My dear, my darling...

So you know I adore him. There are moments when I fall in love all over again. When we are at Missy and Casino’s house there are protocols. Protocols that are different from what home protocols are but protocols nonetheless.

They are all fed in different areas. We found out on night one that if Casino is interested he will come to George’s food and George being the fellow he is will leave his bowl for something else. Neither finished and I ended up with George and Casino eating half their food and that was that. If they are separated, they will both eat their full bowls. Good Boys.

After dinner, Missy and Casino get TDs. They are prescription dental chews. They are about one inch by a half-inch approximately and look like Fred Flintstone rocks. They are extremely crunchy. Crunchy tooth fixings. And Missy and Casino crunch them down and while looking me straight in the eye. One for Casino, one for Missy. One for Casino and one for Missy.

So my first night I thought I would be clever and while Casino and Missy were taking their TDs, I would give George his meds. I wrap Georges’ meds up in a slice of Kraft American cheese.

So as they are crunching away, I slip George a packet of cheese-meds. And my sweet darling George takes his packet and starts crunching down on it, looking me in the eye, like his two pals.

No! Just swallow it! Gentle sweet George chews like he hasn’t since he had teeth.

Now normally, George swallows his cheese packets, he swallows his hotdog packets, these things that are supposed to transport medicine, and he rarely chews them. It’s just yum, yum, yum and there we go.

But George, my George who is a sweet gentle get along guy, crunches as the other two do. Oh, my sweet George, I apologize for giving you something other than a crunchy treat. I bought a large freeze-dried lamb lung from Barkworthies to give him something to crunch on while Missy and Casino are munching and crunching.

I do adore you, George. Your companionship, and every 3-dog's-poop-patrol, where you stood by me and in some cases pointed me in the correct direction.

George my George

psiloveu

Tapotement

I have had the unique pleasure of sleeping with Missy. A beautiful strawberry blonde with large liquid brown eyes, delicate thin bones, covered by sleek firm muscles. She could be a ballerina or modern interpretive dancer, but she isn’t. She’s a greyhound, a precious sweet petite greyhound.

I am housesitting, I have the opportunity to have a dog sleep on my bed. George won't get on my furniture, but Missy she likes to sleep on a 'real' bed.

In my life, I have tried this twice before. 

Once with my childhood dog, Kelly, who wasn’t allowed upstairs but whom I would coax to join me. Poor Kelly, she knew it wasn’t right but would accompany me, her charge, anyway. She would get kicked out, I would sneak downstairs and try to sleep with her under the table, except I mostly was found out and sent to bed sans dog.

The other time was when I was sick, very sick in San Francisco. When you are single and very sick, you spend a lot of time hoping you don’t die, and wondering what would happen if you did, which takes you to dark places. Is there enough available food for the animals so they don’t eat me before I am missed. Will I be missed? When was the last time anyone called? I have carte blanche to work at home, will anyone notice that I haven't sent an email in days? The animals are well behaved, will they know enough to get the bag open? I should have vacuumed.

I was feeling pretty miserable, sorry for myself, occasionally frightened, lonely and needing a cuddle. 

I cajoled Izzi, my greyhound, to jump up on my bed. (She also did not get on my furniture. Now I am wondering if, perhaps it was my choice of furniture in which I tend to be frugal, that dissuaded her, whereas I never spared expense on the many—7 I think at one point for her — dog beds she had) She laid down, I got under the covers, and all 67 pounds of her were panting. My bed was vibrating like one of those coin-operated beds you find in small motels on the side of secondary highway routes. 

Yes, I have tried one on a cross-country trip back in the early nineties. I popped in two quarters and away it went. I couldn’t understand the attraction, it was quite distracting and my brain didn’t like it, think jello-jigglers without the giggles. About two minutes in I had to climb off. 

There was no way to stop it, so I went about unpacking what I would need for the night, thinking it was a waste of fifty cents, and shooting sidewards glances at the noisy vibrating box until it finally ran its course. 

Well, that’s what it was like having Izzi panting on the bed. There was no rest or relaxation — her anxiety caused me anxiety so I released her from her task. She promptly laid down next to my bed, a stalwart companion just three feet lower than my feverish corpse-like body.

Back to the present and sweet Missy. It’s a full-sized bed, and Missy, as dogs and cats do, has the uncanny knack of finding the exact middle. The middle which I had claimed until I got up to get something. 

In the past four nights, I have become wise to her ways and have jumped in quickly to claim as much of my side of the bed as I can before she hops up. Last night she tried some fancy diagonal move which had one leg and her butt falling off the side. Startled, she didn’t like that at all, adjusted appropriately, giving me the side-eye the whole time, complete with stress yawn. Your fault human, move over...

She is a complete snuggler and will look me straight in the eye, as she tries to get comfortable. She tucks her nose under the pillow, moves her head this way or that until she gets all comfy. She once tried to steal my pillow as she had knocked her's off the bed. Sorry, Missy ol’ girl — it’s my elbow or nothing. I will give you most of the bed, but not my pillow.

Missy is a retired race dog. I don’t know how many races she ran, but she is still very strong and fast, as evidenced in the race dreams she has at night. Yes, pow, pow, pow, thump, thump, pow, pow, pow, pow all up and down whatever side of my body which happens to be facing her. I am under the covers, she is above, so there are no marks or bruises or scratches, just powerful thumps. 

My next goal is to align my back next to her so it will be like a body treatment somewhere between shiatsu, acupressure, and tapotement. Run, Missy, run you precious little houndie! There is a spot just beneath my left scapula… and thanks for the snuggles. <3

I blame the cat...

How many times have you seen this as a meme...I can honestly say it this morning. I blame the cat.

So George had two very frightening episodes. The first he came out of within an hour, the second landed him at the emergency vet overnight. The current thinking is it's something to do with his neck. When he has these episodes he can't stand up and gets frightened and distressed, as do I.

He is on gabapentin every 8 hours. 6 AM, 2 PM, 10 PM. Prednisone every 12 hours 6 AM and 6 PM.

I have calendarized all his pills and set alarms on my phone. The alarm goes off - I check the calendar notification for the pill to be sure. I do this because the first night he was home I gave him his gaba, 4 hours early at 6 PM because 6 was stuck in my head. It was a mistake - I called the emergency vet and they said, not to worry, he will just be extra sleepy and wait 8 hours to give it to him again. So 2 AM...Over the course of the week, I have been able to get him back on the regular schedule, by messing up one more time.

I am sleeping on the sofa. George is sleeping on blankets and towels that cover 90% of my floor. I had 80% covered but he kept going to the spot where his slumber ball was, and no longer is. I don't want him there because it's in front of the entertainment system where he had flailed about. I don't want him hurting himself.

Yesterday he was pacing to find his spot to settle in; I kept leading him back to the center of the room. Skesicks waited until I was in the bathroom, looked in at me from the end of the living room (yes the door was open, I am single and own a greyhound and a curious cat - I am rarely alone) then proceeded to go to the exact spot I didn't want him to go and laid down. Meanwhile, I am hollering from the throne - I can't see him at this point - George, George? George! don't lie down there! George! Lie on your bed! George? George! When I came out, he was there on the bare floor. The stress in my shoulders and neck tightened like the knots in my cousin Betsi's necklaces. I did pause to wonder, why couldn't it be my abs? I would have rock hard abs by now.

I put blankets around him and finally helped him up an hour later when he wanted to get up, it was an I told you so moment, but I didn't tell him so, because where is the win? Poor bud. So now 90% of my floor is covered.

As I mentioned I am sleeping on the sofa; we are all camping out in the living room. That is one of my silver linings. I always wanted to go camping with George. We are now camping together, all of us, including the cat, who I might add has been really patient and has taken a back-row seat. No longer demanding my attention, just sleeping near George.

I have been sleeping with a small light on so I can immediately see everything when I wake up, either to an alarm or random noise.

I was asleep on the sofa, and I heard something - the cat was trying to wake me up. Meow, meow, pat my face, meow...I thought I had heard a ding from my phone, in 10 minutes the alarm would go off.

I said give me just one more minute Simba, I was exhausted. I closed my eyes and then I heard Simba playing with and chewing on the elastic band on my Kindle cover. Over the years of trial and error, he knows that's the fasted way to get me to react, not a hairball, I can tackle that in the morning.

I realized I had fallen asleep. I had missed George's 6 AM pills but by how much? George was asleep, sort of, with one eye on me. I fumbled for my phone but picked up my apple tv remote instead. I couldn't find the alarm I was swiping my fingers all over it - there wasn't one - it was the bleeping tv remote.

I woke all the way up and went into the kitchen. I looked at the clock on the stove and saw I was a half-hour late. Pulled out the hot dog, pulled out the pills, stuffed it all together and was about to give George his meds, when I thought - double check! I went to my 'real' phone, fumbled to the notifications - yes - "Next up - Gabapentin and Prednisone at 6 AM". It pays to double-check - I have made two mistakes already.

I brought George his hot dog pill packs, he looked at me with surprise and chomped them down. He was relaxed. I was tired. I decided to wait before I fed him. He was comfortable. I laid down, then he was up on his elbows panting. I was doing the math. Last time he was out was midnight. That was 6 hours ago, prednisone makes him thirsty, when he's thirsty he drinks, he needed a pee. Up and shoes on, harness on, dog bags, keys, spied the cracks between the blinds and the window and thought it's still pretty dark, but it's also summer's end. Don't have to worry about how I was dressed for sure.

I reached for the door handle and saw the alarm control panel. 1:33. Damn, I thought - how did the time get changed on that? It was supposed to be 15 minutes off of the actual time (it has been that way since I moved in). I opened the door. It was truly dark outside; there was no glow on the horizon. I closed the door. I walked to the stove and I re-read the time. 1:47. How had that happened? I had specifically looked at the clock, I had specifically looked at my phone... apparently, when I look at a clock, I can focus on the last two numbers and not see the first? I remembered the disappointment that my phone alarm didn't go off, but the notifications were there...as they always are under "Next Up".

I took George out, then called the eVet. Lacey answered. Sweet Lacey, sounded so awake and chipper. She double-checked with the Dr. it should all be okay, no more pills until their next scheduled pills after 6 AM arrives.

I tried to tell her that I blamed the cat, she laughed and said she blames her cat when she has to do laundry, or the dishes or cleaning... no, really he woke me up...I caught myself before I went into detail about how magical he is, he can tell time, woke me up for 5:30 AM conference calls when I forgot to set my alarm... Thank you, Lacey. No problem - have a great morning she said, ah um okay...

I slept for 5 hours. George slept for 5 hours. George had no choice. I gave him gabapentin 4 hours early again. The cat, bless his furry feet, looked contrite.

George wants this camping trip to end, the cat wants my full attention, and I want a shower before I take a nap.



psiloveu.

Existing in Twilight

This morning and most of these last couple of days, I have been in a twilight zone.  Out of step and out of sorts, even now that I have my George back with me.

I live alone.  I am not frightened for myself, but for my charges.  I asked for help and my network was there.  I am so very grateful.  But before that, before the help, I was helpless,

On Thursday, last week, George had an episode where he couldn't stand up fully on his own.  He was on his slumber ball - similar to a human bean bag chair, but with stuffing instead of beads.  He was trying to get up but couldn't.  I put my foot next to his so he would have traction, it happens from time to time he can't get his foot under him on the smooth floor, but that didn't work.
So I rolled up the bag and helped him stand.  Suddenly he was stuck in a half crouch and shaking and panting.  I finally got him to lie down again and sat with him.

When he got up again he was very unsteady and walked as if he were drunk - ping ponging from side to side.  I suspected vertigo, which Izzi had experienced.  He was walking better with each walk and getting steadier.  We got into the vet the next day.

He had weakness in his hind legs, but everything else appeared normal.  He was to have a dental, and while under was going to have x-rays to get more information.  Blood drawn etc.  but okay.  Vertigo was ruled out because his eyes were steady and ears looked good.

Sunday morning it happened again only this time it didn't stop and he was flailing about.  I couldn't calm him and he was distressed.  Two hours later with the help and support of my cousin and a close friend he went to the emergency vet.  It was tears for me for hours.

The staff was confident and upbeat and helpful.  The vet was also positive, but in my minds eye all I could think was the worst.  My frailty, my vulnerability, my incompetence, my loneness, my inability to help my dog at that moment, was completely exposed.  I wasn't enough by myself.  I was terribly frightened and obsessed with the 'what if it happens again'.

They wanted to send him home, he had settled down.  Could get himself, up but not walk without assistance.  I explained I lived alone.  I asked if he could stay overnight.  I knew I didn't have what it would take to get him into the car again and back if it happened again.  I was scared, frightened and felt like a ragged piece of torn lace, hanging on by threads and I felt useless.  I spent the rest of our time apart crying for the creature who showed up for me always, and when it was my turn I fell apart.

I lost it again the next day when he was released.  He didn't want to leave, he didn't want to get into my van.  I sat and cried, then said we'd do this.  I would do this, we could do this together.  I cried all the way home.  I helped him out of the van - now that he was in he didn't want to leave there either.

I watched him like a hawk, he watched me back.  I took him for very shaky walks where he almost fell onto bushes.  I used a pillowcase to support him and the thin lead running under his chest and over his shoulder.  It was successful because he relieved himself.  I was still scared.  I felt incompetent.

I covered the floor with towels for traction, a giant comforter for his bed.  He kept avoiding the dog bed and looked for his slumber ball, but that was removed.

I kept trying to calm myself, he panted.  Six o'clock rolled around and I gave him a pill - gabapentin.  I was four hours early.  A call to the medvet informed me it was okay - he'd just be sleepy.  But don't give him one at ten, wait until two.

It was probably a good mistake, because he slept very deeply, and I was able to relax a little bit.  I stayed up until one am, then set my alarm.  Crawled onto the couch and pulled up a blanket.  I had my own pillow but not my own bed; neither did George, and the cat camped in the living room too.

My alarm went off at two am.  I pulled out his pill, a slice of cheese and added a little peanut butter to make it hold together.  I only had crunchy, so I was trying to avoid the nuts.  He took his pill, I hadn't eaten  all day so I had a spoonful of peanut butter.  It felt like I bit down on a rock, but no - I broke a tooth.

I am grateful it's not painful, but now I don't want to eat because I can't leave George alone...what if...

My moments are full of useless what ifs, fearful what ifs, impotent if onlys, floating around, filling my apartment like dusty dander, puffs of down that fill you nostrils; a suffocating fluff.

We walked at three, again at four, my alarm went off at six for the next set of pills.  I dozed in between.  I left the shades closed so I could nap but didn't.  Perpetual twilight.  Stay awake and watch, doze and dream, wake and walk and stumble and hope he sleeps again so I don't have to worry.

The first real mental break was when a greyhound friend brought a harness for George to wear until his arrives.  We walked and talked and I was able to laugh and for an hour I had a witness to help keep vigil.

The break was good.  I was able to shake some of the feeling of incompetence - to untangle the rats nest of thoughts that had made a home in my head.

I feel unsettled, and I can only imagine that George is far more unsettled.  Things are not the same.  I see his love and his fear.  I can only hope that I grab myself and snap out of it for his sake, and mine.

Today he is a bit stronger with each walk.  I removed the 70 pound seat from my van by myself so I can get George in the side door.  I will be sore for a few days,  and grateful for that because I did something to change my situation, and the ache will be a reminder that I can.

He means the world to me.  I know I need to look beyond my fear, beyond the what ifs, beyond just existing in this twilight, to a place where he is okay.  To relax and enjoy his recovery.  Because he is getting better, in spite of me.

I love you George.

True to Form: My Art class

I actually did get on the road and felt a graceful peace settle on my soul.  I was listening to the music on my iPhone.  Lately, it has been finding songs I haven't heard in a long while.   I do like to drive and listen to my music.  I also had the google maps going which interrupts the music.  I was headed south down I-17.  I was to take that to the I-10 to 7th St.

Now, this is a path with which I am very familiar, having traversed it numerous times to visit family south of Phoenix.

As the voice came on to tell me to take I-10, I purposefully stayed in the left two lanes, confidence soaring through my hands on the wheel.  Life was beautiful, the songs were great.

Then 'she' told me to take the next exit...exit, exit now, I smiled to myself, I am, dear disembodied voice of instruction, just watch me.  Suddenly she said, take Jefferson, the next exit on 1-17S and make an exaggerated U-turn to get back on 17 north.

In my confidence, calm, and peace, I sped past my exit.  Yup.  This cracked me up, as closely as I was 'paying attention' to the instructions, I still missed my exit.

I checked the estimated arrival time - 1:10 still - no worries.  I whipped around and got back on I17 north this time to take the exit I had missed.  Followed the prompts to find out that she set me 'somewhere close' to my final destination.  I had to drive around the block again to reach my final destination.

The class was good, it's a six-week course on acrylics and oils.  We started with charcoal and perspective, moved on to mapping out a still life which we will start painting next week.

I like the longer courses I took at Monterey Community College, there was more time to practice technique, but it was a re-introduction that brought me back to remembering how much work I had done.

I don't hold high hopes for the finished product, but for me, it has always been about the process of creating.

Immediately after, I met my cousin and his wife for a movie and dinner.  It was one block over and two blocks south of where I was.  Darn google tried to put me on I-10 again, even after I set it to avoid highways.  Google maps - it was the exact wrong time to ask me for feedback...



ps. iloveu

Soooooo....it was scary for me...

My George! the greyhound who is my sweet companion and calm and ever present - we were both dealing with whatever was in the air in Arizona at this June 2019.  

It had been a cool spring - cooler than I remembered in my whole two years here - I really have no peg to hang my hat on except to say this was a cool spring.

And I felt congested.  I laid on my right side.  My right sinuses are clogged but I felt the same, on the other side if I laid on my left.  So I was on my right side again reading my kindle.  Tented up with its cover providing me readability.  If you aren't addicted to reading you won't understand.  I would go out at 10 o'clock at night to the grocery store to pick up a book because I had read everything in my house.  So the ability to have the kindle propped up so I could read has been priceless.

The light in the room was darkening.  I long learned that my best bet for waking and sleeping was a mood light like the Philips Light.  One that simulates sunrise and sunset.  It was a dusky dark in my room with a dark peach hue on the walls and ceiling and my eyes were heavy.  I shut them unknowingly as I "read" a Peter Grainger book.  That DC Smith haunts my dreams.

Suddenly through a half asleep haze I heard haaaa......  haaaa....... a deep breathy voice you would only hear if you were watching a horror movie.

And here I was with my eyes shut.  I knew that in a second.  It was in my room - at the foot of my bed.  I am on my right side, eyes closed and I had heard it as clear as day. Haaaaaa..... haaaaaaaa.... deep breaths

Crimmeny Jickets I felt my whole body tense.  What do I do?  Okay - Stop.   All doors locked? Yes, for sure.  How about the windows? Locked? Yes, for sure.

Laura - there is no one your house.  There is no way anyone got into your house.  Settle (as I say to George! sometimes - settle).  Settle.  haaaaaaa...... I heard.  My ears had inadvertently moved.

l did have a moment of clarity - take a deep breath so you can scream I thought.
Breath taken I opened my eyes and flung the comforter and saw no one there.

It was George! mouth breathing which he rarely does unless there has been a late coming summer and he is feeling congested...

At least I think it was George!...hmmmm...


Laura

psiloveyou

Riding my high-horse...

So here I am riding my high-horse.

Yuppers.  Years of condemning people who don’t pick up after their dogs.  

I had my first hound in San Francisco where I would go out of my way, back to my loft to get a dog bag to pick up after my dog.  Yes, that was the one part of my life where I couldn’t be criticized.  I was fastidious in that arena.  I always had bags for me and anyone of my hundreds of neighbors. 

Fast forward to Arizona, past all the conversations with Ohio residents as I stood there with full dog bags hearing about how other owners don’t pick up after their dogs.  “ I agree, it sucks when dog owners don’t pick up after their dogs” but do you see my full dog bags?

Arizona, I live in a beautiful place.  But again here there are folks who don’t pick up after dogs.  Argh.  The guy with the great dane who I know has moved out because there are no longer giant piles in the green space in front of my apt.

Yup, good riddance to the guy who acted like he had his sh%t together.  He didn’t, and his dog was there to show us all how inadequate he was with his sh%it.

So here I am riding along on my high horse *priding* myself on my poop pickup disparaging recklessly those who don’t pick up after their dogs, only to realize that George! is dropping turds while I am not looking. 

Yes, he does his business and I from my high-horse pick it up.  But if I stop daydreaming for a minute I see he is dropping logs in the sidewalk.  Geroge!

The hound who has taught me fun, the hound that taught me life is to be lived in the minute, the gentle hound that stands solidly next to me when I put my shoes on to go for a walk, is asking me to get off my high horse and pay attention.

Dang nabbit.  It would be so easy if I was only talking about dog poops.  But no, I am talking about a wider world. George is dropping turds to remind me that while I may be picking up on the 'big things' I am missing the smaller picture.

So tonight when you kiss your loved ones goodnight, thank God that they have you, and are not looking for asylum or housed in a refugee camp. Thank God that your children are safe. Thank God.  Be grateful.  Don't look to put someone else down.  When I am threatened by someone else's success, I know that I am frustrated and not living up to my potential.  

I can’t promise to be aware at all times,  I try and fail.  But I hope that I am blessed with the opportunity to try and fail again until I can love truly love my neighbor as I might try to love myself.


Laura

ps. iloveu