A Snail's Pace.

Thank you all, most sincerely, for your kind wishes and comments. They of course, only make me cry more, but it's an okay kind of cry.

We've been recovering at a snail's pace. We know exactly what speed that is, because for a while we adopted Mimi snail, rescued from a dangerous journey across a parking lot - that's how desperately we needed to fill some sort of hole left in our need to nurture. Mimi visited us within a day or two of Beauty's passing, and spent a while living in a nice bourbon box with delicious leaves and pretty stones. They are really, really neat creatures. Mimi is short for Slimey, as nicknamed by Josephine. He/She (they're hermaphrodites, you know) was set free before we took a long weekend in Buffalo. He/she obviously doesn't love us, because he/she didn't come back.




Coming soon, a catch-up and stories of my storegasms at Pottery Barn Kids. And possibly, a plea for help - after being thumped by some snot-nosed brats at Barnes and Noble and again the previously mentioned child accessory Nirvana, Josephine now hates having other kids near her. What to do?

Beauty is Gone

Dear Friends,

Last night Beauty was put to sleep.

It's hard to explain why. The progression from being a little sore last Friday and being treated for arthritis-type symptoms to having no use of her legs at all on Tuesday afternoon was rapid.

What caused it could have been any number of things, from a simple slipped disc that an operation might have cured her readily and quite thoroughly to the most likely suspect, a tumour on the spine that had spread. We chose not to know, because the diagnostic procedures, operation and possible recovery would have been long and painful for such an old dog. Or, the diagnosis alone and potential results would have been painful enough for us, as it would have had to have been done under general anesthetic, and depending on the prognosis, the euthanasia would have occurred with a phone call and without a proper good bye - an unbearable thought.

After her trips to the vet here in Toronto, and an overnight stay that was tearful and anxious as we wondered whether she'd come home at all - we almost regret that we were given hope that a trip to Guelph for a visit with a neurologist would make the decision easier. If it weren't for the fact that a massive dose of steroids was the only thing making her comfortable and seemingly bright and pain-free; if it weren't for the fact that the world is such that it's frighteningly, horrifically, grossly expensive to even get to a place where you feel your decision is based on your dog's welfare alone; if we didn't have a vet who spent more than two hours of her own time helping us come to this decision, you would be reading a different letter. You wouldn't be reading a letter at all - we'd just be broke with an old dog that required extra care.

The truth is, Beauty was the best dog we ever had, either of us. She was rescued almost ten years ago from a rotten life we'll never know about, and was spoiled silly and treated like our baby ever since then. She has been there almost since the beginning of Steve and Marla, and was our friend, our pet, our companion and our guardian. It was a rough adjustment for her when a human baby came along, and she aged rapidly. When she found out that the new addition to the family meant that there would be food dropped on the floor frequently and that Josephine would love her to distraction and there would be more walks and hugs galore, well, she managed to appear almost grateful at times.

The decision, which didn't feel brave but cowardly, came because there was no way to tell her that it might be okay at the other end of a long struggle, or that the goodbye before a night in the hospital just might be the only one. We couldn't know, and couldn't stand with her on that precipice any longer. Falling asleep in her Marla's arms seemed to be the kindest thing to do, for us and her.

Beauty has been cremated, and her ashes will be in a common grave at the Ancaster Pet Cemetery. We didn't accept the offer of a paw print, or her remains returned because we have a house full of her memory: hundreds of images of her sleeping in uncomfortable positions, five million black hairs, claw marks on the kitchen floor, nose prints on the windows, food in the cupboard, and bones we'll be finding for years after they've been hidden. And already, five times today, requests for Beauty from Josephine.

When you see us, your sympathetic glances will be enough. Nice words and kind things to say will only get a choked up "I know", or "Thanks". The veneer of composure that we're wearing is the thinnest covering for our broken hearts, and all it will take is an "I'm sorry about Beauty" to break it. Our eyes are sore and teary, we have been sleepless for a long time, and we can barely keep ourselves from worrying our daughter with our shocking grief.

When you have a good dog, it's never for long enough and you hope it's never for too long. The balance between what is too little and too much medical intervention is precarious. The insufficient communication between a human and dog has never before seemed so flawed, and to answer the questions in those sad brown eyes was impossible. We can only hope that we gave Beauty a good life and a good death, and we cannot know for sure. We only know we are bereft, and that she will no longer be in any pain.

Yes, a world where it's only $185 to cure your dog and over $4000 to put her down would be a better one. I'd have moved heaven and earth to help Beauty - it was easier to just move heaven.

Steve, Marla and Josephine Good

Marla Needs To Stop.

Sorely in need of a laugh, as Beauty is not much better despite some treatment for her arthritis, I found this here, and decided to try this stimulating and productive diversion. Thanks Amy!

Go to Google.
Type, "(Your name) needs".
Yes, in quotes, so it looks like this "Marla needs". But with your name, not mine, unless you really want to look through the eight pages I did.

Post your top five favourites (Feel free to hijack my comments for this if you don't want to sully your own blog).

Of course, I couldn't stop at five. Or seven. But, eventually, I had to stop when I was told to, in big capital letters. Seriously.

Here's what came up:

"Marla needs to find a guy who will be excited about seeing her."

"Marla needs a home!"

"... Marla has been adopted or is otherwise no longer available for adoption." (actually, yes, I was, about 36 years ago!)

"... She also likes to sleep on a big soft dog bed, which she shares with the other dog. Unfortunately, Marla needs training not to jump on people." (Not saying anything.)

"Marla needs an intensive intervention of phonics and English vocabulary that goes beyond basic words. She would benefit from formal intensive tutoring"

"Marla needs a way to keep careful track of her work, and to learn how to focus on one piece, taking it from the prewriting to final-draft stage."

"Marla needs 3 hours."

"Marla Needs to be here."

"I know I’m only good for a few minutes, but I don’t know how long Marla needs so, with her legs hooked over my arms, I stimulate her **** with my thumb..." (Edited, because ...ick... and um, thumb?)

"Marla needs to know who is sabotaging the gala event."

"Marla needs people around her to get her memory back."

"Marla needs snacks for all of the students going on the field trip. She bought 9 boxes of granola bars containing a total of 88 bars."

"Marla needs to stop. She's been drinking too much this summer."

"Marla needs to learn tolerance of others by the end of this session."

"Marla needs some air.

"Marla needs to stay where she is at."

"Maybe Marla needs to lose the sweater then."

"Too bad your career demands and Marla's needs didn't always coincide."

"Marla needs a make-over?"

"Marla needs a protector and a strong hand."

"Marla needs to do is come up with some interesting
ways to use Jagermeister in our every day cooking."

"Marla needs imformation on the planet Neptune." (sic)""

"Marla needs it bad."

"Marla needs a lot of assistance during her exhausing schedule of daily projects."

"Marla needs to find out about him from eavesdropping and snooping."

"If there is such a thing as a "saint", Marla needs no canonization. Her love anddedication already assured her status. Let no one ever forget her, ..."

"MARLA needs to stop."

Teaching An Old Dog Owner New Tricks.

This picture was taken last Spring. Since then, Beauty has aged considerably. Actually, Beauty started aging at an alarming rate beginning about nineteen months ago, but hardly noticeably until recently. Lately, one can practically hear the gray hairs emerging accompanied by popcorn noises, with every toddler shriek, with every escape from the swerving Tonka dump truck, and with every trip out the door that she's not allowed to come on.

This past week, she's become very quiet. Josie, who loves to hug and kiss and pat her, hasn't received the usual disgusting goopy face-sliming licks in return. She's eating well, her rear end output is at full capacity and consistency, and her nose is slick and cool. But she's not herself. I've called off the toddler - I've kept the two of them separated and distracted. But the latest chew-treat (okay, sorry vegans and vegetarians, but it's a pig's ear) has gone uneaten. The constant hovering for floor droppings has abated. I'm not being followed up and downstairs. Beauty would or could not get off our bed last night, forcing Steve to sleep in the office and me to stay up all night reading Bill Bryson's "A Walk in the Woods", fantasizing about taking five million steps along the Appalachian Trail with only a forty pound backpack and the sound of my own breath for company. And I hate hiking. Around four a.m., her panting shook the bed with its intensity. There were a few yelps as she shifted about. I flipped around, my head at the footboard so she could lay her bristly chin across my neck as we used to do before we introduced the bane of her existence to the house. Two restless buddies listening for the rain and craving some relief, though sleep was impossible for either.

I spent this morning researching possibilities, and trying to figure out how with the car in the repair shop (child safety seat still attached) (garnering a no-doubt heinous bill), what I should do and I'm going to get her to the vet. With the suddenly chilly, rainy weather and the clinic a thirty-five minute walk at best, there's no way I can get us there and back with toddler in tow in a painless manner for all of us before it's time to go to work, even should arriving late be acceptable. My in-laws are going to come this afternoon, Joan to watch Josie and Glen to take Beauty. I think I will have to close the store and go to the clinic with Glen and Beauty. I'm afraid of another situation such as what happened with our dear departed Homey.

This is hard. As a parent, you instinctively do what's right for your child, and it's tempered with experience. Adrenalin sees you through the complications. As a dog owner, I know how to take good care of her. I've assessed her as best I know how, and I've done limb palpitations and listened to heart and bowel sounds and felt her gums and considered her behaviour; I think that it's simply arthritis setting in and so we didn't need the emergency vet this morning. Perhaps she hurt a joint, but it's a stress and discomfort situation that's going to require long-term care and maintenance and guesswork. Nothing too invasive, she's over ten at least and um, Rottweilers, well - how many really old ones have you seen?

As a woman, I'm frustrated because I now see that these sorts of decisions are so conflicted and awkward because the world just isn't set up for ease in the face of emergency. And I'm not wired to just go to work and leave it up to fate. And I'm not disadvantaged in any way - I have one kid, helpful in-laws, an easy job and a husband who left the bank card and said "whatever you need to do". But it's partly the car seat laws - what if I could have just called a cab for when the clinic opened this morning? Even if more cabs took dogs (because some do), they don't all have car-seats and the combination of the two? As if. Partly it's anger at my not having had the foresight to pull the seat before I took the car in for repairs and the winter tune-up in the event I needed to install it in another car. The TTC isn't good enough in this instance. I just can't think of everything, and I'm frustrated that family is so far away and that in the city friends are working stressful jobs or don't have cars or aren't close enough friends to drop everything for the sake of my sick dog. I feel upset that I can't accomplish more here. And then weirded out that I turn to the blog, but what else to do? I've made my decisions for the most part.

I'm sitting here deciding whether I take her to work or leave her at home until after three when when my in-laws can help - what's worse for Beauty? The discomfort of a four block walk and napping on a thin pad and blanket in a quiet store for a few hours just to be with us - or leaving her at home in her comfort zone of our dilapidated sofa, but with my imagination running to thoughts of acute distress? Those sad brown eyes, with their ever-growing cataracts are beseeching me for some relief, but I can't give it yet.

I'm worried about the old girl, and I'm upset with myself that once again I can't take more decisive and immediate action in this situation because of the toddler complication. Once upon a time, I couldn't conceive of loving anyone more than her (and Steve is aware of how that sometimes, but not always included him). And yet, I still have to wonder out loud - why the heck can't dogs get sick during normal business hours when you have transportation, a full night's sleep under your belt, access to emergency child care and better decision making capabilities and options?

I don't have the kind of job wherein I can or need to call in sick. It's a tiny little store the size of my living room, and I might get half a dozen customers on a good day. I can go there if either Josephine or I am sick, because it's not much different than my own living room where I'd spend the day. I dust, I sweep, I re-arrange. In fact, I wanted to post pictures of my lovely new displays and colour vignettes because I'm so proud of the shelves I re-arranged yesterday. I try to do a good job selling without being pushy. But on a good day, when a customer asks for a discount, and I'm inclined to ask "Considering that every item sold is a meal in the belly of my daughter, how much would you like me to take off the thirty dollar price of this ceramic swordfish so you can have the thrill of getting one over on me?" (and I think that's a nice way to say it), well, bitchiness can rear its ugly head in no time flat. On a day like today, how can I have the patience to be there and be helpful, be nice to my busy little girl while there with only a cumulative hour's sleep last night, and do what's right for my dear friend of ten years? This isn't an emergency situation - it's just general suckage. My coping skills are shot lately. I don't like today. I haven't liked the last week or so, but today takes the cake.

So.

We're a bit fatigued around here, as one might guess, from the repercussions of one rotten day about a year ago. Regarding the kind comments and real concern expressed by those who care about us -- wow, thanks. It helps, and I am touched. But the whole thing still sucks, and every mention of it re-opens the wound a little for Steve. I'm just feeling a little sour and used-up. We'll be fine, it's just something to be gotten over and there are no instructions for how to do so. The after-effects of my folly are still foremost in my mind, but to talk about it further is impossible without some scourging. So I won't.

I'm going to take a week or so to put my feet up. There is a bunch of boring, grown-up paperwork stuff that needs to be seen to; the car needs repairing and the wedding anniversary needs celebrating. Then there's Thanksgiving, Steve's birthday, a night out to see a band...I'm tired just thinking of it all. Then there are the fun things I want to make time for - getting my fall clothes out, holiday projects to start, and putting the house in order for hibernation season. My roots need a touch up, it's time for a pedicure, and I have some great new books to read. The weather is lovely, my garden needs tending, and as much as I enjoy it thoroughly -- and love knowing that there is an audience -- blogging is optional.