Reminders

Yesterday, while at a pet food seminar, I ran into one of our old vets, Dr. Tricia Stimac. She is one of my favorite people in the whole world, and Jim and I were heartbroken when she moved out of our area. Luckily, she's practicing again in the suburbs, so we still see her from time to time.

Anyway, Dr. Stimac was who our cats saw most of the time, but she knows our whole family really well. I hadn't seen her since some time last year, so she knew Mr. Squiggles was missing but hadn't heard that he had been found. So I got to share that happy news with her! Not an uncommon reaction, she showed me the goosebumps on her arm. I guess his story can do that to you.

I am thankful every day that Mr. S came back, but it's days like that, were I get to share his story, that remind me of exactly how much we have to be grateful for. The horrible memories of those 13 months will never go away, but I can already feel them fading. It's hard, when Mr. Squiggles is curled up on my lap, or staring at me with his big, gorgeous eyes, not to heal just a little bit every time.

I was gone so much this weekend, and today he is my "velcro kitty." He wants to lay on me, though that's not quite enough. I have to be petting him and loving on him too. He's demanding all of my attention. And you know what? That's ok with me.

My Cats And Birds

(Notice the little naughty blob of orange on the bottom, left-hand side of the photo?)

Like every self-respecting cat, mine are fascinated by birds and squirrels. In the summertime, I often find them lying in wait next to the numerous bird feeders we have placed around the yard. It's pretty cute, but I'm unsure about how effective it is as a hunting method, considering the number of birds they're actually able to capture, which is proportionally very low. (Rodents are a different story)

In the winter, bird catching opportunities are limited, because it's not worth your time to go out and stalk one when so many are available for viewing from the comfort of your own home. Dawn is prime bird viewing at our house (apparently), and the preferred spots are in the bedroom or on the cat tower in the living room. I'm a light sleeper and usually wake up when the cats spot a bird, because Gus especially emits the strangest chirping noises I have ever heard. Chirping, clicking, I've heard it described many ways; it's an odd noise that some cats make when they spot prey. All I know is it makes me giggle so hard every time, which I try to stifle so as not to distract my cat. While I heard Q make these noises the other day, Gus is most consistent about it, and I love it every single time. He crouches low to the ground, twitches his tail, and makes very soft chattering noises, his jaw moving up and down. It's really one of my favorite things, ever.

There also is a family of squirrels living in one of the trees in the front yard. There is a perfect vantage point from one of the upstairs bedrooms, and we've (quite thoughtfully, might I add) supplied a comfy blanket for optimum cat viewing pleasure. I'll often walk upstairs to find Samson lying on the blanket, completely enthralled by this family of squirrels. Eyes wide an alert, tail twitching, he is the epitome of a happy cat.

I think I'd love to live as one of my cats for a day or two; It's gotta be pretty sweet.

Update on Indiana: I didn't write much about Indiana this week, because she's doing pretty well. She's been eating well, getting around pretty well, and generally acting happy. She's getting a chiropractic adjustment tomorrow morning, and we're working on getting her therapy pool ready to roll. She still wants to spend way too much time outside (and it's been hovering at or below freezing).

They Are Bored. I Am in Trouble.

(Sam taking advantage of Daddy when Daddy dropped a can of cat food on the floor)

My cats are really bored. The weather here hasn't been awful, per se. Just typical Illinois weather: cold, overcast, occasionally snowy, and, did I mention cold? My boys are pretty hearty. They'll go outside in all sorts of weather, and often I think they're nuts for even venturing past the pet door. But sometimes nature calls, and three of the four will only potty outside, so you gotta do what you gotta do.

Our temperatures have been hovering at or below freezing for a few weeks now, which, according to the cats, is not cool. They will go outside and do their business, but come back in pretty quickly and curl up in a nice, warm spot. Everyone knows cats sleep a lot, which they do. But cats also have to be awake at least a couple hours of the day. Going to the bathroom might take up, oh, let's generously say half an hour a day. And you gotta eat too, which is another, say, hour. (Mom and Dad take FOREVER to get meals made! You have to watch them like hawks.) That's about an hour and a half right there, but that leaves another good half hour or so of awake time...with no plans. What's a bored cat to do?

I'll tell you what a bored cat will do. A bored cat will tear through the house at top speed, for seemingly no reason. You will see a flash of brown in your periphery and think to yourself, "What the heck?" If you're lucky, it won't go any further than that, but if you're not lucky, another streak of brown and a streak of orange will also tear by, trying to figure out what's making the first streak of brown lose his mind. This usually leads to lots of hissing and growling, which requires me to get up off the couch, which I generally don't appreciate, thank you very much. (Mom likes to hibernate when it's cold too.)

Bored cats also like to stare at birds in the early morning hours. The best place for bird viewing is in the master bedroom, because there are two small-ish trees/bushes right outside two of the three windows. One window is a bay window overlooking magnolia bush and a redbud tree, and another window is a plain-'ol window, but it overlooks the redbud as well, plus it has a cat perch. Window number three has a cat perch but no tree, so it's the least desirable of the three. Two windows with good views plus three cats equals trouble.

Bay windows are large, you say. Surely two cats could share that window, you say. But you'd be wrong. Samson always claims the good window with the perch, and Q*bert always claims the bay window. Gus, as usual, is always late to the game, so by the time he's awake and ready for a window, the good ones are always claimed. Sometimes he'll take the crappy window, but if he's not in the mood, he'll check out Sam's. When he sees it's occupied (and Sam has no intention of sharing), he'll move on to the bay window. He peeks his little head behind the curtain, only to be greeted with a hiss and a growl from Q*bert. Common sense would tell you to say, "Oh, sorry, buddy. I didn't know this spot was occupied. My bad." And then walk away. But that's not how it goes down. It's much better to growl and hiss and stand your ground, waking Mom up. And since you're doing this just after dawn, Mom can't fall back asleep.

These events, and many more, happen every single day. It is pretty cute. But I won't deny that I am counting the days until spring arrives.

Strangers and Friends

I was really struck by something today. A good friend of mine, Kerry, runs a non-profit animal cancer group called Georgia's Legacy. She's made it really successful and connects with a lot of parents dealing with cancer and helps them navigate through the diagnosis and provides loads of support. Kerry and I met through an online pet cancer support group, called Pet Cancer Support Group (or PCS). There at PCS, I have connected with dozens of amazing people, people like me, who love their pets like children and fight to the bitter end to make their lives whole.



My PCS friends are some of my closests friends; we have gotten to know each other on the deepest, most personal level. We've been there for each other through diagnoses, treatments, all of the ups and downs of illnesses, and, unfortunately, at that most awful moment when the fight is over. We come out different people on the other side of the fight, but it's what bonds us for life.



Many of the PCS members are also friends on Facebook (and sometimes it seems like we've migrated all of our support to Facebook instead). Georgia's Legacy has a Facebook page, and Kerry shares stories of the pets she's helping. As a parent who's been there, it's oddly comforting knowing that a complete stranger cares what happens to your loved one.



Today, a brave dog with bone cancer died in surgery, surgery meant to slow his cancer and improve his life. It's horribly unfair. In fact, I'm speechless about the cruelty of fate. But getting back to my original point, and what struck me so much today, was the number of complete strangers who wrote to Georgia's Legacy and showed support and expressed sadness at the passing of this dog. None of these people have ever met and many had never even heard of this particular dog until the day before, yet they opened their hearts to a family in pain. They shared a grief that they themselves most likely have felt at some time in their lives.



There is nothing good about a dog losing a battle with cancer. But at least it brings together people with a common bond; one of the purest, most beautiful forms of love. And while the world is a little bit sadder today for the loss that has occurred, I like to think that there is a little bit more love out there too. I can feel it.

A Request for Mr. Squiggles

Hey, Mr. Squiggles!

Dad and I are so proud of you for coming home to us. We are so grateful everyday. We can only imagine what you went through, what those 13 months were like. We know you fought hard to come back, and we'll be grateful every day of our lives for that.

So I feel a little guilty asking this, but would you please mind using the litterbox? I know we struggled with this before you left; you're picky, and I respect that. I really like the living room rug too, so I can understand why you're claiming it as your territory, plus, it's right by your couch. But I think your siblings have gotten the message. I'm glad to leave puppy pee pads down, and I'm really proud of you for using them. But still, it'd be great to have that part of the living room looking normal again.

And I'm buying Bac-out practically in bulk. Thank goodness it works. By the way, what were you doing behind the washer the other day? Wait, I don't think I want to know.

I really, really love you, which is why I didn't flip my lid when you peed on my favorite pair of boots last week. I wish I had realized before I put them on and left the house, but, c'est la vie. It's a good thing I only wear vegan shoes; did you know you can wash fake micro-suede boots in the washer? I didn't either, but I do now.

You're really stinking cute, and I'm pretty sure you can get away with murder these days. What's a little pee between friends?

Lots of love,

Mom

Apparently He Can Take It AND Dish It Out

(This photo is representative of me hiding my head in shame for forgetting I had already used this photo a couple of weeks ago. It's cute though, so it's worth repeating, right?)

Gus and Q*bert have never been good friends, though I think their relationship is improving, slowly. Very, very slowly. Anyway, they have this little game they play when Gus is trying to come in from outside. Q sits on one side of the pet door and Gus sits on the other, and they smack at each other through the flap. It's kind of funny, but they're not playing, exactly. Yesterday, things got a bit heated, and later that day, we noticed Gus had a huge scratch across his face--across his eye socket, to be exact. I was terrified that his eye got scratched, but miraculously, it didn't. I guess that's a benefit of having eyelids and knowing when to use them.

One of the scratches, the one above his eye, was bleeding quite a bit. He wasn't overly interested in letting me nurse him, so I had to wait until he got sleepy (which, for a cat, is guaranteed eventually). What he was interested in was catching a fly, scratching on his cat tower, and batting at Samson from the top of a chair. I really was marvelling at his resilience; wasn't he in pain? Why wasn't he feeling sorry for himself?

About five minutes later, he curled up in a chair and fell asleep on a pillow. I moved in to clean up his eye, and while he woke up enough to be moderately annoyed, he did let me wipe his wound off with medicated wash and put some honey on it. Later, when I checked on him, the honey had melted a little and was starting to drip in his eye (he apparently didn't notice), and he let me wipe off the excess.

I really was amazed at how strong he is. Even as a kitten, when he had a broken arm, he never complained or acted sick. He was more upset that he was confined to a crate than anything else. But now, here I was, freaking out about a scratch, and he just wanted to play and be a cat. So I took that as a cue. He wasn't going to die from the scratch or even lose his sight. He wasn't worried, so I shouldn't be either. There was time to let him be a cat, and when he was ready to really be a cat (i.e. fall asleep), I could move in and do my thing.

It's Electrifying

(an old picture of Indiana and my Mom and Dad's cat, Scooter)

Yesterday I wrote about the new drama that is occurring in our veterinary world, and while I'm still distressed about the whole thing, I know we'll make it work. We had an appointment to see Vet #1 yesterday, which went pretty well. She was happy with how Indy's doing and gave Indiana another electro-acupuncture treatment. Electro-acupuncture starts out the same as regular acupuncture, but then the doctor attaches electrodes to the needles. A small electrical current then runs into the pressure points, providing extra stimulation.

Indiana is on her third treatment, and it seems to be helping. She has more confidence getting around, is moving faster, and even got up onto the bed this morning! I had been thinking the past several days about how I missed her sleeping between us at night. But then this morning, lo and behold, as I walked back to bed after breaking up a "cat indiscretion" (Gus and Mr. Squiggles--someone wanted to sleep and someone wanted to play), Indiana walked ahead of me and walked onto the bed! It made my heart swell with pride.

She really never ceases to amaze me. Her resilience is something special.

Oh, so back to the vet drama. I was worried about being able to get the meds that Vet #2 prescribed, but my vet assured me that any I really want, I can have special ordered. No word about whether there will be a price increase, but at this point, I kind of don't care.

The cats are stir crazy these days because it's well below freezing, and they therefore have no desire to be outside. But outside helps them burn off energy. Energy that is currently building up, causing my cats to be crazier and naughtier than ever. But funnier too. So it's worth it.

Rule Change #4032 and Odds and Ends

(Gus with extraordinarily wet/dirty paws after playing outside in the rain one day;

also, indicative of how I feel today)

So I have a little bit of news. I've written (probably ad nauseum) about Indiana's food rules. Well, today we have a new rule change in effect: plain, cooked turkey (either freshly cooked or heated in the microwave for 75 seconds) is acceptable as dinner; however, said plain, cooked turkey must now be either freshly cooked or heated in the microwave for 60 seconds (those extra 15 seconds make it much too hot), and the only acceptable method of transference to The Princess' mouth is by human fingers. Snouts or spoons are no longer accepted methods. 'Kay. Got it.

I had a major freak-out moment about half an hour ago when the pharmacist from my primary vet's office called to tell me that two of my prescriptions cannot be filled because Vet #1 will not be carrying them because Vet #2 is leaving. Vet #2 has been a godsend because (a) he's awesome, (b) he not only does acupuncture and chiropractic, but he's also a certified Chinese Herbalist, and (c) he has picked up some of the slack in Vet #1's schedule now that Vet#1 only works 1-2 days a week.

With Vet #2 leaving, I now not only (a) will have a harder time getting my dog in for acupuncture and chiropractic, but I also (b) will have a hard time getting the other 5 animals in for more emergent-type problems, (c) have to figure out where I am going to get the herbs she will no longer be carrying, (d) have to decide if I'm willing to pay more for the inevitable price increases coming on the herbs I will be able to get, and (e) will now have to take Indiana to Bloomington for Chinese Herb consultations.

I am angry about this whole situation for about a million reasons, none of which I will go into detail about. I will only say this: this is most inconvenient. Just when I thought I had everything figured out, fate screwed me over, and now I totally don't have everything figured out.

But, I want to end this post on a positive note! We had a double-whammy heartwarming occurrence last night: Indiana and Mr. Squiggles were playing! Sort of together! Jim was tossing around a feather toy for Mr. Squiggles, who was chasing after it (this is a pretty rare event in and of itself, because he'd rather sleep most of the time). Indiana came in from outside, saw Mr. S running around, and took off like a bat out of hades after him! She used to do this a lot when she was healthier: following the cats around and barking at them. It really melted my heart, especially when she nudged Mr. S with her snout. I would have taken video, but I couldn't tear myself away from watching them for even a second to go get the camera. It was just too precious and reminded me what fighters those two really are.

Bronson

I got an email last night from a good friend, Julie. She and her husband Greg lost their dog, Bronson, on December 28. Julie's letter was both heartbreaking and heartwarming. Heartbreaking because I know how much Bronson was loved, and how hard they fought to keep him happy and healthy. Heartwarming because...well, for the same reasons.

Julie and Greg are our kindred spirits in the animal department. Their pets are their children. Bronson was diagnosed with cancer several years ago, but thanks to expert medical care, radiation, and the love of his parents, Bronson came through with flying colors. To my knowledge, that cancer was still gone when he left this world.

As with most aging dogs, Bronson eventually developed arthritis, but Greg and Julie faithfully took him to underwater treadmill. Bronson even got a diet makeover to raw food, which he loved. I've heard many stories about him barking in the wee morning hours, demanding to be fed! (Which, of course, he would be!)

Late last year, Bronson developed a large tumor on his hip, which turned out to be bone cancer. All too quickly, the cancer became painful, and Bronson couldn't bear weight on that leg. Greg and Julie knew it was time to let him go.

On December 28, 2010, at 13 years 5 months old, Bronson left this world, cradled in love by his parents. Julie writes that Bronson was with them for 13 years, 1 day, and 6 hours. My heart is breaking for our friends. I know the kind of love they had for their son, and I know the pain they feel now.

I hope that in time, Greg and Julie can find comfort in the fact that they were the best parents any dog could ever ask for. They showed incredible love, commitment, dedication, and sacrifice. The world is a sadder place now that Bronson is gone, but he will always be a brave soul, who though taken by one form of cancer, still battled another and won.

They're Plotting World Domination

I never gave much thought to owning four cats. In fact, we had five until sweet Grover passed away. Two were "impulse buys," and then Mr. S came back. So we had 5. Now we have 4. It didn't seem like a big deal. We have the time and money to care for four, and they all seem to get along relatively well. But the one thing I didn't factor in: cats en masse plotting world domination. Or at least their world, in other words, my house.

It's kind of creepy when all four are in the same room at the same time, all wanting the same thing, i.e. a meal. Three out of the four are really calm about it (I won't mention names, Q*bert), which some people might think is great. But having three cats calmly standing within a foot of you, silently watching every move you make...well, it's honestly just creepy. I can tell they're watching, and I know they're sitting there, silently judging me. "Boy, are you slow." "Why aren't you feeding me faster?" "What other ways are you going to ruin my life today?"

Q*bert, bless his heart, jumps up on the food counter at every opportunity, requiring us to stop what we are doing, i.e. feeding him, in order to put him back on the floor. This can happen anywhere from once to a record fifteen times (I kid you not) in one feeding. As you can imagine, this slows the process down considerably, further angering the judgmental clan behind me.

Then, when all four have finally been fed and are sated, they have to clean themselves. They usually all stay in the kitchen to do this. So you have four cats, silently licking themselves, cleaning and cleaning. This is creepy too, especially when I can glance at all four of them at once. It's like they're taking over my house. Which they are.

If I'm behind on feeding them (OMG YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE FED US FIVE MINUTES AGO), they all start circling around the kitchen, again with judgement in their eyes. It's a lot to live up to.

In the winter, when it's cold out, we lock all of the animals in before bed. Unfortunately, bedtime for us is right after dinner for them, and anyone who has ever owned a cat before knows that immediately following dinner time is playtime/potty time. My cats don't like to potty inside, so even on the coldest of nights, they like to head outside to do their business. Mr. Squiggles is a large and in-charge kind of guy, so if he decides to go outside (and some nights, eh, the living room rug is sooooo much better), he's likely to go out and come right back in. But not Gus and Q. At least Q will come when he's called. Gus never listens to anything we say, so we just have to hope that he decides to come back in before we want to go to bed.

Once we think all six animals are inside, I always do a head count. My biggest fear is locking someone outside to freeze to death. Yikes. The dogs are always easy to find, so that's quick. But the cats are more challenging. Usually Mr. S can be found in the same place, so he's easy to cross of my checklist. But the other three are harder to find. And once I find all of them, I like to go back one more time, just to be sure I've gotten them all, but by this time, they're all changed places and moved somewhere else. So I have to hunt for them all over again. It's real fun.

I do love my boys, and I am grateful every day for the laughter they bring me. I just have to remember that I am here to serve them. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's probably someone I have to feed.

Hillbilly Resurrection

Last week, Indiana made the decision to stop underwater treadmill therapy. Well, actually, Jim and I made the decision, but she was telling us loud and clear that it's what she wants.

We've been doing underwater treadmill with Indy since 2007. She's always loved it and loves the staff even more. (We do too) Suddenly, about a month ago, she stopped cooperating in the treadmill. She freaks out and can barely walk. Though it appears that she's struggling physically (and she probably is, a little), I think a large part of the problem is mental. It's getting harder, and she's frustrated. I think the long commute is hard on her too (and we do it twice a week).

So as hard as it is to do, we're stopping underwater treadmill for the time-being. My initial reaction to all of this was to freak out. Treadmill could be the one thing that's allowing her to even walk at this point. What if, by stopping it, she goes downhill rapidly? This thought was quite fleeting though, as the even more important thought came to my mind: "She is telling us, unequivocally, that she's done with this." I cannot, and will not, force this dog to do something she doesn't want to do.

In the past four years, this dog has been to hell and back. Major surgery, involving 5 nights in the hospital and a 13" incision. Chemotherapy. Test after test for hypothyroidism and Cushing's disease. Two nights in the hospital for acute kidney failure. Sub-q fluids for her kidneys every day for the past year. Monthly acupuncture and chiropractic care. Underwater treadmill. Recurring skin infections and UTIs. Surgical biopsy without anaesthesia or sedation. Vet visit after vet visit. Pills upon pills. And with nary a complaint.

If she's telling me so clearly now to stop, how can I not listen? It terrifies me, but I love her too much not to. I get a sick feeling in my stomach when I think about it all, but I know in my heart that I'm doing what's right for her. I owe her that much.

That said, Jim and I got the crazy idea to build a therapy pool for her in our basement back in 2008. We used it for a while and then stopped, because of her skin infections. Now that she's done with treadmill, we're resurrecting what I like to call "the hillbilly pool." It's made of 2x4s, about 40 billion screws, carpet padding, and a pond liner. But it also has fancy things like a real pool pump, a heater, and an ozonator. Still, it ain't pretty. But it works. We're currently working to get it cleaned out, refilled, and ready to run. It'll probably take a few weeks to get it ready, but we're hoping Indiana will use it and that it will be at least a modest substitution for the treadmill. There are still some kinks to work out. For instance, how to get her down the flight of stairs and into the basement, along with how to get her into the pool itself (which wasn't easy back in 2008, when she had more mobility and confidence).

But if Jim and I can figure out how to build a pool in our basement, then surely we can figure out how to get a dog into it. There may be some complications, but love sure is a strong motivator.

Feeding The Princess

(Indy as a baby--isn't she cute???)

I've written about this before, but it begs repeating: My dog is a picky eater. She hasn't always been, but since she was diagnosed with kidney disease in 2009, the list of acceptable foods has grown smaller and smaller, until now, where it is shockingly limited. After she was diagnosed with cancer in 2006, we switched Indiana to a completely raw diet. That went GREAT, until the kidney debacle. So now raw is out (and we've done both commercially prepared and homemade). I've always heard that next best is either cooked fresh food or canned. She won't eat homemade food with vegetables, but she will (usually) eat plain, cooked turkey. She'll also eat a limited number of canned foods, and they have to meet specific requirements. (Chunky or shredded is one of them) Oh, and the bowl must be porcelain, not stainless. (We don't use plastic)

On some really tough days, I've given her grain-free kibble. GASP! I know! But food is food, and she has to eat. We also know that some foods must be eaten off of a spoon, while others are acceptable if the bowl is held at the proper angle. She also has to be sitting in the right place (and only she knows where that is), and she has to be comfortable. If she isn't comfortable, she won't eat. She also won't eat if Isis is too close or is staring at her too hard. Of if she hears a strange noise that distracts her.

Some days I do want to pull my hair out. I try to play by her rules, I really do, but she isn't playing fair. She changes the rules mid-game. I suppose she wants to keep us on our toes and make us really work for it. She's worth it though, and I know she's not doing it on purpose. She has a method to her madness, and it is my honor to, each and every day, three times a day, figure out what that method is.

Guilt

Do you ever have days where you feel really guilty as a parent? I know I do. For instance, lately I've been procrastinating on doing Indiana's home physical therapy. Partly it's because it's a daunting task, one I'm sure she's not going to enjoy. Also, sometimes I'm lazy. There. I said it. And partly, it's kind of the last trick in our bag. We've tried everything for her arthritis: acupuncture, electro-acupuncture, chiropractic and applied kinesiology, reiki and massage, underwater treadmill therapy, bottles and bottles of supplements and painkillers. Technically, stem cell therapy is an option, but it's really more of a last-ditch desperate effort. So physical therapy is kind of our last option of things we're not already doing. Aside from the fact that I know she'll hate it, what if it doesn't work? If I don't try it, then it's still in our back pocket as that potential lifesaver. If I do try it, and it doesn't work, then what are we left with? It's almost like it's better not to know.

I realize I need to start the therapy. My fears and weaknesses have no place in this decision. Indy is doing well, but if the therapy can make it better, then I owe her that.

I wake up every morning feeling bad about all of the ways I have left Indiana (and my other pets) down in the past, and how I continue to do so. I don't brush her teeth very often, and I should do it every day. Some days I forget to put the essential oils on her tumor, to help prevent it from growing. And don't even get me started with the guilt over walks.

The thing is, I focus so much on the the things that I'm not doing, that I forget to take stock of the things that I do. Like the faithful twice-weekly underwater treadmill, a 2 1/2 hour round trip. The thrice-daily meals and the daily kidney fluids. The constant ordering of pills and supplements, trips to the vet and the health food store, remembering to buy food every week, keeping track (usually pretty well) of when tests need to be done. Considering Indiana was supposed to die four and a half years ago, I guess I haven't done everything wrong.

I know I will continue to focus on what I'm missing, and while this makes me sad sometimes, it ultimately pushes me to be the best parent I can be. And that is just what all of my children deserve.

I Need A Vacation

I need a vacation. My last trip was in August, nearly 5 months ago. I don't do well with long breaks between trips. Jim and I both have this itch to travel and experience the world. We have to have some trip in the works or we get antsy. Well, we do have a trip planned for next month, and apparently it's not holding me, because I have the urge to RUN AWAY NOW!

I love my life and my family and friends, but sometimes I just need to get away from it all. I need to get away from the drama that others create, from the difficulties in my own life. While we're away, I miss my animals, and I worry about them, but I feel so relaxed and happy. I love learning, and experiencing, and I yearn for that again. 5 months is too long.

We are really blessed to have wonderful family and friends in our lives who look after our furry family for us. The dogs go to my Mom and Dad's house, and a good friend stays with our cats. Another good friend stops in and gives Indiana her daily kidney fluids. So I know my babies are well taken care of. Plus, I make my Mom email me every morning with a "baby update," and I call home every evening. I still get anxious about leaving, and I even feel guilty too. With my limited time left with Indiana, I question whether I should be away. Not because something would happen while I'm gone (though Mr. Squiggles went missing while we were in Paris), but because someday when she's gone, I know I'd give anything to have an extra week with her. How can I go away for a week when that time is so precious?

The answer is simple. I have no choice. My heart needs for me to travel. I can leave on my trip and come back a better person, a better Mom. It makes me appreciate more what I have left back home. And selfishly, traveling just makes me happy. I do so little purely for myself. Is a few weeks a year too much to ask? So I go away on these trips, limiting myself to only so many nights away, only so many hours away, knowing that I have made the best preparations as possible for my family. And I come back enriched, relaxed, maybe more tired than when I left, but definitely a better person for it.

He Saves My Life Every Day

This is a picture I took of Gus last night, sleeping on his cat tower, or what we call "Birthday Palace." (He got it for his two-ish birthday) He sleeps on it quite a bit now, and last night I looked over to find him with his face planted directly into it. I assume he can breathe. You can see his adorable little gimpy right leg tucked behind him, one of the ways he's learned to adapt to his disability.

Anyway, Gus does something freaking adorable just about every day. Heck, he's adorable even when he's just sitting around. But nearly every day, he does something photo-worthy. To be honest, he's usually asleep though. But hey, he's a cat.

When life seems dark, and I'm focused on what's going on with Indiana, I like to take a step back and stare at Gus for a while. He simply makes me smile. Though he can be a handful (remember this?), he's typically pretty happy and off in his own little world. He can be really loving when he wants to be, and it makes you feel so special, like you've finally earned his approval. I like to start my day off by finding him and giving him a kiss. I get a rush of love and a can feel a little giggle rising in my throat (honestly, Gus, in every way, makes me laugh). On those worst of days, Gus has the ability to make it all worthwhile.

Ups and Downs

Well, today Indiana seems to be feeling well but is being picky about eating. She didn't want to finish her dinner last night or her breakfast this morning but ate her lunch like a champ (and like a princess--Jim fed her with a spoon). Hopefully dinner will go well tonight. Cooked turkey is one of the few "accepted" foods on her list, and I'm not sure what we'll do if she starts poo-pooing it.

I find that with all that's going on with Indiana, and all the responsibility I feel, I am getting grumpier. I am annoyed at the pettiness and hatred I see (the big downside of Facebook, and why do I listen to the news?). Why can't everyone just get along? I think dealing with all of this stuff with Indiana has really clarified for me that the most important thing in the world is LOVE. This can be as serious as the love we have for our spouses, children (furry or not), and families, and as inconsequential as general love for mankind, and being patient and kind with strangers. (Does everyone in the grocery store have to be grumpy?)

I think we, as a society, forget to be decent to each other, and it's really starting to tick me off. I've always had a tendency to want to become a hermit and hibernate in my home (where it's warm, safe, and the only crabby person there is me). It seems the tougher life gets, the more that tendency comes out in me. But alas, I have things like responsibilities and friends, which keep me on my toes most of the time.

I simply find that the world hurts more when my life is difficult. But I'm glad that I am focused on what's really important in life. I just wish everyone else would figure it out too.

Rebound

It seems hard to believe that just 5 days ago, my dog was struggling, and I was worried we were near to losing her. The last several days, she has made such a comeback! That's not to say she's running around like a puppy, because she's not. She still hobbles around and is slow to rise. But she can get up on her own, and yesterday, at Boommaw and Boompaw's house (that's Grandma and Grandpa for non-"Mr. Hobbs Take a Vacation" fans) she actually got up on the couch. Unassisted. Well, she used a step stool, but still.

The light is back in her eyes, and she's eating really well. The tenacity of this dog never ceases to amaze me. I have never seen another dog in my life with the will she possesses. Maybe it sounds egotistical, but I know she sticks around because she loves me and Jim so much. That's both flattering and humbling and is the reason I work so damn hard to keep her going. She's been on the brink of death so many times and has always come back.

I know this isn't the start of some miracle. I know our time is still limited. But perhaps it isn't as limited as I first thought. Life is precious, and certainly, in Indiana's case, fragile, but every day is a gift. And I should know by now never to count Indiana out.

Dog Ain't Got No Sense

So Indiana has this annoying habit of wanting to stay outside all day, every day. She's always done this, but it seems to be more of a compulsion now that she's older. Our vets say it' s soothing to her joints (contrary to popular belief, heat isn't necessarily the only way to soothe arthritis--the dog will typically give you "hints" as to whether they have cold or heat arthritis). While she's always loved being outside, I question the sense in this as WE LIVE IN FREAKING ILLINOIS.

Every time I leave the house, I think, "Should I lock her in?" (We have a pet door, and the kids have free access to the fenced-in yard) Every time, I think, "No, she's smart. She knows better than to freeze to death." Except, I'm not sure she does. Several times I have come home to a half-frozen dog. When this happens, I have to cover in a blanket. One day it was so bad, I had to break out the electric blanket. She hated it, but HEY! It's the price you pay for having no sense.

I want to give her the benefit of the doubt (having enough sense to come in before hypothermia or frostbite set in), but really, has she proven herself? I think not. I hate to lock them in, but I would hate a damaged dog even more. It's supposed to get brutally cold here very soon, so I may have to implement some tough love.

I knock on my dog for having no sense, but honestly, who is the one who keeps trusting her? I think, somehow, my dog keeps outsmarting me.

A Day Off For Some

Indy had a decent day on the treadmill yesterday. In our previous session, she wouldn't walk, which freaked us all out. So yesterday I brought along her life jacket, thinking that would help. We changed up her routine though, which I think only succeeded in making her mad. She hates the life jacket. I know this. She is whip smart and picks up routine like that. So why did I think she'd be ok, after three-plus years of doing it one way, suddenly be ok with doing it a different way. I basically can't win. But Mary, her PT, went into the water with her and got her through 15 minutes of treadmill, which is a start. Maybe Saturday will be better?

Mary, our aforementioned PT, thought that Indiana might benefit from some more chiropractic ASAP. (She typically gets it once a month) So this required a call to the vet to see if we could add in chiropractic to her acupuncture appointment at our vet's office next week. Luckily the answer was yes, saving us a trip to her #1 chiropractor, who lives an hour and ten minutes away. It'd be great if Indiana's staff was consolidated into one area, but alas, they are not. Therefore, I feel like her personal assistant most of the time, coordinating doctors and appointments, and trying to remember where she needs to be, and when, and what for.

Indiana's been eating well lately. I'm almost afraid to say it, in case I jinx it. I feel a certain amount of pride in this, because it means I have figured her out! She has complicated rules, and Jim and I have finally learned what they are. Yes! I can't get to cocky though, because she's been known to change the rules mid-game before. Cheater.

Today is a day off for Indy. I, however, am working to bring home the bacon. Almost literally. I work a handful of hours a month at our local awesome pet food store, Razzle-Dazzle Doggie Bow-tique. It gets me out of the house, and I get to interact with and, sometimes, educate enthusiastic pet owners, which I love. Plus I get lots of kisses from the grooming customers. The dogs, not the people.

Introducing The Princess

On most mornings, when time allows and Jim is on the day shift, I get up at 5:00am with Jim, eat breakfast, feed the dogs, and go back to bed for a while. Sometimes it's the highlight of my day, having the warm bed all to myself. But today I woke up before my alarm, unable to sleep. I felt panicked, with a heavy weight on my chest. I feel the weight of what lies ahead of me, of getting through this in the most positive manner, of not writing my dog off as dead already. I have to learn to look at every day as a gift, and at my dog as, well, a dog. Not a patient. That's kind of the point of all I'm doing. I want her to enjoy every day. I want her to still remain a dog, and not be fussed over every second. Her mental wellbeing is as fragile as her joints at this point, and I have to find the balance of protecting the two. It seems like a huge task, but I've been preparing for it my whole life. I think I'm just afraid of it.

So today is Tuesday, which means it's underwater treadmill day. We do underwater treadmill twice a week. We've been doing it for over 3 years now. We started off at twice a week in the beginning then went down to once a week after about six months. Then about six months ago, when Indy started having trouble getting up, we went back to twice a week. We drive an hour and ten minutes each way to a wonderful place called Chicago Animal Rehab, in Chicago Ridge. The therapists there have become our friends, as have the staff at the facility CARE shares space with. Indiana really loves everyone there, because they treat her like a princess and feed her treats. Indy gets loaded into the treadmill and does 25 minutes, uphill, with the resistance jets on.

Last week didn't go well. When the treadmill started, she took a header into the water, which I think freaked her out. She never got her groove, and kind of refused to walk. So today I'm bringing her life jacket along, hoping it will provide a little extra security and buoyancy for her, if not a handle for us to guide her along if we get desperate.

I think I'll give her a massage and do some joint manipulation before we go too, to see if it loosens her up.

She's been eating well lately, now that we've learned all of her "rules" (which are strict, indeed). Her not eating is always a concern, and it's almost a barometer to how she's feeling. We can get her to eat every meal these days, though sometimes we have to hand feed her with a spoon; The Princess doesn't like to get her snout covered in food. I figure she's earned the right to be picky, and if spoon feeding is what The Princess wants, it's spoon feeding The Princess will get. At your service, Your Highness.

Challenges

Indy isn't doing well. That's hard for me to write. I can see her declining rapidly, and it has nothing to do with the leiomyosarcoma that almost killed her four and a half years ago. Or the adrenal and thyroid conditions that have resulted. Or the heart mass. Or the bundle branch block in her heart. Or the kidney disease. Or the sarcoma growing on her back. No, my tough fighter is being bested by arthritis.

While Indiana can still walk (but gingerly), she is having a tough time standing up. She can still do it by herself most of the time, and when I see her dig in those front legs and pull with all of her might, I want to cry every single time at the sheer determination and will that this dog possesses. I want to chop off my own right arm in offering for her restored health.

Our vet assures us she's not really in pain (she's on three million different pain medicines and supplements, so we were hoping that was the case), but she is getting mentally frustrated. She wants to be able to do so much more, but she's trapped in this body that is weak and difficult to move. So essentially, she'll give up mentally before her body is ready to go. There is no "win" in this situation.

I feel totally consumed by her at this point. Though I've lived my life essentially for her since the first cancer, I feel even more compelled now. We've been told that thrice-daily physical therapy (at home, thank goodness) could be of some benefit to her, and she has recently decided that she does enjoy massage (that hasn't always been the case). We have a few tricks up our sleeves, and none of her "staff" (bless their hearts) are giving up on her. And neither are we.

I know most people won't understand this. 99% of people see a dog walking slowly, riddled with arthritis, and they think, "Why don't you put that dog down?" But every pet who is loved fully will tell you when it's time. And though Indy is telling me the time is coming, it's not here yet. So while she still wants to fight, I still want to fight.

As a result, I don't have a lot of free time for much else. I really should start back at voice lessons (I took a break while I was sick), but lessons are almost a whole day of travel, not to mention practice time and the mental commitment of doing it every week. I don't know if I have it in me. A large part of me wants to put the non-essential parts of life on hold, to make Indy's remaining days of life the best they can be.

I recently had a short conversation with a friend about this very thing, and my friend agreed that society just doesn't accept that you could take time off to nurse your pet. I will be destroyed the day I have to let Indiana go, and society won't understand that either. But here's the thing: when I die, I want to remember that I gave everything I had to these pets who gave me everything--heart and soul. I want to know that I provided them with all of the medical care, love, and comfort that I could. I don't think I'll care whether or not I took voice lessons or missed out on a singing opportunity. When I die, I want to be Mom. Not Singer. So I have to follow my heart. Life will still be there on the other side. I'll do the best I can and call that good enough.

So please forgive me if I am not myself these days (though have I been, since Mr. S went missing?). My heart is torn in a million directions, mostly towards Indiana. Some days are great, some days are not so great. I want to enjoy all of them and be sure that she does too.