Skippy

This evening, while I had some time to kill, I spent it browsing on Pinterest. I was checking out pins posted by the people I follow. One pin caught my eye. It was a picture of a thin, dirty and scruffy cat lying on a curb, apparently asleep. The cat was obviously underfed; it looked like it was starving. My heart went out to that poor cat.

Then I read the words on the picture:

"I didn't mean to scratch your kid.
If he wasn't pulling my tail all the time maybe I'd still be living at home.
Now, I am dirty and hungry."

At the bottom, it read:

"Ignorance Is Intolerable."


This made me pause. It brought back a memory from my childhood.

When I was a little girl, we had a dog named Skippy. A Cocker Spaniel. We LOVED Skippy. He was so friendly and lovable.

Well, most of us loved him. One of us, my younger brother, was cruel to him. Every single day, he pulled on Skippy’s ears and hurt him in some way. Yes, he intentionally hurt the dog. He thought it was funny or he found some kind of amusement in it. We would try to protect Skippy and keep him from my younger brother, but my younger brother always found a way to get to Skippy and hurt him some more.

And my parents did nothing about it. Nothing! It should be said that my younger brother ALWAYS got away with everything his whole life. He was loved more than we were. He was always Number One. The More Important Child.

And it should also be said that he later went on to kill two cats – one that belonged to me, one that belonged to my sister. In fact, he arranged it so I would see my dead cat.

Well, anyway. Back to Skippy. As I said, we LOVED Skippy, except for his tormentor. Day after day, poor Skippy took this kind of abuse from my younger brother.

Until, finally, he’d had enough. You know how it is when someone, even an animal, is tormented for years, bullied or abused or tortured, then one day snaps back at his tormenter? That is what Skippy did. He’d had enough of my younger brother’s treatment and he bit him.

Of course, my younger brother ran crying to my parents, saying that Skippy had intentionally bit him. He claimed he’d done NOTHING wrong. That he was just playing with the dog.

And my parents believed him.

We tried to tell Skippy’s side of the story, though. We tried to explain that my younger brother had hurt Skippy, had BEEN hurting Skippy, and that was why he bit him.

But they didn’t listen. They didn’t care. In their eyes, Skippy was an Evil Dog. A Very Bad Dog.

A dog that had to be destroyed because it had bitten a child.

So they had Skippy taken away to be put to sleep. I still remember standing outside of the truck, at the cage Skippy was in, crying as I said goodbye.

And I hated my younger brother for that. We blamed him for Skippy’s death. We were all mad at him.

Skippy had taken the abuse, the pain and torment from my younger brother for months. And when he finally fought back against his tormenter, he paid for it with his life.

Remembering this made me really sad. I still miss Skippy and I still felt anger over the whole thing. But I also felt anger over something else: The fact that my parents did NOTHING when one of their children was hurting a dog.

Why? Why didn’t they do anything?

Why did they never teach him to be kind to animals?

In thinking on this some more, I realized that if my parents HAD intervened, then maybe that wouldn’t have happened and Skippy would not have had to lose his life in such a horribly unfair way.

Ignorance is NEVER tolerable. It should never be put up with. Animal abuse is a horrible thing, and cruelty towards animals is just as horrible. There is nothing funny about hurting an animal. There is nothing funny about tormenting an animal and making it suffer from horrible abuse. There is nothing entertaining at all about hurting animals.

We need to encourage people to be kind to animals. We need to teach our CHILDREN to be kind to animals. Allowing children to hurt and abuse animals for entertainment or for some sick desire to see an animal suffer is not only irresponsible but heartless.

Please be a voice for the animals and stop animal cruelty. Please step up and stop someone from abusing an animal or hurting an animal. Tell them to stop. Tell them it is wrong. And, if it’s your child, TEACH him it is wrong.

Animals don’t have a voice. WE are their voice. We are the ones who can help them. Don’t turn a blind eye to animal cruelty or animal abuse. Please, put a stop to it. Right now. Be their voice. Be the one who can save them, because they are not able to save themselves.

Dogs on the loose

You know, you usually don’t expect a whole lot of interesting stuff to happen when you go outside to get the mail. Usually, you walk outside, open the creaking mailbox, frown over the spiders hurriedly crawling back into the darkness, then reach in to grab the mail. You retrieve the mail from the mailbox, groan over the sight of a bill, then lazily, disinterestedly close the mailbox and turn around to walk back into the house.

Yawn!

Yet it is something we do day after day after day. Well, except on Sundays! Boring stuff, I know, but it’s one of those monotonous rituals of our lives!

Except today, for me, going out to get the mail was not as boring as it normally is.

After I got the mail and released the obligatory groan over the sight of a bill, I turned to walk back to my house … then nearly jumped sky-high. I saw this THING charging right at me, barking its head off.

The first thing I realized was that this “thing” was a dog.

The second thing I realized was that it was a small dog.

The third thing I realized was that this small dog actually belonged to one of my neighbors. Apparently, it had somehow or another gotten outside! I don’t know the neighbor personally – I’ve been to his yard sales and have seen his wife moving around in the front yard – but I did know that he had a few Chihuahuas. This one was one of his and I soon learned another one had gotten out, too. Following the trail, I saw WHERE they’d gotten out (one of them even crawled back through the hole under the fence as if to show me just how it had been done) and there was a third Chihuahua at that fence, barking and wagging its tail.

Uh-oh. My neighbor’s dogs had dug a way out of their yard. This was not good. So I went to the neighbor’s door and knocked, hoping I could relay to them that their dogs were getting out of the yard. But nobody answered. I waited a while and still no response. There was a car parked in the driveway but that didn’t necessarily mean someone was home.

I decided to come back later to try again. I walked back to my house, advising the one dog still on the loose to stay out of the street, and proceeded to have lunch. As I ate lunch, I kept my eyes on the dogs through my kitchen window. I noticed a UPS van pull up to the house and a UPS carrier jump out of the truck to deliver a package. Just as I was wondering if he’d leave it there after no answer at the door, I saw another neighbor walk out of her house carrying her baby to go talk to the UPS guy. Hm, did this mean she knew those neighbors and often held packages for them for when they weren’t home?

I watched the dogs some more after the UPS truck drove off. Two of them were at another neighbor’s fence, barking at the big dog that was in that yard. This fence has an opening on one side and I was worried that the big dog could stretch his head through far enough to bite one of the little dogs. (I have heard too many stories of small dogs wandering into yards and being mauled by large dogs.)  I was concerned about these dogs getting hurt, maybe even run over by a car, before the owners got home, so I decided to walk over to the other neighbor’s house to ask her if she knew the people who lived there and could let them know that their dogs got out. But when I got there, she told me she didn’t know them and suggested I check in with another neighbor, a neighbor who I actually know. (Our sons play together.) I walked to this neighbor’s house and told him the situation. Fortunately, he DID know those dog’s owners, and he jumped into action to take care of that problem. I stood at his door and made idle chit-chat with his son while he was over there.

Soon, the dog’s owner pulled up in his truck, and my neighbor told him about what had happened. He waved his thanks and got his dogs back in his yard.

I am grateful I was able to help make sure those dogs were okay. Normally, most people think they should not get involved in things like that, but we are a tight-knit neighborhood and we all watch out for each other. Also, I just didn’t feel right ignoring this and going about my own business. I would have felt pretty bad if something had happened to one or all of those dogs and I could have prevented that. I mean, I just lost my dog, and I know how painful it is. I didn’t want that to happen to my neighbor. So, in the end, I’m glad I did something and that the dogs are once again safe. 

RIP Chewie

Yesterday, we had to say goodbye to a dear four-legged friend, Chewbacca. We called him “Chewie” for short. When people asked why I named my dog Chewie, I’d tell them it was short for “Chewbacca” and they’d laugh over a dog so small being named after something so big. Well, he may have been a small dog, but he acted like he was ten times bigger than his size. Chewie entered my life when I was 19 years old. I named him Chewbacca because he looked like a Wookiee when he was born.

Chewie was one of the pups that my mom’s dog, Rosarita (“Rosie”), gave birth to. His father, Jose, also my mom’s dog, was a Chihuahua and Rosie was a Chi-Poo – part Chihuahua, part Poodle. Chewie had a strong Poodle side to him because he was so furry and his tail would curl up. The other pups went to siblings as well as my cousin, Joe. My sister, Melissa, ended up giving her puppy, Hershey, away so we were never able to keep tabs on him. My sister, Jeanette, kept another pup, Toby, with her until he passed away. (You can read my post, “Remembering Toby,” here.) My other sister, Millie, also had her pup, Baby Bop, with her until she passed away. The youngest pup, Josita, tragically drowned in a swimming pool. Later on, Jose was given away when my mom was not able to take him with her to her new house and I was not allowed to care for him anymore (my landlord at that time raised hell over us having the extra dog, despite my telling him we were taking care of the dog for someone else). Sometime after that, Rosie ran away and we never found her.

For a long time, Chewie shared my attention with another dog I had named Lukas. Lukas was an Australian Shepherd. They were together since Chewie was born. Lukas died when he was 8 years old and for a long time Chewie was depressed over losing his friend. He would not eat, mostly slept or just sadly laid around the house. After a while, Chewie got used to being the only dog in the house. When I watched a friend’s sister’s dog for her, with the dog being a Chihuahua, Chewie was back to his old happy self again. He was obviously the kind of dog who wanted companionship and for a year this dog was his companion. After she left, he wasn’t so active or “happy” anymore. But because we were not allowed to have another dog, we often spoiled Chewie and gave him lots of love and attention. He wasn’t just our dog; he was family.

Chewie adapted really well when I had my first child, at age 27. Really, there were none of the problems of introducing a baby into the home when there was a dog there. Chewie and Jennifer were like best buddies. Things were different when Jesse came along, though. Chewie had this whole “who are YOU?” attitude with Jesse. He was curious about him. I made sure the two of them got acquainted with each other in their own way and at their own pace. Jesse and Chewie often hung out together and pretty much got along, but Chewie always had this wariness about him with Jesse. In fact, he was always wary with every single male he came into contact with. (He often nipped at the feet of male friends who were in the house. It got to the point where I had to keep him in my bedroom when a male came into the house and after that person left, I’d open my bedroom door and Chewie came charging out of the room, running around the house and sniffing and barking. Seriously, sometimes he even snapped at my own husband!)

For a long time, Chewie slept on my bed with me. This was actually a good thing for me, being deaf. Anytime someone knocked at the door, Chewie made such a commotion barking and moving around on the bottom part of the bed that he woke me up. (One of my aunts and I tried to teach Chewie hand signals once, like how they use for service dogs, but it didn’t work very well.) Then he couldn’t sleep on the bed anymore because my husband was affected by the pet dander, so I got Chewie a couple of comfy dog beds and kept one by the desk, where he often slept as I sat there writing, and one at the end of my bed. (The pet bed by the desk is still there. I haven’t had the heart to move it away yet.)

The thing about me is that I have moved around quite a bit. At first, in California, it was from one city to another, and Chewie was right there in the car or the truck with me. He also rode in the truck, on my lap, when we moved to Oregon.  When we went to California to attend a nephew’s wedding, however, a friend’s son watched Chewie. When we went to California again to visit family, we hired someone, a professional pet sitter, to take care of him. Then when we traveled to St. Louis to see my mom, Chewie was cared for at Tall Oaks Dog Resort. The folks there just fell in love with him and he got along well with their family dog, Midnight.

There are so many memories I have of Chewie. After 21 years, I suppose that is to be expected. We have a lot of pictures of him. He DID NOT like having his picture taken (neither do I! LOL) but sometimes we were able to get him in a picture. Sometimes I had to be quick to take his picture because he often turned his head away. (I actually have a picture of him turning his head away from the camera – I was not quick enough to snatch the pic!). Oh, and Chewie also did not like baths. One time, he was standing outside the bathroom door when I turned the faucet on. He heard the water come on and took off running! Many times he would hide from me (even for those times he somehow knew I was going to take him to the vet) but I usually found him. He was VERY grumpy during bathtime! He also didn’t like having his nails clipped.

Chewie was a house dog but he loved being outside, too – as long as the weather was nice! He hated the snow. (After 9 years in Oregon, he never got used to the snow.) One time, when we had “Snowpocalypse” last winter, Chewie actually got stuck in a giant mound of snow! (Jennifer had to run outside to rescue him.) But if the sun was shining, he was a happy doggy. He LOVED the sunny weather. (I guess that’s because he was born in and spent most of his life in the desert.) Many times, when the weather was good, he’d run around and play in the grass. (He LOVED the grassy yard – which was a nice change from the dirt and sand in the desert.) He’d also go exploring in the yards and hang out in a favorite spot. So if the weather was good, I’d leave Chewie outside for a while so that he could enjoy it.

Another thing Chewie loved was car rides. I often had him with me in the car when I ran errands but only for those errands that did not mean leaving him in the car. Like, sometimes when I had to drop off mail at the drive-thru mailboxes, or return library books at the drive-thru window, or use the drive-thru at the bank, Chewie got to ride along. He’d love sticking his head out the window as he sat on my lap, enjoying the wind in his ears. Sometimes he even barked at people! As he got older and could not stand very well, I would take him out for a ride in my car and hold him up near the window so he could feel the wind.

As he got older, Chewie suffered from some pretty bad health problems. He had glaucoma in both of his eyes, making him nearly blind in his final days. He also had arthritis and a level 4 heart murmur. His hearing started to get worse in old age, too. His spine became curved in his last days, making him look like he had a hunchback, and many times he’d become disoriented and walk around in circles. Sometimes he would walk into the walls or a door. Then he started having seizures. When the first one happened, I didn’t even know what it was and I was scared. I thought he would die right there. But he did not. As his health got worse, I was too nervous to be away from home for too long. I mean, what if he had another seizure? (Well, I know I have always been a homebody, but having a senior dog with serious health problems made me even more so.) Sometimes Chewie could not get up to go outside to the bathroom and many times he’d fall off the step when trying to come back inside the house. Sometimes he would fall when going to the bathroom, making it a job for me to clean him up when this happened. Chewie had lost some of his teeth when he bit the sleeve of a visiting male friend, but he started losing more of his teeth. Eventually, the bottom part of his mouth became rotten and he could hardly eat or drink water.

As much as it hurt me, I realized that the time had come to consider euthanizing him. It was a very painful decision to make. For a while, I was against it and I fought with my husband over it. But after it got to where Chewie could hardly stand up anymore, I knew that it was time. Especially after my husband told me one morning that he’d found Chewie on the floor in the hallway the night before, twitching and going to the bathroom on himself. I knew he was suffering and I had to do the responsible thing as a pet owner: I had to put him down. I loved Chewie dearly but I knew that it was selfish to allow him to continue to suffer like that. I mean, he could hardly eat. He couldn’t get up to go to the bathroom. That is no way to live, especially for a dog.

However, when I told the kids we would have to put Chewie down, they fought me on that. They kept pleading to me to allow Chewie to die naturally. I told them I wanted that to happen, but he was suffering and it was not right to allow him to continue to suffer like that.

This was the conversation that has been going on for the past several days. Meanwhile, I prayed for an alternative solution. I just asked God to please help Chewie and bring an end to his suffering. And many times, when it was peaceful in the house and I was alone with him as he slept, I let Chewie know that if he left us, it would be okay. We would be sad and we would miss him, but we all knew that he had to go home now and be with his family again. We knew and accepted that it was his time to go.

Yesterday ended up being the day he went home. And, thank God, he was able to have a natural death. I did not have to move forward in putting him down. We all knew that it was going to happen any day now. We gave Chewie extra love, support, attention and hugs because we knew that each day with him could be his last.

In fact, I made preparations for his final arrangements. And I made sure that, for every day the sun was shining, Chewie had some time out in the backyard to enjoy the weather. I had to carry him in and out of the house and sometimes he could only lie there in the grass, but I made sure he got to spend some time outside in the weather that he loved so much.

He was outside yesterday when I walked out there and discovered him having a seizure. It was the fifth one and it was pretty bad. I quickly wrapped him up in a towel, lifted him up and carried him inside. But when I came in the house, I sat right down and held Chewie against me, telling him, “It’s okay. It’s okay.” The kids were in the same room and noticed what was going on. I told them that he was having a seizure and that they needed to come over to tell Chewie that they loved him one last time. I just knew that this was his last seizure – and that it would be a fatal one. I just knew. I could tell just from how badly it was affecting him. Well, the kids came over and talked to Chewie. Each of us took turns telling Chewie we loved him. First Jesse then Jennifer. After I said “I love you, Chewie,” he gave one very large shake in my arms then he fell limp. I held him against my chest, fighting back the tears. I looked at the kids and said, “I’m sorry. He’s gone.”

After a while of just sitting together right there and grieving, we began texting friends and family and letting them know that Chewie had passed. Jennifer wanted to take a picture of Chewie before we buried him and even though I did not like that idea, I respected her request. Unfortunately, try as we might, we could not get my phone cam to work. (It hasn’t worked for a while.) There was no other working camera available. I tried to ask a friend if we could use her camera just for this request but never got a reply. So there was no last picture.

The task of preparing for burial was so hard for all of us. I got Chewie’s favorite dog bed that I wanted to bury with him. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t fit into the box with the cushioning, so we took the cushions out. (I kept one, Jesse kept the other.) Jesse and I also kept a clipping of Chewie’s fur. Jennifer kept one of Chewie’s toys (it’s a toy doggy and it even kinda looks like him – she named it Chewie Jr.). Jennifer also placed a picture of each one of us on each flap of the box. At first, I DID NOT want to put Chewie into the box we were burying him in. I just sat there holding him as he was wrapped in my sweater (that he often slept on) and just held him for a long time. I didn’t want to let him go. Then I eventually found the strength to put him into the box. I broke down crying after I gently placed him inside of it then I broke down and cried again after Jennifer asked my husband to cover the box up with packing tape. I hated that request. I know, it’s not like Chewie would magically climb out of that box and be all better again, but putting the packing tape on the box was like turning him into this lifeless THING we were going to ship at the post office! It just really hit me hard. Chewie was officially dead. When we had been sitting there together with him and grieving, I kept wishing he would wake up again. But he never did. I even checked him to make sure he was dead (then Jennifer checked him and so did my husband) so I knew he was not going to wake up again. But I still hoped he would. I could not really grasp that our beloved animal friend had died. I was glad he was not suffering anymore and out of pain, but I just wished he was not gone. (A selfish thought, I know.) Then Jennifer broke down and cried right in the middle of a conversation with her dad. I held her close while she sobbed against my chest. It was just a really sad time.

Before it was time to bury Chewie, Jennifer wrote on the side of the box:

R.I.P.
Chewbacca Wilson
(Chewie)
March 1, 1993 - 2014, May 31, 4 P.M.
Human yrs = 21
Dog yrs = 168
We will love you forever and miss you always
-Jen, Jesse, Dawn, Jason

Chewbacca was buried in our backyard two hours later. He is buried next to Jennifer’s tree. Jennifer, Jesse and I took a turn saying our final goodbyes to Chewie before his grave was filled. I am happy with where his final resting place is because he often explored that part of our backyard and he is close to us, as he should be. (I am so glad the kids talked me out of burying Chewie at a local pet cemetery.) I told the kids that anytime they needed to talk to Chewie or be near him, they could go out to his grave to do that and he would hear them. I reminded them that Chewie will always be with us in spirit.

Chewie started out as my dog but he definitely became the family dog because we all just loved him so much. He was my dog, Jennifer’s dog, Jesse’s dog and Jason’s dog. He belonged to all of us. He was very special and definitely a part of our family.

Rest in peace, Chewie. We will always love you and miss you every day. Most of all, we will never forget you. Thank you for giving us 21 years of your life.

Lost dog

Today, Jesse asked if he could go outside to ride his bike. I told him to wait until it cooled down first. Just as soon as it was cooler, we went out the front door. I kept an eye on him as he rode his bike up and down the street. I noticed a stray cat walk past the house but was surprised by another visitor: A dog! A dog that was obviously without an owner. (There was no collar and license on the dog, either.) We tried to guess who the dog belonged to but we had not seen her before so we really had no idea. One of my neighbors came out to put out trash and she didn’t know who the dog belonged to, either. (The dog was going back and forth between our houses. I texted my neighbor later to ask her if she knew what breed of dog it was; her best guess was a terrier mix.)

At first, I didn’t want to talk to the dog or anything because I didn't want to encourage her to stick around since we had to go in soon. But she was sooo friendly. I petted her and talked to her a little. She LOVED Jesse, always running up to him and looking up at him as if expecting to play. She also kept going into our garage and sniffing around. She was so cute!

I felt bad someone had lost their dog. We waited and watched but there was no dog-walker coming to claim her. (Sometimes I have seen people “walking” their dog without a leash.) At one point, when the dog had ran off, I told Jesse it was time to come in because I had to make dinner. But he didn’t come in right away. So I kept telling him he had to come in and, wouldn’t you know it, the dog showed up again! I felt bad for the dog so I gave her some water. (She tried to get into my house but I would not let her; I don’t know if my dog would welcome a guest!) Well, the dog drank some water and ran off. I told Jesse to come in the house now and he got sad and said he wanted to pet the dog. I told him he should have done that when the dog was here. I noticed the dog across the street so I told him to go ahead and pet her. He went across the street to do that but then the dog ran off in the opposite direction – to someone running to her: A little boy dressed in pajamas. I was going to say something but had a feeling to keep quiet because I could tell something was happening. The little boy and dog got together and the boy petted the dog then hugged her.

I smiled, realizing the situation: This was his dog. I looked and noticed a woman about my age walking over to them and bending over to pick up the dog. She was obviously the mom. The dog seemed happy to see her family again. Jesse got to pet the dog then he ran back over to stand near me. He talked with them for a bit and I looked at the dog as the woman talked. The dog seemed comfortable and relaxed in the woman’s arm. Yep, this was her family. Jesse found out the dog’s name was Sniffy.

Soon they turned around to walk back home and Jesse and I did the same. I smiled at Jesse and said, “Maybe there was a reason why we had to stay outside longer.” The dog liked hanging out with us; if we had gone inside, she would have ran off again, and who knows if her family would have ever found her. I was just so glad and relieved they did. I would’ve worried about her all night and hoped she hadn’t got hit by a car when running around in the streets. But now I won’t have to worry about her. She’s home again, safe and sound.

Final arrangements

For some time now, there is one thing I have been trying to do that seemed like an impossible task to complete: Make final arrangements for my dog, Chewbacca. Chewie is almost 20 years old and, given that he has a bunch of medical problems, I am holding out hope he will live to see his 20th B-day in a couple of months. But I know that he does not have too much time left with us, so I have started the very difficult task of arranging for his burial at a pet cemetery.

But if I thought even getting started with all that was hard, I first had the difficulty of meeting with the lady who manages the pet cemetery!

I first contacted her through email several months ago. At this time, I was subscribed to quite a few newsletters, so I was getting SEVERAL emails a day. It got to be pretty annoying, especially when I did not have time to read those several emails every day. This, however, meant my communication with this lady got buried in that avalanche of emails! I FINALLY got through all of those emails, promptly unsubscribed from all that daily stuff (well, except for the parenting newsletter and book review newsletter) then reached out to her again.

The next problem was setting up a time and day for me to come in. We played email tag for a while there with different days and different times, and then there were times we each had to reschedule.

Finally, I was on my way to see her today. But the “fun” of me having trouble getting there wasn’t over quite yet, because, wouldn’t you know it, I ended up going to the wrong location! I went to the address that was on the web site but that was NOT the correct address. Thankfully, the lady there knew how to sign, so after I told her I am deaf when I could not understand her, she started fingerspelling and telling me where to go. Then she gave me the CORRECT address.

On my way there, I started to wonder, is there a reason WHY I can’t get to this place? I believe things happen for a reason, so I was really wondering if all of these roadblocks were one big stop sign warning me to go no further … for some reason or another.

Nevertheless, I DID make it to the correct address today. I FINALLY got over there! We sat down and talked about what we (as in, me and my family) wanted for Chewie’s final arrangements. I told her we would like a burial and headstone on his grave. I picked out a very lovely casket and we worked out a payment plan. The whole thing is quite pricey (almost $3000!) but fortunately I am able to make payments to cover everything. I also arranged to cover the down payment.

I also walked around the cemetery with her and the two groundskeepers and picked out his space. The cemetery was so pretty and Chewie’s space is near a gazebo as well as a little area for children to play or for someone to sit and read.

To say the least, the whole process was depressing. I know this was an important thing to do but it still made me sad. But I am glad I did it. Chewie deserves a proper burial. After almost 20 years with us, he has earned it! He has been such a wonderful, loyal and sweet friend and a cherished member of the family. At the very least, I am glad I did this for him, because now I know that if anything happens to him, he’ll have a permanent place of rest.

This certainly made me think that maybe I should take care of my own final arrangements, too. I have read stories of people who lost an aunt or a parent and how that person took care of ALL of their final arrangements themselves in their lives, and what a relief it had been to the surviving family members. So I think I should do that, too. I’d hate to have something happen to me and leave my husband and/or children with the cost of a casket and funeral! I don’t want to put that on them. I would rather they be able to move on with everything without worrying about what is paid for or how to pay for it or where I’ll be buried. I know, it’s a depressing topic and pretty morbid, but it is certainly something a person of my age (late 30s) should think about. Taking care of important things is one of my resolutions for the year, so this might as well be one more thing to put on that list. Maybe it will give me peace of mind for what happens after it is my time, too.

Rosie

Yesterday, I started reading the book Dreaming of the Dead by Marilou Trask-Curtin. It is a nonfiction book. The author shares her experiences of how she has had dreams where her loved ones have visited her. She also talks about how she even has dreams where her beloved pets she has lost have visited her in her dreams. These dreams always made her happy because it was such a joy to her to see her pets so happy and healthy, even young.

As I read that part of the book yesterday, I started to reflect on how I have had the same experiences. I have seen pets in my dreams. My dog, Lukas, an Australian Shepherd, has been in a lot of my dreams. I have also seen family pets, such as my sister’s dog, Baby Bop, a chihuahua, in my dreams. I was thinking of how I cherished these dreams, especially the ones with Lukas because he was such an awesome dog. (And so was Rascal, an Australian Queensland.) But at the same time, I was a little sad because I have not had such dreams for a long time. And I miss my animal friends so much.

Well, it seems that one of them may have picked up on that, because I dreamed about her last night.

My mom used to have a dog, a chihuahua, named Rosie. Well, her name was Rosarita, but we all called her “Rosie.” Sometimes I called her “Rosie girl.” She was an amazing dog and we all loved her so much. (She is the mother of Baby Bop and my dog, Chewbacca.) Sometimes, we almost lost Rosie – to heat exhaustion (since we lived in the desert), dehydration or starvation (when someone in the family neglected her when she was at his house). But she always beat the odds and came back kicking. And because my mom moved a lot, it was very confusing for Rosie. She’d often leave a new home and end up at the old house. Many times this happened and, fortunately, we were able to find her.

Unfortunately, her luck did not hold out. One day she wandered off after a recent move and we never saw her again. We never found her. We searched for days and asked around for her, but nobody saw her and she just didn’t turn up.

This was very hard for all of us. I was no longer living at home at this time, so I don’t know how my mother coped with this. But on the times I visited her, I knew she was sad about it and asking if anybody had seen Rosie.

Then, I guess, we pretty much accepted she was gone. She never came back. My parents moved out of state and those who stayed in the desert never said anything since about seeing Rosie.

Well, last night, I did get to see our sweet Rosie again. Last night, she was in my dream.

I dreamed I was walking through one of the houses my mom lived in and I was calling for Rosie. I came to a room that had a lot of bedding on the floor. After I called Rosie’s name, a tiny figure emerged from under a white sheet. There came Rosie happily charging up to me. I laughed and got to my knees as I took her into my arms. She was so happy, so healthy and a little younger, too. She just licked my face a lot and I started to cry tears of joy and happiness as I hugged her. (I wasn’t surprised she was under a sheet; she often curled up under blankets and sheets on my mom’s bed.)

I still had tears in my eyes as I woke up from that dream. I kept crying because I missed Rosie so much. I was a little sad because of what had happened to her and the questions unanswered – was she ok? Did someone take care of her? – were still lingering with me. I was sad but happy, too.

And at the same time, I knew one thing: There is a very strong possibility that Rosie is no longer among the living. Thinking bout it, it would be a huge miracle if she was. I mean, Chewie is over 120 years old in dog years! So I don’t think chances are good his mom is still alive.

I am just glad I got to see her again, if only in a dream. And if only it was the final time I would see her again, until we all get to be reunited with her one day at the Rainbow Bridge.

God bless you, Rosie girl. I still miss you and love you. I’ll never forget you. You will always have a special place in my heart.

Having a deaf/blind dog is not for everyone

Recently, I came across an article online where a family in the UK put out an alert that their deaf/blind dog had gone missing. Apparently, the owner slept until noon and when she awakened, she discovered the dog was gone. She also discovered that someone had left a gate open, which is how her dog got out. Her dog is 16 years old and she went on about how much they all love this dog. I felt bad for their situation, but at the same time, I was gritting my teeth.

If her dog is deaf and blind – as in, CAN’T HEAR and CAN’T SEE – why didn’t she take better measures to ensure her dog would be safe? I know, we’re all human and we all make mistakes sometimes. But making sure a gate was closed should have been a priority. She should have made sure it would not be easy for the dog to wander off by reminding EVERYONE in the household to keep the gate closed because the dog might get out. The dog can’t even see where he is going!

Not too long after that, I was dismayed by another article I read. This time, the owner KNEW his deaf/blind dog was roaming off, but he didn’t do anything about it! Animal control constantly returned the dog to the owner telling him he needed to stop allowing the dog to wander off. But he never did. Then one day, the dog, a German Shepherd, got stuck in a swamp. His howling after 11 p.m. woke somebody who lived nearby, and this person called animal control. They all took action to get the dog out of the swamp and help him to get warm. Their guess was that the dog had been in the swamp for at least a half hour and he was frozen to the bone. (The dog also had arthritis.) When they pulled him from the swamp, the dog turned rigid and passed out. They were able to warm him up and revive him, but unfortunately, the vet could not save him.

The dog had to be put down. And the owner was arrested for neglect.

The fact that I read two articles of these sad situations for deaf/blind dogs in the span of one week just really affected me. Of course I was angry that these owners did not do what they were supposed to do to protect their dogs, but it also reminded me of an interview I did for SIGNews.

This interview was with Christina Lee, founder of Deaf Dogs Rock. We had quite a lengthy interview and reading those articles reminded me of something she said in the interview. In my interview, when I asked, "Does it take a special someone to be a companion to a deaf dog?" part of her answer included this: "I don’t think you have to be a special person to adopt a deaf dog but I do think a deaf dog is not for a lazy person." The same could be said of anyone who is responsible for a dog that is deaf and blind.

My own dog has vision problems, so I know I can’t be one of those dog owners who lets her dog outside then forgets about him. I have a large backyard and my dog has gotten lost in it a couple of times. He likes to wander and explore, and I’ve had to go out there and gently lead him back to the door. Or sometimes, I would pick him up and carry him back inside if he was having a hard time navigating his way back to the door. I know I have to keep an eye on him just as I have to keep an eye on my preschooler. This is especially true since I am deaf; I can’t hear my dog howling for help if he gets stuck somewhere. (Also, I think my dog is grateful we have wooden floors, because he can feel the footsteps when someone is nearby, just as I can.)

The point is that anyone, ANYONE, who has a dog that is deaf and blind MUST take steps to ensure their dog’s safety. Keep a gate closed, watch your dog, don’t allow your dog to roam the countryside and never, ever hit or scream at your deaf/blind dog for doing something “naughty” that you could have prevented. The dog is only being a dog.

I asked Christina for a comment about this topic. This is what she had to say: “The main thing I would say is for folks who have deaf and blind dogs to put them in the same category (as far as safety measures go to be put in place) as they would if they had a 12 to 14 month old baby. When a dog can't see or hear it should be an inside dog with the exception of going potty outside and supervised play in a fenced area and never ever take them to a dog park.”

She has invited readers to check out her tips for working with a deaf dog – but some of these tips (such as taking a class and watching for signs of fear or aggression with other dogs) can work for a deaf/blind dog. You can read her tips here.

Finally, please don’t neglect your deaf/blind dog. I still remember another article I read of a deaf/blind dog that was left chained up outside for seven years, with no human interaction or a chance to be in a warm home during the harsh winters. Thankfully, this dog was finally rescued, but my heart aches thinking of what that dog went through for seven years on a chain outside. So please do not neglect your deaf/blind dog! Having a deaf/blind dog is a huge responsibility. If you cannot be responsible or do what is required to take care of your deaf/blind dog, then please find a good home for it where the dog will receive the care, training, guidance and love he/she so desperately needs.

Thank you, Tall Oaks!

It used to be that every time I went on a road trip, I would take my dog, Chewbacca (aka “Chewie”) along with me. Of course, this compromised our lodging wherever it was we went, but I love this dog like I love my own child, and I just couldn’t bear to leave him behind.

That was until traveling WITHOUT my dog was a requirement. That meant figuring out what to do about Chewie. On our first trip away from home, I asked a friend if his teenage son could come over each day to feed Chewie and let him outside to go to the bathroom, but that didn’t work out very well. The friend's son ended up just leaving my backdoor open the entire time we were gone and pouring out a ginormous amount of dog food for Chewie to eat from. The second time we had to leave town, we hired a dogsitter to come into our home and feed the dogs and let them out to use the bathroom. (This was during a time I was petsitting, so there were two dogs.) This situation worked out much better.

On the other hand, for our recent trip to St. Louis, we didn’t hire the dogsitter this time around. I don’t know why my husband didn’t suggest her, as she was a lovely person who did such a good job of caring for the dogs, but this time he suggested a kennel. I thought of my friend (and Jesse’s preschool teacher) Kim, since she’s a dog owner herself, but my husband really pushed the kennel idea.

The idea of leaving my little buddy at a dog kennel filled me with dread. I’d heard so many horror stories of animals being abused and neglected at dog kennels. I didn’t want to chance putting Chewie into that situation. But I calmed my fears by just telling myself I would be thorough in my search for a kennel and personally check out the premises. I have a strong intuition with people, so I would also pay attention to what kind of vibes I pick up from them.

I passed over a bunch of kennels that just didn’t seem right and settled on one that did: Tall Oaks Dog Resort. The “resort” idea made me think: EXPENSIVE! But I checked their rates and it seemed really fair. I explored the web site and liked what I saw. Saw some good comments about this place. Everything looked good so far.

One problem, though: I didn’t have Chewie’s shot records. I lost them in the move from California to Oregon. I debated whether or not I’d have any success in placing Chewie with this kennel.

Still, I thought, it wouldn’t hurt to give them a try.

So I called them up, hoping whoever answered didn’t wig out over a relay call. (Sadly, a lot of hearing people still don’t get it that the deaf must use relay to make phone calls to them. I have had the lovely experience of a lot of hearing people thinking relay was a scam and hanging up before I could get a word in edgewise.) Fortunately, the lady who answered, Heather, had no problem accepting my relay call. She was very friendly and helpful as we talked on the phone. I explained the situation with Chewie’s shot records and she said it was no problem, we could try to get a copy from his last vet in California. (He didn’t have one in Oregon at this time.) So I called Eldorado Animal Hospital in Palm Desert, CA, and asked about Chewie’s shot records. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any shot records for Chewie on file, only for my other dog (who died in 2001). I could only shake my head. How could they NOT have his shot records?? Good grief! Well, it was what it was. So I called Heather back and explained the situation. She suggested I take Chewie to a veterinarian business they use and get him updated on the essential shots. Fortunately, the vet was able to see him that same day, Chewie got his shots, and everything was all set.

My daughter accompanied me on this errand. Before I could visit the kennel, however, I had to get Chewie some dog food from the store. We also took a favorite pillow he likes to sleep on. When we arrived, I immediately had a good feeling about the place. It’s out in the country with LOTS of room for animals to romp and explore. The entire front of the house is animal-friendly and there was even a sign on the door alerting visitors that a delay in answering might mean the owners were busy with the animals. The owners, Heather and Frank, were very friendly and welcomed us with smiles and enthusiasm. I held my breath on how Chewie would react to them, knowing he barks at strangers a lot, but he actually didn’t bark at them at all. Good sign! He immediately took to Frank, and I smiled as I noted how comfortable Chewie seemed as he sat on Frank’s lap. The kennel was like a second home to him.

There were good vibes all around so I agreed to leave Chewie with them. I’ll have to admit that I cried a little on my way back home. I’ve had Chewie ever since he was a puppy, and especially after learning he has a heart condition, he means even more to me than ever. But we had important business ahead. We had to travel to St. Louis to be with my mother. I had to focus on that.

And, at the same time, knowing he was being taken care of while we were away was a big weight off of my shoulders. It allowed me to enjoy our trip and focus my energies on my mother.

While in St. Louis, I received occasional updates from Tall Oaks on Chewie’s progress. I was glad to know he was doing well. And relieved that I left information with them on how to reach me on my cell phone since I hardly had any Internet access while away.

When we returned to Eugene, Oregon, I was very eager to get Chewie back into my arms. I missed my little C-Dawg. When I picked him up, he appeared just as clean, healthy and content as he had been when I left him. He kept staying by my side, and I could tell he missed me, too. I allowed him time to explore the yard a little before we left. It was so good to see my dog again and bring him home.

Thank you, Heather and Frank, for taking care of my dog while we were away. It was definitely one less worry for us and it helped knowing that Chewie was doing just fine while we were away. We’ll definitely bring him by for an occasional visit and be sure to recommend you to all of our friends.

And of course, after we got home with Chewie, I spoiled him like crazy. Gave him treats, lots of love and hugs, bought him fancy dog food and a brand new bed.

(To see a picture of Chewie on their web site, go here

Remembering Toby

This week, I received some devastating news. My sister's dog, Toby, passed away. He was 15 years old, with his 16th birthday coming up on March 1st. When I texted my nephew about this to let him know I offered my condolences, he told me about how it happened. I didn't want to know at first, because I thought it would be something terrible, but I know my nephew needed to talk about this.

On his very last day, my sister went to check on Toby. He took one last look at her then he collapsed. He was gone.

It's so heartbreaking. The fact that he waited to see her one last time, though, was very moving. I know dogs are one of the most loyal animals in the whole world, and this example of hanging in there just to see the face of the one you love so much before letting go is very moving.

My nephew also told me that his father, who is usually not a heavily emotional person, was in tears over the whole thing. That is just one more kind of magic a dog can have in someone's life. Dogs can melt a heart of stone and change someone in ways they never thought possible.

My daughter was saddened to hear this news and she offered a tearful prayer for Toby that night.

I told my nephew that I could still remember when Toby was a puppy. Well, I said "pup" because I ran out of room to type. But when he was a puppy, I remember how he'd jump up on my legs and lick my hands. He was so friendly. His friendliness lasted his whole lifetime. This dog has never bitten anyone. He was always so kind and friendly to others. This is something I will always remember about him. He had such a kind and loving heart, even for a dog.

And I smile when I remember how, sometimes, I called him “Tobert.”

Toby left behind some offspring. On of them, Carly, is with my nephew where he lives. I am glad they will have something of Toby left behind.

As for me, his brother lives in my home. When I first heard of Toby's passing, I got to the point where I was in tears and picking up my own dog and saying, "Oh, Chewie, I'm so sorry your brother is gone." Of course, my dog, Chewbacca, probably didn't understand what I was talking about, but he still let me cry and hold him. I got a sense from him that he was offering sympathy for my own grief. If only he knew.

But I wouldn't be surprised if he does know, in some way. Maybe Toby will visit him in spirit. You know? Come along and say, "There you are. Where the heck have you been all this time, bro?" After another dog in that litter, Baby Bop, died, I had a dream she was visiting with Chewbacca and they were running around, so happy and playing. I wouldn't be surprised if Toby's spirit paid a visit to his brother, as well.

I know that, soon, it will be his time to go, too.

At first, I thought Chewbacca was the last dog from that litter to still be alive. Then after I contacted my sister about this and she mentioned Beavis, I remembered that a few months ago, my aunt contacted me to let me know my cousin, Joe, still had one of the other dogs, who he named Beavis. So those two are the only ones left.

For now, Toby is joining his other siblings at the Rainbow Bridge. He is reunited with his brothers and sisters who he has not seen for so long, and quite possibly, his mother, as well. He is finally free of any pain that had bothered him, even though he leaves behind so many, many humans, and two dogs, who will miss him dearly and always remember him.

Rest in peace, Toby. We all loved you so much and will never forget you.

Wordless Wednesday

I heart Chewie

When I tell people I have a dog, they want to know what kind. While technically, my dog is a Chi-Poo (part Chuhuahua, part Poodle), I just tell them he is a Chihuahua. After all, he's more Chihuahua than he is a Poodle. So, Chihuahua he is! Still, he's a little furry for your average Chihuahua. That's the Poodle in him. Maybe this is why I gave him the name that he has. It is a name that makes people laugh, because they KNOW he is a small little Chihuahua doggy: Chewbacca. I guess it is kinda silly to imagine something as small as this:




being named after something as BIG (and scary) as this:

As a side note, I realize there ARE other dogs and even cats given the name Chewbacca. I wonder if their owners get the same laughing reaction I get from people when they say what their dog or cat's name is?? If anything, you can bet that when any of us are watching a Star Wars movie, it's Chewbacca we root for. YAY, CHEWBACCA!

Chewie DOES try to live up to his namesake. He may be small, but his bark is BIG! I've been told his bark makes him sound like a BIG scary dog.

I got Chewie when he was just a puppy, when I was 19 years old. Which would make him 15 years old now. He was one of the puppies my mom's Chihuahua gave birth to. At first, Chewie was my second dog. I had another dog, an Australian Shepherd named Lukas. They got along pretty well, even though there were times the two of them tried to "compete" and show who was "top dog" around here. Maybe it was a size thing. Nevertheless they played a lot and shared a den that they had to sleep in. Then Lukas got sick later on and passed away. Chewie didn't handle it very well. I could tell he was really depressed his buddy wasn't around anymore because he was always curled up on a chair, just sadly looking around. Or he just slept. He was hardly active at all and barely ate. Forget about getting him to sleep in the den anymore (which is where Lukas died). I eventually allowed him to have free reign to sleep anywhere in the house he wanted to. Instead of my bed, though, he preferred a favorite chair.

As with Lukas, I gave Chewie some nicknames. Lukas had the following nicks: Luke, Luka, Luke-Duke (because of a song my dad made up about him), and Luka-Duke. I called him "Luke" a lot, though, maybe because I liked the idea of there being a "Luke" with a "Chewbacca." (Haha. My parents joked that if I ever got another pet, I should either name it Han Solo or Princess Leia.) With Chewie, sometimes I call him Chew Boy, Chew-Chew, C-Dawg and Bacca.

Officially, Chewie is not a licensed hearing dog, but I DO rely on him the same way I'd rely on a hearing dog. Mainly, to let me know if someone is at the door. I realize an actual hearing dog could do so much more than that, but so far I've managed pretty well with just Chewie. (It's not a perfect system, but this HAS worked most of the time so far.) I tried to teach Chewie handsigns or signals once, but lost my patience too easily. Then he got to be too old to learn that. I DO regret not investing the time to teach him hand signals, but at least we've managed okay so far.

Nowadays, Chewie is definitely showing his age: He has glaucoma in both of his eyes, which means he can only see out of the side of both eyes. His left paw is also a little arthritic, and that arthritis acts up every once in a while. It can get to be so bad, he'll be limping. He also lost some of his teeth after an accident with someone playing too rough with him. (The vet had to remove the damaged teeth as well as some other teeth that were in bad shape.)

Still, he is basically in good health. As I said, his bark is worse than his bite, and Chewie is always up and ready to show just how tough of a doggy he can be. He will bite at strangers, but mostly at their feet. And he'll definitely attack if he feels his home turf is being threatened. When he sleeps on my bed and someone knocks at my door, he'll snap awake imediately and start barking his head off. Which made for a good "alarm clock" when I didn't have one to wake me up at a certain time, because all that moving around he did on my bed while he was barking was enough to wake me up!

I try to take pictures of Chewie, but he doesn't like having his picture taken. Mostly, he'll turn away from the camera. Which is why sometimes I will have to "surprise" him with a quick snap of my camera if I want a picture of his face!

Here are the pictures I HAVE managed to take. Hopefully, I can find a way to take some others.

He's been around for my college days, my marriages and my children's births. He's survived all the moving we did, all the new backyards he had to get used to and natural disasters (earthquakes mostly). And now he is adjusting to my pet-sitting of ANOTHER Chihuahua, my friend's sister's dog named Angel.
(She was NOT given the right name!) At first, he took to this new companion pretty well. But sometimes he gets too cranky to play with her or sometimes he'll get really possessive of his doggy bed or the food he is given. (The, ahem, "Demon" likes to snatch away any food I try to give to him! Which is why
I've taken to feeding them seperately.) Still, it's been good for him to have a fellow canine buddy around again. Even if she's not really his buddy. Haha! But it's put a spring into his step again. Instead of sleeping all day, like he did before she arrived, he tries to "show off" in front of her by guarding the backyard or showing her who is boss around here. And at least there is another doggy for him to play with again (he WILL play with her sometimes).

I really love my doggy, even though I realize it won't be long before he is not with us anymore. His days are indeed numbered. I don't know how I will handle it when his time comes to go, but I am grateful for the time I have had with him. He's definitely touched my life and I'm not looking forward to when he has to leave us. But, meanwhile, I'm spoiling him every so often. He usually has to stay in my kitchen with Angel (we have to keep her AWAY from the baby's toys because she chews on them -- and EVERYTHING ELSE!) or he'll be outside with her, but sometimes, when I can get away with it, I let him roam freely about the house and enjoy his company. I certainly don't want him to spend his last years pent up in my kitchen all day! I am making sure those last years he has on Earth are as happy and lovable as they can be.