The Long Goodbye

Once we became a multi-dog household, I began to count noses. It began with one-two: first for Barnie and Bea, later followed by Beau and Belle, then Boots and Tippy, and finally Duchess and Gus. When Elmo joined Duchess and Gus, I had to learn to count all the way up to three. One-two-three-four began when first grand-dog Charley adopted Missy M; we dropped back to one-two-three for a bit in 2007 until Ella Rae came along to cheer M up. When Dixie arrived in their house and would come for a visit, we hit the high water mark: one-two-three-four-five.

So, since the grand-dogs are here for Spring break, I got up this morning as I usually do, counting snouts: one-two-three-four...and then I remembered I had to stop. For Belle Bea Boots, Duchess of Dacula, crossed over the Rainbow Bridge yesterday, following a lengthy roller-coaster battle with cancer.

She had an amazingly long run for a Basset, whose lifespan is typically quoted at 10-12 years, living to a ripe, old age of  14 1/4 years. Even more amazing when you pause to consider that she has been on the downhill slope for nearly 5 years.

To begin her story, let's return to the Holiday Season of 2000, when we were still grieving over the death of Boots, who lost her battle with kidney disease at Thanksgiving. Missy M returned to her final semester of her Senior year at Mississippi University for Women in January, and I remember being doubly-sad that week.

Until...

We got a phone call from our sweet daughter, telling us she had seen an ad for a litter of Basset puppies on the school's list serv. Did we want her to go look at them? Now, we all know there is no such thing as just "go look at them" when we are talking about puppies...you better be prepared to come home with one, hadn't you? Mr. T's only instruction was "get a boy dog, please." I think he was weary of being the only member of our little family with a Y chromosome.

Anyway, M took a friend to see the litter, and they fell for the tiniest one of the bunch...who was also the only female. She brought her home to Dacula that weekend, and somewhere on the long trip from Mississippi to Georgia the runt of the litter gained a regal name: Duchess. When I sent in her AKC papers, I named her to honor the memory of those ones who had gone on: Belle Bea Boots, Duchess of Dacula.

Because Duchess was with us for so many years, we have mountains of memories. Like of how she teethed on a brick on the fireplace hearth. And how she used to get so excited when she heard her first boyfriend, Willie, as he barked when he went by on his daily walks behind our house in Dacula. How she bonded with Mr. T, who shared his home office with her for the first 8 months in residence.

How she loved walking to the mailbox to meet up with Flash, her Florida boyfriend...and how she stood at the back of the pool cage to bark at the cows in the Kissimmee pasture-land behind our house. How she said "I don't think so! when introduced to the Chip (or was it Dale) character at Disney's Animal Kingdom.

How she could always manage to put the brakes on full-stop and walk right out of her collar...and run faster than you could imagine anything on such short legs could go. And how she always thought she was a lap dog...even when she topped out at 60+ pounds.

Going for a walk with Duchess brought to mind how it must be when the Queen of England takes a ride in the countryside. If she could have managed that little wrist-wave, I'm sure she would have used it. Whenever she spotted another person, Duchess was certain s/he was coming just to see her...and she would wiggle-walk toward the on-coming subject and present her belly for a rub. OK, so maybe the Queen doesn't do that last part.

Duchess was pretty much a by-the-book Basset: "A calm pet that enjoys and needs human companionship. Relative to its size, it's the heaviest boned dog of any breed. Its deep, rolling bark can be amusing. This is a serene and well-behaved dog, but if it's spoiled it can become stubborn."

Did they say "human companionship? Yes, Duchess loved "her people." Other dogs? Not so much. She tolerated Gus, who we adopted thinking they would make great playmates. Not really. Most of the time, Duchess looked at him like she was just about to say "when are you coming to your senses and taking him back?"

When Elmo arrived, she was mostly indifferent...allowing the boyz to be boyz together. As the canine population of her world changed over the last few years, she simply adopted the attitude: "hey, I was here first. Deal with it."

Did they say stubborn if spoiled?  You better believe it...on both counts! She marched to her own drummer...and she typically expected all the rest of us to do likewise. Breakfast was to be served within 15 minutes of her sashaying into the kitchen. Dinner was to be at 6:00 on the dot. Oh, and there were expectations that whenever she...or anyone, for that matter...went outside and came back in there would be treats...plural. And there had better be water in each and every water bowl around.

There were some "bad" breed traits she had also: frequent ear infections, skin allergies, and skin tumors known as lipomas, which are normally benign fatty-tissue tumors. She endured several surgeries to remove multiple "lumps and bumps" over the years earning her the nickname "Duche$$."

Then in 2010, she was diagnosed with an infiltrative lipoma (one between her front legs that had grown into the surrounding muscle tissue) and another liposarcoma (the malignant form of skin tumor). Both of these were inoperable, meaning it was just a matter of time. [Read more about lipomas in dogs here, where they even have a picture of a dog with a lipoma on its chest, just like Duchess had: http://www.vetsurgerycentral.com/oncology_lipoma.html ]

As in life, Duchess set her own schedule for death. She knocked on the door on more than one occasion, prompting us into anticipatory action (regular readers might recall that is how we adopted Abbie, back in 2013). When she could no longer manage to get her back legs to follow her front legs up onto the sofa or bed or into her favorite chair (AKA: Mr. T's morning room chair), she simply began to tell us what to do when. We called this assistance The Butt Lift. Woof! became the Basset equivalent of "I said NOW!"

But, for the past week or so, things were steadily going downhill for the old girl. She stopped eating for a couple of days, followed by a few days of half-rations, only to return to not eating. Yesterday, we knew the time had arrived when neither of us could get her to take her pain meds, even though she was in obvious pain. So, we did the hardest job a pet parent must do: made the decision to make that long, sad trip to the Animal Emergency Hospital.

So, goodbye Missy D...Big Girl...the D-girl. We will miss you mightily. You gave us plenty of time to prepare for your departure, but we will still feel a hollow place in our hearts created by your absence.

And when I count noses tonight for dinner, I'll still say "five" in your memory.

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I put together an album with photos highlighting Duchess' life, which hopefully you can access here:
https://plus.google.com/photos/105465929538269305215/albums/6126948139919282065/6126948146015821762?pid=6126948146015821762&oid=105465929538269305215 

The Time Has Truly Come

The Walrus and The Carpenter

by Lewis Carroll

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."

(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

Well, here we are. We have arrived at March, 2015. And it occurs to me that the time has come to begin posting about a subject we have been discussing in earnest at Casa 3917 lately. While it is certainly not a new subject, it has moved forward with a bullet, based on the events of the past 4 weeks. I speak, of course, of retirement.

But first...a pause for some snow pictures from the past week. We made it into the 60's today, so our snow days are numbered. And I wouldn't want to forget before moving on.

Ah yes. Moving on. You know, one of my alma maters, the University of Memphis, has a motto: Dreamers, Thinkers, Doers. Well, the time has come to move on to the realm of the Doers.

As the new year began, we were dreaming and thinking in terms of the Retirement Big Picture (did we have a plan in place for some unnamed date in the misty future, were we saving enough, what are our healthcare choices, etc?). Mr. T's recent heart-health scare revealed a glaring gap in The Plan, mainly that we are living in the wrong place...about 5 hours northeast, to be exact. We can have a plan, a budget, comprehensive healthcare coverage...but if we are too far away from Missy M (AKA: our support system), then everything else is at risk.

So, even though we still aren't ready to commit to an exact date, we do know we are talking about next year. And we do know we are talking about a downsizing move, likely to Gwinnett County, Georgia (where Missy M is...and where we lived 1997-2002), which will take several months to prepare for. I will be posting about the process and about our experiences. Since there are still thousands of things to consider and hundreds of decisions to make, I will welcome the opportunity to voice our successes and roadblocks alike.

Sure, we have made 13 "permanent" moves, with a few more into/out of temporary quarters, in the past 39 years, so we know what a pain moving can be. A. Giant. Pain. But we haven't moved ourselves since making a cross-county move in 1999...from Duluth to Dacula, GA...and that nearly did both of us in. One of the issues with that move was that we hadn't done a ruthless purge prior to making it, thinking "oh, it's just across the county." Wrong...on so many levels!

And because we have made mostly corporate moves, we have gotten complacent about all the stuff we have wagged all over the country: if we weren't paying to pack and ship it, we didn't really care whether there were 100 or 1000 boxes.

That changes today. The time has come to take the first tangible steps toward our goal: decluttering. And, how timely indeed! I saw this post that Cousin H liked on Facebook...perfect! Click here to see the decluttering hints I will be following as we prepare to make our move.

While I still have a couple more weeks of wearing this splint on my left wrist/hand, I can commit to "a bag a day." Whether I pack up a bag of clothes or knickknacks for Goodwill, or throw away a bag of old magazines, I am setting a goal of removing a bag of STUFF from our surroundings each day. That should get me going in the right direction...without having to do any heavy lifting.

Yes, the time has truly come to begin preparing for our next big Adsit Adventure. Join us, won't you?