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.

This Time, Cancer Didn't Win

Our Princess, finally free of leiomyosarcoma

I had intentions of doing a big celebration-style post for yesterday's celebration-worthy happenings, but when it came down to it, that just didn't seem quite right.  Of course Jim and I celebrated.  We talked about that day, 5 years ago, that changed our lives forever.  We took the dogs out for celebratory hamburgers and ice cream.  Our hearts rejoiced at what we, and our amazing dog, had accomplished. 

But ultimately, I still look back on that day with great reflection.  For those who may not know, on June 30, 2006,  Indiana was diagnosed with leiomyosarcoma, a cancer of the smooth tissues.  She almost died, and, in fact, was expected to die.  It took me three full years before I could write down the story and really talk about it.  Want to read it?  It's sad (I'll give you a spoiler: it ends well).  But, in my humble opinion, it's worth reading.  Read it for Indy.  Five years is incredible, to be sure, but what's so significant about this milestone, is that after five years free of leiomyosarcoma, her cancer is considered cured.  Gone.  Forever.

In some ways, the five years seem like forever ago.  Have we really made it five whole years?  With the exception of our primary vet, no doctor expected her to live that long.  Yet, here she is, five years later, still happy and healthy.  We're constantly told by veterinary staff how incredible she is.  Not just because she's sweet and gentle and never complains.  But because, according to all odds, she should be dead.

Since her (practically) terminal diagnosis 5 years ago, Indiana has been diagnosed with a mass in her heart, hypothyroidism, atypical Cushing's Disease, Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, chronic kidney disease, and, most recently, a cutaneous sarcoma.  The Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever and subsequent kidney disease almost did her in again.  But in true Indiana form, she bounced back.  I won't deny that the kidney disease takes a lot of care.  Our saint of a dog has allowed us to administer subcutaneous fluids every single day, for the last 21 months.  The fluids keep her alive and feeling well.  She understands that, and I find that simply amazing.

Jim and I have learned so much since we almost lost Indy the first time.  We learned, for one, exactly how precious she is to us.  We also learned what we were capable of handling, what we were willing to sacrifice for her.  During particularly financially lean times (it's staggering how expensive veterinary hospitalization is), we've given up all unnecessary spending, including meals out, new clothes, entertainment.  Small things, really, when a life is on the line.  We've learned to keep a large cushion of money in our accounts, knowing that catastrophic illness can occur at any time.  We'll never make a decision for our children based on finances. 

We've learned to be better parents.  We know what to feed our pets, and why.  We know the importance of exercise.  We know, the hard way, the importance of listening, and I mean really listening, to what our pets are telling us. 

Our lifestyle has changed dramatically as well.  While we used to travel 4-5 times a year, we've cut that down to 2-3.  Still a lot, to be sure, but definitely the bare minimum of what our wandering souls can handle.  And now that Indy is old, we stay within a 2-hours flight, in places that have fairly frequent flights, lest we need to return home quickly.  Our hearts yearn to return to places like Hawaii and Paris, to see new things, like China and Africa, but they'll all still be there when Indy is gone. 

Because of Indy's tiny stomach (lost to surgery in 2006), she eats three times a day, at roughly 7am, 2pm, and 9pm.  We've lived the last five years around this schedule.  We are fortunate to have wonderful friends who understand this and are willing to plan excursions around those times, or who have made an unbalanced number of trips to our house for dinner, so we could be home to feed the dogs.  Plus, my amazing parents, who have come over numerous times to feed the girls when our plans couldn't be made around meal times, or who took the girls for the evening, so they could still have their 9 o'clock meal.  And having a dog on sub-q kidney fluids means making sure she gets them every single day.  For nights away, we rely on our wonderful friend Amanda, a vet tech with a heart of gold, willing to drive to my parents house every day to administer fluids for us. 

Though we cut back last year, we took Indiana to physical therapy, over an hour away, twice a week for nearly three years.  Now it's twice a month.  Plus, we have the once a month chiropractic visits as well as the twice-monthly acupuncture appointments.  And the periodic kidney specialist, cardiology, and oncology visits.  Our time is Indiana's time.  As it should be.

I wouldn't trade those sacrifices for the world.  Indiana has been such a blessing to us.  Everything we know we've learned from her.  We've learned how to truly love, opening our hearts to so many other animals.  Not a day goes by during which I don't wish the cancer had never happened.  But without it, I wouldn't be the mother I am today.  I've met incredible people, people dedicated to fighting cancer, not only in their own pets, but in others' as well.  People who will be my friends forever.

I've learned that while we love our animals with a fierceness that is rare, we are not alone.  There are others out there like us, willing to move heaven and Earth to save their pets.  To make every day the best it can be.  And that is truly heartwarming.

To my sweet Princess, all I can say is, thank you.  You've enriched my life more than you'll ever know.  I live every single day trying to live up to your standards.  You think I am everything, you have given all you have to me.  It's the least I can do to give my all to you.  I know you've stayed with us out of love.  You've fought every step of the way for us.  I can't ever repay that, but I'll certainly try. 

Congratulations on beating cancer, my sweet baby.  Cancer doesn't always win.

Never lose hope.