Judgments

Judgments.  I feel like I make one hundred each day.  I used to think that I was simply judging what was right and wrong for me, but I have come to realize that was a rationalization on my part.  I am a judgmental person.  Believe me, I reserve my meanest judgments for myself, but that is another rationalization.  I am a judgmental person, and I am going to work on that in 2014.

I am just like everyone else; I have been meanly judged by others throughout my life.  This year hasn't been more difficult than any other, but I have noticed the judgments say more about the judger than they do about me.  For example, I was told that through 'I'm a D.O.G.!,' I have made it obvious that Atticus is my favorite and that I completely ignore Luna.  I don't know why it surprises me anymore what people will say to me.  I used to think I commanded more respect, or at least some respect, but again, it's not so much about me.

Seven months after Atticus came home, our cancer healing journey began with Foster Dog.  The focus on helping Atticus learn The Ways of The Pack virtually fell off the radar as we honed in on Foster.  Luna supported me every day through blood sugar lows and weeks and months of no more than two hours of sleep each night.  Luna is like an eyelash.  I know she is there.  Her role in my safe and happy existence is immeasurable, yet I don't have to continually look in the mirror to see her.  I feel her.  I appreciate her.  I count on her.  My life is better because of her.  My great life is possible because of her.  Anyone who judges me as ignoring her, and favoring Atticus, is revealing aspects of his or her life rather than accurately observing mine.  In 2014, I will accept the judgments of others as reflections of them, not as true observations of me.  And Luna will still be her perfect self, of course.

But, I have my own meanness.  I have judged others from a high horse regarding their dog ownership behavior.  From the woman who wanted me to take care of her dog while she spent a weekend in Boyne even though she thought "…this time might just kill her (dog)," to the people who could feed their dogs higher quality food, but don't because they "…don't want to make an extra stop," at a store other than Kroger, I have been terrible.

When Atticus was missing for over four hours last month, I dropped to my knees in the woods and beggingly prayed to God to bring Atticus home to me.  I cried to God that I had been humbled and clearly understood that even the most dedicated dog owners can experience mistakes and mishaps.  In 2014, I will remember that humility when I sense myself stepping up onto a high horse.

To judge one more time though, I save some pretty mean ones for myself.  Since Foster's diagnosis, and subsequent surgeries and side effects, I haven't had as much time, and definitely haven't had as much energy, to maintain my usual level of fitness.  I feel weaker and flabbier, and totally think I'm fat.  I can, in my right mind, know I'm not fat, but in my judgmental mind, I say some very mean things to myself.  In 2014, I will stay in my right mind, and since Foster will start feeling like a champ in 2014, I'll be fit again too.

Here's to a 2014 that is free from mean judgments!

Homecoming

Atticus came home November 21, 2012.

It was a great day.

Our Pack felt complete.

Someone had been missing, and that someone, Our Atticus, was home.

We chose November 21st as Atticus' birthday.

How has he been home for 1 year?  How is he 2 years old?  How can it feel as if Attie just got here, and as if here is where he has always been?  I think love knows no concept of time.

Atticus has changed since his Homecoming.  I can see it in his  eyes.

 First Walk on his First Day

Daily Lap Dog Session

Now he is secure.  There is happiness throughout him.  He trusts.  He loves.  He wags his tail.

Sometimes, when he is deeply sleeping, Attie whines and yelps.  I do not know enough about the canine brain or canine dreams to know if these sounds are sounds of distress, but I always touch him and tell him he is home, he is safe, he is mine, he is loved.

Sweet Secure Sleeps

We do not see him as a rescue, as a shelter dog, as one no one else wanted.  These are all labels of Before.  Now, he is ours.    We are his After.  He is an essential part of The Pack.  He is Atticus.

Happy Attie

Happy Birthday Atticus!

November

November has a lot of emotion for me.  Several emotional events have occurred in November.  My Dear Friend Carrie's first brain surgery, November 25, 1997.  Satchel's soft tissue sarcoma surgery, November 22, 2004.  My dad's first chemotherapy, November 19, 2003.  The list of people for whom I have been a primary caregiver through cancer isn't short.  It also includes Koko and now Foster Dog.  Four people have mentioned recently that maybe I am doing something to bring cancer into my life.  November is challenging.

Once the sting from those people's words subsided, I realized the challenge I thought November to be was actually not a challenge.  The sadness, the emotional events, yes, they are easy to recall, but they were also easy to walk through with those I loved.  It was easy to hold Carrie's hand, to sleep in the parking lot waiting for Satchel to be released, and to sit with my dad during his chemotherapy treatment.  To care, and to give care, is what I do.

Some people are afraid and want these experiences to be my fault, to be within my control, to be caused by something I am doing.  They want to believe that cancer can't happen to them because they couldn't manage the emotional challenges.  I know that cancer can happen, and I am confident that I can manage the challenges.  I don't live in fear that it might, will or is happening.  I live in love.

November has a lot of emotion for me.  It's just how it is.

Still Learning

One year, when I was wearing my Child & Family Therapist hat, I was helping families bond and interact with their infants and toddlers.  I encouraged parents to read anything to their little ones, and was concerned about one parent in particular who had no books in the home.  No books for adults.  No books for children.  I asked the parent if I could bring a few books the next time I visited and the response was, "Why?  He can't read yet."  This introduced a wonderful conversation about being your child's first teacher and the nurturing experience of being together and sharing moments of discovery when your child's world opens up.

I was reminded of this conversation as I covered myself in guilt about Atticus having no off-leash time in his life.  The days have been so focused on Foster's health since June, that no one has been getting my best.  I've been praying that at least everyone's basic needs have been met each day, and I'm not always confident that that has been accomplished.  Being able to run is a basic need in my opinion, and going on bike runs helps, but it's not the same as running freely, no strings attached.

Atticus had to be an "X" dog at the kennel before he came home.  "X" dogs are unable to socialize with the groups of dogs due to safety.  Sometimes, the safety issue involves health - illness, joint issues, surgery recovery - but in Atticus' case, it involved behavior.  During his time at the kennel, Atticus had become increasingly antagonistic.  He either started fights with other dogs through annoying, dominant, bullying behavior, or if other dogs were playing or using their voices, Atticus wanted in on it and escalated interactions into fights.  He ran and leapt over dogs, and had also begun to show aggression over food.  A piece of kibble on the floor would have him pouncing on any dog nearby within milliseconds.  Plus, once Atticus had pinned a dog with his body and mouth, he didn't let go.  Atticus had some behavior challenges, but he was mine, and I brought him home with the plan to work on them all.

We worked on them all.  Atticus learned and we learned.  He learned that only the food I gave to him was his, and that food was plentiful and fairly and consistently provided.  We learned that he whined and nearly howled upon seeing dogs outside our family, and as a possible Treeing Walker Coonhound he might never be safe in our community off-leash.

Atticus is a young and curious dog.  He needs a lot of physical and mental activity to properly exercise his heart and mind, and to be a happy and fulfilled family member.  Bike runs with J are fun, but they aren't as great as running on your own, no leash attached, sniffing wherever you want, making some choices about your life with your safety provided by me.  It seemed like a dog park would provide everything that Atticus needed, except for that whole fighting and pinning dogs down thing.

Then I remembered the parent who believed books were only for when you knew how to read.  I knew that you couldn't learn how to read until you had books and had them read to you.  I couldn't expect Atticus to spontaneously be appropriately social in dog group settings without providing him with dog group settings and guiding his behavior.

I started small with a few dog walking clients.  When I learned that his whining was excitement and not I-want-to-eat-that, I guided him to be calm before interacting in a controlled environment like the house or garage, and then we walked together.  Still not the same as acres of running room, so the dog park had to happen.  I'm not a huge fan of dog parks with the community water and the inattentive humans, but I knew Atticus needed it, so we went, and he showed his wonderfulness.

Atticus ran and ran and sniffed grass and posts and other dogs.  He greeted dogs as they came and he seemed to escort those leaving.  He leaned against people and retrieved tennis balls.  He loved the puppies and he ran to find Foster Dog who likes to walk the perimeter.  He observed Luna drinking and tried it himself.  He ran and ran…and he humped a white Golden Retriever three times…  I gently corrected him each time and encouraged him to explore and sniff.  I whistled for him and called for him and he came each time, even from across the park.  I didn't see him even consider jumping the four feet tall fence surrounding the Big Dog Area even when he noticed dogs in the Little Dog Area.  Everyone started to tire after about an hour and we came back together as The Pack and left.  It was so great.

If I had waited until Atticus no longer grabbed Foster Dog's legs, or until he wasn't more interested in squirrels and deer than my voice, I never would have taken him to a dog park.  I had to remember that learning by doing, and experiencing, and observing, and being guided and supported is the best.  We've had challenges, and even mistakes and failures, but it is my job to provide My Pack with the chance to show me how smart and observant and wonderful we are.

One Year Ago

One year ago today, I realized Atticus was my family.  A few days before, he said to me, "My name is Atticus and I belong to you."  I asked a co-worker to take a picture of us, and asked J in a text, "What do you think of this dog?"  J's response was, "That's a good looking dog."

The actual picture sent to J

I tried to talk myself out of Atticus.  That was silly.  You can't deny your family, or at least I can't.  So one year ago today, I asked my friend Aubrey what I would need to do to bring him home.  She told me I would need to fill out an application.  I confided in her that I was worried about the whole process.  What if after Atticus told me he belonged to me, and I filled out the application, the rescue denied me?  She told me, "Trust me, you're approved."

All along, Aubrey had been the one to decide who was right for Atticus.  She was not only a volunteer for the shelter, she was the contact for adoption approval.  The entire  time I was asking about his story, and asking my co-workers their impressions of him, and telling Aubrey about the budget I had written up, and sharing with Aubrey the visions I had of walking in the woods of Glen Arbor with Atticus, Aubrey was just waiting for me to fill out the application.  I was approved.  Atticus officially belonged to me.  He wouldn't be able to come home for a few weeks, but among everyone in the world, he belonged to me.

Atticus still belongs to me.  Atticus will always belong to me.

"My name is Atticus and I belong to you."

Motivations

"Your dogs lead you around by the nose."

This.  This is what someone thinks.  This is what someone thinks is important for me to know.

"Your dogs lead you around by the nose."

I've got to tell you, it stung.  I can know that my relationships with The Pack include respect and loyalty and leadership and deep love, but it still stings when someone tells you several people in your life believe that you are fooling yourself.

Once the sting waned, I was left with a mark.  The mark is still there, and a realization.  I realize that not all people have the level of love in their lives that I do.  I realize that after the initial sting of anger, what I feel is pity.

I don't think anyone needs or benefits from my pity.  I think it simply keeps me from being hurt.  One day I will move on from pity, but today, that is where I am.

Several years ago, I picked a card from an Inspirational Deck.  It described my life then perfectly, and it has continued to describe my life and make me smile.  Today, the card seems to shine from its display place among pictures of The Pack and My Lovies.

"I am motivated by Love."

This.  This is who I am.

I am sleep deprived, not because my dogs control me and wake me through the night, but because Foster often doesn't feel well and is better able to get healing rest when I sit with him and massage him and rub his itchy skin.  He sleeps.  I don't.  That's ok.  I am motivated by Love.

I feel stressed about money, not because I don't work or because I buy too many toys and clothes for my dogs, but because high quality health care, surgeries, chemotherapy, high quality food and supplements cost a lot.  The Pack lives long and lives well.  I am motivated by Love.

I do not attend all family events, not because I do not value family, but because my definition of family includes my dogs and being with them and meeting their needs are high on my Priority List.  Happy, secure dogs make a happy, secure family, and make a happy, secure me.  I am motivated by Love.

Sometimes criticisms sting, but usually the blessings of my life prevent the sting from even occurring.  I wish for everyone to know the love I know, to know the love I receive, and to know the love I give.

As November begins, and Foster's chemotherapy is nearing completion, I feel thankful.  I am thankful for the love in my life and for the challenges that have put that love on display.  Thank you to everyone who is supporting us publicly and silently.  We are going to make it.  We are motivated by Love.

Atticus Improvement

I have been focused on Foster much of the Summer, and I've questioned my inconsistent attentiveness to the ongoing need of training Atticus.  Atticus will have been home for one year around Thanksgiving!  After almost one year, Attie and I are only about 1/2 way through mastering the Canine Good Citizen test items, and he still pulls a lot on the leash.  I have no confidence that Atticus would come to me if he was on a scent off-leash, and I've not built my confidence because I haven't been able to give him many chances to be off-leash.  Long-line, yes, and I've experienced his overwhelming attraction to snakes.  My waist and shoulders have been challenged by the long-line-snake combination.

This is one snake Atticus did not get close enough to to kill

I was feeling as if I was failing Atticus, and then he showed me two beautiful developments and I couldn't stop kissing him.

1.  Foster hasn't been eating everything at meal time.  Sometimes he leaves just a few kibbles, and sometimes he leaves half of everything:  meat, vegetables, kibble, supplements.  I usually put his bowl in the refrigerator to save for his next meal, but the other day I became distracted by the need to clean Luna's allergy eyes and itchy ears.  I noticed hours later that Foster's bowl was still in his feeding station and the food he left was still there.  Ground beef, beets and fish oil.  Atticus had left it all!  A first time for him!  Yay Attie!

Atticus On Watch

2.  When Atticus first came home, he nearly broke through the dining room doorwall whenever he saw a squirrel, chipmunk or raccoon.  A deer created a 5-alarm training session.  We've worked on his critter excitement, and he only occasionally whines or barks while looking out that doorwall after dark.  Recently, I saw Atticus looking out the doorwall with his ears all perky and his tail wagging.  No whining, no barking, no scratching at the glass.  Wanting to reward the behavior, I quietly said, "Good boy, Attie.  Thank you," while walking over to look out the doorwall with him.  He turned to look at me, tail still wagging, plus a deferential ear drop.  Perfect.  I knelt down to express my happiness and I saw what was so interesting to him.  INCHES from his nose, with only glass as a separator, was a chipmunk.  It was as if the chipmunk was taunting Attie.  Sweet Atticus had his eye on the chipmunk, but he seemed to have learned that  The Lady doesn't like it when he almost breaks the doorwall, so he observed the chipmunk, and maybe even telepathically communicated with it.  Maybe he said, "Chipmunk!  'Member when I used to try to eat you through this thingy?!  'Member?  Well, now The Lady snuggles me and kisses me when I don't do that.  And she gives me food and tells me I'm awesome, so I'm not going to eat you through this thingy today, but if I see you out there with no thingy between us, I might try, so be fast if you don't want me to catch you.  Ok, bye."

Yup.  Attie is Awesome.

My Girl

We've had a lot of years when a member of The Pack required 24-hour kind of attention, and a few years of adjustment and learning with a new Pack Member.  I have wasted a lot of energy feeling guilty about my strained patience from sleep deprivation and constant need.  I have said over and over to My Pack, "You do not have to be sick or misbehave to get my attention.  I want you all to be happy and healthy."  I don't want anyone to feel the need to be a squeaky wheel.  The Pack works best with balanced, aligned, smooth-rolling wheels.

In the last year, there has been a lot of focus on helping Atticus adjust to his new life, and most recently, on Foster Dog and his health.  My Perfect Peanut, Luna, hasn't made a squeak.  She never complains, and I hope each day that she doesn't feel taken for granted.

Bright Shiny Luna

The thing about Luna I have taken for granted, through the coping skill of denial, is her health.  I can't bear to even flash on the thought of living without her.  Through the changes and challenges within our family, Luna has been The One by my side supporting me.  She reminds me of our successes as a team, and the lessons she has taught me are truly priceless.  Luna is a sweet and patient teacher.  I hope I have been as patient with her when she has needed.

Perfection by my side

Last week, after a lengthy day of walking, I noticed Luna paused on her way up the stairs.  My Girl is 11, but I still see her as My Little Peanut, the Black Lab puppy who lit up my life when she ran into it when she was 10 months old.  She didn't squeak about the pause, but I saw her, and I will help her.  The Pack can't have a flat tire.  We've got to balance, align and pump up The Peanut.

My Luna may not be able to go with me everywhere anymore.  She may need more massage time and more supplements. She may need more of me.  I feel a bit stretched, but I won't squeak about it.  I'll stand by My Girl, just as she always does for me.  We're a good team.

This is what True Love looks like

All photos taken by

Tammy B Photography

Sweet Foster Dog

I am pretty strict with my dogs, demanding behavior that will allow me to be confident taking them with me anywhere.  Foster has taught me to appreciate my standards even more through learning about Breed Specific Legislation and the world's fears of dogs described as "Pit Bulls."

According to the Wisdom Panel cheek swab DNA test, Foster is 6% Staffordshire Terrier and 5% American Staffordshire Terrier, two dog breeds considered by many to be "Pit Bulls." Even with these breeds comprising only 11% of his DNA, nearly everyone asks if Foster is a Pit Bull.  My responses are varied, but in general, I acknowledge that he looks like a Pit  Bull to many and that we don't mind.  I tell people we consider him to be a wonderful ambassador for the breed.

So basically, I have a 60 pound, black, Pit Bull.  He has three strikes against him in the dog fears and stereotype world:  he's big, he's black (Big Black Dog Syndrome/Bias), and he's a Pit Bull.  While I do not accept the world's stereotypes as fact in my home, I do accept that people are highly likely to be afraid of Foster based on his appearance.  Any "bad behavior" will likely be seen as "aggressive" and "dangerous," or even "vicious."  A Golden Retriever pulling on a leash, and lunging and jumping toward a neighbor would likely create the response of, "Oh, he wants to play with me!  He's so excited to see me!"  Foster pulling on the leash, lunging at someone would likely create the response of, "That dog is out of control!  He's trying to bite me!"

Because of this bias, Foster and I have to be on our Behavior A-Game at all times.  That is my goal.  I'm not saying Foster and I have never made a mistake, but I am thankful Foster represents gentleness, discipline, and has shown our community the beauty of the breed.

Foster doesn't spend much time under the care of others.  If we ever travel, The Pack stays intact and we travel together.  We like to be together.  My discomfort with separation has been tested during Foster's medical needs of late.  Surgeries, ultrasounds, blood tests, chemotherapy, and OSHA have kept us apart at times.  The Separation has actually gifted me with the wonderful message of Foster's Fantastic Behavior and Temperament.

Chemotherapy #1:

The Separation stressed me.  Foster was fine.  We were reunited with Oncology Veterinary Assistant J who we met in 2009.  She told me that Foster slept right through his treatment and I panicked for a second thinking I had misunderstood the chemotherapy process and was unaware Foster would have to be sedated.  J reassured me, "No! No sedation.  He's just so relaxed, he goes right to his blanket and lies down.  He's perfect.  There are some crazy dogs back there right now and Foster is just perfect."

 Sweet Patient Foster Dog

Chemotherapy #2:

Foster was fine with The Separation again.  He was totally cute as he trotted back and forth with J.  She whispered to us that Foster is her favorite.  We said we're sure she tells everyone that, but she said, "No.  I really don't."  Another vet assistant overheard us and whispered, "Foster is almost everyone's favorite."  I was touched.

As we were leaving, a staff member I'd never seen before walked by with a dog who growled at us.  The staff member said, "No! No!  You can't growl at sweet Foster!"  Sweet Foster kept trotting along, oblivious to the growler.  There's a Pit Bull in the house everybody!!!

Chemotherapy #3:

We had a nutritional and alternative therapies consult for Foster in addition to his chemotherapy.  The wait was lengthy and we were told it was a crazy and stressful day for staff, but when they saw Foster's name as the 2pm appointment, everyone in oncology felt better.

We waited in the lobby and then we waited in an exam room. I massaged Sweet Foster while we waited, and when his oncologist arrived she apologized for the wait and complimented Foster for being so "chill."  He accepted an entire acupuncture experience, even the one "zinger" he had, and he walked away with J, who once again said, "Seriously, he's my favorite."  When Foster returned, he was excited and happy and I was introduced to H who said she LOVES him and another vet assistant popped her head into say, "Yay!  Foster's here!"  Before we left, J told us we were a "delight," and I wanted to hug every single person.  It was so comforting to know that Foster has been loved and cared for when I have not been allowed to be with him.

As we checked out, yet another vet assistant saw Foster and said, "Oh Foster!  You sweet thing!  Foster has a lot of girlfriends back there, you know."  Everybody Loves Foster.

He is loved, he is gentle, he is disciplined, he is a fantastic Pit Bull ambassador, he is perfect.  He is Foster Dog.  We are so lucky he is ours and that we can take him anywhere because I never want to be without him!

"Chill" Foster during acupuncture

Right Now

Foster has been managing his first chemotherapy treatment well.  Yes, he's thrown up a little.  Yes, he's left some food in his breakfast and dinner bowls, but really, he's been feeling good.  Good. Good. Good.  He's been feeling so good, he's been a little sassy!

Foster knows he is supposed to sit Over There, on The Spot, when I'm cooking.  Yesterday, Foster decided he was not only going to sit next to me, instead of on the rug, he was going to talk to me about how he needed a bite of the chicken I was taking apart.

He said he'd been patient for over six hours while it cooked in the crock pot and needed a bite Right Now! I said, "Foster Dog, you know how begging bugs me. I can't have you sitting over here telling me what to do.  Now you go to The Spot.  Go on."  Foster Dog tried to lie down next to me.  "No, Foster Dog.  You know where to be.  Go.  The Spot."  Foster's sassy self left the kitchen entirely!

Most people might find that acceptable, but I had directed him to The Spot.  He refused.  I directed him again, and he defied me.  No.  Way.  I called, "Foster Dog!  Come!"  He came.  I snapped my fingers to The Spot.  Luna and Atticus had already arrived, and Fosse joined them.  Sitting perfectly in that one square foot he elegantly consumes, I said to him, "Thank you, buddy."

A person who was waiting for J said, "Wow.  Isn't that the one who has cancer?  You're kinda hard on him."  Apparently, he had overheard the exchange between Foster and me.  I said, "Yes, he has cancer at the moment.  You sound concerned about how I'm communicating with him."  Person, "If my dog had cancer, I'd be doing whatever he wanted!"  Me, "What makes you think Foster doesn't want me to be me?"  Person, "What?  I mean, I'm just sayin'."  Me, "Yeah, me too."

As Foster goes through the dramatic process of healing from tumor removal, a splenectomy, and chemotherapy, every week involves him being poked intravenously for a blood draw, poked intravenously for a quick push of poison, and being separated from His Pack to endure it.  He may experience pain and nausea, vomiting and diarrhea, and I will have very little power to fully relieve his discomfort.  Now is not the time to switch up Foster's life at home.  Now is not the time to make his life even more unpredictable.

Sure, I've been feeding him organic ground beef and organic roasted chicken, but he has had to wait in The Spot, and be called to his feeding station, before eating.  Yes, I have turned The Pack around and taken Foster home when he seems too tired to continue walking with us, but he has been expected to show his leash manners during The Walk.

Fosse relaxing in the sun

I want to make accommodations for sweet Foster Dog, and I want to make his new experiences as stress-free as I can.  I believe a great way to do that is to be the one he can trust.  If I continue to be the rule-enforcing, behavior-guiding, predictably-demanding Lady he knows me to be, there will be comfort in the 165 hours per week we are not at a chemotherapy appointment.

Foster needs me to be me right now.  He always needs me to be me, but especially right now.

Sleepy Foster, happy in The Spot 

The Dog Walker's Dilemma

Three days per week, about five hours total, I walk dogs in a large neighborhood.  This neighborhood has no sidewalks, a few common areas and cul de sacs, and hundreds of homes.  When The Pack and I walk with our charges, we usually walk down the middle of the road avoiding homeowners' lawns to protect everyone from peeing on people's grass.  I listen for cars, and when one is approaching, we move as far to the left or right as we can to be safe, but not to infringe too much into people's yards.  I am aware of 6' easements in this public roads neighborhood, but I am also aware of people's attachments to their landscapes, and their disdain for dog pee.

Walking down the road

Today, a unique dilemma arose.  I shouldn't call it a dilemma.  I didn't question what to do.  I did wonder what reactions I would face, and I quickly prepared myself.

There I was, a Dog Whisperer's Apprentice, walking with five dogs down the middle of the street.  A car approached from the east, and as I began to move aside, I noticed a car approaching from the west as well.  Of course, on the lawn to which we were headed out of harm's way, a person appeared and began walking toward us.  The Perfect Storm for a dog walker.

I put my smile on, and had all the dogs quickly sit.  The car from the west passed us by.  The car from the east slowed, and the driver's window lowered.  I could hear a voice, not a happy voice, begin with, "You know...," just as the person on the lawn began to shout, "You know...!"  I looked to the lawn person, and I looked to the driver, and I looked to the dogs, and I looked to the lawn person.  Remember, the two yellers were yelling at the same time, but I'm pretty sure this is what I heard.

Little dogs only pee a teeny bit...

"You know what I can't stand about you dog people?  You're always walking down the middle of the road!"

"You know what I hate about you dog people?  You're always letting your dogs use my yard as a toilet!"

Trying to keep all five dogs from sniffing and peeing was not 100% successful.  It was 80% successful.  One dog peed on the lawn person's lawn.  DANG IT!!!  But I smiled and said, "Do you two see my dilemma?"  They both stared at me.  I looked at one.  I looked at the other.  Then I looked at the dogs and said, "What should we do, guys?  We walk in the road to stay out of the lawns, but when cars come we have to be safe.  Maybe these two people know what we should do. (Looking to the people.) Do you two see our dilemma?  Any suggestions?"

Driver:  "Carry on."

Lawner:  "Carry on."

Me:  "Ok, everybody!  Let's go!  Thanks neighbors."

And on with our walk we went.  Whew!

 Two Happy Lawners

Before, During and After

BEFORE:

I've been sleeping even worse than usual.

I've been wanting to eat nothing but starchy, fatty foods.

I've been less patient and less creative.

People I know, and people I only know of, are experiencing health stressors and death, babies being born, anniversaries of deaths, and new beginnings with new dogs.  They all want attention and advice and permission to be self-absorbed.  Those new to deeply loving, new to 24-hour caregiving, or new to loss want to tell me how to feel and what to do.  Scenarios of how I would say, "This is sadly not new to me," or between gritted teeth spray out, "You, in NO WAY, are just like me," or yell, "You are not the only person under stress and duress in the world, you know!!!" play out in my mind as I continue not to sleep.

I think I'm stressed about Foster's chemotherapy.

Foster has been a beautiful and powerful healer.  Everything is ready.  I've done all that I know to support his physical and mental health.

Let's do this FD.

He is so sweet...

DURING:

In the dark hours of the beginning of this day, Chemotherapy Treatment Number One, I decide to stop focusing on my human irritations.  I decide to stop focusing on all Foster is going to have to endure.  I decide to stop accepting the sick feeling of what I am about to do to him.

I decide to focus on the blessings of what we are able to do for him.

Foster says, "It's all good, Lady.  It's no big thing."

 How do we always get the best ones?

How do we always get the One-In-A-Million Dog?

AFTER:

We wait for side effects in a house with no electricity.

We voice our collective knowledge that no electricity does not mean No Power.

We are powerful.

We are a family.

We are Team Foster Dog.

Our Team Captain is tired.

Heal Heal Heal, Little One.

You are The Focus.

We are Your Team.

It's not you. It's them.

Foster Dog is doing so well, I am overwhelmed!  He is wonderfully strong-willed and strong-hearted.  I am amazed by him, and I shouldn't be.  He's Foster Dog!  He's Awesome!

J has to tell him, "Not yet, buddy.  You'll be able to go for a bike run in about two weeks."

Fosse hates to be told, "Not yet, buddy."

While there is more treatment to come, I am living in the moment that Foster is feeling better and better.  I do not have to do anything but care for him and enjoy him and let him be himself...within incision-holding-staple limits!

I do not want any of my energy to go to the negativity people are compelled to say, so I am going to describe some of it here and let it go.  I've already described some, I know, but in the short time since Foster's diagnosis, I have experienced more.  I know that since I have made my experiences public, I have opened myself to the opinions of others.  I am not sharing to defend myself, receive pity or praise, or to spread negativity.  I am sharing so that if this negativity happens to you in any capacity, you will know that I am with you saying, "It's not you.  It's them."

People can be terribly mean, and I have found that it is often their coping mechanism for managing their guilt.  People often criticize what they see in you because they cannot see it in themselves.  Here are some examples:

There are some people for whom you cannot do enough.
- I can't be counted on as a friend right now because I am "not there" for someone.

Foster has had 2 surgeries within the last 3 weeks, and one was a surprise and nearly an emergency.  I haven't been able to return phone calls as quickly as usual, and I have tried to return business calls before personal ones because I have to work to pay for Foster's surgeries.  I have responded by text to let my friends know a little of what has been going on and nearly everyone has been beautifully supportive.  One person has been experiencing some stress with her cat and is angry that I didn't respond to her message of "I have a question for you.  Call me as soon as you can," quickly enough.  I have learned that she was concerned her cat had cancer, and has since learned that the cat does not, but she is angry that I wasn't "there" for her.  She knows that Foster does have cancer, and she knows that Foster had to have his spleen removed.  I do not believe in competing or comparing, but I do believe in understanding that I have had my own issues to manage and therefore could not help her manage hers.  I can see that she is using me to blame for her stress, fear and anger.  I can see that it's not about me.  Still, it's not right, and I can't put my energy into it.


Some people can think of only how events affect them.
- I have been asked if I'll still be able to provide a presentation for a seminar in November.

Instead of showing concern for Foster, or even me, a friend, I've been asked if I am "planning to honor my commitment." I understand wondering if different arrangements need to be made, but Good Lord, could that have been worded differently for goodness sake?


Some people need to have a source of blame to comfort themselves that stressful events won't happen to them.
- Since so many of my loved ones have had cancer, have I considered that I may be bringing it on myself?

Wow.


Some people who have the money would not spend it on care for their dogs, and seeing what you do makes them feel guilty.
- The money I'm spending on my dog could have been spent on a person's cancer care or could have gone to charity.

The money I earn is spent where I decide, and how does anyone know how much of that money does or doesn't go to charity?  Taking care of my family is always my priority, but no matter how much money I have made I have given to the charities of my choice.  Sometimes, all that I can give is time to charity, so that is what I do.  Sometimes, all I can give is money.

Some people have to criticize to make themselves feel better.  It's just sad.  It's not you.  It's them.

Prepared

I prepare for things.  Some have told me I over-prepare, but those who have benefitted from me having dental floss in my "magic bag," baby wipes in the car, and an extra phone charger in my suitcase are thankful.  It has been said, "You want her with you when you go anywhere," and I love that.  Sometimes there is pressure to think of everything, but it is really pressure I put on myself to be prepared for adventures, events, outings and emergencies.

How does one prepare for a splenectomy?  Good Lord, I read everything I could find on recovery, planned where we would sleep, packed water, snacks, the ramp, the inflatable e-collar, and my Steno notebook of questions.

I've been able to stay with all of my dogs through many procedures over many ailments and years.  I was prepared that I wouldn't be able to stay with Foster during this one.  We were able to stay with him as the Propofol went in, and we were allowed to see his spleen once it was removed, but we weren't allowed to be with him as he woke up from anesthetic.  That was upsetting to me, and then I wasn't prepared for how strongly he would walk out of recovery and wag his tail upon seeing us.  He nearly trotted to me and buried his head under my chin as I knelt down to stabilize him.

My Fosse's shaved skin matches his hair.

We were prepared for the challenge of getting Foster in and out of the car.  He is a jumper and does not like the ramp.  I think it's his independence.  The ramp is not rickety, it's just not the same as jumping, and he wants no part of it, in or out of the car.  The whole experience of getting him home was challenging, but we were prepared that the usual 40-minute trip would take much longer.  There was obstinance and painful moaning, but we did it.  We did it.

I was prepared for Foster to not want to eat or drink, and I should have been prepared for his amazing mobility, but I was still surprised that he wanted to walk around for four hours straight.  This seems to happen with all of our dogs.  Maybe it happens with everyone's dogs.  We're always told that our dog will sleep for several hours, even days, and not have pain due to the injectable whatever.  Well, Foster cried and moaned on the way home, but was so tired his tongue was hanging out of his mouth, and his swallowing reflex was low, creating anxiety for me to give him the Tramadol prescribed for "add on" pain relief.  And even though he was that tired, he would not stop moving.

He finally laid down at about 10:30pm, was up a few times, changed location a few times, and was up for the day at 7am.  I think we are what may be described as an "active" family.  I shouldn't have been surprised.  No big deal.  It wasn't a sleepless night, and we've had a lot of those.  We're always prepared for that.

Fosse prefers to be wedged to rest.

The surgery was thankfully uneventful.  The largest tumor was bigger than a golf ball, but slightly smaller than a lacrosse ball.  His entire spleen will be analyzed, and we should hear the pathology and immunocytology results in 7-10 days.  Foster's staples come out in about 2 weeks.  I am still formulating The Pack's complete nutritional plan, and once Foster is healing from this Divine Detour, we will continue with the Healing Plan.  We will heal Foster Dog.

In the last 18 hours, Foster has had a few naps, a few small walk abouts, one Tramadol in an Applegate turkey sausage, and a few laps of water.  He's just hanging out and healing.  We do not have to be separated until 11:15am tomorrow.  I am prepared for this great day.  I am Team Foster Dog.

Sleeping