2015 Jan 28, Beauty, Joy, and a Certain Peace

Beauty, Joy, and a Certain Peace

Monday afternoon as we returned from a trip to Manteo, NC, I noticed a particular colorful aspect to the clouds. We were headed south on Hwy 12, in the area near Bodie Island Lighthouse. There are, fortunately, patches along that stretch of road to pull over, so we did. I was certain the sun and clouds were about to amaze with a beautiful sunset display. I was not disappointed.

Poor Raymond does not have the same ability to see some of the potential for color in the sky that I have, due to his color deficiency. So, some of the beauty I saw immediately, was lost to him. I often find myself trying to explain what I am seeing, and getting confused looks from him. Some of the pinks that I saw on Monday, appear as yellows to him. But, I digress.

As I took photo after photo, I realized that one of the clouds had what was to me, a distinctive Lab profile shape. The more I watched it, the more distinctive it became. Unfortunately, the only camera I had with me was my phone, but I zoomed in anyway. 

As the "Angel Cloud Dog" took shape, I began to cry. 

Earlier that afternoon, I had been thinking about our Greyla Girl a lot. I was missing her. But, the Greyla I was missing, was not the frail, elderly dog whom we had allowed to cross the Bridge last November, but, rather, the silly, often goofy, sometimes mean girl we had raised from a pup. The thought plaguing me that afternoon, was whether we had held onto her too long. Had we egotistically made her last months harder than they would've been out of selfishness, because we didn't want to let her go? 

And then I saw the dog shaped profile in the clouds. I pointed it out to Raymond, but it seemed to have much more significance to me. I took it as a sign that Greyla bore no ill will toward the selfish humans who loved her too much. It seemed to me that it was a sign that Greyla was, indeed, at peace and in a joyful place. I took it as communication that there is beauty, joy and peace, if we look for it. Yes, I cried. In fact, I still cry when I look at the series of photos I took that afternoon. I cry because sometimes the beauty in the world is overwhelming. I cry because that beauty, though overwhelming, also brings me joy. And on that particular afternoon, I cried because seeing an "Angel Cloud Dog", brought me peace.

Greyla

2014 Sept 27

 Mind Flotsam ~ GREYLA

Yesterday was a beautiful day weather wise, but an extremely heavy day emotionally. I awoke from a pleasant dream, feeling that something had worked toward resolution with regard to an old emotional wound. A good start to a good day, was my hope.

When I took Greyla out for a walk, the day began to turn emotionally darker. 

Greyla is 15 years, 5 months old, and has some neurological degeneration in her hindquarters, along with arthritic changes. Her vision is poor and her hearing less than perfect. However, her sense of smell and the pleasure she derives from sniffing is topnotch. We walked through the grassy area that she loves, out to the highway, where she always stands with her nose scenting the breeze from the Sound, which I am sure is rich with salty sea smells. Then we returned to our space and RV. 

As we walked the area between our Jeep and the RV, Greyla misstepped and fell down. Because her hindquarters are weak, I tried to support her as she attempted to rise. This resulted in her front legs giving out for the first time that I had noted, and her snout hit the concrete. 

When I finally got her inside the RV, and explained to R what had transpired, he seemed to think it was an anomaly.  My thinking was more dire, which set me on a path of wondering how we will know when the appropriate time comes to put our girl down.

With Blue, our first dog, I had the guidance of both our regular Vet whom I trusted implicitly, along with the Vets I worked with at the emergency Veterinary clinic, and my dear friend Carol, also a Vet. Blue had dual problems, in that she had a tumor on her liver, as well as renal dysfunction. It was the hardest decision we ever had been faced with at the point in our lives, yet we knew what and when it had to be done. 

With Jake, our second dog, the diagnosis was less clear, and we took the necessary step to gain clarity before making any decisions. Once we were relatively certain his 13 year old body was suffering from Leukemia, I was still unable to let him go. I loved that boy with my heart and soul, and so for a short time, while he was on steroids in massive doses, I slept on the floor of our sunroom with him, as his IV bag hung from the ceiling fan. He was unable to stand on his own. I remember awaking from a nap in the middle of the night, on the floor next to him. He had had a bloody bowel movement and attempted to scoot himself away from it, resulting in his beautiful face being inches from the poop. I am haunted by the look in his eyes. At that moment, in perfect clarity I saw that I was keeping him alive only for me.

Our third dog, Baxter, was a rescue who came to us at six years of age. We loved him for six years. At 12 he began to have problems with walking and balance. After x-rays and lengthy exams and observations, it was determined that he had a brain tumor, in the area controlling his balance. It would only exacerbate with time. It hurt, but there was clarity about the decision.

Katie was the fourth dog we put down. She came from a shelter and lived with us for 13 years, which made her probably around 16 when we faced her euthanasia. She made the decision easy for us. She stopped eating, gradually and then refused to drink. She communicated her need to move beyond this life very clearly. She was the only one of our dogs to that point, who didn't die at home, yet it seemed fitting, as she loved all the people at our Vet's office, so when the time came, she was among lots of people who loved her, in addition to her family.

Greyla is another story all together! There were those, including our trusted Vet, who counseled us to put her down in April of 2013, when abdominal x-rays showed the reason for her labored breathing to be a mass, extending from her diaphragm to her small intestine. But, because nobody could site the origin of that mass, we chose to have an ultrasound, ostensibly as part of the diagnostic process. From the ultrasound we discovered that the point of connection for Greyla's mass was her spleen, not her liver, as we had feared. After much consultation with both the Vet who did the ultrasound and our steadfast, caring Vet, Ed Bennett, we opted to go forward with surgery to remove Greyla's spleen and the mass, knowing full well all the ramifications. Greyla's recovery after the splenectomy slow, but steady. And there has not been one day when we have regretted that decision. 

I need to say, that all of that did not take place in a vacuum. Only three months before Greyla's surgery, I had received information that my Daddy had stage four lung cancer, discovered when he required emergency surgery for a bowel obstruction. I was not prepared to have so little control over so many events in such a brief period of time. Keeping Greyla alive at that point, gave the illusion of some control.

While we were in Pittsburgh, both last year, and again briefly in late April, Greyla has had follow ups with her Vet. We currently have her on a combo of meds to ease her arthritic inflammation, as well as to ease any pain she has. We do not have a Vet here on the Island. However, All Pet Animal Hospital and their staff have been wonderful via long distance. 

The problem is, now that I see deterioration, and although she still enjoys going outside to sniff,and she has never peed in the house, although she does poop in the house in a laying position regularly, she still eats though with less gusto, and drinks normally, and we are mostly able to manage her pain, I'm not sure how to gauge when it is time to let her go. Add to that, the complexity of R's relationship with her. Greyla is technically R's dog. She was a gift to him for his 50th birthday, as he had expressed a desire for another female black lab. 

The other night I thought I saw just a shadow of the look that Jake gave me that haunts me still. However, I don't want to be the one who makes this determination. I don't fully trust myself ~ the past year has been a difficult emotional one for me, filled with loss and mourning, on many levels. And Greyla, although a sweet dog in many ways, is not the brightest bulb on the tree :) I'm not certain she has the depth of spirit that Jake had, so it could be that I'm allowing guilt to see things that don't really exist.

R's response to my queries yesterday regarding Greyla's health and general well being was, "Her life's not so bad right now". Is he correct? Or is he delusional? 

How do we know what is right and when it's right? Do we wait for her to be unable to walk at all? To pee in the house? To loose all interest in food? Does her dignity come into play? And does she even have the self awareness to have "dignity"? 

Yesterday, my conclusion was to wait it out until R sees and resolves that  the time has come.  Today I find myself wondering if he sees through eyes so blinded by love for her, as I was with Jake, that he is missing important clues to her well being.

I spend too much time crying because I fear the loss, yet cannot bring myself to say with certainty that now is the time to let her go. This sucks.

Loss and Balance

LOSS and BALANCE

A friend and her friend's posts on FaceBook recently got me thinking about how we deal with loss, especially as it impacts us with regard to our pets and animals we love.  So, if some of this seems familiar, you may have read it on FaceBook.

My friend has a flock of chickens and loves them each individually.  More times than she would like recently she has found herself in the unenviable position of having to cull a sick hatchling. She has also had to have some very sick chickens put down. All of this is very painful and has her questioning her "toughness".  She has gotten some wonderful support from people who love her, but none of that makes it any easier when she finds herself in an untenable position. 

It got me to wondering about how we cope with the loss of beloved animals in our lives.  Do we toughen up?  Do we simply learn to accept the grieving process?  Do we actually become "better" at grieving?  Lacking a scientific study, although I'm sure there are some available, I decided to look inward to how I've survived the death of four dogs of my own, a cat of ours, and the loss of several dogs belonging to others with whom I bonded in some special way.

I have found it extremely difficult to achieve that balance of toughness and the total abandonment to love my critters and still survive their deaths. 

When my first dog, Blue died I was in shock for a month and then came the tears and pain. She had been the first dog Raymond and I had together and she traveled everywhere with us. She was 14 when she began to exhibit serious health issues and died not long after being diagnosed with both a liver tumor and renal failure. I worked in a Veterinary Clinic at the time and because of demands at work and the Christmas holiday season, I buried my feelings for the first month.  Then, I found myself at a Veterinary Convention at a seminar on "The Human-Animal Bond and Grief".  The speaker was excellent, but half way through her presentation, I had a total emotional collapse and found it difficult to stop sobbing. Though we also had two other dogs at the time, Jake and Baxter, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had somehow let Blue down.  Jake was more honest to his emotions. Blue had been 3 when we added Jake to our family.  She was less than impressed, but he idolized her.  She eventually learned to tolerate Jake, but for him, Blue was always the leader and his buddy. When she died, Jake was present and circled her body, sniffing her and licking. He then went into what I can only describe as a depressive period.  He lost interest in food and toys; spent many hours sleeping; spent less time with his dog friends in play activities. After three months we began visiting shelters because it was clear that Jake "needed" a black dog to help him get over Blue.  That was when we adopted Katie.

When Jake died, I was inconsolable and still cry because I miss him. He was my heart dog. He lived with us from puppyhood until leukemia took him from us in 1999. He was 14 when he died. He was "my dog", although he was lovely to everyone he ever met,  human, canine, feline and rodent. I learned many lessons from Jake, both in his life and in his death. I learned that I can be loved unconditionally by a creature with paws and fur and forgiven when I mess up. But, the pain of losing him caused me to harden my heart a little.  Just a few weeks after Jake's death, my husband was turning 50 and expressed the wish for " a black female Lab". As fate would have it clients at the Vet Hospital where I worked had a litter and there were several black females. Thus, Greyla came to live with us, as "my husband's dog", as I was quick to point out to EVERYONE! I just couldn't open myself up to love her with total abandon. It was too soon after Jake. It has taken me nearly 11 years to recognize the fact that she is, in fact, my dog. Not that she and Raymond don't have a special bond, but down deep, she's really Mommy's girl.   

Baxter was a rescue and lived with us for six years and though I was comforted by the fact that he was well loved in those six years, losing him was painful. He came to us as an answer to my desire for a third dog.  We had Blue and Jake who were thirteen and ten, respectively when Baxter arrived. He was six. He was so happy to have a home and yard and people who took him everywhere they went, that he was thrilled to be low man on the doggie totem pole. And though he finally got his weight up into a normal range for a Lab, he always thought he was a lap dog, which was fine with me. It was very hard to lose him when he was 12 due to a brain tumor. He had quirks which we were never able to correct or even understand, but he was a love. We were almost always a three dog household when Baxter was with us, so maybe that insulated me somewhat from some of the pain I felt at losing Blue and Jake. Or maybe I had already begun to close myself off. I do know that when Baxter died, and we were suddenly a two dog household, it didn't enter my heart or mind to add another. We had our two black girls, that was enough.

In January 2009, we sent Katie across the bridge to reunite with Jake, Baxter and her many doggie friends who had preceded her in death. With Katie, I found that I had walled away a portion of myself as protection, so that when she died, I realized how detached I had been from her, emotionally. I loved her, but I never fully let her into my heart, in spite of the fact that she lived with us for over 12 years and, as with our other dogs, she had traveled everywhere  with us. It was only in letting her go that I realized how much she and I both missed. Perhaps that's when I began to really let Greyla in more completely. 

We have also had a cat. When you work in a Vet Clinic, it seems inevitable that even if you are not a self professed "cat person", you will end up being charged with the welfare of a cat sooner or later. The cat that became ours was a three week old abandoned kitten. Since the placeI worked at was only open in the evening and on week ends, it was determined that I should take the kitten home with me, since we had no other cats and wouldn't have to worry about isolating her.  My plan was to wean her and find her a good home.  Then, I brought her home. My husband fell in love! My oldest dog, Blue, attempted to nurse the kitten! My other dog, Jake, guarded the entrance to the sunporch where we kept her litter box and basket!  Spike became part of the family for the next ten years. She died in an unfortunate accident while we were away on vacation.  And I shed no tears for Spike when she died, which is sad and embarrassing to admit. Am I that hard-hearted?

I have shed tears for cats, though, as well as for rats (the pet variety) and loads of dogs whom I have known in one capacity or another, and some that I have never met, but have only read about.  And I have shed tears for my friend who loves her chickens, gives them all names and finds herself dying a little when she must make hard decisions about the flock.

It has been suggested that perhaps we learn some balance in our loving-grieving cycle as we go through life. It has taken me a long time to really let Greyla into my heart, as I have previously mentioned. But, at least I finally have. Though I fear when her time comes I will again be inconsolable. 

Balance? I can't seem to find it.