Puppy love

I admit, the older I get, the more I enjoy the occasional opportunity to just...sit. No TV...no video games....no books or food or drink or distractions. Okay the computer is a distraction, but it doesn't count if I'm writing, right?

I sit here on my deck as I write this, taking advantage of the nice weather to enjoy myself and the coming twilight. I worked hard today (a rare thing for me I suppose...at least when it comes to WORK), then came home and worked on the lawn until a few minutes ago, when I grilled a late supper and decided to bring it all out here and, for a brief moment, enjoy the back yard I just spent my evening mowing.

So much of life has been stressful these last few months. Bailey's last month and death seem to have bled into an equally stressful period with work. Days have been long and tempers have been short, and overshadowing it all are health problems I've been having since February that just aren't going away. Doctors said it was my medicine, then they said it was allergies, and the current theory is that it's stress (which I believe more). In the back of my mind some sick part of me hasn't ruled out brain cancer or an aneurism, but the docs have at least been good at assuring me that isn't the case.

You know, I really do believe it's stress. In the quiet moments like this where I can be alone and peaceful, things don't seem to hurt so badly. Hell I can almost remember what it's like to be myself again.

I know the last few posts have not exactly been light and fluffy. All I can say is that not a lot of my life has been light and fluffy lately. Still, simple things like watching a storm blow in while night slowly comes give me hope things will get better soon.

Sorry if that sounds cliche. It is, at the very least, honest.

In other news, as I said in my previous post, we are getting a puppy very soon...hopefully next week sometime. Apparently I want my stress to stick around....

I kid...but in all honesty, though it was a huge fight between Brandi and I on which dog to get (you could not have gotten two more different opinions on what kind of doggy we wanted for our house and family), in the end she more or less won out by showing me pictures of the two cutest balls of fluff I have ever seen....one of which we put a deposit down on this Saturday.

She is a Cocker Spaniel - Poodle mix (I refuse to use the term 'Cockapoo'). Yes....she is one of those dogs. Apparently they don't call them mutts anymore. They are now 'hybrid breeds' and fetch twice the price of either of the parent breeds...usually because one of those parents is a poodle and that cuts down on the shedding. Amazingly enough, our new ball of fluff we invested in does not shed, which I suppose is a handy optional extra. Throw in an offroad package and bucket seats and you have yourself one fully loaded foofoo dog.

As she is a baby, and isn't trained to do anything but look cute (a skill at which all puppies excel), I have been doing frantic net research on puppy training, specifically of the Teach Them Where Not To Pee variety. After approximately 3.5 minutes of research into this subject I contacted my supervisor and asked for the two days after we pick her up off of work.

Apparently this is rather involved training...not for the light of heart. No matter how often or vehemently you explain to your ball of fluff the many differences between the toilet and the carpet, they will look at you as if you just said the smartest thing they have ever heard, and if you're lucky they will wait to pee on said carpet until you turn around. So it takes patiencce, it takes the ability to wake up every couple of hours to run outside, it takes a keen enough eye to see if they just whizzed on the grass at 3:30 AM (and the willpower to care at that point)...but most of all it takes confinement. Yes, you are not only protector and loving provider for your puppy...until it learns the finer points of 'holding it', you are also the prison warden.

This is not all as easy as it may sound. Your ball of fluff still has that innate ability to look like the cutest thing you have ever seen in your life....and if that doesn't get your attention it always has high pitched whining to fall back on.

But judging by the large number of housetrained dogs in the world, I do assume it is eventually possible, and with love, attention and approximately 300 bags of dog treats, I hope to watch as our very own ball of fluff grows into a happy, intestinally normalized foofoo dog.

Well by now it's fully dark and it's just begun to sprinkle, so I'd better wrap this up, lest my laptop short curcuit on parts of my anatomy I'd rather not mention.

This was fun. Maybe you'll see me around here slightly more often in the near future. Until then, may life find you well, and may you find no wet spots in your carpet at 3:25 AM with a foofoo dog looking up at you innocently.

Eulogy for a Good Dog....

I know I haven’t posted in quite awhile….I won’t even claim business as my reason this time around.

I knew I’d have to talk about my doggy when I next opened up blogger’s site, and it was just too much and too soon to try and put it all into words.

Time has passed. Healing has begun, and we have decided to look into getting a little puppy. The dog is a little small for my liking, but when I saw the picture I was lost. She is this tiny ball of fluff who has sad eyes and a droopy mouth. We will meet her this Saturday, and unless something goes horribly wrong we will pay a reserve deposit as she is weaned off of her mother, and we'll have her home sometime around the second week of June.

Before we do that, I want to talk about Bailey. I need to verbalize what the last four months have been. I'm seeing a doctor and a chiropractor right now trying to figure out symptoms that started right around this time that both think are stress-related. I don't know if it will help to write down my experience or not, but I think my doggy deserves at least this goodbye before we let another dog into our home.

Sometime in late February, Bailey started acting strange, falling down and bumping into things. She wouldn’t play with her toys, got jumpier than usual, and (this we really noticed quick) started peeing on our carpets.

The bad thing about a dog is that if something is wrong you’re totally guessing. You can tell she feels bad, but she can’t communicate to you what is wrong. I bet we argued four days about what was wrong, but in the end Brandi’s theory proved correct. Bailey had gone blind.

The vet called it Sudden Acquired Retinal Degeneration (SARD). Apparently it happens to a few dogs, usually female, and usually 9+ years. Dogs who get this go blind, and it happens VERY suddenly. Bailey had probably lost 100% of her sight within 24 hours of onset. The vet was very nice to her and me, and told me some of the ways we could make life for her easier, as well as some of the hurdles we would have to face.

So we put mats down in front of all the stairs so she’d feel the change in the carpet as she got close. I worked with her for weeks trying to get her acclimated to her new world, but things didn’t seem to get much better for her. She still bashed her head into things, she still fell down the stairs almost every approach. She would get lost in the yard and would howl miserably until I went out to get her. Brandi was getting frustrated and angry with her, and I admit I was too. Bailey didn’t like going outside because there was no way to get out without having to go down stairs, so she’d pee wherever she was at the time, which often included our carpets or couch. I took her out 9-10 times daily (and every hour or so at night) and cut down on her water, but she would still go on our carpet two, sometimes three times a day.

I don’t mean to be ranting about it, but I want to give some clue as to what all of us were going through. We were stressed, I wasn’t sleeping more than a couple hours a night, Brandi was ready to drop the dog off outside of town, and poor Bailey was scared out of her wits. She couldn’t understand what had happened and we couldn’t explain it to her, so she was frightened and confused and angry, and despite all I was trying to do, it didn’t get any better.

I argued daily with Brandi over what to do. I even had my parents come out with their carpet cleaner and cleaned every carpet in the house. Bailey peed 4 times the next day.

She seemed a little better when we were around all day and paid attention to her, but when we both left for work all progress would backslide and she’d go back to being the miserable confused doggy she was before.

I kept begging Brandi for more time to work with Bailey, kept highlighting every day she seemed to get better, and trying desperately to hide every time she slipped. Looking back, I couldn’t believe how miserable –I- was throughout all of this.

I knew the last straw came when Bailey bit Brandi. I had always warned Brandi that Bailey got really snappy when someone snuck up on her and touched her, so we were both careful to make noise when approaching her. One day she got caught under the table and couldn’t find her way out, so Brandi went under there to help her. She made noise and reached out for Bailey, and Bailey snapped backward at her hand. She bit in down to the bone and hung on (yeah I meant HUNG ON).

That was pretty much it for Brandi. This was more than being surprised….it was a sign of frustration and an attack.

What I can’t believe now is that I actually talked Brandi into giving her another chance. I can only think that Brandi knew that if she forced me into giving Bailey up I would never forgive her, so she argued her point but didn’t force the issue. But she said the next time she bit, the next time she peed instead of asking to go outside…that was it. Bailey hadn’t peed on the carpet for a couple days, so I agreed. Again…looking back I think I knew it was time.

The next night I was talking about how much progress she had made (most of it lies), when I turned around and saw her standing above a large puddle. I can tell you this. I don’t think I’ve ever felt my blood actually freeze like it did then. I frantically looked to see where the cleaning supplies were and how close Brandi was…and then I just….collapsed inside. I had promised. The decision had been made. It was done.

My voice caught in my throat as I called Brandi over and pointed at the puddle. I looked my wife in the eyes, with an expression that must have truly touched her, because I could see her anger fade to concern. Without a word, I walked past her and into our bedroom. I fell down on my bed and I started sobbing into my pillow.

Four weeks of frustration and anger and pain and confusion and guilt and sorrow poured out of me as I did what I could not to start howling into that pillow. Brandi walked in and set Bailey down next to me on the bed, saying nothing. I looked up at Brandi and croaked "But she's my friend...". Brandi still didn't have any answers for me. I couldn’t even touch the poor doggy, who immediately tried to lay down next to me. I couldn’t look at her, I couldn’t offer her any more comfort or understanding.

I had nothing left.

Two days later (Brandi gave me time to make sure), Brandi took my doggy to the Humane Society, where she was put down. They were nicer than the vet would have been I think. They sat with her in a room and rocked her and petted her until it was her time to go.

Brandi says that everything finally hit her as she walked into the building. She saw how happy Bailey was to be out for a car ride, and she just broke down at the front desk. Two of the workers sat her down, broght her tissues and listened as she blurted out her story with uncontrollable sobs, as Brandi finally understood what I had been feeling….and let Bailey go.

The last we saw of our doggy was her being picked up and carried down the hall, wagging her tail.

In the end I was the one comforting my wife. She couldn’t understand why our positions had completely switched, and I told her I had already cried all the tears I could over it right then. Acceptance was this horrible calm that had settled over me. I said my goodbye to her that morning, held her and petted her, and I had let go.

I think it was the single hardest thing I have ever done.

I love my wife dearly, but I have to admit she can be emotionally distant from things she doesn’t want to deal with. She holds it all inside and doesn’t want to talk or even think about anything difficult. That being said, it almost felt good to see her break down like this. Bailey had her faults, but she was a good dog, and she loved us more than anything. Brandi’s tears meant that she understood that, and she appreciated our doggy for the brief time we had with her.

That night, I came home and gathered up all of Bailey’s things. I picked her toys up from the floor and piled them with her food and water dishes and her blankets inside her crate and took it downstairs. I figured it’d be best if Brandi got a fresh start when she came home.

I admit….I still choke up. Even now, months later, I can’t think of my dog without the memories and the guilt rushing back. I still have people in my life who don’t understand why we did what we did, and I can’t really explain it to them other than to sadly say “You weren’t there.”.

Believe me. I wish I could put everything into nice, logical points for myself and everyone else. I felt through the whole thing that if I could somehow JUSTIFY our decision that it wouldn’t seem so bad. If I could get anyone to tell me the right thing to do, I could then get the strength to accept whichever path we took.

I wish life was that simple.

Instead, I have no words. I have no explanations. I have nothing but this pit in my life where my doggy used to be.... My stupid, poop-eating, noisy, needy, loving, wonderful dog.

I suppose that’s a valuable lesson learned. In life there will come points where there are no explanations, and there isn’t necessarily a happy way out of a situation. We are occasionally forced to make decisions that we consider horrible beyond all reason. I would have given anything in the world to get out of having to make that decision. The results have taken their toll on my emotions and even had long term and serious effects on my health. But bad things happen. We try and move on. We never forget those we love.

I don’t think I was old enough to learn that lesson when my father died, and I’m not sure I fully understand it now. Mainly what I understand is that I made a decision that ended my dog’s life, and I loved that dog with all my heart. I can’t prove that it was the best decision for her, and I’ll always doubt it...but we never know for sure. All we can do is hope we did the right thing.

And remember.

Goodbye Bailey. I love you and I always will. You were a good dog and we will miss you and think about you forever and ever.