Since I've last posted...
Cinder's put on 30 pounds and has become a truly good dog. I know he's lucky to have left the pound, but we're just as luck to have him.
My wife became pregnant, and 3 months later no longer was. I've been boycotting this subject. I don't feel ready now either. I suppose the good news is that I'm not officially Cronus, as was looking like the case for a while there. So I got that going for me.
I have a Godson. He's a happy, healthy, huge baby. Just a blessing on us, and we're so lucky to get to share him. I'm chalking him and Cin up as the two good things from 09. There are others (other friends had kids as well), but those are the two I see a lot.
I now have a beard. Chinstrap and goatee. Surprisingly decent since it's my first foray into facial hair.
Life continues to treat me better than I have any right to expect or even hope for.
Showing posts with label dog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dog. Show all posts
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Monday, April 20, 2009
Don't call it a comeback
Cinder is not an aggressive dog. I have never seen him pick a fight with any animal, unless you count the birds and rabbits he chases around the backyard. Thankfully, he hasn’t managed to successfully catch any of them. Yet.
My dog, though, is far from perfect. While Cinder is never the instigator, he is always ready to play finisher. He approaches other dog encounters from a very guarded stance, ready to respond to any threat, real or perceived. This is unacceptable dog behavior, especially when the dog is 130 and growing. I was beginning to worry his development toward “good dog” status had completely stalled. This weekend, however, he made huge progress.
First, on a walk on Saturday, he avoided a fight outright. Coming around a bend, two ladies were enjoying the beautiful day, sitting in lawn chairs with their small dogs, probably 25 and 40 pounds apiece, sitting near them, off leash. Upon seeing Cinder, both women grabbed their dogs by the collars, just to avoid a clash of the dogs. They both managed to grab the collars, but the little one slipped his and made straight for Cinder and I. Of course, I’m fearing the worst.
With the little mutt, fur on end, bristling at my giant, Cin lunged forward…to sniff his rear. Sniffing Cinder back, naturally afraid, he gave a growl. The moment I feared came…and passed. Instead of responding in kind, Cinder sat back on his haunches, head tilted sideways, yellow eyes inquisitive. When the owner reached the little guy, he was cautiously sniffing Cin. It was a complete and total success for dog greetings and Cinder development alike.
The next win came Sunday. My yard backs up to a rocky, incredibly steep hill that reaches toward a neighbors metal rail back fence. Cin likes to sit atop this hill and look over our yard and neighborhood. Our neighbor on top is a sweet, little old lady with a sweet, little old golden retriever. As neither dog spends much time in their respective backyards, they had never met until yesterday.
Digging at the base of the hill, I had a perfect view of the proceedings. Cinder, standing next to their fence, spotted the old girl and froze, eyes locked on her, his stance ready. Looking at him, she paused, seemingly at the edge of the invisible barrier of his presence, then almost melted through it. It was if she crossed under and around the planes of his emotion, and approached him completely without fear or unease. His head and shoulders softened, almost imperceptibly, and he was instantly disarmed. There they stood, gently sniffing each other, until her owner called her in.
As I went back to digging, Cinder stared after her. Clearly confused at the impact she had, and at her lack of trepidation, he watched, almost longingly, as she walked away. Just when I start to worry that he’s no longer developing, I get a reminder that he’s just a puppy, and that yes, he’s coming along nicely.
Two complete victories for Cinder in less than 24 hours, and once again I am hopeful. Don’t call it a comeback.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Just a puppy
Cinder may be huge, but he is still a puppy. If you know dogs well, you can tell by looking at him. He is still gangly, for one, not a phrase often used to describe mastiffs. Additionally, his paws, ears, and head are all still far too big for his body. Just comically oversized for his already significant torso. His floppy ears are literally the size of crow wings. His paws leave tea-saucer size imprints in the dirt, and lead to his constant slipping and tumbling around. As for his head? He has put his mouth around the entire heads of other dogs, including two labs. Not in violence, as he wasn’t biting, rather placing his maw in dominance, but the feat is ridiculous. He put…a head…in his mouth. Cin, I think they can figure out the domination part by looking at you.
Of course, if his appearance is goofy/scary then his antics are both inane and insane, with a silliness exponentially magnified by his size. You know how dogs, especially puppies, pick up sticks and run around with them? Well, so does Cinder, except he picks up big sticks. Brooms, rakes, and shovels are his playthings, all full-sized, and scattered around the yard at a puppy’s whim. As are 6 ft. fence boards, which Cin picks up and runs around with, just a dog playing fetch…or a Force of Nature in level four hurricane mode.
Funny thing is he’s only in the 110-120 range. While that sounds big to people not used to big dogs, it’s really quite a normal weight for any large breed. Big labs and German Shepherds can push that range easily, to say nothing of the very large dogs, like St. Bernards, the various mastiffs, Great Danes and Newfoundlands. While he is clearly not in those weight classes yet, he just as clearly will be.
Allow me to illustrate. A ditch runs behind my parents’ house, and it serves as one of many causeways between their neighborhood and the hills that surround them. He was making his presence known to some passerby’s, standing on two back paws, with his front paws hanging over the top of the 6 ft. fence. His frame is ridiculous. As a disclaimer, we feed him exactly what both his prior kennel and our vet recommend, plus treats, but one can still count every rib in his body. His shoulder blades look positively bony. He’s all legs, and folds up in ridiculous tangles when he lays down.
He is giant, loveable, terrifying, and above all, just a puppy.
Of course, if his appearance is goofy/scary then his antics are both inane and insane, with a silliness exponentially magnified by his size. You know how dogs, especially puppies, pick up sticks and run around with them? Well, so does Cinder, except he picks up big sticks. Brooms, rakes, and shovels are his playthings, all full-sized, and scattered around the yard at a puppy’s whim. As are 6 ft. fence boards, which Cin picks up and runs around with, just a dog playing fetch…or a Force of Nature in level four hurricane mode.
Funny thing is he’s only in the 110-120 range. While that sounds big to people not used to big dogs, it’s really quite a normal weight for any large breed. Big labs and German Shepherds can push that range easily, to say nothing of the very large dogs, like St. Bernards, the various mastiffs, Great Danes and Newfoundlands. While he is clearly not in those weight classes yet, he just as clearly will be.
Allow me to illustrate. A ditch runs behind my parents’ house, and it serves as one of many causeways between their neighborhood and the hills that surround them. He was making his presence known to some passerby’s, standing on two back paws, with his front paws hanging over the top of the 6 ft. fence. His frame is ridiculous. As a disclaimer, we feed him exactly what both his prior kennel and our vet recommend, plus treats, but one can still count every rib in his body. His shoulder blades look positively bony. He’s all legs, and folds up in ridiculous tangles when he lays down.
He is giant, loveable, terrifying, and above all, just a puppy.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Welcome home, Cinder
German shepherds, Dobermans, pit bulls and Rotts are scary, but partially because you know their stereotypes. They have a rep for being tough, either as dog fighters or threats to humans or both. Neapolitan mastiffs don’t share this fame. I’ve seen them in pictures and film, but it simply does no justice to this beautiful mastiff. That’s not fair: the beauty you pick up on immediately. It’s their prowess at instilling fear that you miss.
I had never seen a Neo (nickname for the breed) in the flesh before. I’d done the homework, read the stories and tips. I know the Neapolitan mastiff is stubborn and territorial. I know they were bred first to fight alongside gladiators in the Coliseum and then later to guard the estates of rich Romans. Still, I was unprepared. In all seriousness, Cinder is the most terrifying canine I have ever seen. By nature I trust dogs, almost to a fault. While Parker was 80 pounds, 75 at his leanest, and by far the smallest dog I’ve ever had, he still was intimidating.
The fear inspired by his appearance was nothing compared to gazing at our new, well, kinda-puppy. My heart literally jumped in my chest when I first laid eyes on him. In trepidation. The head is massive, as are the jaws. The brow is so prominent that the eyes are difficult to read. With irises of blue-gray, coupled with his shadowy fur, he looks ethereal, a phantom beast. It gives him the look of being cold, cruel. He looks, for lack of a better word, like a murderer.
Fortunately, he’s not; he’s a lover. He’s a big, dumb baby. He still has the playful, frolicsome prance of a puppy, not the lumbering, intimidating gait of a grown mastiff. He wants to play like a four month old dog, pawing and nibbling and jumping up on you. It’s a problem, and it will change. When you are the size of a human adult, you need to be well behaved, and his aggressive play was actively dangerous. You feel his tail thwacks. His playful paw swipes could easily knock over children. A playful jump up can result in a feet-to-the-chest knockdown of a grownup. He is a powerful animal. His growl and bark are deep and menacing, despite his teenager status.
I’d guess Cinder weighs in around 110. He is only 15 months old, yet already he is longer, taller, and unbelievably, he already has a bigger chest than old Parker at his strongest. He’s basically the human equivalent of a 9 year-old, yet larger than easily 90% of dogs. Dogs start early, but he won't fill out fully for at least another year, and mastiffs typically grow later than other breeds. I sincerely doubt he'll finish below 150, and he might push the 2 bills mark.
As for the interesting name, we got him from a shelter, and his name was Sinner. While “Ole Sinner” isn’t the worst possible name, it’s certainly not one we’d choose for a family pet. We didn’t want to start fresh either, figuring a pound puppy moving homes, cities, and climates didn’t need any more change than was coming anyway. “Cinder” just came to me. As a blue brindle Neo (that’s gray with other gray stripes), kind of ash colored, it worked perfectly.
It even fits him beyond that level however, and this one’s for you, Bear. Big, dark-colored dogs are the least likely to be picked up from kennels. They look scary, and they appear old faster, neither being traits people line up for with new dogs. His dad had already been euthanized at the previous shelter, from where they obtained our boy, and frankly, the odds weren’t great for a giant, terrifying hound with no etiquette whatsoever. The women from the rescue knew his odds were as bleak as his brown-grey eyes. The last glowing ember of a dying fire, no one can tell how long he had to smolder.
Yet, through the long odds, that Cinder caught a spark. He found a home, and he is already becoming the pet we knew he could be. Man’s best friends may not get a fair shot at life as often as they deserve, but this one shows why you have to take the chance. As I write this, he sleeps peacefully at the feet of my wife. There’s a long road left with Cinder, one paved with obedience, rewards, and love.
I had never seen a Neo (nickname for the breed) in the flesh before. I’d done the homework, read the stories and tips. I know the Neapolitan mastiff is stubborn and territorial. I know they were bred first to fight alongside gladiators in the Coliseum and then later to guard the estates of rich Romans. Still, I was unprepared. In all seriousness, Cinder is the most terrifying canine I have ever seen. By nature I trust dogs, almost to a fault. While Parker was 80 pounds, 75 at his leanest, and by far the smallest dog I’ve ever had, he still was intimidating.
The fear inspired by his appearance was nothing compared to gazing at our new, well, kinda-puppy. My heart literally jumped in my chest when I first laid eyes on him. In trepidation. The head is massive, as are the jaws. The brow is so prominent that the eyes are difficult to read. With irises of blue-gray, coupled with his shadowy fur, he looks ethereal, a phantom beast. It gives him the look of being cold, cruel. He looks, for lack of a better word, like a murderer.
Fortunately, he’s not; he’s a lover. He’s a big, dumb baby. He still has the playful, frolicsome prance of a puppy, not the lumbering, intimidating gait of a grown mastiff. He wants to play like a four month old dog, pawing and nibbling and jumping up on you. It’s a problem, and it will change. When you are the size of a human adult, you need to be well behaved, and his aggressive play was actively dangerous. You feel his tail thwacks. His playful paw swipes could easily knock over children. A playful jump up can result in a feet-to-the-chest knockdown of a grownup. He is a powerful animal. His growl and bark are deep and menacing, despite his teenager status.
I’d guess Cinder weighs in around 110. He is only 15 months old, yet already he is longer, taller, and unbelievably, he already has a bigger chest than old Parker at his strongest. He’s basically the human equivalent of a 9 year-old, yet larger than easily 90% of dogs. Dogs start early, but he won't fill out fully for at least another year, and mastiffs typically grow later than other breeds. I sincerely doubt he'll finish below 150, and he might push the 2 bills mark.
As for the interesting name, we got him from a shelter, and his name was Sinner. While “Ole Sinner” isn’t the worst possible name, it’s certainly not one we’d choose for a family pet. We didn’t want to start fresh either, figuring a pound puppy moving homes, cities, and climates didn’t need any more change than was coming anyway. “Cinder” just came to me. As a blue brindle Neo (that’s gray with other gray stripes), kind of ash colored, it worked perfectly.
It even fits him beyond that level however, and this one’s for you, Bear. Big, dark-colored dogs are the least likely to be picked up from kennels. They look scary, and they appear old faster, neither being traits people line up for with new dogs. His dad had already been euthanized at the previous shelter, from where they obtained our boy, and frankly, the odds weren’t great for a giant, terrifying hound with no etiquette whatsoever. The women from the rescue knew his odds were as bleak as his brown-grey eyes. The last glowing ember of a dying fire, no one can tell how long he had to smolder.
Yet, through the long odds, that Cinder caught a spark. He found a home, and he is already becoming the pet we knew he could be. Man’s best friends may not get a fair shot at life as often as they deserve, but this one shows why you have to take the chance. As I write this, he sleeps peacefully at the feet of my wife. There’s a long road left with Cinder, one paved with obedience, rewards, and love.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
An empty wishing well
Come Thursday night, Parker will be all better. No more pain, no more aches, no more bleeding.
It’s time. The chemotherapy bought us eight more months to love him. He spent that time as happy as possible. He got an extra summer of playing hose. He picked up an autumn of trotting in leaves and chasing small woodland creatures. When both Manda and I worked he spent days at my parents, pursuing Bounder in the hills, splashing in the creek running through the canyon. He ate treats and was petted and hugged and kissed countless times, by me, by Manda, by family and friends.
But the time has come to let go. Parker doesn’t chase bunnies any more; he can only jog across the house. He doesn’t fly over or through sagebrush these days; I lift him into the car. His claws have grown longer, no longer worn down by the asphalt and dirt passing beneath his paws. His fur is more sparse, thinned by drugs and his system responding to those prescriptions. In the last two years, Parker lived a perfect dog life. In the last eight months he squeezed every drop of life from his time and body. But those wells have run dry. There’s only so much to give, and only so much for which to live.
“I love you” means being willing to say good bye. “I love you” is keeping him alive in happiness and health, not in agony and defeat. It's tough to do the right thing, but his happiness is fading. It's about 9:30, and I'd guess his time at 44 hours from now. He'll be loved every second of it, and he won't go alone. Our vet, wonderfully, is coming to our house to let him go to sleep at home. Don't worry, we'll hold him until all the pain is gone.
It’s time. The chemotherapy bought us eight more months to love him. He spent that time as happy as possible. He got an extra summer of playing hose. He picked up an autumn of trotting in leaves and chasing small woodland creatures. When both Manda and I worked he spent days at my parents, pursuing Bounder in the hills, splashing in the creek running through the canyon. He ate treats and was petted and hugged and kissed countless times, by me, by Manda, by family and friends.
But the time has come to let go. Parker doesn’t chase bunnies any more; he can only jog across the house. He doesn’t fly over or through sagebrush these days; I lift him into the car. His claws have grown longer, no longer worn down by the asphalt and dirt passing beneath his paws. His fur is more sparse, thinned by drugs and his system responding to those prescriptions. In the last two years, Parker lived a perfect dog life. In the last eight months he squeezed every drop of life from his time and body. But those wells have run dry. There’s only so much to give, and only so much for which to live.
“I love you” means being willing to say good bye. “I love you” is keeping him alive in happiness and health, not in agony and defeat. It's tough to do the right thing, but his happiness is fading. It's about 9:30, and I'd guess his time at 44 hours from now. He'll be loved every second of it, and he won't go alone. Our vet, wonderfully, is coming to our house to let him go to sleep at home. Don't worry, we'll hold him until all the pain is gone.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Homecoming
Returning home after getting away for a long weekend at Lake Tahoe, the dogs made it pretty clear that they were not happy about the separation, and they were quite glad at the reunion.
Their jubilations were so emphatically ‘dog’ as to be nearly stereotypical, but the sincerity of it all nearly brought tears to my eyes. No matter how much you love your dog, chances are it’s one of many parts of your life. An important part, certainly, but still just one piece in a very full life. On the reverse side, our dogs literally live for us. I was happy to see my dogs, and thrilled to pet and wrestle them immediately upon entering the house, but their reactions were of another sort altogether.
A cyclone of mutt enveloped me as I opened the back door. Tails were wagging, and tongues were hanging out in that incredibly refined manner that is the hallmark of a happy canine. Having knelt to repay their affections, it was literally seconds before my work clothes were more hair than not. In addition, every inch of available skin had been met with wet noses and doggy kisses time and time again.
It never ceases to amaze me that I could be so loved. I think we all know a little too much about ourselves to really love everything inside. We know our weaknesses, and our failings, and so to apply unconditional love, whether from a beast or a human, to such an imperfect object runs contrary to everything fair in the world.
Still, ours dogs love us so.
Their jubilations were so emphatically ‘dog’ as to be nearly stereotypical, but the sincerity of it all nearly brought tears to my eyes. No matter how much you love your dog, chances are it’s one of many parts of your life. An important part, certainly, but still just one piece in a very full life. On the reverse side, our dogs literally live for us. I was happy to see my dogs, and thrilled to pet and wrestle them immediately upon entering the house, but their reactions were of another sort altogether.
A cyclone of mutt enveloped me as I opened the back door. Tails were wagging, and tongues were hanging out in that incredibly refined manner that is the hallmark of a happy canine. Having knelt to repay their affections, it was literally seconds before my work clothes were more hair than not. In addition, every inch of available skin had been met with wet noses and doggy kisses time and time again.
It never ceases to amaze me that I could be so loved. I think we all know a little too much about ourselves to really love everything inside. We know our weaknesses, and our failings, and so to apply unconditional love, whether from a beast or a human, to such an imperfect object runs contrary to everything fair in the world.
Still, ours dogs love us so.
Friday, May 30, 2008
The Parent Dog
As you have probably gathered by now, my dog Parker is a special creature. Creatures with his capacity to love are truly rare and incredibly invaluable to those lucky enough to know them. Last week, I was reminded of another facet of his, well, love.
Parker is a parent to all puppies. I first experienced this first hand when my wife's sister brought over her new bulldog pup, Murphy. Or as my sister calls it, "the fat one". Now this animal is your classic English bulldog, in that it is so ugly it is cute. Seriously, it looks like someone bashed in the poor dog’s face with a flat shovel. Now my parents have a wonderful mutt named Bounder, who also came equipped with a capacity to love that is infinite. But he does get a tad jealous every now and then. With a new puppy at the house, and that pup being, shall we say, un-snipped, Bounder came awful close to putting the hurt down on Murphy. Parker and Bounder are steadfast friends, yet when Bounder strode towards Murphy, with intentions fully bared, Parker intercepted, and walked shoulder to shoulder with Bounder, guiding him away from the pup.
It was no accident, and the scenario replayed in similar form several times that night. Gentle but steadfast, Parker didn't let the pup get what it arguably deserved. My family and I were in awe.
A couple weekends ago, we brought Parker to my wife's brother's house to meet their new puppy. As Parker's former owner, my brother in law was thrilled to see him (who wouldn't be?), and it was a homecoming party and puppy introduction in one. Not lost in the human interactions, however, were the dog ones. Their new puppy Katie is also an American bulldog, virtually all-white to Parker's tiger-stripe brindle. A sweet dog (what puppy isn't?), she was terrified of Parker, and sat literally shaking in the lap of my sister in law. Parker seemed to understand the poor dog's fear, and he set about teaching her dog interactions.
When he approached, at first she would growl, and he would walk on. Obviously not intimidated, Parker just didn't want to scare her. As the night progressed, every fifteen minutes or so, he would pause by her, wait till she would tremor or growl, and then continue on. There was no pressure, just the option. Then he'd go and lie somewhere else, enjoying all the attention from his former owners.
At the end of the night, as we got up to leave, he walked past her one last time. No growl. Longer pause. Katie nervously stretched forward to sniff him. Statues move more than Parker in that moment. He then turned, slowly and softly, every move deliberate, and gave her a small sniff. She then stepped forward, out of the lap of a human, to meet this non-threatening entity. As they sniffed we couldn't help but laugh. He had taught her rule #1 in canine etiquette, and in a way so clear and effective it couldn't have been real. As we walked away, she half-followed, going to the door to watch Parker go.
I can't tell you how blessed I am to have this dog. I swear he teaches me new things every week. Oh, and if you were wondering, he's still whipping some cancer butt.
Parker is a parent to all puppies. I first experienced this first hand when my wife's sister brought over her new bulldog pup, Murphy. Or as my sister calls it, "the fat one". Now this animal is your classic English bulldog, in that it is so ugly it is cute. Seriously, it looks like someone bashed in the poor dog’s face with a flat shovel. Now my parents have a wonderful mutt named Bounder, who also came equipped with a capacity to love that is infinite. But he does get a tad jealous every now and then. With a new puppy at the house, and that pup being, shall we say, un-snipped, Bounder came awful close to putting the hurt down on Murphy. Parker and Bounder are steadfast friends, yet when Bounder strode towards Murphy, with intentions fully bared, Parker intercepted, and walked shoulder to shoulder with Bounder, guiding him away from the pup.
It was no accident, and the scenario replayed in similar form several times that night. Gentle but steadfast, Parker didn't let the pup get what it arguably deserved. My family and I were in awe.
A couple weekends ago, we brought Parker to my wife's brother's house to meet their new puppy. As Parker's former owner, my brother in law was thrilled to see him (who wouldn't be?), and it was a homecoming party and puppy introduction in one. Not lost in the human interactions, however, were the dog ones. Their new puppy Katie is also an American bulldog, virtually all-white to Parker's tiger-stripe brindle. A sweet dog (what puppy isn't?), she was terrified of Parker, and sat literally shaking in the lap of my sister in law. Parker seemed to understand the poor dog's fear, and he set about teaching her dog interactions.
When he approached, at first she would growl, and he would walk on. Obviously not intimidated, Parker just didn't want to scare her. As the night progressed, every fifteen minutes or so, he would pause by her, wait till she would tremor or growl, and then continue on. There was no pressure, just the option. Then he'd go and lie somewhere else, enjoying all the attention from his former owners.
At the end of the night, as we got up to leave, he walked past her one last time. No growl. Longer pause. Katie nervously stretched forward to sniff him. Statues move more than Parker in that moment. He then turned, slowly and softly, every move deliberate, and gave her a small sniff. She then stepped forward, out of the lap of a human, to meet this non-threatening entity. As they sniffed we couldn't help but laugh. He had taught her rule #1 in canine etiquette, and in a way so clear and effective it couldn't have been real. As we walked away, she half-followed, going to the door to watch Parker go.
I can't tell you how blessed I am to have this dog. I swear he teaches me new things every week. Oh, and if you were wondering, he's still whipping some cancer butt.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Beautiful Day
First, some back story. Shortly after my first post on this blog, we learned my dog Parker had lymphoma. The weeks since then have been tough, to say the least. From chemo to his weight loss, incontinence, and exhaustion, I really haven't felt like writing about it, so I didn't.
But throughout the process, there has been hope. The swollen lymph nodes in his neck that originally got me to take him to the vet immediately shrank back down. His white blood cell count has remained high enough that we have been able to pursue chemotherapy in a fully aggressive manner. For a while he just didn't know he needed to go bathroom, but that, too, has passed.
About the only issue left has been his exhaustion. From a dog that would sprint up and down hills non-stop for an hour to one who couldn't match my walking pace, it has been devastating to witness his weakening. He was still happy, but he just couldn't do what he loves to do. No matter how loving he was, and how happy I thought he still was, I couldn't help but question if I was making him suffer for selfish reasons.
Today, Parker struck back. With a week and a half since his most recent chemo appointment, Parker has gotten stronger and stronger, more and more like his old self. Taking him up into the hills for a bathroom stroll this morning, he was his old self. After over a month of only walking, we had running. He was jumping over bushes, traversing hillsides and sending birds flying from every bush and tree. Instead of me slowing down my walk so he could keep up, it was me jogging and yelling for him stay in my line of sight.
So maybe he still didn't have 100% of his explosive power back, maybe not even 80. And the hike only lasted about 20 minutes, instead of our old hour long treks. I don't care. Because for the first time in over a month I had my dog back, and I got to see that making him fight the cancer was the right choice, with absolute evidence. He's been hanging tough the entire time, and we've done everything possible to keep him strong and healthy and, finally, I saw the tide turn. Yes, today is a beautiful day.
But throughout the process, there has been hope. The swollen lymph nodes in his neck that originally got me to take him to the vet immediately shrank back down. His white blood cell count has remained high enough that we have been able to pursue chemotherapy in a fully aggressive manner. For a while he just didn't know he needed to go bathroom, but that, too, has passed.
About the only issue left has been his exhaustion. From a dog that would sprint up and down hills non-stop for an hour to one who couldn't match my walking pace, it has been devastating to witness his weakening. He was still happy, but he just couldn't do what he loves to do. No matter how loving he was, and how happy I thought he still was, I couldn't help but question if I was making him suffer for selfish reasons.
Today, Parker struck back. With a week and a half since his most recent chemo appointment, Parker has gotten stronger and stronger, more and more like his old self. Taking him up into the hills for a bathroom stroll this morning, he was his old self. After over a month of only walking, we had running. He was jumping over bushes, traversing hillsides and sending birds flying from every bush and tree. Instead of me slowing down my walk so he could keep up, it was me jogging and yelling for him stay in my line of sight.
So maybe he still didn't have 100% of his explosive power back, maybe not even 80. And the hike only lasted about 20 minutes, instead of our old hour long treks. I don't care. Because for the first time in over a month I had my dog back, and I got to see that making him fight the cancer was the right choice, with absolute evidence. He's been hanging tough the entire time, and we've done everything possible to keep him strong and healthy and, finally, I saw the tide turn. Yes, today is a beautiful day.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Easter Day
I think my family stumbled upon a new Easter tradition this year. While my wife had to work, I headed over the the parents and, with them, the sister and the dogs, we took a morning hike.
Well, quick addendum. After the Easter egg hunt we took a hike. Yeah, half way through my 20's, my sister graduating HS, and we did an Easter egg hunt. No coffee/energy drink to boot. Back to the story.
So I was not looking forward to a hike at dawn in March in a climate that, frankly, isn't too warm this time of year. But my mom really wanted to take this family jaunt, appreciating the symbolism of the "Son rising" as we hiked. I had been a little surly about the whole thing until my wife and friends pointed out how awesome an idea it was. In my defense, I was being a real doubter about the whole thing well prior to the incredible Easter Vigil the night before. That's where those friends put me in my place with their their admiration and envy. Not much of a defense, thanks. I'm aware.
And they couldn't have been more right. The morning was beautiful. The sky might have been the bluest I had ever seen it. The dogs romped and played, running and grinning from ear to ear. The day was so warm, by a third of the way up the mountain the sweatshirts were off, to be reclaimed on the return home. Warm, entertaining conversations with my wonderful parents and perfect sister, all while basking in the Sonrise. It could not have been better.
Well, that's not entirely true. My beautiful wife and the two Big Leavers (my brothers) being there would have perfected it. But it was close.
My name says it all. I told you I was unworthy of my blessings.
Well, quick addendum. After the Easter egg hunt we took a hike. Yeah, half way through my 20's, my sister graduating HS, and we did an Easter egg hunt. No coffee/energy drink to boot. Back to the story.
So I was not looking forward to a hike at dawn in March in a climate that, frankly, isn't too warm this time of year. But my mom really wanted to take this family jaunt, appreciating the symbolism of the "Son rising" as we hiked. I had been a little surly about the whole thing until my wife and friends pointed out how awesome an idea it was. In my defense, I was being a real doubter about the whole thing well prior to the incredible Easter Vigil the night before. That's where those friends put me in my place with their their admiration and envy. Not much of a defense, thanks. I'm aware.
And they couldn't have been more right. The morning was beautiful. The sky might have been the bluest I had ever seen it. The dogs romped and played, running and grinning from ear to ear. The day was so warm, by a third of the way up the mountain the sweatshirts were off, to be reclaimed on the return home. Warm, entertaining conversations with my wonderful parents and perfect sister, all while basking in the Sonrise. It could not have been better.
Well, that's not entirely true. My beautiful wife and the two Big Leavers (my brothers) being there would have perfected it. But it was close.
My name says it all. I told you I was unworthy of my blessings.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Unconditional Love
It's quite a concept. To love with absolutely no reservations or limitations. I am not sure humans are capable of it. I don't have kids yet, so I know I am missing some key information, but I'm just not sure it is possible for our species. I love my wife, but there are things either of us can do that would more or less force the other to terminate the marriage. God willing neither of us ever will ever do any them, and I don't believe we will, but these actions are conceivable from a scientific what-is-possible perspective.
I don't think that qualifies as unconditional love. I truly love her, as she does me, but their are conditions to our relationship. Such is not the case with our dog.
My dog unconditionally loves my wife. He loves me, and I love him, but he will just gaze into my Beloved's eyes for literally hours. He falls asleep as near to her as he can possibly get. He loves to collapse with his head on her shredded, dancers feet at every opportunity. She adores him, and loves him as much as one can love a non-human, but even if she didn't, I think he would live for her. She could abuse him in the most horrible ways imaginable, but I think he would keep coming back to her. There is simply no end to his love for my wife.
Given my jaded perspective of human nature, it gives me hope to see that kind of love. Hope for us as a whole. As if the mere fact that love like that can exist means that maybe, just maybe, we can make it in this cutthroat world without literally cutting each others throats. I'm usually pretty realistic, but it nice to know there are some things that are absolutely perfect, literally without flaw. Such is that kind of love. I'm glad it is possible.
I don't think that qualifies as unconditional love. I truly love her, as she does me, but their are conditions to our relationship. Such is not the case with our dog.
My dog unconditionally loves my wife. He loves me, and I love him, but he will just gaze into my Beloved's eyes for literally hours. He falls asleep as near to her as he can possibly get. He loves to collapse with his head on her shredded, dancers feet at every opportunity. She adores him, and loves him as much as one can love a non-human, but even if she didn't, I think he would live for her. She could abuse him in the most horrible ways imaginable, but I think he would keep coming back to her. There is simply no end to his love for my wife.
Given my jaded perspective of human nature, it gives me hope to see that kind of love. Hope for us as a whole. As if the mere fact that love like that can exist means that maybe, just maybe, we can make it in this cutthroat world without literally cutting each others throats. I'm usually pretty realistic, but it nice to know there are some things that are absolutely perfect, literally without flaw. Such is that kind of love. I'm glad it is possible.
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