Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Dogs teach forgiveness even when they shouldn't

I think what is shocking about humanity is that we take our companions for granted.  We can breed them until their skin won't shrink back and they still love humans; chain them in the cold and they still wag their tails at us; beat them and they still stay with us; we can starve and neglect them and they still keep our feet warm.  And though the following statement is genetically valid, dogs still give us unconditional love.

When a shepherd goes to kill a wolf, and takes his dog along to see the sport, he should take care give to avoid mistakes.  The dog has certain relationships to the wolf the shepherd may have forgotten.  ~Robert M. Pirsi


We have much to learn from a dog regarding forgiveness. Much.  And we ought to grow from the wisdom of our pets, not condemn them for it.
Children are for people who can't have dogs.  ~Author Unknown
Near this spot are deposited the remains of one who possessed Beauty without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, and all the Virtues of Man, without his Vices.  This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery if inscribed over human ashes, is but a just tribute to the Memory of Boatswain, a Dog.  ~George Gordon, Lord Byron, "Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog"
Did you ever notice when you blow in a dog's face he gets mad at you?  But when you take him in a car he sticks his head out the window.  ~Steve Bluestone
I think we are drawn to dogs because they are the uninhibited creatures we might be if we weren't certain we knew better.  They fight for honor at the first challenge, make love with no moral restraint, and they do not for all their marvelous instincts appear to know about death.  Being such wonderfully uncomplicated beings, they need us to do their worrying.  
~George Bird Evans,
“Blessed is the person who has earned the love of an old dog.”  Sidney Jeanne Seward

“If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans”  James Herriot

“The dog represents all that is best in man.”  Etienne Charlet

“There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face.”  Ben Williams

“The average dog is a nicer person then the average person.”  Andy Rooney



“If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” Will Rogers

What a joy to see the boy today!  After we gave all the dogs their usual treats, Tyson and I ran down the hill and played in the lower pasture.  I locked the gate took off his leash and walked the perimeter with him until he got his bearings and then we ran this way and that, up and down the hill, to and fro.  I called for him to follow and snapped for him to come, I yelled stop when he was near the fence and caught him when he was running at me.  Tyson doesn't just run, he bounds.

Learning from his mannerisms I can take this as one should always approach play time with as much energy as one has.  Perhaps the key to a happy life is about the value of play.  We may not always get the chance, so why not make the opportunity a full one when the chance does come available?  Tyson may not have a back yard to run amok in every day, but when he does get to run off leash, he makes it an adventure.  He steps high in the paw in search of new things, sniffs and wanders in contentment.  He runs toward you and jumps with joy.  I really believe Tyson holds the key to a joyful life like a Sensei.

If you listen, dogs will share the secrets of your world with you.

ps  Tom ate a treat from my fingers today.  He didn't bark.  He didn't protest.  He didn't run off like he was going to bury it in his "stash."  I think I am growing on him.

I love Volunteering

Volunteers are spectral.  Whether it be in animal safe havens or sanctuaries, in parks or along trails, the passerby really never sees the volunteers at work.  They just see the results.  But what's great about volunteering, is that their apex to the pyramid effect is far-reaching and deeply embedded in the task.  For people in the parks wherein I have worked, they can walk along without thorns and with clear views to vistas grand.  For people in zoos and sanctuaries, the layman notices no hunger or soiled areas, but clean and fed critters.  In safe havens, the wanderer sees peace and solace written on the face of the critter.  Volunteers are like ghosts, then, because they wander in and out of the places we all go and hardly one of us notices them, but we all reap the rewards and see the effects.  I love volunteering and I'd have it no other way--other than getting the word out to get more of them to join me, and join the care for these organizations.  My heart fills and I see purpose to my life when I volunteer, because this life isn't just about me.  It's about my community and every corner of it.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Monday with Tyson

The yin and yang of life grants that I must experience one to know the other, and in that there is joy in being with him and in contrast a loss when we must leave him behind until the next Monday.  Sensei Tyson teaches me that there can never be too much love or attention, only too much time without.  Profound love means I must experience profound sorrow... 

"For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. 
      Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, 
      So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth. Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself."    
                                                            Excerpt from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Pet Sitters

"How did you know you could leave him?" I asked.
"I had Adele." He responded.
A long pause followed this response.
...
How do you know that the person you hire is going to be able to give your pets the excellent care that they get from you?  How do you know that their medications will be given as necessary and needs with be met?  

When we lived in Seattle we had Adele, and Ted was right, there was never any worry when she watched our kids. She would call, email and text.  Adele spent 30 minutes in the morning and 30 minutes in the evening with our cats.  At the time, we had a diabetic cat.  Claude, like my Bleue, had been in my husband's life during all of the pivotal moments.  He was a year old when he was adopted from a Michigan humane society and quickly became my husband's best friend.  Fresh from separation, Claude filled a void of companionship.  But Claude's diabetes required two shots of insulin per day.  Granted, it was expensive to have a pet-sitter twice per day, but she was well worth the expense and so was the security of his health.

Claude talked.  Not meowed.  Not mewed.  He talked.  It was like a cross between a chirp and the sound "meah."  When his bed was unmade, he would walk into the living room, yell at us until we followed him into the bedroom, then we would make the bed and he would settle in without further issue. On laundry day, he was up in arms.  Anything but his green blanket was unacceptable.  On hot nights when the comforter was pulled down to reveal brown sheets, it's as though we could watch his head shaking as he sighed out of irritation.  As was the same with his food, litter and attention needs.  He was very particular. And all changes to the apartment had to be scrutinized.

Now, our eldest in in Stage 2 kidney disease, requiring medication and I worry who will take care of her now that we have moved from Seattle to this new and strange land they call the suburbs?  Like Claude, Bleue was with me through my divorce and varying life events. When you don't have children, your pets become your kids and you worry about them just as if they were real human kids.  

Friday, January 20, 2012

Trapped in the Snow

It's Friday, and come Monday my husband and I are going to head up to Pasado's Safe Haven to see Tyson.  It'll have been 2 weeks since our last visit to see Tyson due to a pretty good snow storm here in the PNW.  When I called this last Monday to find out how the roads were, I was told that they were awful, too awful to drive without a 4-wheel drive vehicle. Coming from Minnesota, the land of blizzards and white-outs, I had every gumption to drive up to see him, but I keep forgetting about how this area is not as prepared for snow (snow plows, sanders, icers, and multiples of them) as we were in MN.  People in WA don't own plows for the front of their 4-wheelers or tractor plows like they did in MN.

Because the state park wherein I grew up had to be operational and clear for winter adventurers, we had a plow for the front of the Dodge and made an ice-rink in the front yard on good years.  I loved it when it snowed!  Snow days were fun days.  Snowmobiling, skating, skiing, sledding, snowman building, hot cocoa, frozen cheeks, runny noses and fluffy blankets to greet us.  Here, not so much.  Gravity plus snow equals mayhem.

And snow in an area more prepared for gray skies and rain means less of an ability to head out into the mountains to see Tyson.  That sucks, and there is no nice way of saying it.  Tyson and all of the other critters have been trapped by snow for the last week.  Few volunteers have been able to get out there to walk and help clean, but at least they have on-site care-givers.  Still, poor kids.  They must be so bored, though they are warm and bundled in with heaters and blankets.  This Monday, we are going to have to make up for all the boredom, though and I am sure I can plan something fun--and maybe get in a bath for him, too.

I can't wait to see my handsome fellow again. 

Revisiting 13

I was 13 when I started working at a Veterinary Hospital in Minnesota.  I can't begin to tell you how shy and insecure I was or how awkward and unusual my personality seemed to others.  Still, I was a happy little kid and all I wanted to do was to work with animals.  So, while at the Vet one day my mom opened her mouth to my wishes and voila, I had my first job.

I loved working after school and on Saturdays, that is, when my CC and Track schedules permitted.  School and running came first, work, second.  I am not sure what I thought working at a veterinary clinic would be, but like most things in life, I was just along for the ride and did what I was told without complaint.
I did a lot of cleaning.  A lot of poop scooping.  A lot of vomit wiping.  Sweeping, dusting, mopping and straightening.  It was a not so glorious job for a kid earning 3.25/hour. My first paycheck was around 15 dollars and I was so excited that all the litter boxes and projectile vomiting were manageable.

But then there were the times I was able to sit in on surgeries and watch the doctor at work. Spays and Neuters, mostly. Some C-Sections. Lots of de-claws, which always made me smell funny at the dinner table as it was in my hair on my clothes.  I really disliked tail-docking and dew claw removal because there was no anesthesia and the mother dog had to sit and watch her children cry.  It made me sad. Unplugging feline ureters were simply awful to hear.  A bear with claw issues.  Pygmy goats having trouble birthing, Owls with skin issues, Rabbits feeling a little under the weather. Mini-Horses with hoof problems.  And Deer.  Oh those poor deer.  Fawns, really.  They had been run over by a baler and lost some hooves, they were just cut right off and the wee ones were in shock so badly and obviously needed to be put down.  I can't imagine what that must have been like for a mother of triplets to go a-foraging, leave her kids presumably safe, only to return to an empty bed and months of carrying three children--gone, blood everywhere.

Living in a state park allotted us many experiences from raising fawns to raccoons and saving as many critters as possible along the way.  My life was an adventure in wildlife.

I imagine a lot had happened in the last 20 years since my first days at the Veterinary Hospital.  No more X-Ray developments in the corner of a tiny bathroom with a database to hold them, rather than an over-sized file cabinet on the second floor that was just a little too short to walk around and about as dusty as you might imagine.  No more waiting weeks for immediate and now digital test results.  Vaccines of higher quality, a bigger shelf of available and faster acting medications, new research and dynamic results.  Animal Science is probably no where near the small country vet practice I knew as a kid.

I imagine this allows for better empathy and time with the patients and the families.  I know that email has been a great resource these days, too.  Veterinarians can download and send documents and test results online, chat about results and effects of treatments without the patients have to wait for a call-returned or another office visit.

So, why is it that it took me 20 years to get back into this little girl's dream?
Bad choices, wrong moves and allowing someone else to have a dream before me. And then a lot of it was about getting by and making due.

Six years ago, I met my match.  He pushed and supported; talked with me, not at me; listened to me and heard my heart.  This is a guy who grabbed my hand at the first of many to come marathons and ran into the finish with me--by my side.  "I'm in this with you," he said.  Life, love, circumstance and breath.  He's in this life with me. And about 2 years ago, we decided that having our dreams was more important than anything else.  As such, he has gone back to school as well to help provide us with the opportunity of owning a small business.  His career change has gone from Ambulatory medicine to trauma nurse to small and private practice nursing to being a Funeral Director--and he's very good at it.  In just over one year, he'll be through with his internship, graduated and fully licensed.  And that's when I get to really focus on my dream.

As a kid I wanted to be a Veterinarian. I may be older than the majority of my classmates, but I am in it with full thought and full intention.  It's a 10% shot--this getting into Vet School.  But I like a good challenge.  So, as soon as colleges open up after this big snow storm, I am going to speak to an advisor about going pre-vet.  What makes this wonderful is that I already have my B.A., so all I need is my science prerequisites.  I can't wait.  I am so giddy, I may pop.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

The feline brood.

Pictured here are two elders. A 16 yr old black DLH, adopted in Rapid City, SD, an 8 yr old brown tabby, adopted from NOAH, and a 1 1/2 yr old, adopted from Pasado's Safe Haven. The eldest is in stage 2 kidney disease. The middle is in stage 1 with horribly debilitating arthritis, and the youngest has IBS...we think. His tiny tummy likes just one diet and one kind of food else he gets the squirts and we cover our house in tarps. It's love.

Nuzzler

Lap Dog

Double Trouble

Rescuing animals is a family trait starting back with my father. When I was much younger, he canoed to the center of a lowered, drought-ridden lake to rescue some deer looking for fresh water. By tying a rope to a tree, he was able to save three deer stuck in the mud as he one by one pulled them into the canoe and then shimmied himself back to the shoreline. As a park ranger, he did everything for the land and the critters who lived there.

Today, my brother is a conservation officer. Today, he too, seeks out to rescue and preserve land and mammal. These are his two rescues. The one on the left has been his little lady for years, and the gal on the right is more inherited than inherently rescued. Just the same, not pictured is 3 horses and a house full of cats.

The squirrel whisperer

http://www.olddoghaven.org/

This is another great organization here in the PNW.  One of the things my husband and I were looking for was a dog who had some personality and some years on him/her.  I think, all too often we just want a puppy and disregard some already great dogs out there.  And yes, we did just adopt a puppy ourselves, but there is a good story behind it, and a little deviousness, which I will get to.

Our intention was to adopt a young buck to train for bird-hunting or as a running partner.  We also wanted an old guy, who would love to couch cuddle and could manage the puppy with us, teaching him or her about life and the ways of a good family friend.  We got so involved with Tyson that we forgot about the puppy adoption altogether until one day when we were waiting to intercept Tyson who had been at an adoption event south of where we live,

We were to meet in a specific parking lot and then take him on our usual Monday outing, but had a few minutes to spare, so we thought we would run an errand for some kitty treats.  There I met Nikki with AARF, another agency for canines.  We chatted about Tyson and she agreed to do all she could to help us out and find him a home.  And I held a little grey poodle who became very attached to me, and I to him. Too bad my husband didn't like him as much as me, or we would have brought him home immediately.

One of the main problems here is that I realize what I am doing is transferring the desire to have children unto pets.  In that, what I mean is because having children is not in our anytime future, my nurturing needs are currently being met by caring for our pets, and having a young puppy is, as I have realized, as difficult as caring for a toddler, but I will spare you my jokes about my ovaries tying themselves in a knot...It's a psychological trade that is awesome.  For all you guys or gals who aren't ready but your gal or guy is, or maybe timing is just a little early or off--go get a puppy;)

So, after we left Nikki and the AARF adoption day at the pet store, we went ahead and had a day with Tyson.  It was lovely as usual and we went for a good drive over the pass into Leavenworth--a favorite spot.  And the realization of Tyson's difficulties with cats again had us saddened.  So, we said we would go home that night and look at what AARF had for canines.  Adopting a dog from Pasado's would have felt like betrayal to Tyson, so we opted for another agency altogether.  And then we found little Garson.  I believe it is Creole for Garcon or Mister.

3 Months Old, Catahoula Leopard Cur/Lab.  Holy Cuteness.  He and his two siblings were rescued from a high kill shelter in Louisiana and flown here.  If AARF was going to help us place Tyson, we would help place one of their fosters, too, and right into our home.

And then I got curious.

How would Tyson react to a puppy?  If most wild critters know that babies are harmless and even monkeys will adopt tiger cubs, would it be possible that Tyson "adopts" Garson??  I know it's a stretch, but we are going to give it a go after Garson gets a little more nerve at the dog parks, and with big dogs.  I have contacted a local dog trainer to be the one who introduces them and maybe, just maybe, if all goes well and my devious little plan works, Tyson will no longer be aggressive to dogs, which will make him 33% more adoptable.  Obviously 66% is better than 33%, right?

And if my lucky cards have it, maybe it will prove to him that he is not the alpha and Tyson will mind me, and not mind the kitties.  I know it's a stretch.  I realize I am not a behaviorist, but I have to consider every avenue before I throw in the towel.  When they found Tyson, he was emaciated so, so badly.  I would never share the picture as it was way too horrifying, but I sobbed when I saw it, and knew I had to stay committed to this guy.  There was a reason he made it out of his wilderness--alive.

And if it doesn't work, or when Tyson gets adopted to a good and wonderful family, I will cry for a week--and be so, so, so completely happy for him.  Until that day, I have to try everything I can for this boy.  Don't I owe him that?  I have come to realize that all this love and drive to spend my days off with Tyson aren't really about me, they are about him and his needs.  Moms do that.

At any rate, when all is said and done, and if Tyson is lucky and warm by someone else's fire, I will be looking to places like OLD DOG HAVEN for an older fella (one who doesn't mind kitties), who can come into our home and live on our warm couch, unafraid of being unwanted or alone.  That's the purpose here.  Isn't that part of the greater purpose in life?

So, cheers to OLD DOG HAVEN, because they understand.

http://www.pasadosafehaven.org/

I was looking for a place to volunteer my time this past summer and a co-worker recommended that I try Pasado's Safe Haven located north and east of Seattle. I was trying to volunteer at Pig's Peace Sanctuary, but had difficulty getting through, so I decided I would try Pasado's.

I wanted to volunteer as a farm hand and get some real gritty work in me.  I had found that bartendtending was making me soft--I didn't like getting muddy or smelly.  But I knew there was still a little kid in me who would have ran amok in any pasture or across any field to do something fun, and I needed to go find her.  

Pasado's Safe Haven is a 45 minute drive, so I knew I had to be committed to the weekly event, but then I fell in love with Tyson and he took up all the time I had intended spending with the rest of the critters.  He got inside my heart and hasn't left.

Since my involvement with Tyson began I have met some extraordinary people who give time and effort to a cause that saves four-legged critters from horrible circumstances, sometimes too horrible to mention.  I thoroughly enjoy the people I see when I get to Pasado's on Monday mornings: Pam, Holly, Virginia, Mahlie, Greg and more...   My husband and I are thrilled to stop at the local Pet Food store and pick up treats for little Mary and Trigger, and even Tom, who is the most cantankerous dog I have ever met.  But I have that Tom melting, even if it is through bribery.  Something about helping a dog (or cat or llama or goat...) makes your soul or Hado or spirit of whatever kind--coo.  All the anxieties you may have about your job or your life just disappear when you get there. It's a mental massage.

From curious llamas that greet you at the gate, to the pair of meth house rescued African geese and a turkey named, Wishbone, to the very friendly and chatty pigs, Nora, Splash and Wilbur, that just want to tell you about their day...If only the critters knew that they are truly the volunteers in my life, and not the other way around.

One of the few last times we were there, my husband and I happened down the wrong road and upon the bovine pasture.  This gallantly white bovine caught my eye, and yes, I use gallant to describe a cow.  She was gorgeous, proud, and one of whom I would love to know the personality.  Another, a Jersey named Eddie Cheddar, caught my eye.  Jerseys have always been my favorite with their velvety fur and big eyes.  I love cows.  At any fair, I always head to the cattle barns, and maybe it's because I come from a long line of farmers, so it's in my blood, and yet maybe now it's because I find such respect for them.  What they go through in life is tougher than any one of us has to.  Your children are removed from you, you are fed to be slaughtered, and you are oft considered emotionless--but and yet, like any animal, you have deep emotions that you mainly keep to yourself.  (I am not allowed to watch PETA videos anymore per my husband.  I cry for days and have ruined vacations...)

What struck us, though, is that they have a memorial hillside for critters of past.  Pasado's remembers.

It started long ago with a little guy named Pasado who was intentionally harmed and died as a result of that harm.  Here is the result taken right from their website:

“The Pasado Law”
After the notoriety of Pasado’s case, legal reform to protect the animals was at the forefront of everyone’s mind. The proposed new law was entitled “The Pasado Law,” and while it was basic, it was also excellent. The proposed law stated that any intentional act of animal cruelty would become a Class C felony. While this was the lowest felony rating in Washington State, it was a vast improvement from the long-standing misdemeanor status for torturing an animal.

Handsome Fellow

Bath Time

Snow Day

On Monday, we missed seeing Tyson.  It's been months since we missed a day, but snow and lack of plow trucks on rugged mountainous roads prevented us from getting there.  When I called up to Pasado's Safe Haven to check on the reports, my heart sank at Mahlie told is it was way too unsafe to travel without a 4-wheel drive.

Monday was my 36th birthday and our 3 year wedding anniversary and we were going to spend half of it with Tyson, and the other half being romantic.  Instead, I moped about missing the boy and talked about him periodically throughout the day.

..I hope he's warm. I miss my boy.

I hadn’t realized how deeply Tyson was imbedded into my heart until after I caught a misdial.  At the time, Tyson was at a scheduled adoption day and the volunteers who had taken him there had pocket-dialed my phone, leaving me to hear the conversation for about two minutes.  I was tortured listening to the volunteer talk to a stranger about the great qualities Tyson had while their response was hesitation.  How could anyone look at Tyson and not want him immediately?   
One of my yoga gurus said that when you talk of good things, you release them and they are no longer yours.  Tyson’s is a story that shouldn’t just be mine.  His story should belong to everyone.

Tyson has me wrapped around his paw

Tuesday through Sunday, Tyson is a blind Boxer who lives in a Safe Haven 45 minutes away from our house, but not on Mondays.  On Mondays, Tyson is a member of our family—if only in part.  That one day a week is the only day my husband and I have together and we have chosen to spend every one with him for the last 7 months minus two sick days and one snow day. 

When I first met Tyson, I was jealous.  His caregiver opened the gate to his big pen, let my husband and me in, but it wasn’t me with whom Tyson was affectionate—it was my husband.  I think my heart broke a little just then because before Ted and I met Tyson, I had researched blind dogs and Boxers,trying to see if we could be good caregivers for him that I was already attached.  I knew we would be able to handle his disability even if there was a learning curve.  Then, one look at his big brown eyes, I was in. 

We all went for a walk with Tyson that first day. The path was the typical Northwestern style wooded path filled with roots and uneven ground.  Ted was behind holding Tyson's leash and I walked up front snapping my fingers and patting my leg to let Tyson know where I was.  He stayed close, his wet nose on the back of my leg made me happy.  He was listening and following my sounds.  It was exciting and challenging, and made me think it would be easier than I thought to take care of a blind dog.

But Tyson's disability seems to affect his "appreciation" of other critters--or can we say, his blindness seems to infringe on our ability to easily thwart any aggression/fear with other critters.  With dogs, he becomes aggressive when they get near his face without warning him about it.  But and still, dogs being in the same vicinity really don't bother him.  Frankly, if I were blind, being run over for feeding or play time would irritate me, too.  We surmise something must have happened to him when he was lost to have made him into a reactive dog toward other animals.  Perhaps it was his need for food, or perhaps it was a fear of being blind, lost as well as hungry.  As such, Tyson dislikes or fears most any other animal (non-canine), which is why Tyson lives where he does for 6 days a week.  We have 3 cats and can't risk him harming them. Yet, we are in love with him.

So, why am I fighting for a dog that may never be mine?  Tyson was found emaciated and nearly dead.  No one knows what put him in that predicament or how long he was there, but he has the sweetest disposition towards humans, and is one of the smartest dogs I have ever met.  When Tyson looks at me so happily, and then jumps into my arms for a hug, I'm a pushover for him.  Monday mornings, I click his leash on and he sits proudly and upright toward me, waiting as patiently as he possibly can.  Then, I ask him if he wants to go for a walk, and he jumps out of control with joy, pulling me toward our truck and begs to get inside.  

Inside  the truck, we have a bed for him and enough treats to spoil him.  I long for those times when I get to pet and love on him.  Tyson's ears are like silk, his jowls warm and squishy.  Tyson isn't a licker, instead he nuzzles warm, breathy kisses.  He sits with his head near mine for as long as he can stand and then he goes down with a release and sigh like he can finally rest and be calm.  I love hearing him breathe that big sigh of relief and I hold his paw until I know he's gone out for a good nap. 

When we are with Tyson, we feel parental pride.  Once, Ted and I had stopped in Leavenworth at a Beer n Brat joint.  The whole place stared at us, well, at Tyson really.  A table of older men and women repeatedly gawked in awe.  We caught words like, “beautiful, wow [and] amazing,” a couple that had been enamored with each other, stopped to become enamored with Tyson, and the best was a grown man, who had turned into mush pot as he cooed over Tyson’s scrunchy Boxer nose, “oohh what quewt wittle nosy wosy you have, ahhh...what a sweet wittle guy…yes you are… (Insert unintelligible words.)” This, as the guy rubbed Tyson’s nose and ears.  Oh, and Tyson soaked it all up, of course.

Tyson loves to be bathed and tries to drink the bath water.  It must be the touch, because he behaves so well--even when you trim his nails.  He looooves a good muscle massage.  Repeat, Tyson looooves a good muscle massage.  He will roll for a belly rub, and doesn't realize he's not a lap dog. Tyson doesn't care about his size, why would I?   To be part of our life, to be part of a family is so relaxing for him—he gains comfort and pride from simply being near us.  When hot, his jowls puff up like an older tractor’s smoke stack—it's comedy.  When sad, he'll snuggle closer.  When I fall asleep next to him, he'll fall asleep with his head atop me, or at the very least, reach out a paw to touch me.  Tyson is uncommonly affectionate and so enamored with life that it would be like the feeling you or I get when taking off our shoes to feel the first grass of springtime…only every breath is like that for him.  Tyson has taught me how to enjoy life more. 

Frankly, it’s hard to understand how a dog being blind, can get around so easily.  But as we have found, Tyson’s other senses are so heightened—remarkably so—that it is fairly easy for any stranger to assume he has vision.  Tyson is just that capable.  As such, being on top of other dog owners is a must.  Other dog parents just think it is okay to allow their dogs to run amok without direction—believing they are simply experiencing life and nature, which is true, but for a blind dog like Tyson, that can be intimidating.  We just have to be like a protective parent with him, and he loves us for our care and concern.  That being said, stairs are still difficult, he does get tangled in table legs, and he needs a guide in new places.  In fact, we are more uneasy than he is.  

Tyson is remarkably smart. Still, as we walk him, we must have the presence of mind to be Tyson’s eyes.  He doesn't need coddling, he's just blind.  He must be kept close around cars—they are loud and scary.  Tyson must always be kept to the inside on a sidewalk and have a confirmation of our presence with him when loud noises travel past.  Tyson's a quick learner.  He even knows that when doors open, you generally have to step up.  He loves truck rides, and can manage the getting-in and getting-out very easily after some direction from you.  Sounds help, smells help.  He can learn the layout of any home or yard quickly, just help him with the tough spots.  He's not afraid to run if you let him off-leash, so we don't get in a comfort zone just because he's blind, he's a curious guy.

That being said, Tyson doesn't mind other dogs.  He's been to Everett beach with dogs aplenty, to varying parks and lakes around the area, and even on walks around our neighborhood, though we have refrained contact with those other dogs.  If he feels that there will be a problem, Tyson lets you know, but if he is generally okay with the situation, you'll notice he doesn't react, because his first and main priority in life—is us.  He may have fallen more madly in love with me than I did with him, but it's a close match.
 
Tyson's affection for us is all-consuming, it's like being in a new love relationship.  He is constantly enamored with us, on his best brightest behavior (usually), and can’t wait to snuggle, cuddle or nuzzle after an absence.  Oh, and hug.  Tyson actually hugs!  Due to his blindness, he is more docile than most Boxers.  That being said, he still requires two daily walks.  He’s a strong, muscular breed that simply needs exercise.  But equally, he needs rest.  He’s got some age on him, and although you wouldn't guess it, after a full day, he gets pretty tuckered out.  A soft bed inside a warm home with loving people to surround him will only be what he asks.  Tyson’s needs are simple.  Tyson is an ideal dog.

When let to roam free (in a fenced yard) Tyson will wander, explore and seek out all smells.  He's not afraid to play, loves to have air blown on his nose, but his adorable toes are so big that they will scratch if we are not careful!  He doesn't mind being picked up and carried, if we feel unsafe about other pets and just want to remove him from the situation.  

Yet, Tyson does need a two-part strong male or female figure.  One is strength.  Boxers are healthy animals originally bred to be courageous, strong and driven.  As such, Tyson is very protective, making sure we are okay is his priority, and back to the point about other dogs.  He is going to react if he thinks we're not going to be okay—he wants for our safety.  Tyson is intelligent and responsive.  Two is command.  Tyson needs direction, commands and someone who will stick to that.  He listens very well, was obviously well-trained, but when he wants to be stubborn, he needs a strong person to maintain the control.  Tyson respects that and respects us for it, but patience with any creature or loved one is a given, not that we need much.  Again, Tyson’s needs are simple and easy to fulfill.  We greatly appreciate this part of him—it’s quite beautiful.
 
Tyson doesn’t care for rawhide, but loves beef tendons (All The Best).  He doesn't care for chicken, either, but loves prime rib.  But, again, he is a Boxer, and they do have particular diets to attend to.  It’s as easy as the right food in the right amount, and managed treats.  Also, because Tyson was found emaciated, he'll likely gorge himself when eating as a continued response to such travesty.  That being said, he likes to beg for food, like any dog, but if we are firm, he backs down without issue.  Like I said, he’s really well-trained.

Tyson is the biggest goofball.  He does things that make us laugh so hard, we snort.  He snores; he farts; he slobbers and rolls around on grass like a silly spaz.  I have become so attached that I love him like a child.  His trust is unconditional, vigilant. Tyson is tolerant and forgiving. Tyson has earned my devotion on more than one occasion, and this is why I continue to fight for him.  I love him.


Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Tyson has my Heart

I bought an 8" tall, stuffed gorilla last year after Valentine's Day. It held a fat stuffed heart in its hands and sat rather stiff and upright.  It was a pretty good sale item and I had imagined I would hold onto it for a special gift sometime down the road, so it sat forgotten and in with little kitty soccer balls, toy mice, rattle balls and catnip-filled pillows until one particularly sad day leaving Tyson behind.

It was a bump on his jaw line.  I knew Boxers were prone to cancer and bumps could be indicators of trouble.  Prepare for the worst, and hope for the best is not the best motto to have, but my negativity gave me an idea.  So, the next time we went to see Tyson, I had cut off the gorilla's heart (choke hazard) and kept the heart with me, but gave the gorilla to Tyson.  Before I did that, I had made sure the little stuffed animal held our smells, so he would know we were there even when we weren't there.  Then, I tuned his radio station to something I like to listen to so that I could imagine Tyson with the monkey and listening to the same radio station.  I suppose it was the "under one sun, one moon" idea.  And every time we pick up Tyson, we put that same station on in the truck. Well, Tyson's bump disappeared and all was well by the following week, but in the end, I got the opportunity to be just a little bit closer every day.

Months later, Tyson still has his little gorilla, though the thing has seen better days.  It does get washed every now and again; taken out to play; and set in a window from time to time, but it stays with Tyson.  I keep the heart in my purse or pocket, hold it in my hand when falling asleep...Tyson is always with me.  Anyone who is a dog-lover will understand that when you take on the responsibility of another, you grab that idea with your whole being.

Tyson may not be able to be with us, but we are definitely with him.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Arthritic Kitty

This is our little Bartleby, so named because he preferred not to do much of anything. Bartleby is a purebred Scottish fold...hence his ears. We picked him up at Noah north of Everett after falling in love with his face. But the truth is, Bartleby can't do much of anything, though not likely out of choice. Perhaps it is his breed or perhaps out of pure luck, but our little B has the worst case of arthritis our Vet has ever seen, so much so that she can't even determine his real age. Purebreds do have more genetic defects than the mixes, and just as Tyson likely had PRA (Progressive Retinal Atrophy), so Bartleby is subjected to the pain of arthritis.

When we got B we had no idea what was ailing him, just that he sat funny, walked funny and crackled a bit from time. The visit to the doctor proved to be heartbreaking. Bartleby's X-rays showed that every single bone in his body is deformed with arthritis save for his shoulders and hips. No affected bone is determinable by shape and size, but seems to be melding into its neighbor. As such, he is on a regimen of Prednisolone and Buprenorphine to manage the pain. That pain is something B has learned to deal with for many years that we have not known, but only he and his previous owners--who abandoned him. That Bartleby still kneads when he is happy is an indication that he is doing well.

The disconcerting part of all of this is that B is likely going to have kidney failure before his arthritis is ever so bad that we will have to make a difficult decision.

So, what do owners do for their pets? It was suggested that we maintain a heating pad for him to help alleviate pain. We are to seek acupuncture if necessary. We massage and help groom. And we keep a fresh water supply for him readily available.
It was again a sleepless Monday night, but I sit here with my hot green tea inside my personalized coffee mug and stare into a picture of the dog I care so much about that others have dubbed him my blind son. Monday nights after my husband and I have visited with Tyson are the least sleep involved. I tend to toss and turn, and awaken every few hours. The slightest musing or stir of any member in the household curbs all sleep effort because at least in here I have control. With Tyson, I have none. We are 7 months into his Monday visits, and although I am discouraged that he'll ever get into my home, I am as equally encouraged that I can still be helpful in some regard or other.