Normal? (Gulp)

Isis is licking off Indiana's breakfast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Busy Days

Q*bert, not being busy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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. 

One Where I Get All Deep

This photo is totally unrelated.  But cute.

So, I had a major revelation yesterday.  I'm kind of proud of it, actually.  I won't go into specifics just yet, because, as with everything, it's complicated, but it occurred to me that we often confuse pride for happiness. 

Let's say that you have a job that you're really proud of.  Something that makes for good conversation at a party.  You're really proud that you're, say, the director of an environmental non-profit.  You're really good at it, it was your dream job, and people think it's neat.  It's noble.  You have a job that not everyone has, or can do.  But your job doesn't make you happy.  Maybe it takes you away from home more often than you like.  Maybe you have to travel.  Maybe it's a lot of paperwork and red tape, and lot less chaining-yourself-to-redwoods than you expected. 

But, I'm good at running my environmental non-profit, you say to yourself.  I've made it really successful, and a lot of people benefit from it.  I *am* this organization.  Everyone knows me as Joe Schmoe, Environmental Non-Profit Director.  But then you realize that you hate the ins-and-outs of the job.  They say you have to take the good with the bad, but you find that the bad just doesn't always seem worth it.  You suddenly realize that though you take a lot of pride in your job, maybe even have your identity wrapped up in it, it doesn't make you happy.  You realize that what would make you happy is something totally different.  Maybe you don't even know what that "something different" is, just that it suddenly isn't your non-profit anymore.

Then comes this guilt.  How can I let go something that was my dream?  Something I put so much time into?  Something that makes me special, makes me me.  You worry that by leaving your non-profit, your dream, you will lose a bit of yourself.  All you know is that while you're proud of your job, it's not making you happy. 

And that's it.  That's as far as I've gotten.  But I think I'm right.  Pride and happiness are two totally different things.  I think the key to letting go of the pride is to find it within yourself, without needing outside confirmation that you are something special.  I struggle with this every day.  And someday I hope to have the rest of the answer.  When I do, I'll let you know.

Tears of Frustration/Figure it Out

Just when things were going soooooooo well with Indiana, she got a massive UTI, and now we've done some backsliding.  It's really disappointing, and also scary.  Can she bounce back again?  She's done it before.

There are two main problems right now: one, her back legs are weak again, making it difficult for her to get up sometimes.  Before I leave the house, I have to make sure she is in a "safe" place (i.e. somewhere with rugs) and just hope that she doesn't get up and move somewhere "unsafe."  We've been trying to get her out daily for walks, but she typically gets out the door, turns right back around again, and goes back in the house.  I'm not going to force her to walk; she knows her body better than I do.  I just don't understand her aversion to walking right now, especially because I know it's the best thing for her.

The other problem is that she's rejecting food again.  Ugh.  This morning, I spent a good 25 minutes trying to get her to eat her breakfast (and this was canned food that she normally inhales).  I sprinkled freeze-dried duck on it.  I sprinkled appetite shaker on it.  I sprinkled a different appetite shaker on it.  I spread canned cat food on it.  The canned cat food finally sort of did the trick, but she left a good quarter of the food untouched.  That's not the end of the world, but it means she didn't get the entire dose of Poly-MVA (and at around $7 a dose, I hate to waste any). 

She's also been spitting out her pills, though I can usually get her to take all of them eventually.  Wrap the pills in the tiniest amount of liver sausage, and smoosh a liberally amount of canned cat food onto the wrapped pills.  She still sometimes "mouths" them, eating the meaty bits off and spitting out clean pills, but I can generally get her to eat them if I try again. 

This is all really frustrating to me.  I may have said "Damn it, Indiana" twice today.  I may have gotten cross with her.  I hate that.  I know she's not doing these things to frustrate me.  She has a reason.  I just don't know what it is yet.  Is she still recovering from the antibiotics?  Is her BUN too high?  Is this just another random appetite change?  She's sending me a clear message--that she doesn't like what I'm doing--but unfortunately, she's not telling me how to fix it.  That's for me to figure out. 

So I'll stop at the pet food store today and buy new canned food.  I'll allow plenty of time to feed her, and I'll take a deep breath before losing my temper.  I'll remember what this dog has been through the last almost five years, how few complaints there have been, how many times she's trusted me to do the right thing for her.  And I'll do the right thing again.  I'll respect her and guide her, nurse her through this rough patch, jump through hoops to make it all better.  Hopefully I will be successful.  I'm halfway to losing my mind over this whole thing, not because it's so much work, but because I am sick with worry for her, and I want to make things better now.  But I am focused on her best interests, and as long as she's happy and healthy, that's all that matters.

Realizations

Today is my first free day in about forever.  I had a melding of my two lives this past weekend; five days of talking about animal wellness/cancer/nutrition and two days of singing 17th century French music. 

I say "my two lives," because sometimes that's how it feels.  I am two different people, who live two dramatically different lives in two very different places.  The cancer crusader lives in Kankakee, Illinois, and spends her time not only taking care of her own clan of animals, but also fighting to promote wellness for other pets.  She is selfless and sacrificing, and wants what is best for others.  The professional singer lives in Kankakee, Illinois but works in Chicago, and spends her time driving back and forth, entertaining people and practicing and studying.  She is selfish and egotistical, and while she wants to bring joy to others through her music, she really wants to feel good about herself and her art.  I'm not an entirely selfish person as a singer; I really honestly do want to make a connection with my audience.  But I don't think you can make it in the entertainment world without a little big of ego (with all the rejection, you'd be a muddy pile of depression if you didn't think you were pretty good). 

Because my two lives are so far apart not only in style but also geography, I've struggled for a while with how to fit the two together.  Can I fit the two together?  Spending this weekend with both selves, I didn't come up with a solid answer, but I think I got closer.

You see, the cancer crusader got to talk to a lot of parents about nutrition and wellness.  With some, it went in one ear and out the other.  That's the nature of life.  But with others, I could see the light go on; something "clicked" for them, and I could see it.  That's what I live for.  That moment when you know that what you've just said will make a difference for that person, that what you said will change the life of their pet.  I'm fairly certain I convinced a few parents to stop feeding corn-based foods in favor of holistic, human-grade products.  Call me crazy, but that kind of thing gives me a high.  I rock.

But then the singer got to do a performance for a (decently) large crowd, and while she did make one significantly (to her) large mistake, she didn't mess up where she expected to, and probably no one noticed anyway.  Hopefully.  I heard some really positive feedback from people in the audience, and while it feels great to have exceeded your own expectations, what really feels great is to know that the audience is happy.  My colleagues and I put on a great concert.  I love working with these people, making a connection with them, and making real music.  That rocks too.

I think I've been trying to talk myself into being either the cancer crusader or the singer.  But I think the answer lies in finding a balance of both.  I would never give up fighting for animals, but I don't think I'd be happy without singing in my life.  So while it complicates my life (a lot), I have to find a way to let the two me's live in harmony, if you'll pardon the pun.

Having It All Figured Out

(Sorry for the graphic picture, but it's cute, yes?)

Some days (ok, most days), I look at my animals, and I am totally envious of their lifestyle.  They seem to have it all figured out.  Eat, sleep, play a little bit.  All their meals are prepared for them.  The biggest decision the cats make in any given day is whether to sleep on the heated cat perch or in the sunbeam on the blanket on the chaise lounge.  Rough. 

I, on the other hand, feel totally lost these days.  While I live a relatively structured life (7am, 2pm, 9pm feedings make life a bit inflexible), I still don't feel like I have my life figured out.  I am a Mom, that I know for sure.  But what else am I?  Singer, library volunteer, friend, daughter, animal cancer activist, wife, artist, environmentalist, everything else, nothing else.  Where do these things fit?  How do they fit?  Can I be all of them?  I'm 33 years old and yet I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.  Some days I think this is ok, but other days, I am itching for a change, for some big revelation.  I want to do something big, and I want it to make a difference. 

I also wonder sometimes what things I do for me, and what things I do for others.  It's ok to give of yourself, but sometimes those things are draining and don't belong in our lives.  Even while giving to others, we can give back to ourselves, but when it's only one way, we are getting little out of it.  I call those things "soul suckers," and I have made a concentrated effort over the years to rid my life of them.  Sometimes it's black and white, and sometimes it's not.  Sometimes it's black and white, but it's still really hard to give it up.  Maybe we feel committed.  Maybe we feel like we'd lose ourselves without it.  But maybe we'd be better people without it.  It's complicated and scary, and I spend a lot of time pondering it all.

But this I do know: my family and friends are the number one priority in my life.  Love is the most important thing in the the world, above all else.  Still, as human beings, we play more than one role, and our "job," as it is, is to figure out how to weave all of those roles together in the most effective, most peaceful way.  Some days it's easier than others, and we'll constantly be trying to figure it out.  I just hope I get it right eventually.

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.

Things I've Learned From My Dog: Anxiety!

To be fair, I've always been a nervous person. Throughout high school, college, and now as an adult, I've spent a decent amount of time thinking, "what if?" Worst case scenarios whiz through my brain at inopportune moments, and are, to be sure, inconvenient at times.

Though I'm the queen of worry, whether it's about an upcoming concert, whether someone might take something I said the wrong way, or whether or not I can cram 12 hours worth of work into the 8 hours I have available, nothing makes me worry quite so much as my furry kids. My worry did not improve when Indiana was diagnosed with cancer. Are you surprised?

After Indiana was diagnosed, to say I was a mess is putting it mildly. Emotional breakdowns not withstanding, I worried every moment of every day about Indiana. Was she feeling ok? Was she reacting to the chemo? Is she breathing? She is breathing, right?

A large part of worry is caused by a lack of control. I can't control the cancer. I don't know what it's going to do. A sensible person will say, "Why worry about something you can't control?" This is totally logical, but honestly, logic flies out the window the minute you get a devastating diagnosis for someone you love. I can't control the cancer, but I sure as heck can worry about it! Score one for me!

At no time does my anxiety grow higher than when I have to travel. The convergence of two tracks of worry: things I can't control (e.g. cancer or kidney disease) and being unable to actually, physically see, with my own two eyes, that indeed, Indiana is still breathing. Indiana's sitters, be it my parents or Jim's, know to expect a daily phone call full of quizzical questions. I may not go so far as to actually ask my Mom if Indiana is still breathing, but I'll ask all sorts of questions she can only answer if Indiana is still breathing. Crazy? Yes. Comforting? Definitely.

When Jim and I travel this week, we've done the best we can to make sure our clan are well cared for. My wonderful in-laws are staying at our house while we're gone to take care of the kids. As always, I won't have to worry that they'll follow our every (obsessive) direction. I know they will. The cat fence (or Stalag 17, as Jim calls it) is finished, so I never have to face the heartbreak of a missing cat ever again. Our wonderful vet tech is coming by to give Indiana her kidney fluids and necessary shots (and, YES!, someone who can give a professional opinion that Indiana is still breathing!). Plus, my parents will be waiting in the wings to help out if anything is needed at home.

So, we're all covered. I shouldn't worry, right? Yet, I will. Bad things happen sometimes, and they are indeed out of my control. All I can do is head off knowing I've done the best I can, and try--though it won't be hard--to have a good time.

Happy Birthday, Indiana!

Today is my sweet Indiana's birthday. She has achieved the thing our vets (and even us, at times) thought impossible--reached the tender age of twelve years old.

Having an aging dog is rough. Don't we all wish we could freeze them at five years old? Stay a happy, healthy age forever? We unfortunately can't do that. It's been hard the past four years, watching Indiana turn into a senior dog. Along with being a cancer survivor, she has become a hypothyroid-, Atypical Cushingoid-, kidney diseased-, arthritic-dog. Each of those diseases has added to the sting of cancer. Shouldn't one major disease exempt her from anything else?

In those dark days, when nothing seems to be going right, when a little part of my heart breaks each time I stick her with a needle to provide kidney-refreshing fluids, when I watch her hobble down the hallway, stiff from arthritis, I remember that she was supposed to have been taken from me at 8 years old. Frozen forever at that young age. I'm not being punished by all these diseases; no, I've been given a blessing. Because I still have a dog who can age.

And while every painful step, every sad look as we walk into the vet's office, and every stick of a needle still breaks my heart, I look into her eyes and see so much life. She has so much fight left in her, and so do I. Every smile in her eyes, every wag of her tail, every excited bark that comes straight from her soul, every meal that she devours with immense gusto...that is what keeps us both going. My girl is a fighter, and every day with her is a gift. Age isn't a curse, it's a blessing.

The Stages of Grief

It was recently brought to my attention that I am going through the five stages of grief, brought on by the disappearance of our cat, Mr. Squiggles. We still have hope that he'll be found, but the fact remains that he's been missing for one month today. I haven't seen him in over five weeks.

We often think of grief as something that takes place after a loved one dies, but really, any trauma can bring it on. I'm experiencing it now, but I also went through these stages when Indiana was diagnosed with cancer.

1. Denial

Then: This can't possibly be happening! She can't be dying! How could my dog get cancer?

Now: This can't possibly be happening! My cat can't be missing! How could this happen to us?

2. Anger

Then: Why? Why is this happening? This is so unfair! Indiana doesn't deserve this; we don't deserve this. Damn you, God, why are you doing this?

Now: Why? Why is this happening? This is so unfair! We've done everything we can to be good parents, and this is how we are rewarded? Damn you, God, why are you doing this?

3. Bargaining

Then: Ok. What's it going to take to make things right? I'll give anything to save her. I'll give up my career. I love my career. Take it, just save her.

Now: Fix this! Make it right! I'll give anything to have him back. I'm doing everything I can to find him, spending any amount of time and money. We need and deserve him back!

4. Depression

Then: She might die. How will I survive if she dies? Life is so unfair. What is the point? How do I get through this? I'm walking through life with a dark cloud permanently following me.

Now: We might never get him back. He could be dead. Even if he's not, we might never see him again. How can I survive never seeing him again? Was the last time I saw him the last time? Is that the last touch I'll ever have? The last kiss? How do I get through this? I'm walking through life with a could permanently following me.

5. Acceptance

Then: This is awful and scary, but life has to go on. Every day that she survives makes it more likely that she'll live cancer-free for the rest of her days. I have to move past the fear and pain and realize we can beat the cancer.

Now: I haven't reached this stage yet. I don't think I want to.

Every day that he's missing is that much harder. We still have hope, but it gets more difficult. Others don't understand and think there's no way we'll get him back. They are wrong. I have no time or patience anymore for those who don't get it. I don't want to "accept that you might not get him back" or "think about getting another cat." My cat very likely could still be out there, and I will keep looking for him forever. I don't want another cat, because I want back the one I've lost. My life isn't whole with part of my family missing.

I don't know if it's comforting to realize I'm going through the stages of grief. Does it really matter? Perhaps it does. Three years ago, when Indiana was diagnosed with cancer, I thought my world was crashing in. But my strength got me through that crisis, and every day, it gets a little easier to live with a cancer diagnosis. If I could survive that, I can survive this. It's not been easy, but I remain hopeful and strong. Some days I feel like curling up into a ball and never emerging, and I don't try to fight those days too much. As with any roller coaster ride, the dips will be followed by a rise. I just have to ride it out.

Things I've Learned From My Dog: Heartache

I am no stranger to heartache. Indiana's illness quickly indoctrinated me into that world. My own pain grew into the pain of others, as I met my online cancer friends and experienced their pain and eventual loss. That's been pretty consistent for me, though over time I have learned to better separate my pain from theirs.

Now I am experiencing yet another heartache. Our beloved cat, Mr. Squiggles, is missing. We came home from vacation Friday night, and we still haven't seen him. We had a sitter staying with him, and he takes great care of our boys. He feels tremendously guilty about this, but we don't blame him in the slightest. It could have happened while we were home.

But it didn't. I can't stop blaming myself for this. What was he thinking while we were gone? Did he miss us? Was he angry that we left? If he's dead, did he die knowing we weren't with him?

These thoughts haunt me. I should never have gone on vacation. I don't see how I can ever travel again. This was one of my worst fears, and it has come true. I was supposed to protect and care for my boy, and I failed.

Life feels very dark right now. Jim and I are taking care of each other, as we cannot care for ourselves. We still have hope that we'll find him, and we're doing everything we can to make that happen. We will not give up.

But in the quietest moments of the night, we are reminded that he is not here. He is out there, somewhere, missing. I hope and pray that he is alive and well, just not able to make it back right now. I won't give up on him.

It will be a long road for us, especially the longer he is gone. I won't be alone; I have my old friend heartache to keep me company.

Things I've Learned From My Dog: Listen!

We had a brief (and actually very minor, in the grand scheme of things) scare with Indiana this week; she stopped eating!

She's done this before, about two years ago. It's scary every time, given her history. My mind goes terrible places at first. Oh, God, why isn't she eating? Is she sick? Is it the cancer? It's the cancer, isn't it? How will I ever be able to deal with it? I can't go through this again. Why is this happening? Why? Then I take a deep breath and tell myself to shut up! For heaven's sake.

Turns out, Indiana, who isn't a picky eater, is a picky eater. The first time, she was turning her nose up at her food because we were trying to sneak pills into it. So out went the pills, and in came a new brand of food. We thought this round of food-snubbery was related to a new pill she's taking--a bit of stomach upset?--and fed her canned pumpkin that night to settle her stomach. The next day, she was still turning her nose up at the food, but she was acting completely normal. Hmmm. "Let's give her some of the cats' raw food," I thought to myself. "Let's experiment here." Sure enough, she ate that raw food like it was going out of style. Hallelujah!

We're still feeding Isis the homemade raw food, but Indiana is eating a locally-made raw food, Nature's Quest. Jim feels bad about this switch, because we were obviously feeding homemade because we felt it was the healthiest thing for our pets. I don't feel so bad about it though. It's not like we're going from raw to kibble. We're still talking about a high-quality, fresh diet, made by a company I trust (I've met one of the owners and traded emails with the other--they started feeding raw to their pets for the same reasons we did, only they decided to make a living out of it!).

For whatever reason, Indiana is done with the homemade food for the timebeing. She made that abundantly clear. We'll give her some time off and try the homemade food again. But it has gotten me to thinking. Even though we give our girls a good rotation of meat--a different source(chicken, turkey, lamb, or buffalo) every 5 meals and a different mix of fresh veggies and fruit every batch--it wasn't enough variety for Indiana. Maybe going back to the homemade isn't the right way to go. Maybe a rotation of different meats and different brands of commercial raw foods is right for her. It's so hard to know.

But what I do know is to listen to Indiana. She's pretty clear about what she wants, and why shouldn't I trust that?