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.

Cancer and Things

I will admit that this picture has nothing to do with my post.

But it's cute.  And Isis is in it, which is rare.

Indiana is doing really, really well.  I've written about that a few times recently, and it never ceases to amaze me.  She's got so much energy (for a 13-year-old, arthritic dog), and she's eating like a champ.  And taking her pills.  The other day, though, she chewed a big bald spot on her back.  Ugh.  Just when we'd gotten her hair grown in.  So now she has a small skin infection on her back, but the good thing is that the bald spot made our vet take a closer look at Indy's tumor.  We noticed earlier this year that it had grown.  We were pretty disappointed, but we knew that we had the option to debulk the tumor if need be.  But upon closer inspection, my vet discovered that the tumor actually had a hematoma on top--most likely the source of the "growth."  So, sort of yay on that account.  Hematomas are pretty harmless, and other than giving her a homeopathic med for it, we're basically leaving it alone, to reabsorb on its own.  At which time, I hope to find the tumor still at it's original size.  Fingers crossed.

Thursday marks Indiana's cure date for cancer #1.  That's right, you heard me.  Cure.  Cure. 

Cure.

I can hardly believe it myself. 

I promise a blog filled with pictures, insights, stories, and, if I'm doing my job right, a few tears.  After all, cancer #1 made me who I am today, the kind of mother I've grown to be, the person I am evolving into.  That day, June 30, 2006, was one of the worst days of my life.  I relive it every year.  But maybe this year will be easier, knowing we've finally conquered the beast.



Content

Could he be more comfortable?

So, last night, the rarest of rares occurred--Indiana got up and slept in bed with me and Jim.  She used to sleep with us all the time, but then I think it became more effort than it was worth to get up there.  (Plus, Jim moves around too much, and steals the covers)  She's been sleeping on the bed a lot lately though, which makes my heart go pit-a-pat every time I see it.  So when she slept between us last night, well, I thought my heart wouldn't be able to handle it.  Then, she layed over on her side, and I could feel her up against my leg.  *Swoon*

Plus, Indy's been eating really well.  And taking her pills.  And her UTI is gone.  And the cats have been (sort of) getting along. 

A happy clan of animals = a happy Mama.  My happiness is most definitely linked to how well my babies are doing, especially Indy.  Maybe because I've spent so much time taking care of her and getting her to a point where she is happy and healthy (which is, by the way, the goal).  I feel like I can sit back and enjoy the fruits of my efforts.  Pretend for the time being that I live a normal existence, in a world without missing cats, catastrophic illness, arthritis, and cancer.  For now, I am just a Mom with 6 animals, who are all healthy and happy, bringing me joy day after day.  And I plan to savour every moment. 

A Photo-less Update

So sorry for the lack of a photo today!  I do try to post at least one photo, because my animals are super cute. But I realized I've been really remiss in taking pictures of my clan lately, and I have nothing current to share with you.  I promise to do better this week--more pictures! more cuteness! 

Though we're waiting on new test results re: Indiana's kidneys/UTI, she's actually been feeling really good.  We had very unpleasant weather on Sunday, requiring me to drag all 6 of my less-than-willing animals into the basement.  Q went down to the basement on his own (the lure of seeing what I was up to was too great for him), but I had to herd the other 5.  I had to be really strategic about it, because Q was already down there, and not everyone gets along with Q.  Mr. S was my next logical choice, because he and Q are fine together.  Gus hates Q, and vice versa, so I knew Gus would be last to enter the basement.  Plus, he was sleeping in his happy spot, so upon plucking him up from his happy spot, I knew he would be decidedly unhappy.  Indy can't do stairs anymore, so I had to pick all 70 pounds of her up myself, and carry her down a flight of stairs.  It wasn't so much hard as it was butt-puckeringly-frightening.  I was so scared of dropping her or of tripping.  But I knew I was carrying most precious cargo, and I was determined to get her down safely.  And I did. 

Then we had to spend over an hour down in the basement.  Luckily, I have a music studio down there, complete with a couch, so at least it's (relatively) clean and pretty comfy.  But cold.  And after the first ten minutes, the power went off and didn't come back on again for over 7 hours.  Smart Mom that I am, I completely neglected to bring a flashlight ("Nah.  The power NEVER goes out.  We'll be fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine."), so when the power went out, Isis freaked the heck out, upsetting all of the other animals.  I was left with only my cell phone for light, because I didn't trust my animals alone in the basement long enough to run upstairs and get a flashlight.  Plus, you know, death.  There was that to be afraid of too. 

During that hour, my cats were constantly at each other's throats.  Gus was bored, so he would playfully attack Sam or Mr. S, which Q would misread as an actual attack, which caused him to lunge after Gus in a very aggressive way, which caused Gus to react in kind, which caused me to be very annoyed and angry.  That hour couldn't go by fast enough.

In the end, I was able to release the critters back into the house.  I thought about carrying Indy back up the stairs, but sometimes she gets offended if we do things for her that she can do herself, so I decided to let her try (slightly assisted) to go up the stairs by herself.  And let me say that she accomplished that like a rock star.  Then, on three separate occasions later that day,  I saw her up on the bed--where she had climbed all by herself.  She was on a roll, and I was a very happy Mama.  Plus, she's been eating really well and taking all of her pills without a fuss, so essentially, my world is a very happy place right now.

Happy Birthday to The Noodle

 My Noodle turns 12 today!

I feel guilty today, for two reasons.  One, while catching up with my online friends (in person) last week, I realized they were barely aware that I had a second dog.  And two, I woke up this morning (not on my own), and I didn't realize until I got an email from Dogster that today is Isis' birthday.  I mean, I probably would have figured it out, but I still felt bad that Dogster remembered before I did. 

I've written about Isis before, usually about how she plays second fiddle to Indiana.  It's not that I love her less, because I certainly don't, but she's independent and neurotic, and well, healthy.  So she requires a lot less from me.  And sometimes I really, really love that about her.  She's so simple.  All she wants most days is food and attention when she asks for it (and she's VERY forward about asking for attention). 

But today my youngest dog turns 12.  True to form, while I was feeling guilty about my delayed memory (let's not call it "forgetting," okay?), Isis was running around the house, happy as a clam, because Daddy had gotten home from work.  When I got out of bed, she simply wanted her food, then she went back to her bathroom (because that's where she chooses to sleep) to nap until lunch.  A simple, happy day for a simple, happy dog.

Jim and I won't let today go without a celebration though.  We're taking Isis out for a run this afternoon (she's deliriously happy on runs), and then for dinner, we'll load up both dogs and take them to Culver's for a hamburger and then to the Dairy Queen for ice cream.  For us, so simple, but for Isis, absolutely perfect.

Thirteen of the Best Years of My Life

Indy and I, but much, much younger.

Today is Indiana's 13th Birthday.  It's such a special day for us.  For those unfamiliar with her story, go here, and you'll see why every birthday with her is a gift.  We never expected to reach her 9th birthday, let alone her 13th.  She is such a special girl, such a fighter.  She has made me the person I am today.  Everything I know about parenting, I've learned from her. 

When I started looking through pictures yesterday for today's post, I started to feel very wistful.  Looking through my favorite puppy pictures, I almost started to cry.  We were both so different back then.  I like to think I was still a good Mom (though definitely not an educated Mom).  I was young and foolish and wanted to raise a happy dog.  I wasn't thinking about illness or cancer.  I was thinking that we both had our whole lives ahead of us; lives full of walks, and playing, and togetherness.  When that was almost taken away from me in 2006, I became a wholly different person.  A more educated one, to be sure, but a more cautious one as well.  I know understood the frailty of life.  I felt guilty that I hadn't understood better before.  In some ways, I wish I could go back to being the carefree person I was back in 1998.  I was still in college, and life seemed so open and free.  Indiana was young and healthy.  She could run and do anything she wanted.  I want that back for her more than anything.  But life doesn't work that way.  Dogs age (we all age), and we can't go back. 

So when I started to feel teary-eyed, looking through pictures of a more innocent time, I had to remind myself that today is a day of celebration.  A day to look forward and celebrate life, not a day to think, "What if" or "I wish."  Today is a day to celebrate the life that Indiana and I have been given, and to make sure, like I do every day, that today is the best darn day for her ever! 

With that in mind, I've gone through and found 13 of my favorite pictures of Indy throughout her life.  I hope you enjoy them and the stories that go along with them as much as I do!

This is Indy the first day we brought her home in 1998.  Oddly, I don't remember the exact date.  It was in June, that much I know.  She is standing here with my Grandma's dog Skippy, and I can't believe how tiny she is.  Tiny and fuzzy and soooooo naughty.  But smart.  That dog went to the bathroom in the house once and was totally house-trained within three days.  Wowza.  She's been freaking whip-smart ever since. 

This is Indy in the fall of 1998, at my college home in Champaign, Illinois.  I love this picture, because not only does she look really pretty, but I look at it and see her naughty streak.  You see, that yard was filled with sticks.  And Indiana's mission in life was to bring each and every stick from that yard into the house.  And then chew them to bits, either on my bed or in the living room.  And because I was in college, I pretty much never vacuumed up those bits, so our house was covered in a fine layer of chewed-up wood.  I remember one day when Indiana tried to bring a stick bigger than herself into the house, via the pet door.  I didn't think she'd be able to do it, because, well, physics and math and stuff, but after a few tries, she got that stick into the house.  And proceeded to chew it to bits on my bed.

We're still living in Champaign in the picture.  She's in the living room, but sadly, I must have vacuumed, because you can't see any wood bits lying around.  Hrmph.  I love this picture, because she's super happy, having just finished licking out a crock of butter.  That was back in the day when I didn't think about things like "Oils can give your dog diarrhea," only "Licking this container will make my dog really happy."  And it did.  And I don't particularly remember any diarrhea, so it must have turned out fine.

Okay.  We're onto a new house now.  We moved to South Wilmington, Illinois (the armpit of the Midwest) in 2000, so this picture is somewhere around 10 years old.  I love it because Indiana looks absolutely, madly insane.  She has always loved to sleep upside down, and it was really funny to walk into the room and see this. And frightening.  Also kind of frightening.

Also in South Wilmington.  Love that green carpeting.  I love this picture too, because, again, she looks so darn happy.  She has a bowl full of cancer-kibble (I fed crappy food back then), she has her Dad, and she's good to go.  Holy cats, does Jim look young in this picture.

Starved Rock State Park!  One of our favorite places to visit with the girls.  We always call it "Stairs Park," because, well, there are about a million stairs there, and Isis loves every single one of them.  When the girls were younger, we always tried to get to Starved Rock at least once or twice a year, because it was such a fun day for us.  The girls were really happy to be someplace new, and it was such an adventure.  Some of our happiest days have been spent there.

 This picture doesn't really have a story, but I love it because Indiana used to love to lay on the chaise (when she could still jump up there) and survey her kingdom.  Look at her eyes in this picture.  She's totally keeping an eye on something.  That's why she liked the chaise.  It was in the corner, facing out at the rest of the downstairs, so she could keep an eye on everything that was happening.  And that makes one happy herding dog.

Ah.  This picture represents the day that changed everything.  This is the day she came home from the hospital in 2006 after almost dying.  It's not a particularly good picture of Indiana.  (And please excuse the quality)  But I think it perfectly represents what she went through and how she triumphed.  She is shaved in more places than I can count (in this picture, you can see both her neck and her paw are shaved).  There is a cautiousness in her eyes.  Maybe it's the weight of what she's just been through.  We were so scared that day.  Happy and scared.  She was alive, she was home.  But we were still in a scary 10-day window where her sutured stomach could still burst and kill her instantly.  That was horrible to think about, and obviously it didn't happen, but it still haunts me if I think about it too much.  Moving on...

This picture was taken not long after the surgery (probably a few months later), as you can see that her neck is still missing lots of hair.  But I love this picture, because not only do my girls look happy and beautiful, but my Indy is alive!  This picture was taken at Lake Shelbyville, where my parents have a cabin.  We were so happy to make it down to the cabin with the girls and to resume a normal life with Indiana.  This picture was taken post-heart mass, so we still didn't know what Indiana's future held for her.  We were treasuring every moment and every special event with her.  That weekend at the cabin was so fun, and it was great to see Indiana back to hiking (and actually, we're geocaching with the girls in this picture--see the gold box in the forepicture?).  Those were uncertain times, but we were determined to make the most of every minute we had with Indy!

This picture is from Indiana's very first "re-birth" party, in 2007.  Every year, since 2007, we have had a big party to celebrate Indiana's triumph over cancer.  This picture is awesome, because she is so happy.  The guests are running a big human agility course (because we're mean but have amazing friends), and Indiana is barking and following all of them.  Oh, and you can see my nephew Ephraim's butt in this one too.  It's just a big ol' mess of fun.

This picture was also taken in 2007, taken in our back yard.  It is one of the happiest pictures we have, because the girls are having so much darn fun.  You could really get the girls riled up, chasing after each other like crazy gals.  (Well, actually, it was always Indy chasing Isis, because that's how they roll)  Jim would chase after them, and I would laugh and take pictures.  Good times!

God, there are so many other pictures I could post, but I had to pick my favorites.  And my favorites are from when Indiana was active and we were creating happy memories.  She's still happy today, mind you, but it makes me sad that she can't run, or even walk, the way she used to.  This picture though, is from earlier this spring, when we were able to start taking walks again.  Unlike in previous years, Indiana can't walk with Isis.  We walk a few hundred feet with Indiana, and that's an accomplishment.  So on days when Jim is home, Jim takes Isis out, and I stay with Indiana.  She likes to sit in the front yard and watch for Isis and Jim to return.  I love the intensity in her eyes in this picture.  She's just seen Jim, and she's just waiting for him to get closer.  It perfectly exemplifies the intensity of love and commitment this dog has for us.

Not to toot my own horn, but I hear comments all the time from people about what a wonderful job we've done with Indiana, and what great parents we are.  I love hearing that, of course, but my standard response, because it's true, is that it's easy to parent Indy.  She's so special.  Her depth of love for us is immeasurable.  I know she's still alive today because of that love and dedication.  How can I not try to return it?  I will spend every day of her life trying to live up to her expectations, to give her what she deserves.  So it's easy to sacrifice and spend most of my time making her life better.  Because what she gives to us...it can't be replicated.  I don't know why Jim and I were given this special gift, this amazing dog, unlike any other.  She is tough and strong.  Sweet and sympathetic.  Sensitive and loving.  In a word, amazing.  Happy Birthday to the best dog ever put on Earth.  You've made my life richer than I ever deserve.

Thoughts About Vaccines

Happy Noodles

Last week,  we took Isis in to the vet for her twice-yearly checkup.  This appointment always includes routine bloodwork, a heartworm test, and vaccine titers.  Ever heard of titers?  (I hope so, but I won't be surprised if you haven't)

Titers are blood tests that measure the amount of vaccine antibodies in the bloodstream.  If the level of antibody is high enough, then the dog is still immune to disease.  High enough titer levels = no vaccination. 

I was thinking about this topic on Tuesday, because I got Isis' test results back, and not only was her bloodwork great (yay!) but her titer results were normal as well.  Even though I've titered for years (and have never had to revaccinate my animals), it still amazed me that Isis was vaccinated yearly for the first 7 years of her life (before I knew better) but now has not needed a vaccine for 5 years.  (This doesn't include rabies--that's a whole 'nother subject) 

Vaccines are a controversial topic in the veterinary world.  I'm not by nature a conspiracy-theorist, but in the animal world, unfortunately, profit tends to rule above all else.  Animals do not need yearly vaccines.  In fact, there is much evidence that yearly vaccines not only damage the immune system (leading to diseases like cancer), but the side effects of the vaccine can cause certain diseases as well.  Read this great article by Dr. Karen Becker to learn more.  Vaccines have even been proven to cause cancer in cats, at the injection site.  Read more about that here (and though I generally love this site, I don't agree that every cat should always be vaccinated). 

Most traditional vets push yearly vaccines, not only because this is what they're taught in vet school, but also because vaccines have a high profit margin.  It's sad.  The tides are turning a bit now, as some vets still advocate yearly vaccines but at least will provide titers if they are requested by the client.  Some vets "don't believe in titers," which I don't understand.  The results are there in black and white, on paper.  The testing lab even makes the determination if the pet has sufficient antibodies.  If your vet is "against" titers, ask yourself why.

Additionally, rabies vaccines are controversial, for no good reason.  The rabies vaccine is the most toxic of all vaccines but is required by law.  (Except for animals with long-term illnesses, like cancer.  Then a waiver is usually granted if a signed letter is provided by the treating veterinarian)  However, no animal should be given the rabies vaccine every year.   The one year shot is exactly the same as the three year shot, and the three year shot is all that is required by law (in most states, but not all, sadly).  I hear from so many pet owners whose vets give the vaccine yearly, for no apparent reason other than profit (I'm in Illinois, where the three-year vaccine is what's required).  I always encourage those pet owners to do their research on vaccines, and then find a new vet. 

To learn more about the rabies vaccine, visit The Rabies Challenge Fund, an organization started to prove that the current three-year rabies vaccine is actually good for 5 or even 7 years.  They even advocate around the country to get states to change vaccines laws to the standard (accepted) three years.  It's a great organization. 

So what am I trying to say?  Do I think people who vaccinate yearly are bad parents?  Not at all.  We are a product of our veterinary teaching.  I vaccinated my pets yearly for 8 years until my new vet taught me about titers.  I researched them, they made sense to me, and now it's something I believe strongly in.  My animals all receive a rabies vaccine every three years (except for Indy, who gets an exemption because of her cancer).  We do yearly titer tests, but no one has needed a booster yet. 

My recommendation to you is, if you haven't already, read up as much as you can on titers (the links I've provided here are a great start).  Read the good and the bad.  Talk to your vet about it.  Form your own opinion and do what makes sense to you.  Sometimes what makes sense to you isn't what your veterinarian recommends.  That's okay too.  An educated owner is an empowered owner, and our pets are better off for it.

If you're interested in learning more about vaccine issues, I encourage you to read the book Stop the Shots.  It's a complete look at the vaccine and veterinary world.  It'll probably scare the pants off of you, but that's alright.  We parents need to be shaken into action sometimes. 

Also, here is a list of recommended vaccines by Dr. Jean Dodds, a leading veterinary hematology researcher (and one of the founders of The Rabies Challenge Fund).  She lists the shots she recommends for the first year of a puppy's life (followed by titer tests at least every three years thereafter) and also talks a little about vaccines and health.

I'm a Bad Mom

April Fool!  That's actually a cat, not a plant!  Fooled ya!

Isis had to go to the vet today.  She has a growth on her gums, which, as it turns out, is just a fleshy swelling, common in older dogs (but most commonly seen in Boxers).  The only potential problem is that it might overgrow the tooth, at which point she could chew on the growth, causing it to bleed.  So, for now we're keeping an eye on it.  It might stop growing.  It might shrink.  We also might have it removed...

...because Isis' teeth are full of plaque.  And she's fat.  So I feel really guilty.  I can make a million excuses about why I don't brush her teeth more often or make sure she gets more exercise.  But the truth of the matter is, I get so focused on Indiana sometimes, because she is so high maintenance, and I neglect Isis.  I don't mean neglect as in "I don't meet her basic needs," because I meet her basic needs and then some.  But I don't focus on some of things of lesser importance (though still important), like dental hygiene and regular exercise.  I certainly don't love Isis any less than I do Indiana, but I suppose a person can only focus on so many things at once, and when Indiana has so many things of life-and-death importance to focus on, that leaves less room for "incidentals."  I feel really bad about that.  Isis has so few needs and demands.  I love her to bits.  And I feel like I've let her down. 

Pending blood test results, we may opt for dental surgery to clean her teeth and remove the gum growth.  That would give her (well, really me) a clean start, so to speak, where I could clean her teeth as often as I really should, so this never happens again.  And we've already started exercising her more, but now we know how often we should do it and for how long.  She's also starting a diet, and we've got a firm daily calorie amount to follow every day, which will be easy for us to do. 

So even though I know we can, and will, do this for Isis, I still feel really guilty.  I want to have given her more before now.  I hate that she often comes second to Indiana.  So sweet, so understanding, so undemanding.  She deserves better.  And I vow to do better by her. 

Learning to Accept It

Last week, I talked about our new daily ritual, taking a walk as a family.  It's nice bonding time for Jim and I and the dogs, plus it's good for Indiana's arthritis and Isis'...ummmm...winter weight.  The only problem is that Indy can't walk as far as Isis, so she and I turn around and sit in the grass and wait for Jim and Isis to come back.  I love watching Indy watch for Isis, and it makes me feel special, getting to spend time all alone with my girl. 

Indy usually is happy to turn around, because walking is hard work for her.  It usually takes a little coaxing to get her to actually turn back.  She wants to continue with Jim but knows she can't.  Most days I take this in stride, but yesterday, it broke my heart. 

Indy turned around willingly, but then she turned back to watch Jim and Isis, who were at that point running off down the road.  I could tell that Indy wanted desperately to follow, to be able to run along side Isis as she used to.  But I could also tell that she knew it was impossible.  I wanted nothing more, in that moment, more than I've wanted anything in a long time, for her to be able to continue after her sister.  My heart was breaking for her, and I was helpless to make it better.  I bent down and hugged her and said, "I'm so sorry you can't go with." 

We made our way over to the grass and sat down and watched for their return.  I gave Indy a massage while we waited, and she seemed content to sit there and wait.  (She's always engrossed in watching for them, obsessed really)   

Jim and I work really hard to make sure that Indiana is at peace with her aging body.  Our vet warned us that frustration could be the worst thing for her; a frustrated dog is a miserable dog.  So we take great pains to bring her comfort and keep her mind occupied.  In that moment yesterday, I wondered what she was thinking.  Did she understand why her body wouldn't move the way she wanted it to?  Did she understand that we're doing everything under the sun for her?  Did she know that I would give anything, anything, to make it better? 

I don't want to sound ungrateful.  In less than a month, my girl will reach the huge milestone of turning 13 years old, a feat for any large-breed dog, let alone one who was supposed to die at 8.  I know that this is a miracle, and that every day with her is a gift.  I really do.  But some days, I am selfish.  I want more, more more.  I want Indy to be able to walk like a normal dog, to get up at every whim, to wander around the yard aimlessly and with no purpose. 

Aging is a process, both mental and physical, for the pet as well as the caretaker.  We as parents have to come to terms with aging, to fight it and stall it the best we can, but ultimately, to accept that it is a part of living.  Because the alternative isn't something we want.  I am thankful that Indiana is still alive to age, and I will spend the rest of her living days making them the best they can be.

Meet Bill Wilson

This is Bill Wilson.  He is my brother, and Indiana's best friend (besides Isis, that is).  Bill is staying with us for a couple of days.  When he got here this morning, there was much excitement.  Indiana actually got up to greet Bill and my parents, and Isis and Bill tried to play (Indiana doesn't allow play between other dogs--it makes her nervous since she can't control them--so she gets between them to end it.  I guess herding instincts never go away!). 

Indiana has such a happy look on her face today.  She loves spending time with Bill.  Even if they're not actually doing anything, she's just happy to have him around.  He's big, goofy, loveable, and kind of dumb, but he aims to please, so everyone likes Bill. 

My Mom and Dad found Bill on the side of the road back in 2002.  He had escaped from a (probably bad) living situation and was sleeping in a ditch.  Mom and Dad picked him up, and after a long, bizarre series of calls, found out he was essentially homeless, and decided to keep him.  So Bill's been family ever since. 

Bill has this annoying habit of following you everywhere.  Seriously.  Upstairs, to the bathroom, outside.  It doesn't matter.  He also sleeps with us at night, which is interesting, because he weighs about 70 pounds and has to be touching you to really be content.  So tonight will be a bit...cramped. 

He does have a huge heart though.  He only wants to make you happy.  He doesn't have the slightest idea how to play with toys.  He is insanely jealous of his own (7) cats.  Some days he demands to be hand-fed.  He loves going for walks.  He has the loudest bark ever.  When my parents visit with him, after about half an hour, he goes and sleeps by the back door, waiting to go home.  He hates, and I mean hates having his picture taken.  He thinks he's a lap dog and often sleeps on my Dad's lap in his recliner.  He is really badly behaved at the vet's office.  And he loves, loves, loves to bark at trucks.

He is my baby brudder, and I love him to bits.

Take A Walk With Us

Yesterday was the first truly beautiful day of the year, a day when I could finally believe that maybe, just maybe, spring is on its way.  We took that opportunity to take the girls for a walk.  Our vet didn't want us walking Indy during the winter, where she could slip on the ice and snow, so we've been waiting for good weather to come our way. 

Indy's stamina isn't very high, but the exercise will do her arthritis good, so we knew we needed to start slow.  It's tempting to let our stiff, arthritic animals just sit around, which is kind of what they want to do, but if you think about it, moving those joints is the best thing you can do for them.  Moving the joints encourages the production of synovial fluid, the natural lubricant in our joints that prevents bone from rubbing against bone. 

Indy was eager to get outside, as was Isis.  Indy was also moving pretty well, which was heartwarming.  The past year or so, she's had a hugely pronounced limp, which was significantly diminished yesterday.  Hooray!  We only walked her a few hundred feet before turning her around, so as not to overdo it.  She seemed ready.

Isis, however, was not, so Jim continued on with Isis while I went back with Indiana.  Indy's usually pretty uncomfortable with this arrangement, because (a) she is left out and (b) she can't keep track of her "pack."  So I was surprised that she only looked back a few times on the walk back home.  When I got her into the driveway, I turned around to look at her, and I see this:



She had gotten to the top of the driveway (our house is on a little hill, sort of), turned around, and laid down to watch for Jim and Isis.  My heart died at the adorableness of it.  So I walked back and sat next to her to wait.  We spent a lot of time snuggling, with me petting and kissing her.  She was ignoring me, instead choosing to focus her attention on the impending return of her Dad and sister.

Then, oh glorious day, she saw Daddy emerge from the trees, with Isis in tow.



See the intensity in her eyes?  That cracks me up.  She's staring at her Dad and sister to make sure they're actually headed home.  When they got close, Indy stood up to greet them.  She was pretty happy (and relieved) to have them back.  It was ok to head into the house now.



There's my sweet family, headed in from a great afternoon together.  I love how Isis' tongue is practically falling on the ground.  She definitely needs more exercise .  We're planning on daily walks now that the weather is good.  It will benefit us all, not just physically, but mentally too.

My Favorite Artist

These are two portraits by the wonderfully talented Rebecca Salcedo of Smelly Rhino Studio.  I had Indiana's done for Jim's Christmas present, and we loved it so much that we decided to have Rebecca do portraits of all of our pets.  Next up (age-wise, it's only fair) was Isis.  She is named after the Egyptian goddess of fertility, so we wanted a portrait that would reflect that.  Rebecca did an amazing job--beyond what I ever could have hoped for. 

I love that in both portraits, it really looks like our dogs!  Rebecca captured their faces so realistically.  I am in awe of her talents and creativity.  I wish you all could see the pictures in "real life."  As amazing as they look here, they look even better in person--the colors are so bright. 

Another thing I love--they are tiny!  They are ACEO, which are 2.5" x 3.5".  We frame them in plain, black 11 x 14 frames with a plain, white mat, which really shows off the color and detail of the pictures. 

Rebecca has also been a joy to work with.  She's super nice and quirky and fun, and it's so enjoyable to look through her Etsy store.  Check it out here.  I think you will love her as much as I do! 

Next up will be a portrait of Mr. Squiggles.  Jim and I are still debating what we want to do.  But I have no doubt, that in Rebecca's creative hands, it will be a gem as well.

My Quirks as a Parent

(Besides being ok with cat butt in my face?)

I will admit to having some "quirks" as a parent.  Some of this is a product of worry, some of it is born of necessity, and some of it, well, it's because I'm weird. 

Because I do the same thing multiple times a day, every single day, I have to have things a certain way.  For example, when I prepare a meal for my pets, I am feeding 6 creatures at a time.  Their bowls must go in a certain place on the counter, and each animal's bowl has to be in the exact same place every time.  This is partly so I can keep track of whose food is whose (all six of my animals get different medicines/supplements), but it's also because I'm OCD about it.  For instance, it makes my brain explode when Jim feeds the animals and puts the bowls in different places.  It's ok that he does it, I just can't be around to see it.

Another weird quirk:  I am picky about raw food textures.  I like the food to be soft, wet, and easy to break apart.  Isis will eat absolutely anything (she's my only raw-eater right now), so I know she doesn't care about "texture."  In fact, she eats so fast, I know she doesn't even think about texture.  Yet, I will avoid certain brands and/or meats because of the texture.

I also can't stand eye boogers.  Every pet owner knows that all pets get them, and I am constantly picking them off of my pets.  Mr. Squiggles, because he has a cataract in one eye, has a constantly weeping eye, which means a constant supply of eye boogers growing on his face that I am forever picking off, leading to a frequently annoyed cat.

I never play loud music in the house (or car when the pets are with me), because I worry that it agitates the animals. 

I always tell the animals (especially Indiana) when I am leaving; I tell them where I am going, and when I will be back.  Every single time.

Likewise, when we put the animals in the car, we tell them where we are going.

I talk to Indiana like she's people, reasoning (and even begging) with her. 

We sometimes pronounce Q*bert as Cue-bear and speak to him in French.

Each of our animals has a nick-name that is so bastardized that we often don't remember how we arrived at it.  What we most often call each pet (right now--this changes too):

     Indiana: Bear

     Isis: Noodle

     Mr. Squiggles:  Butt

     Gus: PJ

     Samson: Turd

     Q*bert: the aforementioned Cue-bear

We have a pile of dog toys literally two feet high and three feet wide, even though neither dog plays with toys anymore.

Our house is covered with cat playthings, the bigger the better.  We have the Great Wall of China, a tank, and a huge pile of cardboard bricks with which we build a different fort a few times a week.

I think I'm going to end this post before you all think I've totally lost my mind.

Things I Love Today

I had a kind of rough day yesterday (any day that involves jumper cables, police cars with their lights flashing just for you, and a tow truck is destined not to be the best day ever).  My week is already really busy, with me spending all week volunteering at the IKC Dog Show (13-14 hour days, no time to sit down, one 5-minute lunch break,  babysitting an extra critter this week along with caring for my own (beyond time-consuming) clan, a rehearsal and a big concert on Sunday...yikes!  I'm already freaking myself out!).  Now I'm down one vehicle (please, please, please be done by noon today!), and I have to get myself up to Chicago late this afternoon to begin set-up.  *Takes deep breaths*

I'm trying to be zen about the whole thing, because I have control over so little of it.  So in honor of that, today's post is about things that are making me smile today:

I love that Gus tries to play with Mr. Squiggles, and because he plays too hard, it makes Mr. Squiggles mad.

I love Isis won't get into bed until after Jim and I have both gotten out of it. 

I love that Samson has started sleeping with us at night, finally, after being a member of our family for 14 months. 

I love that the minute I sit down on the couch, Mr. Squiggles heads over from anywhere in the house to sit on my lap.

I love that Indiana will always, always eat her freeze-dried patties with her liquid gold medicine.  Good girl!

I love that Indiana has been getting up  on the bed, all by herself!

I love that Q*bert has no self-control when it comes to food, and that he runs around crying like an idiot while we're preparing meals. 

I love that it's getting warmer outside, which means Indiana can sit outside as long as she wants.

I love knowing that I have a house full of kitties, happily sleeping somewhere, usually where I can't find them.

I love that in 5 days, my hell week will be over for another year!!

Snow Day

Today we had a snow day. The projected two feet of snow turned into only about 9 inches for us. But with all of the wind, we still weren't going anywhere. We spent about an hour and a half clearing the driveway (the downside of a long driveway, obviously), and then we went out in the backyard to play with the dogs.

Isis was already out, "playing" through the fences with our neighbors' dog, Nellie. (She's a young, exuberant Wheaten Terrier) Indiana came outside to discover Isis chasing Nellie, which is a big no-no in Indy's book. She ran as fast as she could down the ramp into the yard and proceeded to trudge through snow drifts to reach Isis, barking frantically the whole time. It was really funny and oddly heartwarming, and I'm glad I got it on video. I knew she'd be paying for it though, as she had a hard time getting back in the house. All of the pressure on her hips made her sore and made her hind end even weaker than usual. I think that with some good R & R (and an extra dose of pain meds, if needed) she'll be as good as new.

After getting Indy settled back in the house, Jim and I ran around with Isis and Samson (who LOVES the snow). You can tell Isis is slowing down, because she doesn't run through the snow quite like she used to. But that's okay. The happiness in her eyes is just the same as always.

It's The Little Things

Every day, each of my four furry babies does something that I love, something that makes me smile. I live for these things.

Indiana always greets us first thing in the morning with a smile and a wag of her tail. If we're lucky, and if she's feeling particularly spry, she'll jump up on the bed with us when she hears the alarm go off.

She has a way of looking at you, when you're goofing around with her, that we call the "sideways glance." It's a look out of the corner of her eye that says, "You're nuts," but really she's saying, "I love that you're trying to make me laugh."

She loves getting in the car for a trip, even though it's usually to the vet's. She usually flies down the car stairs when we get to our destination, because she just loves going places.

She smiles and walks as fast as her arthritic legs can take her when she sees another dog. She LOVES dogs.

She always falls asleep between us every night, and if I'm really lucky, she'll lay her head on my leg, the best feeling in the world.

Isis is our "special" dog, which automatically makes me love her.

She can't hear well, but when she sees that you've woken up for the day, or that you've come home from being away, she'll get the biggest grin on her face, wag her tail, and generally go nuts with happiness.

She has her own way of getting into bed (no people in it, thank you very much): jump up, flop down on your side, and let out a huge groan.

She gives us "crazy kisses:" the biggest, fastest, most manic kisses you've ever seen. But she also can be discriminating. Sometime we'll just get a sniff and a dismissal.

Gus is the baby and therefore our special little man. With his disability, it's hard not to get a chuckle just watching him walk.

He has a special meow that he uses to look for us. Or his dog. Or birds. Or something, we don't always know what. But this meow slays me every time. I think it's a drug to me.

He chatters at birds and squirrels, while twitching his tail.

He lives to snuggle with his dog, Indiana. He does this dutifully every night and falls asleep for a while on her feet until eventually curling up on my ankles.

His mouth is so darn cute when he's gnawing on his raw food, and darn it, I think his little man-bits are the cutest things ever.

Sam came to us during a difficult time in our lives, so we're really grateful for him.

He is the whiniest cat I've ever met. It's like he has the worst life ever, even though we know for a fact that he does not.

He attacks bread in plastic bags. While this is also really annoying, I secretly love it because it's quirky.

He is huge and gorgeous with the best paws on the planet. Though he often uses them for evil, he never uses them to hurt us, even though he easily could.

He is slowly starting to sleep with us at night, which pleases us beyond belief.

I couldn't live with myself without mentioning our other family member, Mr. Squiggles. The thing I miss about him the most is when he would lay on my chest and gently place his paw (also huge and awesome, like Sammy's) on my lips or cheek, like he just wanted to be as close to me as possible. I dream about this quirk of his day or night, and even though I miss him fiercely, thinking of him touching my face makes me smile too.

These little things are the things that make my day worth living.

I Think "Spoiled" Is Such An Unfair Word

One might say that the pets in the Schneider household are spoiled. I personally think that's a bit harsh though. What's spoiled?

I mean, ok, besides the furniture, our cats have about three beds in every room to choose from. One of them is my former laundry basket. I say former because Samson fell in love with it, and I bought a new one so he could have the old one. And it has a towel inside so he has a soft place to sleep.

Then there's the kitty apartment, Casa de Amy, birthday palace, The Great Wall of China, the two window perches, and loads and loads of blankets on various flat surfaces (including one on each dining table in the house). Don't get me started on the three cardboard scratching toys or the piles of cat toys strewn about the house.

Then we have the dogs. While Indy and Isis generally choose to sleep either on the bed or on the floor, Indiana does in fact have two "dog" beds. (Isis will never touch one--she's weird that way). One is a super-duper-expensive memory foam affair that we bought her for Christmas. She eschews that one for the super-duper-old one that is actually one dog bed stuffed inside another to fill up the dog-shaped hole in it.

The dogs too have their insane pile of toys. One toy box used to be enough, but Boommaw and Boompaw bought a new basket for them, which is of course now full, so Boommaw and Boompaw bought them a cute duck-shaped laundry basket for overflow toys, which was promptly taken over instead by Gus for a rasslin' ring. Sam uses it to murder rodents. Great fun.

The animal insanity isn't just contained indoors, oh no. Within the 550 feet of escape-proof cat fencing you'll find a custom built playhouse, complete with stairs, ramps, and a sleeping loft for the cats. Of course. Who doesn't have one of those?

While chewing this blog topic around in my head, I consulted Jim for the crazier things we have around the house. He very astutely reminded me that spoiling isn't just about things, but it's also about the way we treat our animals. Bah. Don't spoil my fun! I'm doing a light-hearted blog post for once, for heaven's sake. Don't expect me to get all deep.

The thing I love about spoiling our pets vs. spoiling our children is that we can spoil the critters 'til the cows come home and it won't make a bit of difference to their behavior. They either appreciate it or they don't, but they don't demand more from us. Our pets have all of these crazy houses and loads of toys, but essentially because they make us as parents happy. It makes me happy to give my cats a 4 foot long Great Wall of China and affix pictures of "Chairman Meow" to it. It makes me feel like a good Mom to buy Indiana the best possible bed, even if she never uses it.

Life isn't about stuff, I know. We're fortunate to be able to afford it, but our pets don't need it. It makes me happy to be surrounded by cat and dog paraphernalia though, and nothing brings a smile to my face like a cat ACTUALLY USING SOMETHING YOU BUY THEM. And life is all about happiness, for our pets AND for us.

Indiana's Battle: The Story

Today is Indiana's Birthday--or at least, the day she was reborn free of cancer. Three years ago today, I nearly lost the furry love of my life. This is a post I've been dreading ever since I first thought about starting a blog. It's a very important story to tell, as it's made me who I am today, both as a parent and as a person.

As I start to write this, I can already feel butterflies in my stomach, a heavy feeling in my chest, and tears getting ready for their inevitable moment to shine. In three years, I've only written the story once or twice, and I've never actually talked about it, at least not all of it. It's been a defense mechanism for me, to keep the pain from overtaking me. I don't really want to write it now. I know the tears will flow and my heart will want to burst with pain. It sounds melodramatic, I know, but that day was more traumatic than I can even describe.

So be warned that this isn't an easy post to write, and it isn't an easy story to read. I do think it's important though--both for me to write it and you to read it. It helps you understand who I am, who Indiana is. While the story itself is heartbreaking, it does have a good outcome, and I hope it brings hope to others who feel like they are facing a future without hope. There is ALWAYS hope. So here we go.

In 2006, Indiana had been throwing up on and off for a few weeks. I should have been concerned about this, but I just figured that it happened sometimes with dogs. Perhaps she'd eaten something weird. In retrospect, the vomit was bloody, but at the time I just thought it was dark from food.

One day I was at my parents' house with the dogs. Indiana had been acting off, which worried me. We watched her go to the bathroom in the yard and walked over to see if it looked normal. It did not. Her stools were black and tarry. My Mom and I decided she needed to see the vet. We took her in, and they suspected a gastrointestinal bug. They gave her a steroid shot and some antibiotics and sent us home. The next day, Indiana did feel better, and I was so relieved. This was short-lasting though, as she grew more lethargic the following day.

Jim and I were supposed to go out of town for the party of some friends, but we postponed leaving to take her to the vet. I'll never forgive myself, because we nearly left. Her gums were pale, she wasn't feeling well, and I was still so torn because I had a responsibility to our friends, whom we were helping to organize the party. I had her in my Mom's car and nearly let her go. Ultimately, I just couldn't do it. Jim and I took Indy back to the vet. She had little energy and couldn't even stand for an exam.

I found out later that the vets suspected she was bleeding out from hemangiosarcoma, the most common cause of acute anemia.

Our vets did a blood test, and sent us home for the night, telling us they'd call in the morning but would most likely send us to the University of Illinois Vet Med Hospital. Why we didn't just take her then, I don't know.

The next morning will haunt me forever. I woke up early, around 6:00 a.m. Indiana wasn't with us in bed, which was unusual. I got up to look for her and couldn't find her. Eventually I found her laying under the back deck. I know now my precious baby had gone there to die. Oh, crap, here come the tears. I was able to get Indiana inside, but she had no energy, wouldn't eat, and her gums and tongue were pure white.

I finally got a hold of the vet at 7:30 a.m., and she only said, "I recommend taking her to the U of I right away." She got everything set up for us--calling ahead, making sure they were ready for Indiana.

Unfortunately, Jim couldn't go with us to the hospital. Our friends had left several days before, and we had all of the decorations and food for the party the next day---8 hours away. Thankfully, our friends arranged for their cousin to bring the supplies out to them, so Jim only had to drive a few hours up to the suburbs of Chicago. Still, I hated that he couldn't be with us.

My parents drove Indy and I down to the U of I. It was a horrible hour and fifteen minutes. Bless my Dad, because he drove much faster than usual to get my girl to the hospital. I just sat in the back of the van with her, on her bed, talking to her, loving her, telling her I loved her.

When we got to the U of I, we helped Indiana out of the car, and she promptly collapsed. My heart sank. This was bad. I ran in to get help while my parents stayed with Indiana. My Mom tells me that she said to Indiana, as they layed on the pavement, "Don't you dare die." U of I was great, because they immediately sent out some students with a gurney, so by the time I got back outside, they were already lifting her on. I couldn't go with her, because they needed to stabilize her. It was horrible letting her go, not knowing what would happen.

God, I had to walk away just now. I was crying so hard I couldn't see or breathe. I had to call my wonderful Mom, who listened and helped me feel better. I'm sitting on the back porch, on the swing, with Indiana at my feet. We're watching the cats wrestle. Back to the story.

After the students took Indiana, we were immediately led into a private waiting room, which I later learned was where they take grieving families so they can have privacy. This room would be our home for the next 12 and a half hours. A doctor, one of the most beautiful, wonderful human beings on the planet, Dr. Karine Eusanio, came in to give us a quick update and get approval for tests and treatments. She told us she couldn't stay with us long, as Indiana needed to be stabilized. She was very touch and go.

We were, over the course of many hours, told that Indiana was bleeding from a mass in her stomach. The blood packed cell volume of a normal dog is somewhere in the 40s--Indiana's was at 7 or 8, meaning she was incredibly anemic.

Jim had thankfully arrived by this point. He had no clue how serious Indiana's situation was. He didn't take the news well, but we needed each other, and clung to each other to survive. Thank God my parents were still there with us.

The doctors sort of recommended an endoscopy to biopsy the mass in Indiana's stomach. This surgery of course came with risks, all of which were amplified on my dying dog. We were told if the tumor was cancerous, they wouldn't pursue any further treatment.

The endoscopy was performed, and the surgeon, Dr. Thomas Graves, told us the tumor appeared benign. He was the first person to give us real hope all day. One of the oncology surgeons, whose name will never appear on the pages of this blog, said she disagreed with Dr. Graves, that the tumor was probably cancerous. Dr. Graves and Dr. Eusanio (and who knows who else) gave us our options at this point. We had two. Do surgery, or let her die. Without surgery, she would be dead before the day ended. Surgery would stop the bleeding, but they were convinced she'd die on the table because of her blood loss. The aforementioned, never-to-be-named oncology surgeon wouldn't do the surgery, because she was convinced it was cancer. Why save a dog, just so she'd have cancer? (Have I mentioned yet how much I hate her?) She never even met with us. If not doing the surgery meant Indiana would die, then we felt we had no option but to do the surgery.

Dr. Eusanio, who had at this point become our angel, understood us, and what was in our hearts, and knew we wanted the surgery done. I think she felt as well that Indiana wouldn't survive, but she wanted us to have the chance to try. They found a surgical resident (Dr. Tobin Eshelman, our other angel) who would do the surgery. He explained the surgery to us, as well as the risks, both surgical and post-op. He didn't know exactly what he'd find when he opened her up. I know everyone there thought we were grasping at straws to save this dog. They all felt bad for us, I think, but they were sure she'd die. Drs. Eshelman and Eusanio were honest about how grim our situation was.

When all of the paperwork was signed, and I had put down a hefty down-payment on the treatment (take every dollar I have--just save her!), the doctors told us they wanted us to come back to the ICU and say goodbye to Indiana. Not just until after the surgery. A real goodbye. Her chances of waking up were very slim, and that moment was looking like our last time to ever see her.

This is the part of the story that rips my heart into pieces. Jim and I walked into the ICU to see our dog for the first time all day. She looked horrible beyond words. She could barely lift her head or move at all. The doctors had her lying on the ground in front of her cage. There were doctors everywhere, watching closely for any changes, but giving us as much privacy as possible. We laid down on the ground next to our precious baby. I hungrily kissed her and smelled her, wanting to make those memories last forever, just in case. We talked to her and told her over and over how much we loved her. We told her that she was the best dog any parents could ever hope for, and that we were so lucky to have her in our lives. My Mom and Dad were able to come in for a few minutes to say goodbye as well. After they left, we only had a few more minutes before the doctors needed to work on another dog--parents aren't really supposed to be in the ICU at all, so we needed to leave soon. I hugged and kissed my precious baby, told her I loved her, and looked at her for what could have been the very last time.

The minute I walked out of that room, my heart broke into a thousand pieces. I was so heartbroken and angry. It wasn't fair that this was happening. I wanted Indiana well. This was all just a bad dream, wasn't it? Surely I would wake up soon. My heart ached for her, and my arms longed to hold her. I had taken a small piece of fuzz off of her fur when I saw her, and now that piece of fuzzy fur was my lifeline to her. Would it be the last part of her I would ever hold? The doctors promised that if she died on the table, they would allow us to come in and see her one last time.

The next four hours or so were the longest of my life. The hospital got quieter and quieter, as patients and then staff left for the day. I couldn't eat, read, sleep, or do anything. I listened intently for footsteps, praying every time that they weren't heading our way--it was still too soon. In my heartache and desperation, I made a pact with God. If only he would save her, I would give him something else special to me. Not another family member, but something still dear to me--my dream of being a singer. I was very early in my career at the time, and I was following a life-long dream, just a little later than most. I told God that I would give it up though, if it meant saving Indiana. Singing was who I was, but I was also nothing without my baby. Take it, I thought. Take it and save her. Just give me a sign it's what you want.

Just after 9:00 p.m., we saw Dr. Eusanio in the hallway. She told us that Indiana had come through the surgery, amazingly, and was being brought into recovery. Everyone was amazed that she had made it this far. It seemed that one big hurdle had been jumped. We waited another hour and a half for the surgeon to finish his last surgery. At 11:00 p.m., after Dr. Eshelman promised to call us if anything changed, we left the hospital and checked into a hotel. God Bless the Holiday Inn Express.

Nighttime passed without incident. We were anxious to get back to Indiana. To be honest, I remember little about the days that followed. They've all blurred together a bit for me. Indiana became over-hydrated from her IVs, and began having heart problems. That was scary, but she eventually pulled through. My parents came down every day to visit us--both Indiana as well as Jim and I. They would bring us lunch, and we'd sit in the park across from the hospital. I didn't want to go far from her, plus the park was where we had spent many evenings with Indiana while we were in college. I know we wouldn't have survived that week without my parents. We stayed in a hotel the first night but spent a few nights with our friends Tim and Beth. (Thank you both, if you ever read this--you'll never know how important seeing you was to us--it was such a needed break from the hospital).

Jim had to go back to work after a few days, so my Mom got a hotel for us and stayed with me. I had vowed not to go back home until Indiana was with me. I carried that piece of fuzzy hair in my pocket at all times, even when it became a matted mess. I also carried her leash and her favorite stuffed toy, Mr. Oppossum. I even took Mr. O into restaurants and stores. He was my link to her and my good luck charm. My sweet parents, who were babysitting Isis this whole time, brought another toy of Indiana's and placed some of Isis's hair on it. That way the toy could stay with Indiana, and she could smell home and her sister.

Indiana got better and better each day. We had been warned that she might be in the hospital up to two weeks, but after 5 nights in the hospital, they were ready to send her home. We weren't out of the woods yet, as her stomach staples could still leak. If that happened, there would be nothing they could do, and she would die. Still, she had overcome so much.

The day we brought her home was amazing! My Mom and I drove back home in the morning to get the house ready. Out went all of the old bones and chewies (Indiana was now missing an important part of her stomach and could easily get an intestinal blockage). The mattress went on the floor, so Indiana could just walk onto it and still sleep with us at night. That afternoon, my parents, Jim, and I, drove down and brought our baby home! It was bittersweet, as she had survived, yet she wasn't out of the woods yet. She also didn't seem all that excited to be home. I know now it was because of the stress of the surgery.

My precious girl recovered from serious gastric surgery--part of her stomach was removed along with the pyloric sphincter. She had a nearly 18 inch incision on her stomach and chest and more staples than I could count. Her two week window of stomach leakage came and went, and she continued to recover. My happy, beautiful dog came back to me again. So what if she was missing hair on her neck, all four legs, various patches on her sides, her stomach, and her butt. She was beautiful because she was Indiana, and she was alive.

I hope by reading this, you take away several things. First, miracles can and do happen. We were given a miracle that day. Second, always follow your heart. If we had listened to the doctors, our baby would be dead. Doctors don't always know best, but your heart does. Third, never give up hope, even when it seems like there is none. There is ALWAYS hope.

That day changed my life forever. Some for the bad, but mostly for the good. I am a far better parent today. I learned much the hard way, and that's why I'm working so hard to help others. I don't want anyone else to have to learn the way I did.

I am forever indebted to Dr. Eusanio and Dr. Eshelman. They gave me my baby back and helped us when others wouldn't. Both doctors are now gone from the U of I, and I know wherever they are today, the patients are better off because of them. I will remember them until the day I die.

Thank you to those of you who've made it this far in the story. Thanks for letting me tell it, really for the first time. It has done my heart good. My gorgeous girl still sits by my feet, keeping watch over the cats and the back yard. My dog is alive, well, and happy, and all is well with the world.