Heart of Gold

Dogs come in and out of our lives too quickly. Sometimes one will prove to be extra special; they touch your heart, and you know that you will never be worthy of the love they show you. They don’t mind though, dogs are generous that way.

As a dog trainer I have many more dogs pass through my life than most people. I remember the majority of the dogs, and only a few of the people attached to the other end of their leashes… But some dogs are just so special, that even though they don’t belong to me, I become incredibly invested and often find myself becoming friends with their families. Maybe these special dogs are attached to special people and that’s part of the reason.

Today, one of my favorites, this beautiful soul, crossed the Rainbow Bridge. My heart is breaking for the special person that was always at the other end of his leash.

She did so much for him, and with him. Through their therapy visits they touched and brightened so many lives, and so many people will feel sadness at his passing. But I know from experience, that no one will miss him more than the other end of his leash. I can only hope that the knowledge of all the love he brought in his short time here, and all the happy memories they shared together can bring her some comfort.

So give your pup a scratch behind the ear, let them know that you will try your best to be worthy of their love, and if you’re so inclined, say a prayer of comfort for my dear friend who has lost her heart of gold.

Good-byes

We both lie awake at this ungodly hour, staring into each other’s eyes, knowing what needed to be said, but neither one of us wanting to be the one to speak first. We knew it was the end, we had seen it coming for a while, but that doesn’t make it easier. Twelve and a half years. It seems like a long time, but it’s never enough.

I started to realize he wouldn’t say it out loud until I did, so I started searching for the right words, to make it as gentle as possible. Then it all came rushing back to me; the first time I saw her.

It was a beautiful summer morning. She was standing in a parking lot with some bad boy type, (stitches in his face, “probably was in a bar fight or something,” I thought to myself), and though I’m typically shy, I had to introduce myself; she was stunning.

Her guy was looking at me some kind of way, but I only had eyes for her, the way the sun made her glimmer, and her eyes! Oh, her eyes! I’m not usually one for brown eyes, but hers were like melted chocolate, deep, and soulful, yet full of wonder and joy, taking in everything around her.

As I approached she locked eyes with me, I gave my best smile, and she started to wiggle and snort, chasing a tail that was no longer there. She gave me some of her best kisses, and I gave her a little piece of my heart, as I did all the puppies that came through my classes. Her name was Mustang Sally.

She excelled in puppy class, and I learned that her handler got his stitches from a pair of vice grips that fell at work. She came back for my beginner class twice, and then intermediate. At graduation from the intermediate class, her handler, who still looked at me some kind of way, asked me to a movie, and I said yes.

I brought my dogs with me: Heidi, my soul mate, and Peanut, the baddest bitch to ever live, and certified joy incarnate.

Do you believe in love at first sight? I do, because I witnessed it first hand.

Peanut and Sally had an instant connection. They ran and played for four hours straight, collapsing on the kitchen floor in exhaustion, still licking and chewing at each other’s jowls. And she took more of my heart.

Through the years we started calling them Yin and Yang, two halves of a whole, light and dark. Many other dogs came in and out of our lives through fostering, sitting, and training, but they saved their best love for each other.

When one was sick, the other would stay close by. If one had a quarrel with another dog, the other had her back. They always had each other, through everything.

Sally became my demo dog for training when I had to retire Heidi. We started agility training together, and I’ll never forget her heartbreak when I became pregnant with the twins and we could no longer go. She was always so eager to work with me, to learn new things, and to snuggle.

Once I had the time to get back to training Sally was a bit old for agility, so we trained for therapy work. She passed her test with ease and was certified through TDI. She loved the visits and saying hello to everyone she could, but the shiny tile floors of the medical facilities were hard on her, so we had to retire from visits.

Dogs age so fast, sometimes we don’t even realize it’s happened. Sally was starting to get grumpy in her old age. As she grew less patient with puppies at training class, she had to retire as my demo dog. It was hard on us both.

White fur took over her little black monkey face, but her rich, chocolate eyes remained. She started growing lumps and bumps, but most seemed to be old lady warts, or lypomas (fatty tumors). We had a benign mass removed from her mouth, and in another year when something else grew, we had to leave it alone. The foul smell of her breath telling us that something more was going on. Something not fixable.

But for a while she was still happy, and would wiggle and snort, despite her now white face, and the silver creeping down her neck and up her legs.

Then Peanut passed unexpectedly. Sally didn’t want food the next couple days, and had a hard time sleeping, but Tilly and Porkchop did their best to give comfort, whether Sally wanted it or not.

A couple weeks after Peanut passed Sally collapsed in a seizure. When it was over and I was cleaning her up I begged her, “please don’t leave me too, my heart can’t take it.” And she held on.

She had her bad days, a random seizure here and there, but we also had so many more good days. Days where she would do her silly-Sally-donut-dance, chasing a tail she never knew. Trying to instigate play with Porkchop, our newest addition, only to have Tilly intervene with concern for Sally. Nights where she would snuggle up next to the kids and let them read her stories.

But tonight… Tonight she wouldn’t eat her dinner. Not even after I put bacon on it. Tonight, she made the woman who has been commended for keeping her cool in some tough situations feel like a scared child. Barry was asleep, and I was drifting when our youngest three dogs scrambled up from bed to check on Sally.

It was 2:30 AM, she was standing in the corner, and I thought she needed out.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing the violence of the seizure she had on the deck. The sting of the cold burning my bare feet in the snow as I tried to keep her safe and comfortable until it was over. The sound of Porkchop barking in alarm or the sound of panic in my voice as I called for Barry’s help. The look of confusion on her face as she tried to figure out how to open her mouth for the Valium.

And now, here we were, Barry and I, lying on the floor, staring into each other’s eyes. Barry’s filled with pain, mine swollen from crying. Sally looking at us with love, and then confusion as another mild tremor passed through. Tilly and Pixie watching over us three, giving nose touches for comfort when I would become racked with sobs, but retreating when I composed myself again. Porkchop trying to get as close to her as he could to snuggle, as he had done since Peanut died, barking in a panic whenever she would start to relax. They all knew what was coming.

It was morning now, and she wasn’t getting better. She didn’t seem to be in pain; she still wagged her little nub if we spoke to her, telling her what a good girl she was, and how much we loved her, but she could no longer stand. I still hadn’t found the words I was looking for, are there words gentle enough for this?

“Well, what do you think?” So grossly inadequate. So crass. They disgust me, but that’s what I finally managed to ask him. Because, though she had become my dog in many ways, she would always be his baby.

“I didn’t want to have to make this decision.” And God, how I related to those words. The pain and the anguish in them. And he finally cried, as he buried his face in his hands, admitting that this was the end.

I texted my mom to let her know, because she loved her too, and I needed the comfort from her, but couldn’t speak aloud.

I sent a text to my sister/coworker/vet tech, to let her know we’d be in the office first thing.

I had him call his mother, so she could say goodbye to the puppy she helped him find twelve and a half years ago. The puppy that shared her birthday.

We told the kids that Sally was sick, that there was no way for her to get better, so the doctor was going to give her some special medicine so she would fall asleep, and then she would pass away, and go to be with Peanut. They hugged her, and kissed her, and cried.

Barry’s sister, who works at the vet office gave her kisses and snuggles. Then my sister, the vet tech, and our Veterinarian, who had treated Sally for twelve and a half years sobbed as they too said their farewells.

Barry wrapped his arms around her, holding my hand for strength and comfort, and with her head on my lap, I looked in those beautiful brown eyes one last time and we said, I love you.

Medicinal Dogs

Today was not a great day health-wise. I was sick last night, and again this morning when I tried to eat a bagel. Then I didn’t eat and ended up with a crazy headache, but later managed a banana, which helped. The dogs comfort me though, lots of snuggles. 

Since I wasn’t feeling up to anything I threw in a load of laundry and started scrolling through Facebook more than I’ve allowed myself to in months…

It’s been decent for my mental health, distancing myself from Facebook and the people there. I like them, but they’re just not usually good for me because I empathize with everyone, and then find myself worrying about them, then stressing about problems I can’t help, and then I’m in an anxiety ridden, depressive spiral of doom.

Anywho, many of my friends work and/or volunteer in animal rescue, so I see a lot of posts for dogs and cats that need homes. Because we’re near Manhattan I see a lot of them that will be euthanized if not pulled by a rescue from the public shelters. 

Today I came across a 5 year old Cane Corso set to be killed at noon. I sent his picture to my husband (Bear) and told him the dog was set to die. Then when I popped back to Facebook there was a 1 year old blue and white Staffordshire terrier that was also set to die at noon, so I sent Bear his picture too.

Bear wrote me back, “He’s beautiful; I’d love to have another Bruce, but we just can’t right now.”in response to the picture of the Corso.

I never heard back about the Staffy, and it was getting closer to noon. I checked on the pups and the Corso had been pulled by rescue, but the Staffy was still in danger. He was so young, and had such a good temperament evaluation, I just couldn’t bear it. So I called Linda Kane, who runs Orange County Barkers Rescue, and asked her to pull him for us. I did not tell Bear.

Later, I received confirmation that he was safe and would be headed up tomorrow or Friday, so I posted his picture on my Facebook page to take a poll on names. I enjoy ridiculous names, and my animals reflect that. 

Bear came home to change before going to poker. I told him about the kids’ dance class, he told me about his day, and then he asked me if I would make golabkis for dinner Friday since he had the day off. I said yes, (how could I deny him that when I was springing a dog on him?!?!)

Then it happened…

Bear: So that Corso really got pulled, he’s safe?

Me: Yes, a rescue pulled him.

Bear: Good, we just can’t with another dog that big right now. It’s not like Bruce who was 11 and had cancer. That dog was young and we would have had him a long time. He’s just too big until we have less dogs. We can’t do the young pittie either, he’d be too much.

Me: Ok. *Takes bite of pizza*

Bear: We’re NOT getting him, right?

Me: *stuffs entire pizza crust into mouth* Mo…

Bear: You’re lying, aren’t you?

Me: Mo…….

Bear: Why?!?! I told you we couldn’t!

Me: You didn’t tell me no to that one…

Bear: I said no to the other one, why would you think this one is OK???

Me: You said no because the other one was too big, this one is smaller…

Bear: I fucking hate you. We’re not keeping him.

Me: I’m taking a poll, do you think he’s more of a Mr. Picklesworth or a Baron Von Porkchop?

H: I hate you. We’re not keeping him! *Leaves, comes back in, kisses me* We’re not keeping him! *leaves*

Some people have retail therapy, I have medicinal dogs. I also have the best husband, who loves me in spite of all my flaws.

Oh, and in case you were wondering:

The poll on my Facebook page has Baron Von Porkchop winning by a landslide…

His Lordship.

From the first time I saw him I was struck by how beautiful he was, this tiny ginger kitten. Oh, how he hated me though, hissing and spitting at me the first couple days after I trapped them from behind a local pet store. Even as his brothers became more comfortable with me handling them, he would try to avoid me.

Once he discovered I held the bottle though, it was a different story. He was frantic to see me, crawling all over me when I had the litter out for playtime, snuggling and purring on my lap when he was tired. My kids helped me name the kittens and he was saddled with Lord Broccoli.

Once all the kittens were weaned and healthy I made up flyers to find them homes. I decided to not include his picture, we didn’t need to keep another cat, but I was so in love with him. His brothers were adopted into loving homes, but he and the singleton kitten I had found near them never left.

I thought I should change his name, Lord Broccoli was fine when I thought I’d adopt him out and it’d be changed, but it was silly, even by my standards. My friends and especially my brother were vehemently against a name change, and through them I made his name even more ludicrous: Lord Broccoli Brockington III, Esq. of Finland. (I don’t know why Finland, that’s just what my brother decided!)

As Broccoli grew my brother sent me a video of a cat doing agility and tricks and told me to “get on this.” So Broccoli, who always begged for treats when I prepared them for dog training started his journey with clicker training.

View some of his tricks here.

He learned to come when called, sit, sit up pretty, touch a target, do jumps, and play dead. He was such a smart kitty and so eager to offer behaviors.

When he wasn’t on my lap snuggling he was doing obnoxious things to get my attention. He and my first bottle fed kitty, Cheese, were constantly trying to get prime lap space, even lying on top of one another. Brockies let me tease him, and rub his tummy, he didn’t care, as long as he had my attention.

Last night we found Broccoli had passed away unexpectedly. My heart is empty, utter devastation. I’ve cried hysterically, my eyes are beyond swollen from it and I feel hungover. He was just 2 years old in July, he was seemingly healthy, I just can’t understand what happened. I’m feeling guilty for every time I pushed him off my lap, for not cuddling every time he wanted, for not noticing that something must have been wrong.

I’ve asked my vet to examine him so that maybe I can get some answers as to what happened. I know he was probably a genetic nightmare from inbreeding in the cat colony, but I just can’t wrap my head around such a young cat dying like this.

He was my baby, he’d just learned to give a high-five, and I’m going to miss his angora-soft fur, the way he smashed his head into me, the way he rolled over on his back and grabbed my hand, the way he meowed at me. He was so gorgeous and loving, and I’m so lost without him.

One

Anyone that knows me personally knows that I am crazy dog people. (Most people that know me personally, that aren’t family, know me because I’m crazy dog people!)

“Ermahgerd, I lurv dergs ter!”

Maybe you do, but I doubt most people would consider adopting out their future children because they were afraid their dog, who came from a home where she was abused by a child, wouldn’t do well. (Don’t judge me, I knew and loved my dog, these little kids could grow up to be fascist dictators for all I knew.) Ultimately I put in a crap ton of time and training to make sure everyone loved each other instead, and they do.

That’s my level of crazy. If someone asks me if Bear is my soulmate I will tell them no. He’s my partner, best friend, love of my life, but Heidi was my soulmate. A lot of people will talk about their “heart dogs,” but she was more than that to me. Heidi was my first German Shepherd and we had such a connection that I’ve canonized her in my mind, nearly forgetting all her naughty puppy antics. She’s been gone for nearly five years and I still cry over her. I love all my dogs, but Heidi was different; she was perfect, and when she died I knew that I would never love another dog the way I loved her.

Then came Bruce. If you’re involved in rescue at all, you know about the New York ACC’s, the high rates of euthanasia, and the crazy Facebook cross-posters. (I’m not saying cross-posting doesn’t save lives, but when all you do is post dogs, especially ones that aren’t even in your area, people tend to ignore your posts.) Normally when I see posts of dogs from the ACC I just scroll past, it makes me sad because I know there isn’t anything I can do right now. I don’t have a rescue of my own, and I don’t have room to adopt/foster, as I kept my last foster. (Two bedroom ranch with 2 kids, 4 dogs, and 5 cats, the inn is full.) But there was this awful photo of Kane, a Cane Corso (It’s an Italian Mastiff, pronounced “kah-nay,” not “kayn,” rawr.) His family had had him since he was 7 weeks old, and now that he was 11 and had peed in the house, he had to go, so they dumped him at the Brooklyn ACC where he was set to be euthanized at noon on Valentine’s Day. Something about his photo… I just connected with him instantly, and I showed it to Bear expecting a strict “No.” as per most of our dog conversations. Instead he said, “He’s gorgeous, I’d tell you to get him, but we’ll just get attached and then he’ll die.”

Listening to the first part of his sentence I messaged my friend who can pull “rescue only” dogs and asked her to pull him for me. She tried to talk me out of it, he was listed as food aggressive, it’s a serious breed if there are behavior issues, she didn’t have a place for him if I decided I couldn’t keep him with the kids and other animals at my house, but I was adamant. I needed this dog; he could not die alone in that shelter.

“Kane” arrived at my house on Monday the 17th of February, and peed what looked like straight blood into the snow. With a raging bladder infection, who could blame him for having an accident in the house? We fixed that; after a few courses of antibiotics he never peed in my house. We changed his name to Bruce, and we made sure he knew he was loved. He did not have food aggression, but was protective of the property, he was great with my kids, cats, and dogs, and was fine with company when we had people in the house. He learned not to beg, that dogs aren’t allowed in the food prep area of the kitchen, and that he had to wait for an invitation to come up on the bed/couch. He fit right in from the first day here, both Bear and I said multiple times, “It’s like he’s always been here.” Even though the house was a bit more crowded, it didn’t feel like it, because he just fit.

Bruce was special, and he was my heart dog. He had so much love to give, and you couldn’t help but want to return it. When we first brought him home I was so angry that his former owners would do that to him. To take a dog you’ve had since he was weaned, who gave you the best years of his life, and then to just dump him to die alone in a shelter? I couldn’t fathom it, and I hated them for it. Now I’m thankful. I’m glad that they did it, because it gave us a chance to love him. It gave us a beautiful 5 1/2 months together. It wasn’t long enough for me, but I know that when the cancer finally became too much for him, Bruce died in our home, in his home, with his head in my lap, knowing that he was loved.

Today marks one year since Bruce left me. I still hear him bark sometimes, or think I see him at the end of the hallway when I come out of the shower where he used to peek around the corner, and some days I still tear up at the thought of him. I miss his velvety nose nudging my hands for attention, his playful nips when I ignored him, his clumpy feet stepping on the tops of mine (despite how much that hurt!), and his heavy head resting in my lap.

Many people say, “I don’t know how you did that, it’s so heartbreaking, I don’t think I could!” But I can tell you, it was worth it. Every single tear was worth it, and to feel love like that, I’d do it all again. Heidi was my soulmate, but Bruce was the king of my heart.