Andy Had A Farm

My mom came down to visit for a couple of days so we went to the Zoo. We were there first thing in the morning to try to catch the animals unaware in the cooler weather. We found ourselves at the farm because we had to the see the pygmy goats. (my mom is trying to talk my dad into letting her have some at home.) While we were watching our pygmy goats a Zoo volunteer came up to us. He was wearing blue and white pinstriped denim bib-overalls over his green volunteer t-shirt and a straw hat over his gray hair. He was about 5'5" and thin. His name was Andy, he was born in 1919. His lovely wife died eight years ago. She played the tuba in an Army polka band. She was sent overseas with her band shortly after they started seeing each other. He thought he wouldn't see her again. The day after the bombing of Pearl Harbor he enlisted in the Navy with eleven others. After a couple of years he started receiving letters from his girl just out of the blue. They continued to write each other through out the war and were married after. They remained together for 53 years until she died. He spoke with amusement in his voice and a smile on his face, but you could tell he deeply loved his wife and misses her still. The first question my mom asked him, before we knew all this, was if he had goats on his farm. He laughed and said in his quiet raspy voice "and I'll tell you why. My dad had just gotten a brand new car..." (this was long before the war) His dad had driven the new car over to the neighbors to give them a hand (to do what I am not sure.) . "This was a time when people still helped each other..." While the car was parked a goat had jumped in and proceeded to destroy the interior. After that his dad swore they would never have goats and if he ever saw one he would shoot it.

The Final Installment

I remember it like it was yesterday, in truth it was the day before yesterday. I rushed home from work to beat the mailman hoping he was running late. If I didn't get it then I would have to wait til Monday almost two days to pick it up at the post office. But as the mailman came trucking across my yard I ran to the door to greet him with "Do you have a Harry Potter for me?!!"
"Yes I do!" he said. "Your my last one!" He had delivered all of them in the morning. just Harry Potters which was why he was running late. I wasn't home in the morning so he brought it back.

I took the box inside and sat on the sofa. I tore the end open and carefully pulled the book out. I could smell the factory fresh pages. The bright oranges and yellows of the book jacket glowed up at me. The brand new binding creaked as I opened cover. I had to pause. It was the last book, the "final installment." When I read this one it will all be over. The world will never be the same again. It is a daunting thought. I have known these characters for ten years.

Now I am on page 638, I find I have to pause again. Although it has been less than 72 hours we have been through a lot Harry, Ron, Hermione and I. I feel like they are moving away and I am helping them pack up their U-haul. It won't be long now....I don't think I am ready yet. Perhaps I will go do some dishes.

A True Companion

“I have made the commitment, blessed to be the receiver of so awe-inspiring gift as the love of a dog, to be a worthy trustee of their hearts and souls until the end.”

-Debra Marlin from Yellow Dog

People who say there is no magic in this world have never experienced the true companionship of a dog. It is a bond that is surpassed only by the love of God. That dog becomes not just a friend or family member but a real extension of your self. This creature can see through the disguises and masks that you show the rest of the world but loves you regardless. If you lash out in fear or anger she calms you down. If you are sad she lays quietly beside you in comfort so you know you are not alone. When you are happy and excited she is joyful and celebrates with you. She knows your needs sometimes before you do. Her constant presence becomes a physical acknowledgment in your subconscious.

My bond has the name of Abbey. She is about 40 pounds of short, yet abundant fur. Many shades of blacks, tans and now, grays cover her fourteen year old bones. Her soft brown eyes rimmed with black look past mine into my soul. We rarely have to speak out loud anymore as our routines hardly change. She delights in trips to the river. She scouts a few feet ahead on the path her full wolf like tail straight behind her, she means business. Her floppy, triangle shaped ears are always forward and bouncing as she scans the woods for her would-be prey though her eyes no longer see as much as they used to. Now days we are content to sit by the water for hours as I read a book. She will read the beach with her nose, sniffing under rocks or by trees. When she has thoroughly checked everything out she will wade into shallows and dip down to cool off. Then she finds an ideal spot near me, content in the sun.

Abbey has a job as well. She shows up on time every day and takes her spot on a broken grooming table. Twelve inches off the ground her throne is piled with dog beds as she surveys the room. She chooses to lay there all day amid the chaos, dogs barking and biting, telephones ringing, blow dryers whining, and people constantly in and out. Yet she remains unruffled, the only calm presence in the room. She is careful to keep an eye on things between the many naps and adorations of the clients dropping their dogs off for grooming. She is not one to require the spotlight yet she accepts the attention with grace.

Early on Abbey and I had a less than quiet life. In college we had many different roommates in many different houses, we lived with five people at a time sometimes as well as dogs and cats. She always took things in stride. She was alert and protective, the German shepherd in her. We called her the freak-o-meter because she could read a person’s intentions before we could and she was rarely wrong. She once chased a stranger who had wandered into our house before the other two dogs even knew he was there. She was well prepared for what ever life threw at us.

Abbey is still serious about her duty but her ears hear less and her old bones move slower. Those squirrels, so enticing before are a mild entertainment. She relies on me for comfort and protection. She relies on her nose to read the parts of the world that I cannot understand.

This week Abbey and I went to the vet. We have been there many times before more often in the last few years but this time was different. She knew before I did. In the bright fluorescent lights of the sterile exam room she was pacing the floor her tongue hanging out panting faster than usual. She is always a little nervous at the vet but not to this extent. I wonder if she was trying to keep something from me. She hides her weaknesses as any dog will. But the bond is such that I could recognize the subtle changes in her lately.

She is an older dog so we have been watching many things over the last year or so. We have regular blood tests to follow her Kidney disease. X-rays showed some irregularities inside but nothing we could pinpoint. She developed a finicky appetite but with a few tricks such as adding canned, baby and homemade food we have kept her eating. She frolics in the yard, chases her cats, and takes long walks at the river and in the woods. She gets in the car without help. In fact other than a little arthritis and her graying muzzle you would never know her true age. I always tell her she doesn’t look a day over ten.

Dealing with these things I felt I had prepared myself. I do not wish to prolong her life. To keep her around for me would selfish. I will not do surgery of any kind as I do not want her last months to be in recovery. Quality not quantity. I had answered these questions many times. I was prepared.

But lately she seems older. More often she will go in the other room to sleep instead of by the couch with me. Sometimes I see her staring out the window but the look on her face gives me the impression she in concentrating inward. Some days she cannot find a comfortable spot to lie down at all. She will look at me really hard willing me to read her mind but I don’t know what she wants. She will stumble, very slightly when going up or down stairs then look at me to see if I noticed.

So when we went to the vet that day I tried to convince my self that it was like all the others and that I was overreacting. That what I felt in her belly was nothing. Even Dr. Sutherland could barely feel it. But the x-ray showed us a different dog. Abbey’s stomach was filling up half her body cavity. Dr. Sutherland explained the different possibilities of what we were seeing. But when the word tumor comes up you don’t really hear anything else. The radiologist confirmed it. This tumor is causing an obstruction in her stomach. We don’t know how fast it is growing....

So now I am faced with the knowledge that my best friend will not be around forever as I had furtively hoped deep within my heart. We all secretly convince our selves when they are full of life that nothing will ever take them away from us. Logically we know better but on this matter the heart and mind do not always see eye to eye. Now it is my turn to “buck up” as she has done for me over the years. Through the anti-depressants and anxiety, break-ups and tragedies, through the people who have come and gone in our lives she has remained a constant. She is an endless wealth of unconditional love. I will not dwell on the death that awaits her but on the life she has left. Animals see death as a part of life; human beings make it a tragedy and loss. I truly see her as a gift from God. She is an angel lent to me for a short period of time, when I needed her most. When the time comes I will honestly and lovingly let her go.

Gripe #437

There are few things more irritating than having to shave your legs. Especially when you have been using a dull razor for too long and suddenly switch to a new one. My goodness. Who started the leg shaving rule anyway? When? Leg hair is completely natural on 99.99% of all human woman and most non-human female mammals. So why then, are we forced to fight the endless battle of leg shaving. No matter how many foams, creams, non-irritating soaps, specialty razors or hair removing lotions they put out it remains a vain inconvenience. To those of you capable of enduring electrolysis and can afford it Rock on! Waxing?! EEK! To those of you who don't bother with it at all,You hold True Power. In the mean time I am compelled, even though I never wear shorts and remain single, to shave my legs on a regular basis.

Where o where
has my hard muscle gone
Where o where can it beee...
No matter how often
I sing this song
Flab is all I seeee...