Fate

After I lost my beautiful boy Floppy, in June, I was absolutely devastated. I cried and cried and just when I was sure my tear ducts were all dried up and couldn't possibly produce any additional water, I cried some more. I felt like I lost a sibling or other close family member. I still feel the pain, I still miss him every single day, and I feel I may never love another dog like I loved him.

Poor Nikki was so sad. She sulked. She laid around the house, hid behind the couch or under my bed all day, and wouldn't even eat her favorite treats. She knew he was gone, and she didn't like it. She missed her buddy, her playmate.

We weren't planning on getting another dog any time soon. None of us were ready. We missed Floppy, and it was too much to handle. But, poor Nikki. We felt so badly for her, so we browsed around pet sites, not particularly expecting to find any dog we liked enough to take home. We felt we would be replacing Floppy, and no one could do that.

But, then...

Then, we saw this guy.

And oh, my goodness... how could we resist?

If you remember the other pictures (click on the link above at the beginning of the post), he looks like a mix of all three of our previous dogs in so many ways. His face, his fur type, his coloring (except the speckled feet). Even when we brought him home, he displayed very similar characteristics and personality traits of the other three as well.

When trying to think of a name, we wanted something fitting for him. We thought of and ruled out traditional names like Max and Jack. We liked the name Midas, but he's too sweet and gentle for that name. We looked through pet name books and online, but we couldn't agree. When one of us would like something, the others would hate it, or vice versa.

If you look at his picture, you'll see it. We noticed that he sort of looks like he's wearing black eyeliner, and that it extends out to the side of his head and looks Egyptian. So we got the idea to look up Egyptian names. Traditional names didn't work, so I searched for Egyptian gods instead. Finally... I found it.

There was one named Shai. He was the Egyptian god and concept of fate. Fate?! Was it not fate that we found him after we lost Floppy? Was it not fate that he had the looks and the personality mix of our other three dogs before him combined? Unbelievable. It was perfect. And so, there it was, clear as day. Shai.

Now, I'm not sure I even believe in the actual concept of fate. You know, life occurrences are meant to happen, everything happens for a reason, there's a greater power controlling how the world turns... I always thought of it as a cop-out for some people not to take responsibility for their own actions. Do certain decisions lead to certain situations occurring? Absolutely. But the belief that everything is pre-planned out, and our path is already laid out for us and we don't get to decide? Not a fan.

But, this... I don't know. The stars aligned for this one.

We loved Shai immediately. He is so cute, and so gentle and loving. He wants nothing more than to please us and be loved. He hates being yelled at, so he usually learns quickly -- unless he sees a bunny in the yard, then forget it, his chasing instincts take over.

He cannot replace Floppy. And he's not the same dog, we know. However... he can be part of a new family. And we will love him unconditionally just the same.

Oh, and Nikki? She's doing much better. She is much happier, and really back to her old, weird self.

Here is a quick video of Nikki and Shai playing when they first met:

Freeky Friday: Grateful

It's back! Freeky Friday is back! Yay!

For those of you going, "Huh?!" head over to Concrete Jane and see the inspiring story of what it's all about and how you can win prizes and have a donation made in your name to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

The first question of the summer is:

What's the best thing that's happened to you over the last year? Get creative with your answer! It can be something you experienced, something you witnessed, something you participated in, something you realized... the possibilities are endless!

It took me a very long time to come up with an answer to this question. The reason being was because my brain could not focus on anything other than the grim event that occurred just four days ago; my beautiful, 16 year old puppy being put to sleep. Yeah, I said puppy. He was my baby. Deal with it.

I have been absolutely beside myself. Just when I think my body couldn't possibly possess any more water and I must be dehydrated to raisin-like status, something triggers more tears and they continue to fall.

So, needless to say, it's been consuming my thoughts. It was difficult to zero in on any one good thing while I miss my best friend so much and I wish for him to come back, for this to be a horrible nightmare so someone can pinch me and I'll wake up and everything will be just fine again.

But now I'm ranting.

I'll be honest. I hadn't even decided on an answer to this question when I started writing this post. But, it came to me. I realized that it's quite simple, really.

The best thing that has happened to me over the last year was getting one more year with my baby boy.

Last June, almost to the day when he got sick this year, Floppy had surgery at age 15. It was vital that he have a spleenectomy, or he would bleed out internally and we would lose him. He was strong, and his vitals were healthy, so we went for it. And he survived with flying colors. In less than a week, he was back to his old self, like nothing had ever happened. 

Most people may not have taken that risk on a 15 year-old dog. They may have put him down instead to end his suffering. But I am so very grateful that we chose to take the chance and believe in him. Without it, I would have lost out on another happy year with him. I would have missed more joyous memories, more chances to take pictures, and one more year of unconditional love.

Words cannot describe how much I miss him. But I know he had a long, happy, loving life with us. And he will always, always have a special place in my heart reserved just for him.


Jump back over to Concrete Jane to see the multiple ways you can participate - anyone can join in - and win some tasty treats, and have a donation made in your name to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

My Heart is Broken

I loathe yesterday.

I despise today, too.

I'll probably continue hating the days until this throbbing pain in my heart dissipates.

You may recall my post about my miraculous, angel boy, Floppy. He was 15 years old at the time, and survived surgery to have his spleen removed due to a tumor growth that would cause him to bleed out if it wasn't. I nursed him back to health, watching him improve every day, until only a few days had passed and he was back to his normal self, like nothing had happened. Despite his arthritis he trotted around, he ate on his own again, he barked at random noises again, and he nudged our arms with his face to be pet again. Though he had trouble with the stairs sometimes, he was happy and healthy again.

Those of you who have had or currently have pets know the special bond that is shared between owners and pets. It is more than just love. It is a unique connection that really cannot be described to justice in words. They become part of your family, like any human addition would.

Speaking about dogs, they are more than loyal. They are always happy to see you, no matter how long you've been gone. They get excited about the little things, like going outside just to pee, going for a walk, or getting a new toy or treat. They get sad if you are upset with them. They feel guilty when they did something wrong. They get scared of loud noises, like firecrackers or thunderstorms (or in the case of our other dog, Nikki, everything). They empathize when you are upset, and want you to feel better. They help you when you are sick or hurt. Their emotions show in their faces and body language.

They become our babies, our brothers and sisters, and our best friends. And just like any human loved one, it pains us to see them sick or hurting.

I felt helpless these past few days.

Though Floppy was 16 and a half, it still seemed sudden that he became ill. He had been eating less, becoming extremely picky about his food, and lost a lot of weight. His arthritis got to him, and he could no longer climb the stairs. He stopped putting up a fight and let us carry him up and down. But he could still walk, still drink water, and he still loved affection. He was still himself.

Two days ago, on Sunday, June 3, he suddenly declined. He began throwing up everything he took in, and even more when his stomach was empty. He could no longer even stand up on his own, and simply lied on the floor on his side, body outstretched and staring at the wall. He was aware of our presence, but didn't have the strength or energy to acknowledge it any more than shifting his eyes slightly to look at us.

His breathing became both shallow and labored. He refused to take in anything, even his favorite treats and water. He couldn't put in any effort. I knew he lost weight and was thinner, but now he seemed sunken in, all skin and bones, like a skeleton. Every once in a while, he would summon the energy to sit up, either to throw up again or change his position. Other than that, he was completely still.

Watching him suffer and being so miserable tore at my heart. It just wasn't fair. He was always so sweet, so loving, so loyal, so good. It wasn't fair that he had to go through this pain, to suffer like this. He's supposed to live forever.

I prayed for him to stay. Please, Floppy, hold on. Please, feel better. Please, please, don't let go. Please, please, don't let this be his time. But, I knew.

As strong as he was, as much of a fighter as he was, I knew he couldn't hold on much longer. He could last a few more days like this, suffering, in pain, and die slowly of dehydration or worse things in his body that we couldn't diagnose.

We stayed by his side all night, consistently stroking his face, his ears, his body, his feet. We told him how much we loved him, what a good, beautiful, angel boy he was. We talked about how we hoped his mother, Lulu:

and his brother, Biscuit:

were going to greet him in doggie Heaven, and that maybe Biscuit wouldn't try to fight with him this time.

I tried to stay strong for him. We knew he didn't have much time left, and we wanted it to be filled with love. He had one last night with us, and we continued to be with him the next day into the early evening.

For his final hours with us yesterday, we brought him outside and laid him on a blanket. We continued to pet him, lovingly stroking his face and head and body. The clock ticked away all too quickly, and suddenly, it was time for him to go. I wasn't ready. My mom told me to say goodbye.

And I lost it.

The uncontrollable sobbing began. Tears streaming down my face, I replied, "I don't want to," and leaned over him, hugging him with my head against his. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't take in enough air between my broken-hearted sobs. "I know," my mom's voice cracked, hugged me from the side, crying with me, while I hugged her back with one arm and kept petting Floppy with the other. I didn't want to let him go. I had him since the day he was born... this couldn't be the end.

"It's time," my mom said much too soon, losing her grip on me. I stood, and watched her and my stepdad carry Floppy and the blanket into the back of the car. I ran to the other side, leaning in and hugging him one last time, my unyielding, unrelenting tears dampening his fur. I kissed his face and told him I loved him. I couldn't let him go. I couldn't accept this was the last time I was going to see him.

My mom hugged me again, both of us crying. She let go, reluctantly got in the passenger seat, and closed the door.

Standing in the garage, I watched as they slowly began to back out of the driveway. My heart shattered. They were out of sight before they hit the street, and I turned and walked back into the house, my unmanageable sobbing turning into violent, blubbering bawling. Nikki slinked out from behind the couch, and sadly walked over to me. I crashed to the floor, hugging her on my knees. I couldn't believe he was gone. I still can't.

This is the last picture I took of my Floppy, a little over a month ago, at the end of April:

My beautiful, sweet, angel boy. I hope you know how much I love you. How much we all love you. I can't describe how much I miss you already. I know you wanted to stay with us as much as we wanted you to stay. I really do hope that Mama Lu and Biscuit, and maybe even your sister, Woolite, if you remember her, were there to greet you, and you are running around doggie Heaven with no pain.

I don't know much about religion or if there is an afterlife, or even how I feel on the subject, but if there is a Heaven and I'm allowed in, my dogs better be there or I'm boycotting.

Write on Wednesdays: Let's Take a Stroll

I have stumbled upon something in the blogosphere at Ink Paper Pen, through Writing Out Loud, called Write on Wednesdays. See Ink Paper Pen above to see the full prompt and find out what this is all about. This week is about going for a walk and writing down your thoughts and what you see. This is my first attempt at Write on Wednesdays.

I change into comfortable black sweat pants, branding my alumni status from my graduate school down the left leg in blue capital letters; "COLUMBIA." Something I can actually be proud of. I slip into my exercise sneakers, Nike, black and teal, and stylish if I do say so myself. I call to my Husky/Greyhound mixed dog, Nikki, who is enjoying her safe haven under my bed. "Nikki, wanna go out?" usually perks her right up enough to crawl out and run downstairs. This time, she doesn't want to move. I change my tactics. "Nikki, walk?" She immediately peeks her head out. I repeat the question. She sprints out of my room and down the thirteen steps to the landing.

I fasten red leashes onto both dogs, and we're off... out the garage door, down the driveway and out of our little half cul-de-sac/court/dead-end street. I worry how long of a walk Floppy can handle, as he is fifteen and has arthritis in his hips. At the end of the court, I ask the mutts which way we should go. They both start walking left, so I follow.


The air is warm, but not too warm. The sun peeks through clouds and various trees along the streets. The area is quiet, with only the sound of my sneakers pounding and the dogs' paws clicking on the pavement. Occasionally, a car or truck drives by.

My neighborhood isn't much to look at, so my mind wanders. Watching the simple life of my dogs, I start to wonder what the minds of dogs look like, and what their thoughts might be.

Sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff. What's that bush smell like? What's that tree smell like? What's that grass smell like? Sniff, sniff. Another dog's urine! Jackpot! I must steal this territory as my own!

No, that's poison ivy. You're not going anywhere near that. Sorry, pup.

Why are you pulling me away?! This is mine! 
...

What's that? Another dog barking? I must bark louder! 

He's behind a fence. You can't even see him.

Stop pulling me away! I must bark with that dog! Collar... choking... don't care... must... continue... must... bark.... with... dog...
...

How are you doing, Floppy? 

Thirsty. Water! What's that? Sniff sniff... SQUIRREL! Chase, chase! Stupid leash! Great, it went up a tree! I could have caught it if you let me go!
...

Oh, that's a cute house. I like the bench outside and the stone walkway.

Sniff, sniff. Who else has been here? What other dogs have been stealing my territory? Sniff, sniff.
...

Time to go home, guys.

Sniff, sniff, sniff.
...

Home, sweet home!

Thirsty. Water! Drink drink drink...

My Miracle Boy

I have decided to include you all in a wonderful, amazing, joyous part of my life.  My life with my pets.  In this life, two dogs exist; one 15 (!) year-old Shepard mix named Floppy (because of his, what else? floppy ears!), and one 7 year-old Husky/Greyhound mix named Nikki (we tried to pick a name as close to "Misty," the one that the shelter had for her, as we could since we didn't like it, so she wouldn't get confused). 


Today is about Floppy, and his miracle. 


First, let me back up and explain where he came from.  My beautiful baby girl, Lulu, passed away March 12, 2004, and I still miss her all the time. When she died, I couldn't stop crying for days.  The following night, I slept for fourteen hours, and still didn't want to get up.  I had her since she was four months old, and I was four years old. She was, in my opinion, the best dog ever.  She was a Shepard mix, 12 years old, and the greatest companion and watchdog I've ever known.  She was smart, fun, playful, and strong.  She was all of our best friends, while still standing her ground and being the alpha female of her house and territory.  To this day, no other dog I've ever known compares to her or plays with us like she did.  I unfortunately can't find a picture of her on my computer at the moment, but I will get one and add it to this post.

Lulu had two separate litters of puppies, one litter of three, and one litter of nine. We kept two puppies from the second litter, and since then, one of those has also passed, one of her sons, Biscuit (because of his golden color), a few years ago, when he was also 12. He was dumb as a rock, and did the stupidest, weirdest things (many stories for another day), but we still miss him every day as well. 

There's really nothing going on in that head.

His brother, Floppy, the other son of Lulu, is a smarty and still going strong now at 15. Which leads me to his miracle story.

He had always been healthy, with his only real problem being his arthritis and pain in his hips, making stairs sometimes difficult.  Even after countless fights with Biscuit (many, many stories for another day) which included surgery, he still came out of them stronger than ever.  Still, Biscuit always seemed a tad bit healthier, more agile, and his only real problem was his constant stupidity. Seriously, you could look into his eyes and know that nothing was going on in that hollow space of his -- just look at the picture above.  We thought he would out-live Floppy, and yet, three years ago, he became sick and couldn't recover.  Without him and his asinine, crazy, idiotic self and antics, sure, life was easier.  But we still love him, he was still a part of our lives every day, and our pets are a part of our family.  It was like losing a family member.

When my boyfriend and I went to Myrtle Beach at the beginning of June (see my post, Living Proof), Floppy suddenly became very, very sick.  My mom didn't want to tell me while I was there and ruin my trip, so I found out when we returned home.  He had been eating less and lost a bit of weight before this, but that was normal for his age.  But now, he was eating nothing.  He refused to move, let alone eat anything.  He lost six pounds.  When I arrived home that night, my mom had Floppy laying down in the living room on an air mattress and blankets, and she had dragged my full-sized mattress downstairs to sleep next to him.  Normally, when anyone arrives home, he jumps up and loves to greet us (his hearing has gone down since his old age, so at that point he wouldn't hear us until we walked in the door), twinkly eyes, big happy Floppy smile and his entire butt wagging from his excitement. But when I walked in, he didn't budge.  He just... laid there, lifelessly.  I sat down next to him and started petting him, which is, next to food, his favorite thing in the world.  He didn't respond.  He didn't even look at me.  He just stared at the wall in front of him, unresponsive.  No food, lost six pounds, apathetic to touch... he was seriously ill.  My mom unwillingly told me all the details of the weekend, inclusive of his downward spiral of weakness, incontinence, and finally vomited something black in which my mom could only describe as "smelling like death."  She thought then that it was over for him, and that the night before, she didn't think he was going to make it through the night at all. Even though he was alive, there was still no improvement.  

The next morning, he was still around.  We kept trying to feed him through a syringe and make him at least drink water, and though he clearly had no desire to, he took it at tiny amounts at a time, though barely.  The next day, he seemed to be doing better.  My mom took him to the vet after he improved a little more, where they ran blood work and a bunch of tests.  He started eating and drinking a small amount more each day, and even was standing up and walking around on his own.  Though we were happy, we were shocked. There was no explanation for his improvement.  When the results came back, we were informed that there was nothing medically wrong with him in his blood.  Um... what?!  How?!  We were speechless.  There was nothing in his blood that explained this illness.  Yet, he slowly improved on his own, and everything remained a mystery.

Then, we got the results of his sonogram back.  He had a tumor in his spleen. Oh, God.  A tumor?  Though it wasn't cancerous, it was still completely frightening.  The only way to get rid of it at this point was surgery, to go in and remove the entire spleen.  Surgery?  On a 15 year-old dog? Are you crazy?!  There were so many risks involved with doing surgery on a dog this old.  How could he handle anesthesia and a gaping hole in his stomach to remove an entire organ??  Even if he survived the surgery, would he survive the recovery? Could he survive it?  

The vet told us that he had improved so much on his own and his vitals were up to par, so she thought he could handle it.  She knew the risks, but informed us that if she didn't think he could survive it, she wouldn't do it.  But she was all for it, and really believed in him, so we approved and went for it. 

My mom took him in, and we waited.  And we waited.  And waited.  Finally, the vet called us back.  She informed us that the surgery was over, and he came through like a champion.  They removed the spleen, and he was resting and recovering. Oh, my God, he made it!  As I write this paragraph, there are tears in my eyes, as I recall how we felt and reacted to the good news.  They wanted to keep him overnight to keep an eye on him make sure everything continued to run smoothly.  I now can't remember if he stayed, because my mom didn't want him to stay at the animal hospital with people who didn't know him, but when he came home, whether it was that same day or the next, we were ecstatic.  He was groggy and still a little loopy, but he was standing, walking, he knew where he was, and he was clearly happy to be home. 

For the next four days while my mom was at work, I took care of him.  I fed him slowly through the syringe with a mixture of proteins and other things that my stepdad created, made sure he went outside often, and gave him his medicine.  Each day he improved by leaps and bounds.  By the third day, he was eating small amounts of solid food again and drinking water, and all on his own. It was amazing.

He's now back to his old self, and while he has trouble with the stairs sometimes because of his hips, he's alert, happy, eating, and trotting around again like he used to.  It's truly a miracle that he survived, and I am so grateful to have him around even longer, and have those little bits of Lulu and Biscuit still around as well.  

My Miracle Boy will be 16 in November!  You go, Floppy!

My beautiful, old boy. =)