bad, the thought of separation was terrifying to me.  It wasn't being on my own, it wasn't fear of falling into a financial black hole.  What I imagined I would not be able to cope with was spending nights or weekends or even longer without my children.  Merely considering being away from them made it hard to breathe.  So when the end of the marriage inevitably came, as much as it was a relief, fear remained.

The first night my children stayed with their father felt like the longest night of my life.  I couldn't concentrate on anything, sleep eluded me, and when I finally did sleep I had horrid dreams.  I'd already given up the role of being my husband's wife; now I felt like I was abandoning, however briefly, being my children's mother as well.

Throughout those first months, Friday nights were a struggle.  Mondays weren't so bad, I always had work to keep me busy and so much to do with taking care of animals that I didn't feel the emptiness of the house until almost bedtime.  But Fridays into Saturday mornings -- too many hours alone.  I didn't even consider going out or socializing.  For a few months, I immersed myself in the computer, playing games, the same place I'd escaped from an unhappy marriage became the place I hid from the bitter pain of missing my children.

Winter was long and it was dark.  It wasn't until spring came that I began the slow crawl out of that hole.  My friend had our trainer out for a clinic at her place, which got me out of my house and back on a horse.  That clinic led to weekly trail rides, led to me finding my dream horse, led to friendship and laughter and fun.  Fridays and Saturdays began to take on a new shape, no longer looming on the horizon as time to be endured but as something to anticipate.  I was not only finding a role for myself outside of mother, I was building a friendship, meeting other people who shared my interests, being outdoors.  Outside of my job I was meeting other people whose first impression of me wasn't that I was somebody's mom or somebody's wife.  I was ME. 

I started fostering for the rescue, and staked claim on another role for myself.  I began to understand that although being my children's mother is the most important job I have, even though its a job I will hold until I die, it also won't be as encompassing forever as it is now.  Someday my children will grow up and start lives of their own.  Between now and then, they will become more independent, finding their own roles in life, and they will need less of me.  As that gap widens, if all I have been is "Mom," who will I then be when they don't need me anymore? 

Women with children often get pigeonholed as being little else than mothers.  Women without children often get pigeonholed as women who are "missing" something in their lives.  Our reality can be - truly is - so much richer than that. 

I believe it is important for anyone, but especially for women with young children or careers to carve out space in their lives to do the things that interest them.  Music, photography, crafting, cooking, gardening, creating artwork, writing, carpentry, car repair, remodeling, horseback riding, karate -- whatever those things are that make you feel truly alive when you do them.  Find your groove and go do that as much as you possibly can. You will not always be your job, you will not always be herding children from school to dance to basketball games.  There will come a day when you will be at loose ends more than not, and if you don't have something to fill that void, I guarantee you will feel a greater sense of loss than the person who has already discovered their passion outside of work or parenting.

I'm no longer bound by fear of losing my role as a parent.  I realize that mothering my kids is something I will do to varying degrees throughout my life, but it is not the only thing I will do.

When I'm free of the responsibility of my life, for a few hours or a few days, I'm no longer stumped for ways to fill that time.  I'm not spending countless hours interacting with other characters in an online game -- I'm spending rich, immensely satisfying hours interacting with my animals and with other people in real life, taking part in activities that bring me tremendous pleasure.  It wasn't until I learned to honor my own needs and find my own niche that I was able to outpace the fear of loss that was holding me hostage.

I am a mother.  It is the most important job I have  - FOR NOW. 

I am also:  horsewoman, animal rescuer, singer, writer, musician, friend, bibliophile, manager, someone's love...and for a few more weeks, puppy chew toy.

Puppies, headaches and mania, oh my!

Thanks to S, whose next contract job doesn't start until April(ish) I was able to volunteer to foster puppies for the rescue.  Wait, maybe I'm phrasing that wrong.

Because I'm a forgetful person and a total pushover for babies, I managed to get suckered into fostering puppies for the rescue, aided and abetted by my darling S, who apparently is a sucker of gre at magnitude.

Meet Bella:

and her litter mate Lexie:

As I write this, they are under my chair, chewing on my Uggs.

They are 7 1/2 week-old bundles of cuteness, charm, needle-sharp teeth and an endless reserve of piddle.  The boys have their noses seriously out of joint and the cats are hatching murder plots.  If they don't quit chewing on the power cord to my laptop, though, the cat's won't need to murder them.  I will.

Puppy antics aside, I'm enjoying a few days of relative calm.  I'm pretty sure C was cycling this weekend, the end result of that being a complete inability to cope with anything.  He spent much of Saturday night an Sunday either crying over things that weren't going right or screaming at the top of his lungs because things weren't going right.   He was on sensory overload and just couldn't cope.  Monday I had to get him from school because he was so upset about going to his class Valentine's Day party that he laid on the floor in the hallway sobbing for an hour.

We all survived it, mostly.  Last night after everyone else was sleeping C and I cuddled together on the couch and watched The Tooth Fairy.  He was tired and so was I, but neither of us was ready to give up each others company.  Those are the moments that get me through the trying times. 

A had a terrible headache last night.  Its the second one she's had in as many weeks.  Friday before last I ended up taking her to the ER.  She'd had a headache since the night before, and when we went to see our pediatrician, she also said her neck was hurting.  He was concerned about meningitis and sent us straight to Emergency.  Apparently when they suspect bacterial meningitis in children, they don't mess around.  AT ALL.  We were ushered straight into a room.  The pediatric doctor on rotation examined her, then had blood drawn to check white-cell counts.  It was A's first blood draw and she likes needles about as much as I do, so it ended being quite the rodeo, with four nurses and me holding her down so the nurse could get her samples taken.  Fortunately her white cell count was in normal range, so they sent us home with some Naproxen and instructions to rest.  The Naproxen worked its magic and she was much better within a few hours.  Last night the headache started again and she was unable to sleep, so I gave her another one.  She got sleep, but I tossed and turned.  Of course.

 

Anyone in the market for a puppy?