Normal? (Gulp)

Isis is licking off Indiana's breakfast.

Things are going shockingly well here. Life, in Indiana's mind, is back to normal. (With the exception of bandage changes--she does hate those) She is feeling good, eating well, getting around probably slightly better than normal (but still having trouble getting up). Maybe she knows she has a hole in her back. I know she knows she has a bandage on it. Indy has always hated wearing anything, be it bandages or clothes. This is why I walked into the hallway last night to find her fast asleep with her bandage pulled off and all the honey licked off. Booger.

Months and months ago, my family and I decided to spend the Thanksgiving holiday at my parents' cabin on a lake in central Illinois. Jim and I try to take the dogs there 2-3 times a year, to relax, and to get a change of scenery. It's kind of my happy place, a place that represents togetherness and family, and a lack of stress. We've never spent a holiday down there, but have been talking about it since my aunt died in 2009. Holidays in our own homes bring back too many memories, not that memories are bad. But the loss is still fresh enough that recreating the holidays, but without one of the essential parts, is just too painful. We knew we'd enjoy the holiday more by creating something new.

Our plans were thrown into question last week when Indiana got sick. We weren't sure if we'd still be able to go. But with Indiana's miraculous upswing, and the fact that her illness and our treatment of it wouldn't require an emergency vet visit, we realized we'd be safe to keep our plans.

The bandages are going with. So are all the medicines and treatments that are keeping her alive and healthy. But so are my parents, and their dog, and our best friends, and their dog. (And yes, for those keeping track, that's 6 adults and 4 dogs, all in a 900 square-foot, 2-bedroom cabin). And we'll be creating memories: new, happy memories.

Life throws you curve balls. Life is hard. Sometimes life sucks. But we soldier on. What was once normal no longer is, but we adapt and create a new normal.

This may be our last Thanksgiving with Indiana, but we don't want to dwell on the sadness of that. Instead, we'll be thankful to spend this holiday with her, making new memories and filling the time with love.

Keep on Keepin' On

So much fighting spirit!

Big developments over the weekend: the skin over the tumor fell off Sunday morning, and most of the tumor did too.  There's just a tiny bit left.  (And I haven't looked at it yet this morning, so, who knows?)  The last time I looked at it, which was last night, the mass was maybe the size of half a mushed-up kiwi.  (Does that make sense?  It does to me.)  And this is down from its large grapefruit size on Tuesday. 

I am astonished.

What we are left with now is a large, gaping wound.  It's probably 4 inches in diameter, so, I guess, fairly big.  But without flappy skin and a large tumor, it's actually pretty easy to clean.  Nolvasan, Manuka honey, bandage.  Repeat, repeat, repeat. 

I started a website to post pictures of the progress of the tumor.  Because of this experimental drug we're using, I wanted to keep track of the tumor's death.  I also wanted to keep track of how well the tumor responds to the Manuka honey, because I've heard it can do amazing things.  Anyway, I set up the page but haven't made the link public other than to mention it, once, on Facebook.  (If any of you want access, let me know, and I'll share it privately)  I'm not one to hide who I am or what I'm going through.  I blog about what's going on, and I post VERY frequent updates to Facebook to share with 215 of my closest friends.  But the pictures?  I was afraid to show that.  I still am.  I'm secure in what I'm doing, in the treatment choices that Jim and I have made.  But I'm fragile, people.  I'm an artiste.  We don't like being questioned or, God forbid, disagreed with.  What if the pictures got out and people didn't understand?  What if they thought I was letting my dog suffer?  That I was allowing her to be in pain?

I know what we're doing is right.  Indiana tells me every day, and, believe me, I'm looking for her response.  But I'm getting through this by sheer will and the love and support of more friends and family than I can count.  (How did I end up with so many wonderful animal people in my life?  I am overwhelmed!)  But I don't have room for negativity or disharmony right now.  If people think I'm wrong (and thankfully, no one has expressed that view to me), I don't want to know.  Which is why I'm keeping the photos semi-private for now.  Maybe I'll get brave later.  Who knows.

Back on track to the tumor, and, more importantly, the dog:  tumor = small/almost gone; hole left = kinda huge; dog = eating well, bright and perky, and completely kick-ass. 

Oh, how I love her so.

Hope, or, When Will I Learn

The Princess and The Papa

Cancer is always a roller coaster.  I learned that five and a half years ago, and, it seems, it's still true today. 

Though Indiana's been feeling pretty good, despite the soon-to-be-gaping hole in her back, it's always hard to tell what's going on inside a body.  Bleeding?  Organ failure?  Other tumors?  Plus, when you open up a large wound on the body of a living organism, other organisms, i.e. bacteria, want to live there.  So despite the fact the the tumor itself is not going to kill Indiana, secondary infection might.

In my head, and, well, in my eyes--this tumor looks nasty--I've been wondering how much time we have left, and this is the consummate question for any parent dealing with cancer.  How much time do we have?  I've known forever that this is variable, and often dogs can do much better than their stated prognosis; I've seen it many times.  But when it's your own pet, all previous knowledge is lost.  Advice you've given to others over the course of almost six years?  Out the door.  Suddenly, you're back to square one, turning to your support system for help.  You can't remember anything, and you're scared all over again. 

So after speaking with both of our vets over the last few days, I had a really unclear picture of where Indiana is headed.  What's going to take her, in the end?  Systemic infection?  Kidney failure?  Anemia?  And how quickly?  Any day?  Any week?  Any month? 

During a visit with our primary vet today, we discussed wound care and put a plan in place for keeping infection at bay.  The tumor will be losing its protective skin any time now, which isn't necessarily a bad thing.  We want the whole darn thing to slough off.  Gross, I know, but it's our best chance for survival.  But it opens up a huge wound--I'm anticipating about 4" in diameter--which will be difficult, though not impossible, to keep free of infection.  Twice-daily debridement with Nolvasan, followed by a healthy slathering of Manuka honey, and thrice-daily bandage changes are the plan.  This doesn't sound like a lot of work on paper, but I understand that wound care is terribly time-consuming.  Essentially, I'm clearing my schedule for the near future to deal with this. 

The best part?  My vet told us to expect an open wound for at least two months.  My reaction?  "We have two months?" I seriously didn't think she'd last that long.  Apparently, if we keep her free of infection, she definitely could still be with us.  I was floored.  And thrilled.

I know that our time with our girl is limited.  I know that at any time things could change.  I know that keeping the wound from becoming infected will be harder than it sounds.  But I am up for the challenge.  And so is Indiana.  How could I ever have doubted that?

Continuing the Fight

Can't tell she's sick, huh?

Indiana has cancer. 

She's actually had it--well, we've known about it--for over a year.  At the time, it was a tiny little dot on her back.  Like a tiny grape under her skin.  Biopsy came back as an unspecified sarcoma.  The prognosis seemed good, as these types of cancer tend only to metastasize locally.  We opted to leave it alone.  Consults with both a kidney specialist and a cardiologist left us uneasy.  Anaesthesia is hard on the body.  What would it do to a 12-year old dog with a heart arrhythmia and kidney disease?  In consulting with an anaesthesiologist, the best she could tell me was that Indy had only a "slightly higher" risk of death from anaesthesia.  I didn't find that comforting.  In the presence of a localized, small tumor, it seemed prudent to avoid that path that potentially lead to instant death.

Now, 13 months later,  I am of course questioning that decision.  I knew where leaving the tumor alone could lead.  Did  I choose this for Indiana?  Did I give her cancer? 

A good friend said some very comforting words the other day.  She told me that at that juncture, where we had to make a decision, we were given two bad choices.  There wasn't a good, clear choice.  I didn't pass up a good choice and choose a bad one.  I chose the path that, while it might not end somewhere good, was a happier path with a quality of life.  But honestly, neither path had a happy ending.

Knowing all of this, I still struggle.  As parents, as good parents, we should always question our own decisions, to learn and to make sure we're always thinking of our pet's best interest.  It doesn't mean I won't feel guilt along the way, even if I know in my heart I did the right thing.  We want our pets to feel happy, to always protect them.  That's not always easy or even possible. 

We've been through a lot with Indiana in the last five and a half years.  She has proven herself to be a fighter, and indeed, even in this dark, scary time, she continues to fight.  Her eyes tell me so.  But it breaks my heart to see the open wound on her back, the hair shaved away.  I probably will never see it grow back.  As the blood oozes out of the holes in the tumor, the smell of death and decay oozes along with it, turning my stomach.  I am sick at not only the mass of deadly cells on her back but also at my own weakness.  I shouldn't be afraid of the blood, of the smell, of the torn skin.  But I am.  It gets harder every day, and I have to talk myself through removing the bandages in the morning, unsure of what I'll find.  I am angry at my weakness.  I am ashamed.

It's also hard to come to terms with the fact that we are in an endgame.  What parent doesn't want their child to live forever, even if we know they can't? 

This morning, when Jim and I awoke and walked into the living room, Indiana was lying on her bed, very still.  Jim approached her first, and as I got closer, I saw she was breathing but not moving.  We looked at each other, fear and heartache in our eyes.  We tried to rouse her, and she was slow to do so.  Was this her time?  Was this the end?  No, it wasn't.  Indiana was simply sleeping peacefully, exhausted after a busy day prior.  She eventually woke, and over the course of several hours, she walked outside, sat in the grass to survey her kingdom, and ate a hearty breakfast with much aplumb.  She even took her pills. 

Were we overreacting?  Sure.  But we also both know that our time is limited more than ever before.  I can't think about that much, because I know my heart will break into a thousand pieces if I do.  My coping mechanism?  Making Indiana's life perfect.  Jim and I are completely focused on creating a happy, peaceful home, free from stress.  Making the most of every day.  Of every moment. 

Some things in my life will have to go.  If it causes me stress, it has to go.  I can't bring that into my home.  I know that will make some people in my life unhappy.  But I am fortunate to know a huge number of animal lovers, who understand what I'm dealing with.  And ultimately, I don't care.  I have to make decisions that I can live with.  I alone have to deal with the consequences of my actions.  When Indy is gone, I need to make sure I can do that.  I will look back on my decisions and question them, dissect them.  Some will be good and some will not.  But I have to know that I gave all I had to her, that I fought just as hard as she, that when it came down to it, I gave her everything I had to give, as she has done for me every day of her life. 

We are down, but we are not out.

A Lazy Copy and Paste of My Facebook Update

I just got back with Indiana from a vet appointment with another vet. I ran into a friend who used to be Indy's vet over the weekend. (She only stopped being our bet because she moved away). Long story short, she saw my posts about Indiana's tumor and offered to give Indiana injections of a drug she is starting a trial on. It is pretty cool and seems like it could have fantastic implications for both humans and animals. Anyway, we went up to the suburbs to start the first of four weekly injections.

The trip was actually pretty great because (1) my good friend and personal vet tech Amanda went with us, (2) Indy had eaten well just before we left and was feeling really good, (3) another friend, who is a Reiki Master, was our vet tech, and we go to chat with her while Indy got Reiki, and (4) my vet friend is amazing.

She believes that Indy's tumor is just that--all new tumor growth. The quick advancement could mean that the tumor has become aggressive. She told me that Jim and I should begin to prepare...which I think we have already started to do anyway.

The tumor opened up some last night, causing an open wound and thus some bleeding. If we can keep it under control, the bleeding shouldn't be a big deal. If we can stop the tumor from growing, we should be able to minimize the risk of infection, which is our biggest long-term worry. I realize that wound care will be a part of the rest of her life. This is a bigger deal for me than for her. I know she's ready for a fight, and so am I.

I am hopeful that this new drug can help reduce tumor inflammation but will also help her arthritis. Indy is alert and happy and is able to walk and eat with gusto. I know our time is limited, and this is hard to wrap my mind around. I apologize in advance for being a bad friend/daughter/employee/mother to my other animals as I move into this new chapter with Indiana. I know I'm going to struggle for a while.

Thanks to everyone who has expressed their concern, love, and support thus far. It means so much. Truly, it does. Indy, Jim, and I are so fortunate to have so many people in our lives who are willing to help and support us.

Indy is a tough girl who has cheated death more than once. We're not writing her off yet.

Trial and Errors

As many of my friends know, we're going through a rough patch with Indiana right now. Her cancerous tumor, known to us for over a year, and stable for at least six months, ballooned over the weekend. Friday morning, when I left for a weekend veterinary conference, the tumor was as it always is, able to fit in the palm of my hand. When I returned home Sunday night, the tumor was as large as my hand.

I was stunned. How could this mass, a sarcoma not known for aggressive growth, increase in size so rapidly?

I scrambled to find a way to protect it until morning, when I could take her in to the vet. The mass has always had a thin spot, where the layers of skin are weaker, more fragile. I knew that if the mass kept growing, the tumor would rupture in that spot.

Thanks to some friends, we got the mass protected and put a plan into place, should the tumor break open over night. It didn't though. I was able to get in to see the new vet in our practice, as my regular vet no longer works Mondays.

We've known for a while that there is a hematoma around the tumor--basically a capsule of blood caused by trauma. How much of the mass was blood and how much cancerous tissue, we've never known.

My first instinct when I saw this growing tumor was that much of it had to be blood. How could a sarcoma, not known for being aggressive, grow so exponentially? For over an hour, our vet tried to extract blood from the mass, wanting to provide Indiana's poor stretched skin some relief, wanting to provide relief to me, my panic and desperation evident. But no blood would come. No relief.

Our options: surgery, which we decided against a year ago, due to both the size of the tumor and Indiana's delicate health status, or letting it go, treating with a Chinese herb to reduce the blood. I felt there was a third option: debulking the mass under local anaesthetic, something Indiana has allowed on the past. I'll be calling my vet this morning to discuss this option, as the vet I saw yesterday, young and new to my medically-challenging dog, wasn't eager to take this treatment path.

The tumor continued to grow yesterday, and while I think it might be slightly larger this morning, the growth seems to have slowed, thanks to the Yunnan Paiyao we've been giving her. Indy slept poorly last night, wandering a lot, and this morning we found her against the wall, unable to get up on her own, urine leaking as soon as we lifted her up. Her legs aren't working today. This could be due to exhaustion, or even the UTI I am fairly certain she just developed. Or something worse, though I am hoping with all my heart that it is not.

I can't help but feel that I sent her down this path, knowing a year ago that this is where my choice could lead. I had hoped that it would not. I was naive. I still think we made he right choice. Surgery could kill her. But I still feel responsible for her current state. That's hard to live with.

For now, I am doing at least twice-daily bandage changes. Miraculously, her skin didn't split over night, as I expected it to. I am trying to keep her comfortable and to lift her back legs for her so she can go outside. Puppy urine pads can help in the in-between times, and grooming bath wipes can help clean her up. Thankfully I have all these supplies already.

I'll be calling the vet at 9am sharp to update them. Beyond that, I just don't know. I will do what has to be done. Though Jim had to leave for work, we briefly discussed a sleep plan so that Indy wouldn't have to be left alone. I anticipate little sleep in my future. That's okay.

And I'll not leave her side. The rest of the world will still be there when this crisis has passed. I belong with Indy right now, which is exactly where I want to be.

Why Lily Belongs With Your Family

This is Lily, the precious pitbull mix looking up at the camera, sweet, gentle eyes staring right at you, with her adorable, floppy deaf ears high in the air.  Yep, you read that right.  Lily is deaf.

Lily came into my life three weeks ago, after she was dumped in the country, not far from my house, by a family who no longer wanted her.  They were having a baby, you see, and simply couldn't manage a special needs dog and a baby at the same time.  How could I possibly know this, you ask?  Let's just say it's a phenomenally stupid idea to list your dog on a Facebook rehoming page and then dump her. 

Lily was stopped in the road, confused and scared, and after the car in front of me simply drove off after she moved, I stopped my car and got out to check on her.  She was terrified, as her body language clearly indicated, and I was nervous to approach her.  But she looked lost, and I couldn't just leave her on the side of the road.  After speaking softly to her for several minutes, she suddenly looked me in the eye, perked up her head, and was my best friend.  I opened the door to my car, and she jumped in straight away.  Suddenly I had a 40-something-pound dog in my car and no where to take her. 

Because Isis is 12-years old and dog-aggressive, I knew she wouldn't accept a young female into her pack.  So taking Lily home to live with us was out of the question (regular readers of my blog know that this is my preferred method of cat rescue).  I also couldn't send her to Animal Control, given that she's both a pitbull mix and deaf.  The solution, thanks to a few friends, was to house her in a horse barn for a few weeks.  This was not ideal, but it was better than on the streets or in a cage.  I visited Lily three times a day, for about an hour each time, so I got to know, and to love, her very well. 

Lily is now with a foster home, though it is only temporary.  They love her but have three large dogs already and are moving to a small apartment in Kentucky in a few short weeks.  She can stay until this Saturday, but needs to find a new foster (or better yet, a permanent home) by then. 

I still spend a lot of time with Lily.  Jim or I go every day and pick up Lily for 2-3 hours.  We go for a walk, a run, or take her to my Mom and Dad's house to play with their dog.  Between Lily's foster Mom and I, we know just about everything there is to know about Lily.

What do I know about her?  I know I love her and would keep her in a heartbeat if I could.  I have cried many tears already over the fact that I can't keep her.  I know that I am incredibly jealous of whichever family she ends up with.  With a little bit of training and a lot of love, Lily is going to make someone the perfect dog.  And I'm not exaggerating when I use the word perfect  folks.  She's amazing.

What else do I know? 

• The basics:  Lily is an 11-month old pitbull/blue heeler mix who is completely deaf.  She weighs somewhere around 45 pounds. 
• Lily's biggest pleasure in life is being with people and/or dogs.  Preferably both at the same time.  She loves to give kisses. 
• She has not an aggressive bone in her body.  She loves people.  She loves kids.  She loves dogs.  She loves cats.  She loves horses.  She needs to learn manners (but is greatly improving in this arena), but she is submissive and will back away when told to do so. 
• She will play fetch for hours if you let her.  She can destroy a cloth toy in seconds (thanks to those pittie jaws) but does really well with rubber toys.  However, if she puts something in her mouth that she shouldn't have (and she frequently does), those same strong jaws will easily let you pull tiny cat toys out of her mouth, with nary a scratch to your hand. 
• Lily will make a wonderful running companion.  Jim has taken her running, and though she needs to learn a little more focus (she's still young, plus she needs to learn some more walking manners), she is great at running.  She runs behind Jim so she can see where he's going, since she can't hear him. 
• She will play for hours and hours and hours without tiring.  But she's also happy to snuggle up on the couch with you.  In fact, as I write this, she's snuggled up next to me on the couch, with her head resting on my knee.  Over the weekend, she fell asleep on my Mom's lap, in her recliner.
• Lily is capable of being crated but much prefers to lay next to you. 
• She is housebroken.
• She loves water.  Pools, creeks, puddles.  She will be a mess afterwards, but she has Teflon fur, and she will be clean and dry within hours.  It's weird.
• Lily is a bull in a china shop.  Because she's so young, she doesn't have much control over her body yet.  There is a huge mind-butt disconnect.  This means she knocks things down wherever she goes, but it's so adorable, you don't get mad at all. 
• When she's really excited, she'll run and run and run.  I've never seen a dog run so fast, in great big circles.
• She loves sticking her head out the window when you're in the car.  She alternates between sitting between the front seat and giving you kisses and sitting by the window with her head out.  The wind makes her sooooooooo happy.
• She has no food, treat, toy, or bone aggressions.
• She has the cutest spots on her ears.  Ever.
• Lily likes being groomed.  She stands perfectly still for bathing, isn't afraid of the dryer (because she can't hear it, of course), and when I saw her getting her nails clipped, I thought she had been drugged (kidding, kidding).
• She is amazingly resilient and adaptable.  In the past three and a half weeks, Lily has lived at two different barns and one home.  She has been tended to by three different barn workers, loads of barn boarders, her foster family, Jim and myself (who take her once a day now), and she spends several hours with my parents.  All with a smile and never any fear.
• She is without a doubt one of the smartest dogs I have ever met.  She is training very quickly and easily and already understands a lot of hand signals.  What has she learned?  She can sit, lay, drop her ball, come, go to her bed, and wait to go in or out the door. Someone who has her as part of their family could teach her all she needs to know within a few months.  Seriously.
• Even though you know Lily can't hear you, you can't resist talking to her.  She's so adorable that you want to use a cutesy voice too.

Wanna see some more pictures?

Lily and her foster sister Mal.  Lily apparently is with Mal 24/7. 

They sleep together, often in a pile.

See?

Here are those ears I was talking about.  I just want to chew on them.

A very tired Lily, getting belly rubs from Jim.  I didn't mention in my

bullet points about, but she loooooves belly rubs.

So, a general overview: Lily loves everything.  Lily will love you.  You will love Lily.  Lily will be an amazing family pet. 

We are looking for a kind, loving family for Lily.  You can have dogs or cats or not.  Lily needs quite a bit of training at this point, and therefore, time.  Obviously, it's okay if you work a full-time job, but she needs to be walked/played with/trained several times a day.  If you have a fenced-in yard, this is a bonus.  Mostly, we want you to love her as much as she'll love you. 

If you're interested, please email me at cancersupport@greatgoodheart.org.  I am seriously willing to transport her, anywhere in the Continental United States, for the right family.  I am not even kidding.

Even if you aren't in a position to help Lily, please share this blog post with others, so we can find Lily the family she so richly deserves.

Bonk.

Lets protect that pretty head, 'kay?

Indiana has a habit which, while strange and completely new to me, is apparently fairly common among older dogs.  Jim and I will be peacefully resting on the couch, watching television, and we will suddenly hear the most brain-rattling bonk you can ever hope to hear.  For a while it confused us.  What was that noise?  Where is it coming from?  But eventually, we figured it out.

Our dog throws herself to the ground to lay down, and that loud noise we hear?  It's her head hitting the hardwood floor.

Jim and I were horrified at first.  Surely such trauma would cause brain injury?  Oddly enough, I guess it doesn't.  She continues to do it and doesn't seem to be any worse for the wear.

At my last vet appointment, I mentioned this odd habit to our vet.  I expected her to be as incredulous about the whole thing as we were.  But her response surprised me.  "Oh, yeah.  I see that all the time in older dogs.  In fact, I have seen a few come in with huge bruises on their heads."  Waaahhhh? 

I couldn't wrap my brain around why my own dog was whacking her precious skull against the floor, on purpose, let alone why a whole subset of a species was doing it.  And why didn't I know about this? 

My vet replied that there was no hard-and-fast explanation for this odd phenomenon.  Her theory is that laying down all the way is painful or uncomfortable for most old dogs.  They know this, and so to avoid it, or at least combat it, they approach laying down with the ripping-off-a-band-aid theory--the faster you do it, the sooner it's over. 

This theory makes complete sense to me.  I'm still horrified by it, and I can't help but cringe every time I hear that distinctive whack of skull against wood.  The best I can offer is a soft rug underneath, to at least turn that crack into a dull thud.

Busy Days

Q*bert, not being busy

I've been long absent from my blog, even though I promised myself I would write every day.  To paraphrase my friend Caitte, I've been busy living life instead of writing about it.  Shame on me.  Just kidding--I feel guilty, but only just a little.

I'll try to spend this week catching up.  I've had a lot on my mind.  This time of year does that to me.  Lots of anniversaries of sad events, the holidays just around the corner, the changing of the seasons (which I love with all of my heart, I really do). 

I know the first thing on my regular readers minds: how is Indiana?  In a nutshell, good.  Things were a little dicey a few weeks ago.  She suddenly started struggling to lay down.  Not stand up.  Lay down.  This is for several reasons.  One, it has to do with tight muscles in her legs, which make laying down kind of painful, or at least uncomfortable.  It got so bad that Indiana would wander around the house for a long time (and at 13 1/2, Indy doesn't wander much anymore at all), exhausting herself, panting.  It was really hard to see.  And it's not like standing up, where we can assist her.  Laying down, she's on her own.  It's crushing and sad to see.

So we've had her in for chiropractic and acupuncture, which have helped.  But we also put her back on Adequan (which we had run out of a few weeks ago) and a new joint supplement called Glyco-flex III, a chewable pill that she actually likes eating.  I think these things have helped.  She's no longer struggling so much to lay down (it still takes her a while though, but she's like the equivalent of 80 years old in human years, so what can you expect?), and the wandering has all but ended, thanks to an herb we've been giving her called Rhodiola. 

Jim and I determined that Indy's wandering was caused by anxiety, which sounds really weird, because, what does a dog have to be anxious about?  But if you think about all of the older people you've ever known--grandparents, for instance--I bet you can think of several times they got nervous for no good reason.  Wanting to stay close to home.  Needing to be on a schedule.  Feeling overwhelmed by lots of noise.  It's the same for older pets too. 

To combat the anxiety (which seems the worst during meal times), Jim and I have set up a quiet atmosphere.  The TV goes off.  All unnecessary lights are switched off.  We both sit with her while she eats.  (She likes to be hand fed, so one parent feeds her, and usually the second sits by, watching.  It's torture for a herding dog not to be able to see all of her charges, so staying close reduces that worry).  But I swear the Rhodiola has helped too.  It's amazing the change we've seen.

We're lucky to have a vet who understands aging dogs, in a way I've never seen before.  Having a senior dog is harder than I ever imagined.  It requires lots of patience, lots of time, lots of attention, and the ability to turn off your "ick" sensor--you'll be touching things you never thought you would, and with your bare hands to boot.  Raw meat, feces, urine.  Whatever.  It doesn't faze me now.

Indiana has a lot to teach us about growing old.  But Jim and I try very hard to listen to her.  She's clear in her communications, if you just pay attention.  We have a lot to learn, but we're very eager pupils.

Best of Friends

Cimba and Garth, with Boogie in the back

Cimba lives at a boarding facility and has done for 5-6 years.  He's well taken care of there.  He's happy with the owners and staff, and, best of all, he's made friends. 

During the day, Cimba runs in a herd of other geldings.  Garth is his best friend and is owned by the barn owners.  Garth is the Alpha male of the herd and therefore calls the shots.  Garth's call most of the time?  Pay attention to Cimba.  He loves Cimba, and Cimba loves him.  This leaves the other members of the herd, Boogie and Pary, out in the cold more often than Boogie would like.  (Pary doesn't care--he's happy to follow the rest of the herd around)  The picture I posted with this story pretty well exemplifies the relationship of the herd.  Cimba standing around,  Garth nibbling on him, Boogie trying to get some attention too, and Pary off who knows where. 

I find this relationship funny for several reasons.  One, Garth is the Alpha yet lavishes his attention on Cimba.  He's constantly gently nibbling on his back, nudging him on the shoulder, or resting his head on Cimba's back.  And two, Garth is huge, and beautiful, and he's enthralled with a tiny little Arab.  Cimba seems to like the attention, as he rarely walks away from Garth.  I don't know if that's because my vain horse likes the attention, or if he's happier that the attention is driving Boogie crazy.  I wouldn't put that past him.

Last week, Cimba was tranquilized for a veterinary procedure.  After we were done, Cimba was starting to wake up, and we put him outside with his herd, so the fresh air and breeze could help him wake up faster.  Nikki, the owner of the barn (and also Garth), said, "Cimba will be fine outside.  Garth will take care of him."

And take care of him he did.

It's not unusual for the herd to rally around another member who is returning to the pen.  What melted my heart is the fact that Garth wouldn't leave Cimba's side.  He walked alongside him, lavishing his usual attention, but in a gentler manner.  Keeping the other horses from Cimba, making sure he was safe.  And when I left, an hour later, Garth was still at Cimba's side.

Cimba is lucky to have such a good friend. 

Oh, It's a Guilt Trip, Is It?

There's been a lot of manipulation around our house lately.  And I don't mean between the humans.  Oh, no.  It's the four-legged critters who have been putting on their best guilt faces.  And you know what?  It works every time. 

Indiana is, well, Indy.  When you've battled cancer...twice...and won, you get pretty much whatever you want.

Isis has a new obsession with running.  Jim started running with her several months ago in an effort to get her into shape.  She's always been a horrible walker (she loves to stop and sniff every two feet, plus she has weird rules about where she will and won't walk--if you try to force the issue, she lays all 60 of her pounds down in the middle of the road.)  But surprisingly, she's a good runner.  And she loves it.  Fairly frequently, she sees Jim getting on his workout gear and is convinced they're going running, even if Jim only intends to work out in the house.  But when faced with such unbridled enthusiasm, and an, "Oh, Jim..." from me, Isis wins every time.

Mr. Squiggles, like Indiana, has a built in guilt-trip excuse--when you reappear after being missing for over a year, you want for very little.  But still, he has a trick that gets us every time.  Stage One of his trick is an expectant, very quiet meow, complete with an intense, expectant stare.  This trick means he wants you to sit down on the couch so he can snuggle with you.  Stage Two of the trick, from which we have no immunity, involves the quiet meow along with him standing up on his back legs, pawing at your legs as desperately as he can.  I'm pretty sure I'd commit a crime, if that's what he was asking for.

Gus doesn't really pile on guilt, per se, but he's got the whole disability thing that makes him impossible to resist.  Plus, he takes what he wants.  So if he wants to lay on your lap, you sit there until he's done.

Samson's trick is really handy, as it's what got him adopted by us in the first place.  Samson, like every Maine Coon, is very smart and very dexterous with his hands.  So when he wants something, he reaches his huge paw out to get it.  This includes people most of the time.  Who can resist 15 pounds of cat reaching out and lovingly placing a paw on your arm?  I sure can't.

Q*bert is newest to the household and therefore less equipped with guilt trips.  He's not sick/disabled/previously missing, so those tricks are out.  He's also not super smart, but honestly, that's what wins us over most of the time.  He's so...ummm...simple, that we can't resist him when he wants something.  His needs are so simple, basically food and an occasional lap, so who are we to say no?  Bless his heart.

Though he doesn't live in our house, Cimba has tricks of his own too.  I don't ignore him often, but sometimes I will walk away from his stall to pet another horse, and this makes him mad.  I'm his Mom, after all.  Most of the time, if he's craving attention, and some other horse is getting it, I'll hear a stern smack against his stall wall, and I'll turn around to see a very annoyed horse staring me down.  Flared nostrils, perked ears, and the brightest, sweetest eyes you've ever seen on a horse.  I am powerless against him.

Society has the idea that humankind is smarter and superior to the animal race.  Looking at all of this, though, I often wonder. 

Back to Work

Sam's staring at a large bug on the other side of the

pet door.  Can you see it?

The last few weeks have been crazy busy in the Schneider household, and by crazy busy, I mean I've been travelling and generally being a kept woman.  Oh, and Jim started a sort-of-new job.  Somebody's gotta pay for the horse, and it ain't me. 

Anyway, in Jim news, the new job is really a new position within the same company/department, and it's been a looooooooooong time coming.  When Jim was hired by Exelon (then ComEd) back in 2000, this new position (Licensed Control Room Operator) was the ultimate goal.  We were told by the company that Jim and his fellow newly hired co-workers could expect to be non-licensed operators for 3-5 years.  It's been 11.  So we're very happy that this new position finally came open (and it's based on seniority, not merit, so that's partly what's taken so long).  Jim is currently in Reactor Operator Training, which will take between 18-24 months.  For the time being, he works 7-3 Monday through Friday, and cannot be forced to work extra shifts.  He also gets holidays off.  After 11 years, we're finally living what is a relatively normal life.  Once he's passed the training, he'll go back to 12-hour shift work again, but it's still nice to have a break from that routine. 

Jim is now able to pursue interests he previously had no time for (12-hour shifts don't allow for much else in your day), like training for a half-marathon.  He also has time to take riding lessons and go for bike rides with me.  We can run errands and go grocery shopping together.  Oh, and lots more time for Criminal Minds.  Whew.  Don't forget that!

This new job will put a bit of a damper on our travel schedule, as he's not really able to take vacation days right now.  He can't really miss classroom training, so our travel, for the time being, will be relegated to weekends and holiday weeks.  That'll be the hardest part for us, honestly, but it's not forever.

Meanwhile, our critters are loving the new schedule.  Daddy is home at 3:30 every day, so if Mom is out, Daddy can feed them lunch, and give them snuggle time.  They have two parents home more of the time.  It's a win-win for them.

In other news, Indiana is doing well.  She's bright-eyed and alert, eating pretty well (though picky), and getting around as well as can be expected.  She has recovered from her earlier UTI, and we're waiting on test results to tell us how her kidneys are doing.  Her tumor on her back is larger now, and it's carrying a lot of heat.  This could mean one of several things: that the tumor has grown larger, that the hematoma around it has grown, or that there is some kind of abscess around it.  Our vet doesn't want to poke it to find out, so for now, we're simply putting a clay mask on it to draw out the heat, and adding in a drop of Frankincense, which is an essential oil with anti-tumor properties. 

Our horse, Cimba, was diagnosed with bursitis in his neck last month.  That's a swelling of the joint--for him, it's just behind his left ear.  He has a rather large lump there, and I know it causes him some discomfort.  Today, the equine vet is coming out to take an x-ray, to see if there is any arthritis, and to see what the extent of the lump is.  My poor boy has to be tranquilized, which freaks me out a little but is probably totally safe.  Anyway, I'm crossing my fingers for good results--nothing we've done to the lump so far has changed it in any way, so I'm anxious to find a treatment that works. 

I don't know why my lot in life is to have animals with every sort of lump or bump known to man.  Between Indy and Cimba, I'm gaining a pretty good knowledge of lumps.  Surely we have to run out of types pretty soon?

OMG OMG

What I've been doing instead of blogging.

I logged on to make a post this morning, and nearly gasped at the realization that the last time I posted was August 4.  And today is August 18.  Ugh.

Not that I think I have thousands of worshiping adorers out there, refreshing their browsers every 5 minutes, waiting for a new post about my animals to come up.  But I did make a personal vow to post every weekday--that's five days a week--and now I've really broken that vow.

However, it's not completely my fault.  After the August 4th post, my cell phone decided to stop charging, and I use my cell for everything--including internet service.  So I was without the internet for over a week while I waited for Amazon to ship my new charger (because Verizon doesn't sell them anymore--and they won't let me get an early upgrade--thanks, Verizon.  I'm glad that 10 years of on-time payments means so much to you.) 

Anyway, once I got my cell up and working again, I went on vacation with my Mom to Wisconsin Dells.  We had a great time, staying in a really nice motel with a great view, wearing belly packs, and touristing it up.  Then I leave on a quick weekend 11th Anniversary getaway tomorrow, but I promise I'll be back to posting adorable pictures and stories of my naughty cats next week.

For those who are curious (and there are at least one or two of you out there, right?), my clan are all doing well.  Indy is UTI-free for the time being and is eating relatively well.  The cats are being fairly harmonious, Isis is Isis, and Cimba has been neglected by Midwest-travelling me but has been well cared for by friends Nikki and Cassie.

Until Monday, my friends...

Oy vey

In the last week, we have:

• been to the doctor/lab for an exam/urinalysis/CT, because one of the humans thought they might have a kidney stone
• gone to dinner with some friends, and had a great time, despite back pain
• called the vet, because one of the canines was exhibiting signs of a UTI, and we were going out of town that day and needed antibiotics ASAP
• visited family out of town for the weekend
• shopped at my favorite store in the world, Charming Charlie's (please tell me you've experienced it)
• gone to a baptism/party
• picked up our very first Western trail saddle
• gotten bitten by a cat on the arm, requiring one of the humans to go to the ER, who were very, very unhelpful
• had friends over for dinner, and had a great time, despite two humans being ill and one being injured
• watched our equine family member getting shoed, which is basically a horse pedicure
• gotten frustrated/worried because the aforementioned canine with the UTI hasn't really improved and is still wetting herself all over the house
• taken said canine to the chiropractor and faced not one, not two, but three traffic delays, two being caused by accidents, which caused us to be ten whole minutes late
• spent the evening quite uncomfortable, because someones cat-bitten arm was sore
• woken up to diarrhea all over the floor, presumably caused by the canine with the UTI and on antibiotics
• woken up to an arm which looks better and feels better, but which started oozing pus, thus requiring the other human in the house to squeeze the wound to expel all of the pus.  This was actually more cool than gross.

Surely this next week will get better/be less interesting.

Happy Birthday, Gus!

Seriously, is there a cuter cat on the planet?

Today is Gus' birthday.  He's three-ish years old. 

Jim and I always like to do something special for the animals on their birthdays.  For the dogs, we go out for a Culver's hamburger, followed by Dairy Queen.  For the cats...not so simple.

What do you give the cat who has everything?  Hates riding in the car?  Gets everything he wants?  Hates affection?

We instituted a rule that you couldn't give a cat a hard time on his birthday, so in Gus' case, no making fun of his disability.  Not that we do...ummm...

We also decided that since Gus hates affection, we wouldn't pick him up at all on his birthday.  Or pet him unless invited to do so. 

Indiana is playing her part and allowing Gus to snuggle with her whenever he wants, which has been quite frequently the last couple of days.  What a kind sister. 

But Q*bert just literally attacked Gus as I am typing this.  Apparently he didn't get the birthday memo. 

So Happy Birthday to my favorite orange cat.  You are evil, but luckily so incredibly adorable.

Old-y Time-y Photos

They're both super fuzzy.  The dog and the then-boyfriend-now-husband.

Jim and I (okay, mostly Jim) are in the process of removing photos off an old computer onto our old-but-newer computer, so we can finally recycle the old one.  I thought my readers might enjoy seeing some of the old pics, because they're of the dogs and cat (we only had Mr. S back then) a long time ago, when they were young and just as adorable. I'll post more over the next several days.  I hope you enjoy this look back!

This is Isis, when she was brand new.  How stinkin' cute was she???

Mr. Squiggles.  What is it with cats and laundry baskets?

More brand new Isis and big sister Indy.  Indy was sooooooo

patient and gentle with her.  Look at my lovely second-hand

college couch.

The girls at our favorite dog park.  We used to go every day.

That was back when you could trust Isis off-leash.

Heh.

Seriously, this picture of Isis...no words.  Just...oh my.

Mr. S.  I'm pretty sure he's begging for

some kind of food.

Monday Already?

This is Samson.  This shelf used to hold knick knacks but

now instead holds 15 pounds of cat and a blanket.

Oops.  At the start of the year, I made a commitment to blogging five days a week, and for the most part, I've been pretty good about sticking to it.  Because I know myself (and my ability to not finish what I start--ugh), I allow myself few excuses for not getting a blog post in each weekday.  And, because I'm a morning person by nature, I prefer to write and post just after breakfast each morning.  (I also can't function before eating--this goes for just about anything--I feed the dogs and cats, then I feed myself)  Imagine my surprise, when I realized this afternoon, that, GASP! today is Monday!  I forgot to post this morning!  Is forgetting it's a weekday an acceptable excuse for not blogging?  I like to think it is.

Anyway, I've been wrapped up in a remodeling project the last few days.  On Saturday, a small vanity cabinet in our master bathroom fell off the wall.  Well, it didn't exactly fall, but it came apart, requiring us to physically remove it, after which we found water damage from the nearby shower.  Which reminded us that a tile in the shower was coming off the wall, another indicator of water damage.  So now our shower is getting a remodel.  Which means new tile, new paint, new a lot of stuff.  And because I'm a glutton for punishment, I can't just replace the wallboard and tile, oh no, I have to do this baby right!  Let's put in a tile bottom!  And get custom glass doors!  And, hey, let's make them round!  And let's put in glass tiles!  And travertine!  And since the shower is getting new tiles, the whirlpool area needs matching tile too.  But not the floor.  Good heavens no, I am not ripping up 150 square feet of perfectly good tile.  I'm crazy, but not nuts.

What was probably going to be a small project has now turned into a pretty big (read: expensive) deal.  I am going into this whole remodel fully expecting more problems than I anticipate.  I did build a whole house, by the way.  I know how these things work.  Nothing is ever as simple as you think they're going to be.  Always be prepared.  Expect the unexpected.

Then I realized this was totally an allegory to real life--and, quite conveniently, a perfect blog post subject.  As a pet parent, heck, as a human being, you never know what's going to come up.  Life throws you curve balls, and sometimes a lot of them.  And while we can't ever be prepared for some of them--who's ever prepared for death? or cancer?--we can take some of the smaller things in our lives in stride.  Some days, I feel tempted to feel overwhelmed.  I have a lot of animals, a lot of time-consuming animals, and when one or more of them is sick, it can be hard to deal with.  But not all illnesses are life-threatening, and I have to learn to take those with stride.  Yes, my dog getting fleas sucks, but it's not the end of the world.  Wash the bedding, vacuum the floors, use the chemical/natural treatment of choice, and the dog won't know any different. 

Put everything in perspective, and go with the flow.  So while I'm not overjoyed at having to redo my bathroom (though the planning part can be fun), I'm lucky that I have the time and resources to do it. 

My Little Pony

I've officially been a horse owner for just over three weeks now, though I started getting to know Cimba in the beginning of June.  I spent about a week riding him, to see if we could bond.  I needed to like him, but, just as importantly, he needed to like me too.  It didn't take me long to decide that there was something between us, that special bond between a girl and her pony, a life-long dream come true. 

I've really enjoyed owning a horse, which I anticipated, or otherwise I would have never taken this large step.  But what has surprised me (besides how LITTLE I know about owning a horse), is just how amazing it is.  I know my capacity to love, so it hasn't surprised me how much I love Cimba.  When I adopt an animal, be it 10 pounds or 1000, it's forever.  Cimba is my son, until the end.  What's been truly amazing is how much he loves me.

I am Cimba's third owner (or maybe fourth? He might have had a trainer prior to his first owner).  One a little girl, one a teenager, and now, me.  Horses do recognize and bond with their owners, and I had been warned that Cimba might be a little "gun shy," having loved and lost before.  I made it a point early on to talk to him, to let him know that once he was mine, he was mine forever.  I knew that I needed to earn his trust, to treat him with love and respect.

And it's paid off.  Cimba knickers when I come by.  He recognizes me and acts excited that I'm there.  He also is exhibiting signs of ownership over me.  Earlier this week, while visiting him in his stall, I walked away for a moment to pet another horse and donkey, who were vying for my attention.  I suddenly heard a loud "bang," a horse kicking the wall of a stall, and I turned around to see my little horse standing as tall as he could against the wall of his stall, with his head as far out the window as possible.  With nostrils flared, and annoyance in his eyes, I knew then that my horse was jealous that I was petting another horse, and not him.  I was, in his eyes, officially his Mom.

What an amazing journey we two have ahead of us.

Summertime ADD

What everyone in my household is doing right now except for me.

I don't know about you, but summer time makes me feel frivolous.  My singing position at the church is on hiatus, my Mom is on summer vacation from her teaching job, my animals are lazy, it's usually hot.  Vacation is on my mind (though we rarely travel in the summer, preferring "off season" times instead), as is shopping, ice cream, air conditioning, books, cookouts, campfires, marshmallows.  (That's a lot of food...perhaps "exercise" should have been on that list too, huh?  Alas, it's not.) 

Summer time makes me want to wear dresses.  Put flowers in my hair.  Paint my toenails wild colors.  Spend time with my friends.  Ride my horse. 

Everything is more relaxed in the summer, especially on hot days.  My entire house, full of three dogs (we're sitting an extra--no big announcement today, folks), four cats, and a husband, is perfectly silent.  Everyone is happily asleep, lazing away the hot day in his or her own fashion.  Gus and Q are still outside.  Sam and Mr. S prefer the air conditioning.  The dogs are in their usual spots, Jim is fast asleep after a night at work, and our canine guest is curled up asleep next to him.  Me, I'm awake but still in my pajamas, my preferred summer outfit of choice. 

It's on slow, quiet days like this that I am my happiest.  My brood are all safe, tucked away in their beds, and this Mama is happy.

New Heights of Laziness

Gus in a sleep coma

It's been hot around here, and today, so far, is the worst of all.  Heat indices in the 100s make for very unpleasant outdoor time.  Yet, I can't get the cats to come in.

Sam and Mr. Squiggles will come in periodically, especially around meal time.  But Gus and Q*bert spend almost every waking moment outside.  I don't get it.  We keep the house nice and cool.  Our house is a playground for cats.  What's missing?  What more do they want?  What makes the hot, sticky outdoors so much cooler than inside? 

I'm pretty sure Gus and Q find nice, cool spots under bushes, in the dirt, where they curl up and sleep in the peace and quiet.  I go outside and call to them several times a day, just to make sure they haven't baked themselves to death.  Sometimes they come, sometimes they don't.  I usually call during meal times.  Cats get hungry, right?  But it's like I have to remind them to eat.  Oh,  yeah.  I totally forgot.  I guess I baked my brain in this 105 degree weather.  Usually, if they do grace me by responding to my frantic calls, I have to walk over to them, pick them up, bring them in the house, and place them in front of their food.  At that point, they do remember how to eat and chew. 

After which, they promptly go back outside, to laze in their super-secret hiding spots.  Until the next time a meal rolls around.  Then we start all over again.  I can't wait for fall.  

Bittersweet Rememberings

We're in the middle of a heat wave here in Illinois.  Temperatures each day threaten to reach the mid-nineties, and with the high humidity, the heat indices hover between 100-115 degrees.  To be sure, I was not meant to be a pioneer woman.  I dread venturing out, even to reach my car, instead preferring the comfort of my well-insulated, air-conditioned home.  Which, by the way, we keep at a comfy 71 degrees, because "Indiana likes it that way."  Hah.

When I stepped out into the heat yesterday morning, I was first struck by the stickiness.  It was oppressive, even at 8am.  But the next thing I noticed was the distinct smell of a balmy day.  I think heat and humidity bring out the "greenness" in the vegetation, so you smell the trees, the grass, the flowers even more than usual. 

Stepping out into the green outdoors yesterday took me back into a moment (or actually, several moments) in time.  I was suddenly transported to a lush green courtyard in Tampa, Florida.  It smelled of vegetation, of grass, and of gardenias.  I was in high school, or college, and I was staying with my aunt and uncle in their Florida home.  I stayed with them several times once I got old enough to travel alone, and I relished those trips.  They were the highlight of my year.  My Aunt Carole was one of my favorite people in the world, and during those trips, we were best friends, taking day trips, going shopping, going to Busch Gardens. 

Now my aunt is gone.  All I have left are memories.  So even though the heat is oppressive, and uncomfortable, it does take me back to those happy days, when I was young, and she was healthy, and it seemed we had our whole lives ahead of us.

Connections

As most of you know, I own a horse now.  I've been taking riding lessons for about two years, so I've come to know a lot of the horses who live and board in this barn.  One particular horse, Dolly, captured my heart from the first moment I met her.  At four years old, she's a huge paint horse, higher at her withers than I am tall.  Yet, she's one of the most gentle creatures I've ever met. 

One of the highlights of visiting the barn has always been my snuggle time with Dolly.  She sticks her head out of her stall and lets me stroke, kiss, and hug her huge head.  Most horses like attention, but Dolly is one of the few who will actually let you wrap your arms around her face, as she nuzzles against your chest.  I've always loved spending time with her.  Everyone who meets her can tell that she's someone special.  She's everyone's favorite horse.

About a month ago, Dolly got injured.  Her family and vet thought that a month of stall rest would heal the injury, but over time, she's just gotten worse and is still lame.  Now there might be a new injury, and Dolly is headed to Purdue University today for diagnostics, to see exactly what's wrong.

I'm a nervous wreck about this today.  She's not even my horse.  I know it sounds nuts. 

Last night, I went to visit my horse, Cimba.  On my way out, I stopped to see Dolly.  She was laying down, as she often does these days, and she didn't get up when I came over.  I wanted to stop and speak to her, give her a pep talk for her upcoming trip.  I wanted to give her nuzzles and hugs, and tell her I love her, just in case.  But since she wasn't standing, I wasn't able to give her those kisses.  I did talk to her though.  I told her she was a special horse.  That fate didn't put such an amazing soul on this Earth, only to take it away so soon.  I told her that her work here wasn't done, that she had to get better, to fight, to heal completely.  I told her that I loved her.  A lot. 

In the short time I've owned a horse, I've learned that they are surprisingly fragile.  They are injured easily and some injuries aren't recoverable.  I am hoping with all my heart today that whatever is wrong with Dolly, she can heal. 

So today I am sad, nervous, anxious.  Maybe others look at that and say that I'm crazy.  After all, she isn't even mine.  But love is love.  The heart can't distinguish between who "belongs" to whom.  Dolly has my heart, and she always has.  And she has to get better.  Because I still owe her those kisses.

Many Happy Returns

I'm baaaAAAaaack.  Sorry for the long delay in returning to blogging regularly.  (And blogging well--last week was barely good enough, people!)  Doing the show was super fun but super stressful and super busy, and it's taken me most of the week to recover, both physically and mentally.  Now, some updates on what you've missed:

Indiana is doing really well.  Her hematoma on her back burst last about two weeks ago, creating a mess but unfortunately not a smaller lump.  She had to go on 10 days of antibiotics, which always make her feel crummy.  So she was picky-pants about eating for several days and even stopped taking pills again for a while.  But now that the antibiotics are done, she's returning back to normal, eating well (actually, eating really well) and taking her pills like a champ. 

I've been struggling a bit with how to give her the pills.  Ages ago, we started using cream cheese, but that eventually dried up as an option.  Then peanut butter. Then liver sausage.  All are persona non grata in Indy's eyes now.  What a turd. 

We moved on to lunchmeat, which has been working pretty well.  The problem?  Just about every lunchmeat out there contains added nitrites.  I'm not a big fan, so I've been searching our local grocery store high and low for something that doesn't contain them.  I've found one.  One, people.  I can't explain why.  It's not one brand.  It's one type within an entire product line.  Go figure.  And wouldn't you know it, it's hard to come by.  Apparently everyone else in Kankakee wants to buy nitrite-free Hillshire Farms ultra-thin sliced Roast Beef.  Who knew?

Two days ago, our store was out of this particular product, so I had to buy a different product containing nitrites.  Wouldn't you know it, Indy loves it.  So now my dilemma is, do I continue to switch up different products, keeping her happy with the variety, or do I go back to the one product that doesn't contain nitrites, but risk letting her get bored with it?  It's the never-ending question for us purity-seeking parents. 

In other news, I am incapable of owning a healthy animal.  My horse, Cimba, came to me with a large lump on his neck, just behind his ears.  I knew about it when I "adopted" him, and I had every intention from the get-go of investigating it and healing it the best I could.  So I suppose I have no real room to complain.  But I will anyway, so hah. 

I had a vet I know, Dr. Dan King, come out and take a look at Cimba's neck last week.  He's had the lump for about a year, and while the local horse vet did an ultrasound (which indicated simply soft tissue), I wasn't convinced that was all that was going on with it.  For one, it was hard.  For two, it was giving off a small amount of heat.  Plus, you know, that whole Mom instinct thing.  I got it goin' on.

The vet did a needle aspirate (which the horse vet, though competent, didn't do--maybe that's the dog owner in me?).  When he stuck the needle in, a yellow, sticky substance came oozing out.  I didn't know what the heck it was, but apparently, it's joint fluid.  Not what I expected at all.  The vet sent the sample away for cytology, though he was fairly confident that it wasn't cancer.  And as it turns out, it's not.  It's actually a chronic inflammation of the bursa (the joint capsule) at the back of his head, just behind his left ear.  It's not infected, but the lump is pretty large, and, according to Dr. King, probably pretty uncomfortable, which I already suspected. 

Cimba got a shot of Traumeel, which is a homeopathic drug, to decrease the swelling.  I'm also giving him homeopathic Arnica montana twice a day, as well as putting a poultice of wet clay on it, to draw out the inflammation.  I haven't seen a big improvement yet, but considering the swelling has been there for about a year, I don't expect it to go away quickly.  Luckily, I'm a hands-on Mom who doesn't mind the challenge.  And my friend and mentor, Nikki, who boards Cimba for me, is helping every step of the way with her expertise in horses. 

If Cimba's lump isn't improved in 3-4 weeks, he'll be evaluated again, and we might change treatment.  But if our treatments appear to be working, he'll get another shot of Traumeel, and I'll continue with the homeopathics and the clay.  I'm crossing my fingers that he gets some relief soon.

Nikki, my aforementioned friend with the horses, also has an injured horse at her barn.  This horse has my heart and always has.  It's hard seeing her struggle and be in pain, and it kills me that Nikki, the best horse owner I could ever imagine, has to struggle along with her.  We wondered yesterday why things like this happen.  But as a cancer Mom who deals with other cancer parents all the time, I know why: because we are special parents, and we'll fight for animals when others would not.  I believe that our sick and injured animals are sent to us because they need us.  While others would ignore the problem, or put their animals down, we fight for them and care for them, and go above and beyond to make things right.  And usually, we can. 

It's occasionally frustrating, dealing with sick animals all the time.  But there are rewards.  Knowing that we have done what others could not, or would not.  Knowing that we sacrificed to make the life of another better.  Knowing, at the end of the day, that we have given of ourselves, but have gotten back much, more more.

Remember, This is the Week of 'Good Enough'

Why is it, that after that perfect first cup of coffee, which tastes so good, the second cup never quite lives up to it...I know there's a lesson in there somewhere.

You were warned.

The Week of Good Enough

Okay.  I'm letting some things slip this week.  Being a little lazy.  Making some mistakes.  Okay, a lot of mistakes. 

The play I'm doing this summer with my parents opens on Friday, which means this is crazy-busy-super-insane-lack-of-sleep-my-brain-is-going-to-explode week, i.e. Tech Week.  I've gotten to bed post-midnight the last two nights, and it's only going to get later as the week goes on.  Thank goodness my daytime schedule is (purposely) pretty light this week. 

Last night, I got in after midnight, and I decided a shower was definitely in order before crawling into bed.  I was caked not only in stage makeup (which is basically plaster, only not really) but also multiple layers of sweat and dirt.  By the time I had something to eat (performing makes me oddly hungry) and got myself calmed down (performing also makes me wired), it was about 1am.  Jim got up at 5:30am for work, and usually I get up with him, to have breakfast and feed the dogs.  Then I go back to bed.  But not today.  I decided that just over 4 hours of sleep, when I had gotten just 5 the night before, was not sufficient.  I decided to stay in bed and shoot for about 7 hours, which is much more respectable.  The extra sleep was nice, but as soon as my cats heard me stir, they were on me like white on rice.  Excuse me.  Excuse me.  Lady.  Lady.  LADY!  It's 8 o'clock.  We're hungry.  You're always up before 8.  Get up.  Please.  Please.  Please.  Please.  Please.  Please.  Oooh, that's my brother.  I'm gonna kick his butt.  It's his fault the lady isn't up.  So up I got, with four cats in tow, to make breakfast.  They all stared at me in judgement while I prepped their food, but, whatever.  Don't judge, cats.  You don't know me. 

There are dishes in the sink and on the counter, and a dishwasher full of clean dishes, ready to be put away.  I did a load of laundry this morning, in preparation for another sweaty rehearsal tonight.  My house is a mess, and the lawn needs to be mowed.  I'm working a few hours at the pet food store today, and I swear I've developed temporary ADHD.  (For instance, I just noticed that, inexplicably, my laptop is showing up 100% charged.  Which is hasn't done in about a year and a half.  Why, suddenly, did it decide to charge?  Can I finally unplug it?  Use it as a real laptop?  Dare I try it?  What if the computer is lying?) 

Thus, I've declared that this week, I will simply do good enough.  Notice I didn't say good.  I will keep my animals alive, fed, and medicated.  I will not smell or wear stinky clothes.  I will keep all of my appointments.  I will get up one more blog post this week.  I will ride my horse.  Most of all, I will keep my sanity.  Or at least some of it.  That's good enough.