The Jinx of 3's?

It is said that events happen in threes.

I'm not sure that it is specific to bad events but that seems to be the way it occurs.I hope it doesn't hold true this time.

My neighbor just informed me that they are going to put down one of their dogs next week. The dog, I believe her name is Sam, (I must edit. Her name, I remember now, is Molly)has lost her hearing and most of her vision. She has lost control of her bowels. They believe that "She is just miserable."

I am sad for them, they take in abused and displaced Burnese Mountain dogs or cross breeds thereof. They have been through several dogs and it is their dedication that keeps them sane through the horror that is putting down a beloved family member.

A friend of mine at work has two purebred Burnese. Her male, Charlie, only six years old, has been diagnosed with a liver cancer that was found after it had already metastisized. Last week the vet told her that Charlie probably only has two weeks left to live. I worked with her this past Sunday but now I am afraid to ask her about Charlie. It may be too late and she is much like myself in that she doesn't want a bunch of people offering hollow condolences which, while full of the best intentions, only serve to refresh the grief.

My hope is that Rowdy is not number three. If you throw in ever weakening hips from dysplasia and blood in the stool, Rowdy is in much the same shape as Sam. I keep looking for the sign that he is miserable. Perhaps I am in denial, but I don't see it yet. Yesterday when I got home we played an old favorite game while I was changing into my sweats. I mock slap him with a sock or the leg of my sweats, and he lunges at me as if he were to bite me but he never does. As I try to block him with my feet, he becomes more "aggressive" in his mock attack. This usually throws me into a fit of the giggles which encourages him even more. While the game is not as physical or long lasting as it used to be, he still gets that mischevious grin and that light in his eyes when he realizes it's game on.

I thought that I would be willing to trade Rowdy's lingering demise for Charlies swift disease process. Maybe I still would, but I would never trade our fourteen years of adventures together for six short ones.

Doggie Dementia?

Last night I let my soon to be 14, deaf, cataract impaired, stool incontinent, hip crippled dog, Rowdy out for a while. I checked back at the storm door after about half an hour. No Rowdy. I called out "DOG!" though I'm not sure why because as I said, he is deaf, waited for a moment and when he didn't show, sat back down in front of the T.V.

About a half an hour later the whole scenario repeated. Still, I wasn't too concerned. He likes to go where the hay leaves fall on this side of the horse corral and graze on their delicate sweetness. I encourage this habit because at his advanced age his grooming habits (he used to bathe himself very much as a cat does) and breath leave a lot to be desired. He can use all the sweetness he can find. The third time I went to the door I became concerned. He is usually not gone that long. I had visions of him laying belly down, all fours sprawled out, as sometimes happens, on the icy ground unable to muster the strength or traction to upright himself. My other thought was that perhaps he had wandered into the dog pen behind the shed and the gate had closed behind him. I hoped for the latter scenario, feeling guilty now that I hadn't gone out to find him sooner.
I told the cat that I was going out to find his brother and threw on a coat. I walked to the spot where I expected to find him but he was not there. I checked the dog pen and the gate was shut but no dog inside. I started to panic a little and began shouting, "DOG! DOG!" I returned to the front yard expecting to find him sprawled out in the snow beyond the trees where I couldn't see him. "DOG!" And then I heard it. The distinct monotonic, staccato arf that has become his deaf dog bark.

"Arf....."

"Arf....."

"Arf....."

Sound seems to travel a little bit differently when the night is still and there is a lot of snow on the ground. To me it sounds like he is across the street, behind the neighbors house! He never leaves the yard and I can't imagine why he would travel that far this late at night. I'm more panicked now because the neighbors have two giant Burmese Mountain dogs and one of them likes to pick fights.

I see that the light is still on at their house. They are such good people, not to mention dog lovers (they have offered to be there for me when the inevitable arrives, as it does for all good dogs) and I am sure they will help me locate Rowdy. I dash back into the house and grab a flashlight. I consider changing from my street shoes to some snow boots but feel like I've already wasted too much time.

Back out the door, I start up the driveway. I don't hear his bark anymore.

"DOG!" Nothing.

"DOG!!" I still don't hear him and I'm sure he still doesn't hear me but what else shall I do? I start across the street when I hear him again. "Arf!"

He is behind me somewhere. He barks again. Definitely behind me. I spin around and start walking toward the field to the west of the house. Although it is dark, I see movement in the ditch in front of me. The flashlight reveals my deaf and nearly blind dog in the bottom of the ditch.
My ditches are not your average ditches. My house is on the downhill side of the street, and hills, dare I say, mountains, arise to the west and north. The ditch is built to handle large amounts of runoff from the hills. It is at least six feet across and five to six feet deep with a 36" (?) culvert under the driveway. Last spring they came along and lined several miles of ditch with medium sized rock to help prevent erosion. The rock makes it even more difficult to climb down into the ditch to retrieve my garbage cans after the "sanitation" drones throw them in there. But, I digress.

I shine the light on Rowdy. He has made a path in the snow down the middle of the length of ditch he has become trapped in. I can only imagine how he got in there. I'm guessing he was somewhere on top when he must have lost his balance and rolled to the bottom. I foolishly think that he will climb right out when he realizes I am there. He seems to sense something as he stumbles through the hard crusted snow, closer to the driveway end of the ditch where I am standing. I am yelling at him and clapping my hands in an effort to get him to come closer. He stares vacantly straight ahead and seems to be listening intently. I realize that he hasn't seen me yet. The vet has assured me that Rowdy's cataracts are in the preliminary stages, but I know that he is almost blind in the dark. I try to shine the flashlight on me while waving with my other hand as close to his field of vision as I can get, all the while yelling his name and making I-don't-remember-what-kind of noises, trying vainly to get his attention. He arfs once, turns, and starts to wander off in the opposite direction. I have to commit now. I scooch down the snow crusted bank of the ditch on my butt, feet first. Snow spills into my shoes. At the bottom Rowdy is still trying to travel in the other direction. I catch up to him and tap him on the rear. He startles as he always does when emerging from the shroud of his dark, silent world. I pick him up and carry him back to the driveway embankment and lift him as high as I can onto the bank. He clings there for a moment until I boost him the rest of the way out.

(scene of the rescue)

Back in the house the dog curls on the floor beside me licking his wet fur. He does not seem to be injured. He looks at me now with some recognition. I tell him dogs typically rescue humans, not so much the other way around. He continues his bath. The cat has found his way back to my lap and is purring contentedly.

I say aloud, "My boys are here with me, safe and sound once again." Though I know it is just a matter of time before one of them is gone forever.

Creation

Welcome. I begin again. A new year, a new blog.

Unlike my brother, I find New Year's to be one of my favorite holidays. A fresh start, a new beginning. The insincereity of Christmas behind and spring just ahead. A rebirth and the prospect of new opportunities. I find it totally refreshing and eagerly anticipate what the universe has in store for me.

Even the blizzard that just passed through brings the promise of rebirth. With so much water for spring growth I imagine the weeds will flourish. Weeds not at all native to the area. Ah, the law of unintentional circumstance.

I have two small birds that like to perch on the thermometer outside my front door. It started with one. At night I would find her? him? all ruffled up with his nose tucked under a wing. After several weeks, another bird of the same feather joined. They now perch together. One on the round thermometer itself, and the other on the bracket which attaches it to the eave of the roof. I can go in and out of the door and they do not feel threatened enough to take flight. If the screen door is opened all the way, the upper corner of the door comes within inches of the thermometer and sometimes still they do not fly away.

If the cat has noticed them there, he does not let on.