Not Ready to Say Goodbye

I remember it like it was yesterday. She was the tiniest puppy with silky-soft, pointy ears and the cutest button nose, and she was supposed to be an Australian Shepherd mix about 7 weeks old. And the moment we saw Abbie, she stole our hearts. We couldn't write the check for her adoption fee fast enough. 

We had stalked the Forsyth County Animal Control website for weeks, even completing the adoption application before we found the perfect companion for Elmo, our blind Basset hound. After we found out that our other Basset, Duchess' chest tumor was inoperable, we knew we had to prepare for the day when she was no longer with us, and it seemed smarter to introduce a new family member before the inevitable happened. 

Boy, did that not go according to the plan! Still, although the sequence of events was not as planned, adopting Abbie-Dabbie was one of the best things we could have done. She proved to be a firecracker from the start, quickly showing her Holy Terrier parentage. She and Elmo became best buds, although Duchess was not amused. Abs took on the role of Hall Monitor, making sure everyone (2-legged as well as 4–legged) towed her line. From the time she found her voice (ironically in K9 Training class, where she was supposed to keep it to herself), she had this guttural growl that led to a take-a-step-back-buddy bark. Inside, she was a big ol' marshmallow, although most people never saw that side of her.

Her adoption eventually led to Winston's joining the family from Forsyth, and since they were both 2013 babies, we thought we could enjoy 10-12 years with A and W in residence. 

Again, things have not gone according to the plan. 

We had to take Ab's to the Eastside Emergency Animal Medical Center yesterday, as her tummy had become distended and enlarged...seemingly overnight. This was all the more worrying since she hadn't been eating properly for a couple of weeks, and she had begun to vomit yellow bile. At first, we had explained away the symptoms by attributing them to the stress brought on by our move...or by the multitude of recent thunderstorms (which terrified our little terrier)...or by the fireworks over the Fourth. But the tummy issues could not be explained away. 

The X-ray showed a huge white mass in her belly, which the ER vet thought might be a tumor in her spleen. Although stunned, we were able to participate in the planning process for her care: she would stay overnight at Eastside, getting IV fluids and pain meds. Since Abbie had the well-earned reputation (first noted by Dr. Barker, her NC vet) of being "stoic," it was difficult to tell that she was in terrible pain. It was easy to see that she was lethargic, though. If all was well, she would undergo a splenectomy when the surgeon arrived Monday morning. We kissed her goodbye as Marian the Terrific Tech took her back.

On Monday morning, we had several telephone conversations with the vet surgeon who wanted to make sure we understood what would be happening. And she assured us she would call before noon to let us know how things were going.

I knew the second I answered Dr. H's. call at 11:30 that her news was not good, but I wasn't prepared for the full gut-punch: a massive tumor had invaded multiple organs, and there was nothing that could be done. The decision was made for us, and the tears started to flow in buckets. It is always difficult for pet parents to make the hard choice to let a fur baby cross the rainbow bridge, but it is exceptionally wrenching to have to say goodbye way too soon.

Abbie-girl, you were loved and you are missed. 

What a Difference a Week Makes

Let's begin with the good news of the past week, shall we? I had a great birthday! We celebrated at Austin's, our fave High Point restaurant, with an excellent dinner and a toast to another good year. And then, the song having been sung, we fired up the three candles ("past, present, and future") on my cake. Ooh...we all know how much I love cake!

I mentioned this on Facebook, but I'm still amazed at how closely the rose on my card from Mr. T (shown above) resembles the beautiful bloom on one of our new roses called Hynotized! (shown below)...which became part of my birthday bouquet. 

In other good news, as of the start of this week, I have retired my cane 'cause my foot feels better. Make that much better. Apparently, the foot doc knew what he was talking about (2-3 weeks)...imagine that. Anyway, I'm up-and-at-'em once again, although the observant might notice a slight limp. I have faith that will be gone in another week or so.

And now for the not-so-good-news. We had planned to take a little trip to Gatlinburg last weekend. However, on Friday morning, just as we were getting ready to take the pups to the Glamour Slammer, Mr. T noticed that Abbie was exhibiting some strange behaviors. She was quite agitated, wandering the house in a dazed state, and vomiting a mucusy-bile. Then she began pawing and scratching at her face and neck. Finally, she stumbled around and kind of fell over, like she was stunned.

I called the vet, but while I was talking on the phone describing the situation, Abs appeared to be settling down. She was breathing normally, drinking water, and she had stopped the frantic pawing activity. The vet suggested we monitor Abs for the time being, and if things changed to bring her in. 

So we "monitored her" for several hours. We followed the vet's advice to try to get her to eat, limiting her intake to plain rice (which Mr. T fixed...because he's gotten pretty good at making rice...;-) and some shredded chicken (we were lucky to have a leftover rotisserie chicken on hand). And, all the while we kept pondering "what was wrong with Abbie?" 

Well. Mr. T may have figured it out when he observed some wasps on the deck. We think she may have snapped at one (or more), like she does when the buzzing bees bother her in the garden, and she may have been stung by one (or more)...possibly even in her mouth. Looking back on her behavior, she was exhibiting signs of an allergic reaction. And doing some research on that makes me think we should take her straight to the vet should this ever happen again. Live and learn. 

Meanwhile, we had to make a decision about our trip. Should we go or should we cancel? Since we had a 5+ hour trip ahead that would mean being away for two nights, we chose to cancel and stick close to home. The mountains will still be there in a few months.

So we spent a quiet weekend at home, enjoying the simple pleasures: harvesting garden goodies like watermelons and sweet corn, playing with our Pound Puppies (who were both better by the next day), and just catching up with each other. It was nice.

Now, it's time to get caught up with all the other things I've had on hold. Since we have more tomatoes and cucumbers than we know what to do with, I am in full-on pickling mode: salsa, green tomato relish, zucchini relish, and sweet pickles. We enjoyed our first sweet corn over the weekend, as well as cutting into our first ripe Sugar Baby watermelons (check out the pics above). Oh my goodness...makes the hard work of gardening worth it!

I hope to get everything under control this week, since it looks like I'll be in GA more than NC in the next few weeks. A week ago, I was struggling to imagine ever walking normally again, much less getting things nailed down so I could start traveling. Wow! What a difference a week makes.

Indeed.

Snow and Stuff

Hurrah! Winter Storm Leon came through in style for HPNC. We got measureable snow this week!

It was the first real snow for the Pound Pups, and they romped and played and tussled and chased and...well, you get the picture, right? If not, here's a helpful hint or two:

 

Winston (f) and Abbie (b)
in the Way Back:
First snow!

Abbie (f) and Winston (barely seen!)...
More play, play, play
in the Way Back Gardens

Truthfully? I am thrilled to have the snow and cold weather...especially since I'm usually inside by the fire, where it is warm and toasty. Last year we had such a mild winter that Mother Nature couldn't do what she does best with cold weather: help control the garden pest population. By the time the 2013 Summer months arrived, we were facing a huge and mounting "bad bug" invasion...especially in the form of squash vine borers, Japanese beetles, and Mexican bean beetles. So, throw some more cold at us...I'll throw on another sweater!

This snow day also gave me a cause for pause in an otherwise hectic week. All Master Gardening activities got cancelled on Wednesday and Thursday when the Guilford County Schools were closed for 2 1/2 days, so I found myself with time on my hands...and W-2's in the mailbox. And, you may have trouble believing this, but I took the opportunity to do our taxes. Yes, I did! Now, I still will be doing Missy M's, but our Fed and State returns are filed for this year. And, even though TurboTax said that the IRS wasn't accepting returns until 1/31, I just received both text and email confirmation that the Fed return had been accepted. Today. January 30. I suppose they opened for business a few hours early...kinda like how stores were opening on Thanksgiving before Black Friday. Or something like that.

Ahem.

Here are some more snow pictures for you:

View of shed and back yard
from Morning Room

Way Back Garden gate
got left open

View from Rose Garden Patio

A bit chilly for a chat

 

Looking into Rose Garden

"Dr. Seuss"

 








































Of course, I did as any well-raised Southern girl would do when there is even a whisper of the white stuff in the forecast: I headed to the store for bread and milk, of course! Here's the evidence.

 

 

When I posted that picture (above) on Facebook, I heard from a friend that I "should buy organic milk." (Yep, a Master Gardener friend...:-) I responded with "don't I get credit for switching to Whole Wheat bread and 1% milk?!" (I left out the Sheezsh!) And that brings up a whole 'nother subject...the "Stuff" of the title, I suppose.

My biking to Disneyland (I know, I know...I owe you a post...:-) got me reconnected with an iPhone app that I had used in the past called MyNetDiary. It allows you to easily track your exercise for the day, along with what you have eaten for meals. Keeps up with calories, nutrients, weight, etc. A really cool tool! I think I first learned of it from a Diabetes Education counselor in Missouri, when Momma was diagnosed with diabetes...and I was told I was borderline.

Anyway, the website was a clunky, cumbersome affair...but the app: now that works well, and syncs between my iPhone (there's a free version for the iPhone) and iPad! One of those is usually in my hands, so that makes it easy-peasy. I used it regularly for a while, and then our move from MO to NC intervened, and diet and exercise went hand-in-hand...out the window. Never fear...it's backkk!

At the same time I was reconnecting with my old friend, MyNetDiary (MND), Mr. T was struggling to make some changes that would positively impact his health...read that: lose some weight to get his BMI (recently discussed at his annual physical with Dr. K) down into the normal range. He was also looking for a way to keep up with his physical therapy exercises...other than the Excel spreadsheet he was using. So I introduced him to MND...and we were off and running, together!

Now, I must share some background with you. Most of my regular readers know I have battled my weight and yo-yo dieted since I was about 5 or 6 (no kidding). I have been on every diet imaginable...gained and lost at least 3 whole people in my lifetime, maybe more. One day about 6 or 7 years ago, I just said no. No more diets. Ever again. Never. Never, ever, ever. I had had enough of that.

And, guess what? When I stopped obsessing with my weight, it started dropping. Ever so slowly, mind you. So slowly in fact as to be almost a non-story. But I was reminded of just how much the other day when I was writing in my Journal (yes, I do still keep one, although I write in it infrequently). I have made a note of my weight next to several of the previous entries, and I realized that I was (then) 40 pounds lighter than my highest weight noted.

A second item worth noting is that Mr. T has never been on a diet. Read that sentence again. Never. Never, ever, ever. Oh, he switched from regular Coke to diet many years back and immediately dropped 5 pounds, but that doesn't count. He's occasionally tried to make what sounded like good choices off restaurant menus...but he still has to eat in restaurants for the majority of his meals, and there IS a limit to resistance to Five Guys fries. And he's certainly endured the countless programs I have done...and been a fabulous cheerleader. Yes, he has been on the sidelines of diet and nutrition his whole life.

Not any more.

While I am loathe to classify what we are doing as "dieting" in the sense that we are restricting ourselves (other than to the recommended calories suggested by MND) or following any "program" like Weight Watchers, South Beach, etc., I will say that we are giving our eating habits a long overdue overhaul. And when you KNOW you are going to have to account for what you have eaten that day in your electronic diary, you are ever-so-much-more inclined to make healthy eating choices. You pay attention to where your calories are coming from...what you are lacking (mine has been calcium and fiber)...and what you are overindulging on (we BOTH are challenged by our sodium intake). And you are conscious of poor choices, like my tendency to skip breakfast.

Plus exercise becomes something you want to do instead of "oh, Lordy, I guess I have to exercise today." Because when you exercise, you "earn" more calories to "spend" that day! Yee ha!!

So, there are some changes evident around here. Mr. T has become a consummate label-reader...shocked by seeing just what a portion or serving really is (I got out the measuring cups and spoons along with my ancient WW scale, to help him visualize). It's OK to eat a salad bowl full of cereal for breakfast...just realize that is actually 2 servings and enter the data truthfully.

And remember I said I identified I was having trouble eating the recommended calcium and fiber? Well, no more! We have made the Big Switch to whole wheat this and whole grain that. And to allow me to drink more milk for the calcium, but not bump up the fat count, we agreed to change to 1%. Who knows? Skim milk may be on our horizon! (Missy M is already at that threshold, since that's what I bought when she was growing up and that's what she prefers. We had changed back to 2% over the years...which was still better than the whole milk we both grew up drinking.)

OK. Time to go. Need to get my bike ride in for the day. I'm in Knoxville, by the way, stopped last night at Chilhowee Park, where the Knoxville Zoo is located. Promise: I'll get to work on my catching-up biking post!

I'll close this post with yet another dog picture that should bring a smile to your face. This was taken the night it started to snow, after supper when they take their pre-bedtime naps. They slept through the main part of the storm, getting up to go outside for Last Potty Call and being surprised at what they found. Let it snow...and stuff!

Duche$$, Abbie, and Winston...
Three Dog Night in  HPNC

A Truly Happy Thanksgiving

Goes without saying...but I'll say it anyway: we have had a rough month here at Casa 3917. We've been slogging along, playing the game with the cards we were dealt...as shoddy as they were. But now it appears we're playing with a brand new deck...and we've been dealt a full house. Hooray!

Meet Winston...our newest member of the Drool Gang! He's an 11-month old Australian Shepherd mix puppy we adopted yesterday from the Forsyth County Animal Control shelter in Winston-Salem. He is an alum of Animal Control, having initially been adopted in February...about the same time we adopted Abbie. Although they were both classified as Australian Shepherd mixes and born about the same time (right around New Year's), we have determined from the records that they aren't from the same litter. But, like all the adoptees from Forsyth, they both were micro-chipped before they were made available for adoption.

So, when Winston was found roaming the streets of Winston in October, even without a collar Animal Control knew who he was...and where he lived...and what his owner's contact number was. So they called...and they called...and they called. No response. And no one came to get Winston. The little Aussie had boomeranged back to the slammer, just 8 months after he'd left.

Why? For the life of me, I cannot come up with a good answer for you. And, trying to figure it out without any of the facts just makes me sad...and gives me a headache. He's a beautiful, frisky puppy, who is friendly to everyone he meets. I don't think he was abused because he doesn't show any marks or classic signs like fear, but I suspect he was neglected. Oh, not in the basics like food and water, although he does appear to be a bit underweight. He has been on a heart worm preventative, because his blood test was negative (thank goodness). To put it simply: he was love-starved. 

Here at home, we had lots of love that had been reserved for Elmo. And, we could see that Abbie needed another outlet for all of her energy...there are only so many hours we can walk her.  Duche$$, a diva and at almost-13, cannot be bothered to play or even interact with a puppy. Plus, I had a telephone conversation with Ab's trainer, who asked if we might consider adding another dog to our family.

Then, I saw a post on FC Animal Control's page with Winston's story. And whoosh! My heart took over my head. Adopt a new puppy at Thanksgiving, when Mr. T is still recovering from surgery?Are you kidding?! It is a terrible time to introduce a new family member! 

But I couldn't stop thinking about him...or visiting his picture on the FC webpage to see if Winston was still available. And Mr. T commented that, while his recovery might limit him, at least he would be home (rather than traveling for work)...a good thing when introducing a new puppy. So, we faxed in an updated application and waited for a call.

It wasn't what I'd hoped for. It was a voicemail message that said we were the second application for Winston, and that the other family had come to meet him. They were from out of town and had gone home to fax back the rabies vaccination on their other pet (required for an adoption to proceed). Did we want to come meet Winston anyway?

No! That was a for-sure heartbreak. I wanted him to have a good home, preferably with us...but a good home somewhere nonetheless. But I just couldn't go meet 'n greet unless we stood a chance of bringing him home. We'd wait and see.

Fortunately, for whatever reason, we got the Call early Wednesday morning. He was still available! Did we want to come meet him? You better believe it! Loaded Abbie up in the PTC and headed west to Winston...in the snow (!)...so we could meet Winston.

We met. We signed the papers. And because he was already neutered (previous owner got that right!), he could come home with us. He and Abbie took to each other almost from the start (thank goodness!), and we took a detour to our vet to get him checked out...and get him bathed (whew! He needed that!). Next stop: PetSmart for a new bed, a new collar and harness, and a a few (dozen) treats 'n toys. We were all happy but exhausted when we pulled into our driveway.

And then, we introduced him to Ella Rae and Dixie when we finally got home. OK, that part didn't go as smoothly as we'd hoped. But, it will work out in a couple of days. I have faith.

Winston is, in a word, a sweetheart. Although they are the same age, Winston looks and acts much more like a puppy than Abbie...but they both have that Australian Shepherd herding-nipping thing down pat. He looks like a shepherd, where Abbie looks more like a terrier. He weighs about 20 pounds less than Abbie, but is just a bit taller than she. His muscle structure is much less defined than hers, but he appears to be about the same size because he has a "coat," where she has very little fur, other than her neck ruff. His fur is soft (now that he's been bathed), and he loves for you to rub his ears...one of which flops forward more than the other. 

He has discovered the Toy Basket...and has already played with almost every single toy on site. Here's a picture I snapped of him with one of Abbie's bone-like toys called a Jack...which caused a bit of consternation when Miss Ab's discovered him. 

Abbie has taught him about the doggie doors, although he's still not too sure about going out of them...coming back in doesn't seem to trouble him. He seems to enjoy mealtimes as much as the other Droolers, although he wasn't too sure about liver treats at first. And, he is thrilled about having such a big play space as the Way Back offers.

I wish I could post a video of the Gang (minus Duche$$, alas) frolicking in the Way Back this morning. They were joy in motion! Running, jumping, chasing, racing. Mr. T says the gardens will never be the same, but I guess that's the price we will pay for witnessing pure happiness.

And that's the best word I can think of to describe Winston: happy. He is a happy little fellow, and he has made our Thanksgiving a happy celebration. We are smiling, once again.

Make That a Double

Coffee. I need coffee...lots of it. Keep it coming. Grind some of those 100% Columbian beans, baby...extra strength. Biggest mug we have, please. Make it a double. It's been a long night. 

Let me catch you up with the story.

Missy M and the grand dogs made the 8-hour journey over the river and through the toll booths, arriving late Wednesday evening. Since Mr. T and I are housebound this Holiday Season, we are hosting both family celebrations here...so she and the mutt-mutts are traveling the Turnpike twice.

Both of her dogs did fine on the long trip, although Dixie simply will not sleep in the car. She's not disruptive (like Gussie could be at times); she sits quietly and watches...watches, the whole way. Ella Rae is more active, shall we say? Jump in the front seat, take a nap. Back to the back seat, look out the window. Back to the front, try to help drive...and so on. But, since ER does nap occasionally, she was ready to roam when they pulled into the driveway.

After a frantic meet & greet with Abbie (Duche$$ cannot be bothered for such mundane matters), they ALL chowed down on some nibbles of kibbles...as we pet parents scarfed some supper. Then, off to our assigned beds...Thursday was going to be a big day.

Wait a minute! Haven't I got the wrong week? Thanksgiving is next Thursday, you say? Yes, but Missy M has miles to go before she can take those vacation days. She had a business trip to take to Dallas and made arrangements to fly out of and back into Piedmont Triad International in Greensboro.

 

PTI sounds impressive...and sports some mighty fine, long runways thanks to FedEx...but names can be deceptive. Service to/from is limited, forcing a choice of small aircraft (that I call Pretend Planes) or a long layover in (where else?) Atlanta. M decided on an American direct flight to Dallas, meaning she choose a Pretend Plane. Oh, I know, that's my personal problem with the noise (causing a loss of hearing for a couple of hours after the flight) and the lack of space (there's just something wrong when they ask you to gate-check your carryons 'cause there's not enough room in the cabin for both people and their packings)...she's happy to deal with those issues in exchange for a direct flight.

 

About that direct flight business...right.

 

As Snoopy would say, "It was a dark and stormy night." Oh, no...not here. There was a beautiful, purple-pink-and-orange sunset, splashed over NC Highway 68. No, the storms lay in two flanks between her Departure and her Arrival gates: one stretched along the Mississippi River, centered over Memphis; the second, more powerful system headed directly for...drumroll, please...Dallas. I began to chew my cuticles almost the moment I returned home from PTI and pulled up both the WFMY Weather ap and Flight Tracker on my iPad. [An aside: PTI may be a disappointment in flight choices, but they are top-drawer on their website, offering a direct link to Flight Tracker...an excellent tool for nervous parents plotting the course of their flying offspring. Click here to go there:  https://www.flyfrompti.com/airline-service/flight-trackers/]

We watched her flight head south in order to avoid the Memphis air space...good plan! But then along about 9:20, after crossing the Mississippi into Arkansas, the little black Flight Tracker airplane following the little white route-line turned and headed north. What?!

Thankfully, at almost the same instant we received the following text:

"Hello from the beautiful state of... Louisiana"

Her 'direct flight' had just made an unscheduled stop in Shreveport. "Better on the ground than in the air," were the first words out of Mr. T's mouth. No truer words...

Here's what the Weather ap shots showed (below). Not exactly comforting, eh?

 

Future forecast

Screen capture -
Dallas area, 9:35

She was on the ground for a little over an hour, and then we got a text she was back on the (refueled) plane. I knew I wouldn't be going to sleep until she was tucked up, safe and sound in her hotel room. But, I had to try to settle her pups who had shifted into searching mode: where is she? Where is she? Can't find her. Where is she?  So I took them to the front bedroom...and they seemed to accept that I was to be their bed-bud for the night. I turned on ESPN to mask the noises of a resting house...first we saw basketball, then football, and finally water polo (I kid you not!). Here are a couple of shots of sleeping dogs lying...

Dixie, settled for the night
(See her heart...on her head?)


 

ER, first nap of the night

With much tension, I watched the little FT plane make its way on my iPad from Shreveport Regional to DFW...first to the south, then turning north into the gap between the two waves on the Weather ap. 

With great relief, I read the first text when she landed. With even greater relief, I read the last text when she assured me she was safe and sound, all locked in her room. 2:45 a.m., our time. Turn off the TV, turn out the lights! Let's get some sleep.

Not to be. Abbie couldn't understand why I wasn't sleeping with Mr. T where I was supposed to be, so she divided her time between bedrooms...with long stop-overs on the den sofa. Up, down, up, down...repeat...

And no time to nap, as Mr. T has PT today. Of course, I might catch a few zzzzz's before I head to PTI to pick-up our traveller who is scheduled to return tonight, but I kinda doubt it: she texted that Dallas is expecting ICE later.

Yeah. Better make that a double. More coffee? Naw...it must be 5:00 somewhere, right?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

UPDATE: 9:45 p.m.

Missy M's plane is in the air and on the way. I'll be starting back on caffeine soon since a delayed departure from Dallas (weather...what else?) means a late arrival in Greensboro (now projected to be 11:43 EST). Here's the screen capture of Flight Tracker, showing the little black plane leaving DFW and beginning to follow the little white route-line, weaving its way through the weather, to GSO:

Double-double espresso, anyone?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

UPDATE: 11:43 p.m.

Travel girl is home again, safe and sound. Let the Thanksgiving begin!

A Time for Healing

Glad that week is behind us. Thankfully, the healing has begun.

Recovery from Mr. T's shoulder surgery is going well. He feels much better as he heads into the second week, although the localized pain around the surgery site is pretty intense at times. Most thankful for his pain pills, now that he no longer has the benefit of the On-Q pain block thingee. For some reason, he has the most pain from a spot on his back/shoulder blade that doesn't appear to have been involved in the operation. No stitches, no redness, no lump, bump, or bruise. Odd. Well, maybe we can learn more about it at his upcoming follow-up visit on Friday. We shall see.

"The kiss of sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth,
One is nearer God’s heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth."
          -- Dorothy Frances Gurney

Those lines from Gurney's poem are on a metal plaque that Momma purchased for her garden in Smithville...then I had in every garden since 1990...until Missy M "inherited" it during the move from MO to NC. At our house, as you are no doubt aware, the garden is a source of much solace and healing. And, with our current situation, we are relying on what we know to help make us better. Since Mr. T's usual vigorous participation in yardening activities is limited (ever tried hoeing with one hand, your non-dominant hand at that...the dominant arm being trapped in a sling?), our weekend Fall clean-up was briefer than usual. Still, he probably did WAY more than he was supposed to...any surprises there? Paid for it the next morning, of course...but he's back out there today, playing with Abbie. (Post is up on our garden blog, Gardening with the Giants. Click here to go there.)

John F. Kennedy - 11/2013

Of course, flowers always make boo-boo's heal faster, don't you agree? Here (left) is a picture of one of the most beautiful blooms that we've had this year from the John F. Kennedy rosebush. It went into Mr. T's "Get Well" bouquet.

'Gethsemane Moonlight’ mums

Actually, we have two JFK bushes in the back yard, along with a couple of Sheer Bliss roses and one Miss All American Beauty, and they are ALL putting on buds like crazy...most of which will be nipped when this latest 'artic front' blows through tonight ("they" are saying possible snow mixed with the rain!) . Everything else is pretty much spent, with the exception of the perfect-for-Fall persimmon-colored Pat Austin roses in the Rose Garden and the Chrysanthemum X ‘Gethsemane Moonlight’...clumps of which are now scattered throughout the property, thanks to my unexpected success with turning late Spring prunings (when you clip off the early growth in order to encourage lush flowering later on) into rooted cuttings. Here's a shot of the clumps growing at the mailbox (right).

So, that's how the physical healing is progressing. The emotional healing from the loss of our dear Elmo is happening...albeit at a slower pace. We have moved beyond hourly showers to just a few daily sprinkles. And we are more aggressive in moving into the phase of "remember when Elmo..."  The grief is still there, still close to the surface...but telling his story makes it much easier to contend with.

Until...

From our walk...

The day I took that picture of the mums at the mailbox (above) was a lovely Fall day: bright, crisp, with a bit of a cool breeze. The sky was the most brilliant blue...it took absolutely my breath away. Had to take a picture of it! (left)

I had taken Abbie for her walk (those are going very well, I might add) and stopped at the mailbox for the picture and the mail. There was the usual pile of circulars, ads, etc.; a bill or two; a "get well" card for Mr. T from Cousin H & S (cute card...thanks!); and a large, padded envelope. I tossed the first bunch in the green toter as I passed it in the driveway...garbage in, recycle out. When I got inside, something else caught my attention, so I dropped the surviving mail on the counter and headed off to take care of the something else. An hour or so later, when I came back into the kitchen to start supper, I noticed the mail and started opening the envelopes.

The padded one was heavier than I'd originally thought. I zipped the strip along the short edge and pulled a beautiful card from the interior. It was from the Emergency Animal Clinic in Greensboro, signed by the whole staff, sending their sympathy on Elmo's loss. The tears started flowing.

Then, from the depths of the envelope, I pulled a smooth, cream-colored disc...with his paw print captured in clay, baked into an ornament. Literally, took my breath away. I had to sit down...and then I had to jump up and find the box of tissues. The flood gates were open. I'm tearing up just writing about the experience. Showing the thoughtful gift to Mr. T, I had a partner in crying. We continued until we were both exhausted. Start supper? Forget about it. PBJs were about all I could manage.

The next morning, I knew I needed to let someone at the Clinic know how much we appreciated this beautiful gesture, but I couldn't bring myself to make the call. I just didn't think I could make it through a whole conversation without becoming weepy and incoherent.

Until...

I woke up this morning, much earlier than I'd intended since I'd stayed up last night watching Monday Night Football (not sure why...since I could care less about either Miami or Tampa Bay). And, something told me that I could make that call...now. Since the Emergency part of the Clinic closes at 8:00 a.m., I hustled into the kitchen and found the number. I spoke with the sweetest-sounding young lady...who took the time to listen and be gentle and kind in her responses...as she was aware that the emotion was still raw for me.

Breath in...breath out.

So, there you have it. Evidence that healing is indeed happening here at Casa 3917. And that's a good thing.

Let's Try This Again

I know I've said it before: I'm nothing if not persistent. Ner (the family's affectionate nickname for Nelle Rhea Stewart, my step great-grandmother) drilled it into my head:

If at first you don't succeed

 try, try again.

So, I knew we had to give Abbie's puppy training another try. I realized this as I was standing at the kitchen sink, washing the blood off my arms in preparation for spraying my newest wounds with Bactine. I also knew I'd rather be beaten with a stick. Sigh.

What? That sweet little (almost 50-pound) puppy? 

Vicious?? Say it ain't so!

Back in late July, we signed Abbie up for Puppy Training at our local PetSmart. I met with the trainer and explained how skittish she was around other people...how we couldn't even take her for a walk around the neighborhood because she tried to (a) lunge at people who just wanted to "meet & greet" or (b) run away if another dog was anywhere in the picture. And although Abbie is as smart as a whip, she is so possessive of everything (toys, food, us, the Bassets...it's all HERS...and she will use her teeth to protect what is HERS!)...and doesn't seem to be bothered by any form of correction...other than a spritz of water from a spray bottle. He was understanding and assured me that was "no problem." All dogs can be trained. Right.

Our first class night was like a bad dream. Abbie and I got there early and got a spot in the back of the class "ring," far away from the entrance. Abbie barked at every new classmate's entry and every movement toward her "spot," and then growled almost constantly for a solid hour. One of the other pet-parents (and I use the term lightly) thought he knew best, and continually encouraged his chocolate lab puppy, Jack (a really cute, high-energy 4-month old) to "touch noses with Abbie. Just let them get to know each other!" The trainer was fantastic and did his best to keep control of the situation, but I've never been so glad to escape a building in my life.

Here is the picture I sent to Mr. T when he texted me "So, how did class go tonight?"

To be fair, we did accomplish two things in that first class. The trainer helped me identify our goal for Puppy Training: "help Abbie develop socialization skills." Works for me! And, since part of the training depends on "marking good behaviors," we got Abbie started on responding to a clicker...which she took to like a duck to water. 

Now, the way you provide positive reinforcement is to give a command (like "Sit!"), and then click the clicker {click, click}, followed by a verbal reward ("Good girl!") and a treat. Sounds pretty straight forward, right?

Only...I discovered I'm not nearly as coordinated as needed to (1) hold Abbie's leash (so she didn't try to make a mad dash outta the class into the store), (2) give the command, (3) click the clicker, and (4) fish a treat out of the little Baggie hidden in my pants pocket...all at nearly the same time! Dropped the leash, dropped the clicker, and dropped the treats. Sheesh! 

Then, when practicing at home (a must, according to our trainer), I discovered that "they" are wrong: you can, in fact, "teach an old dog new tricks!" Both Duche$$ and Elmo realized early on that every time that little clicker sounded {click, click}, the new puppy got a liver treat. They wanted in on this action! Don't get me wrong...they didn't want to do the actual commands...they wanted to cut to the chase! So, whenever we attempted to practice commands with Abbie {click, click}, we had a lineup for the rewards. 

Somehow or other, I made myself go back the next week for the second class. Fortunately, it went much better. Abbie, if not exactly sociable, seemed to realize where she was and accepted the situation. She even showed off her new skills of "Down!"  and "Shake!" (she already knew "Sit!" before we started class, as our vet had told us to teach her that when she was a baby puppy). Although she would not allow the trainer to come close enough to give her a treat [growl, growl], she toned down the Cujo act considerably. Plus...and this was the kicker...Jack the Lab and his family were absent. Hooray!!!

And then came Week Three...and Loose Leash Walking. If Week One was a bad dream, this class session was a nightmare. Night. Mare. We arrived to find out that we were not to be in the classroom (where Abbie felt comfortable...and where I had a chair to help take some of the strain off my aching back); no, we were to practice leash-walking in the aisles of the store. While there were shoppers present, attempting to be nice by trying to pet the ever-anxious Abbie. OMG. Throw in the return of Jack and his family (did I mention that in addition to his attention-challenged and attention-seeking Papa, there was an oblivious Mama, a chatty Granny, and a hyperactive10-year old daughter?)...and you can see why this is the picture I sent Mr. T when we got home:

We were getting nowhere fast with improvement in leash-walking in the crowded and confusing atmosphere of the store. When I tried to practice with Abbie walking on the leash (forget "loose leash" for the moment!) at home, I struggled to maintain control of a pulling, twisting, yanking ball of energy. Things seemed to go from bad to worse.

And, as I'm the only pet parent in this household with two good shoulders and two good knees (albeit less than one good back), all the leash-walking practice fell to me. So, I made an executive decision: quitting time!

Unfortunately, it has become apparent that our holy terrier needs more focused exercise than just daily romps in the quarter-acre Way Back Garden. She almost always gets so worked up, running through the gardens, following the scents of rabbits and squirrels that she ATTACKS to work off that energy. If we attempt to practice Fetch! and Drop it! commands, she turns it into tug-of-war. And whether it's one of the Bassets or me or Mr. T (weekends only) who gets the brunt of her bites, it can get out of hand...fast. 

I usually have the protection of garden gloves and a long-sleeved shirt...but, not so yesterday morning. I was vulnerable, she was over-wrought and accurate, and I came inside bloody and shaking. Something had to change.

So, standing at the sink, putting the antiseptic on my arms, I thought: "WWTS?" If I called our trainer to ask for his assistance (as he encouraged us to do), what would he say? I imagine he would ask me if we ever mastered loose leash walking...which is the key that opens the door to letting a dog know who is really in charge.

No. We have not.

So, yesterday afternoon, I hitched up Abbie's harness, tightened the tension on her leash, and off we went. Trying again. Thankfully, our restart went well, especially since we only saw one person along the way...and no other dogs. And this morning's walk was equally uneventful.

Perfect? Nah. But success is just one try away.

Fast-Approaching Fall

Hard to believe but I'm seeing leaves changing colors here at Casa 3917. Not just the tulip poplars either...those early-droppers have been generously sharing their yellow bounty since July. No, I can see reds and golds in the maples and the dogwoods in our yard. Can the oaks be far behind?

Fall, of course, means football. And it typically means tailgating and cheering for Duke at their home games in Durham. This year, however, you'll likely find us far from the college crowd, ensconced in our family room, thankful for being just a few feet away from the action on the big screen. Sigh. At least Abbie is a fan...shown here at attention on the foot rest of Mr. T's recliner last Saturday for the LSU game...while the Bassets hold the sofa down and catch a few zzzzz's. 

We had planned on heading for the beach next week, like we usually do. September is such a fine time to enjoy all the amenities without all the families, if you catch my drift. The days are still sunny and the water is still warm...and, if you aren't battling hurricanes (which also seem to enjoy the beach in September), you can have quite an enjoyable, restful retreat. Just what the doctor ordered.

Except...not this year. We've had to cancel another 2013 adventure due to the continuing saga of Mr. T's shoulder. Granted, a week at the beach, enjoying the warm salt water of the ocean, would be excellent therapy for both his shoulder and his knee. But, we have to be mindful of "personal time off" when it comes to Mr. T's job. Knowing that he is facing a big chunk of non-productive recuperation and recovery time (surgeon has said 3-4 months altogether), we feel that now might not be the best time to be away.

You see, we know surgery is just over the horizon...we just don't know when. And that last part is more jaw-locking and teeth-grinding than the first part. The "not-knowing-when" part. Grrrrrrrr. 

So...MRI is done and the latest diagnosis on our patient is "severe tendinosis with partial tears of the distal supraspinatus and undersurface of the subscapularis...(along with) probable tear of the anterior labrum with loculated fluid..." Good grief. Need a nap? By all means, read more on this ailment here: http://www.sosmed.org/shoulder/rotator-cuff-tendinosis.html 

Two things you'll want to note:

1. Mr. T has the additional problem of a tear in a tendon. This aggravates any attempted at-home or physical therapy...at least until the tear has healed of its own accord...which is becoming less and less likely. It also means the surgery, when it comes, will be different than described in the long-winded  article, due to having to repair the tears. More ice please.

2. In all the blah-blah-blah, there's one salient paragraph, beginning:  "Surgery may be considered if a concerted effort at non-operative treatment has failed to result in improvement in comfort and function after 3-6 months." That's the key...3-6 months. And he's rounding the corner on three as I write this. 

He has done all the steps...he is in the range of "misery time without a resolution"...so, my guess is that the BCBS insurance Utilization Review clerk, sitting in a cubicle somewhere in New Jersey, is more likely to approve the surgeon's request now. Ah, modern medicine.

Anyway. We'll have a better idea of the next steps after his upcoming appointment. Next week. Mr. T's explanation of why 3 weeks in between appointments: the dr wanted the option of giving him another cortisone injection. OK.

The best way I can describe our lives of late: suspended animation. Waiting, by any other name. It feels like we are waiting for the other shoe to fall...in Fall. Like the leaves.

And we all know how much I love to wait...

Doctor Day

Whew! I'm back home...got my feet up in my lounge-luge, with the replay of last night's Braves-Cards game on TV. Shhh...don't tell me who won...I didn't have time to read the paper this morning to see the score. It'll be like it's happening for the first time. Heck, as tired as I am, I'll probably fall asleep somewhere in the middle anyway...wake up during tonight's "live" game and still won't know the score of this replay. Sigh.

Ah well...I'm just having a late-day energy slump...nothing really wrong. With me, that is...more on that in a minute.

Busy couple of weeks here at Casa 3917. Some of the happenings are garden-related, since it's the time of the year when the summer harvest is coming in fast and furious. This week has been the peak harvest week for the Roma and the Juliet tomatoes, both of which are Determinate varieties...meaning their fruit ripens "all at once" (actually over several days to a couple weeks) and then they are done for the season...well, forever actually.

I've put up 10 freezer bags-full and two half-gallon freezer containers of tomatoes, so far, and we will enjoy them in chili, spaghetti, and soups throughout the coming winter months. Because the green, sweet red, and jalapeño peppers are also ready, I'm making salsa this week, too. Will finish that up tomorrow. Here's the post on our garden blog...click here to go there...

Had to take time out today, though, for Doctor Day...which is what I'm beginning to think that Friday has morphed into. Started out with Abbie's six-months' checkin-visit at the vet's for her bordatella booster...and a much needed nail trim. All's well with our no-longer 'baby puppy,' pictured in her harness on the ride home below. When the tech got her on the scale for the weigh-in...well, I was gob-smacked, as they say across the pond. She now weighs...wait for it, wait for it...

F O R T Y - N I N E and 1/2  P O U N D S ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

No way! It's not like she's fat...next to the Bassets, she still looks model-thin. And she sure is lean and muscular looking as she races around the Way Back. We aren't over-feeding her. If anything, we may have to check to see if we are feeding her enough, based on her weight. I've used the chart for 30-40 pounds when measuring out her 3/4 cup of kibble, for breakfast and dinner. 

For sure, Dr. K had guesstimated Abbie's adult weight (based on her 4-month checkin weight of 21 lbs.) as around 44-48 pounds. And the standards for adult Australian Shepherds (which her momma was) say 35-55 pounds, so we shouldn't be too surprised. But, I've thought of Abbie as a rat terrier (under 40 pounds adult weight) for so long...and I do believe her poppa was a holy terrier of some sort...that I was just floored when the display on the scales registered 49.5. Goodness gracious.

Oh well, something tells me it won't matter one iota when she leaps into my lap and takes up her usual position on the foot rest of my recliner...just like in this pic with Mr. T. 

Now, about that ice pack on his right shoulder...

After returning Abbie home and running a few errands,  it was time to head out to the orthopedic clinic. Mr. T had an appointment with the PA for evaluation of his continuing (and worsening) shoulder pain. Our primary care doc had ordered an X-ray last Friday, which showed what he called "chronic dislocated shoulder with a Hill-Sachs lesion." Say what?

First question: if you had a dislocated shoulder, don't you think you'd know it? Or, at least know when you dislocated it?

Second question: how can something be chronic if you've never had it before...to your knowledge?

Third question: what can be done to fix it...just fix it? 

The cortisone shot he had three weeks ago hasn't helped much, and it's too soon to give another. Celebrex, which is the best anti-inflammatory choice of the NSAIDS, is no longer working as well...and Dr. K (our primary care doc, not Abbie's vet...confusing, isn't it?) has warned Mr. T to stop taking additional aspirin and ibuprofen for pain relief, or suffer the consequences which will most likely be an ulcer. The pain pills (he's tried three kinds) cannot be taken if he has to drive (which is a big part of his job)...and aren't helping much at night. Heat doesn't work. Ice isn't giving much relief. Too much pain to get any help from therapy exercises. Double sigh. Triple, even.

Enter the PA today. She conducted a physical exam and didn't mention a dislocated shoulder, other than to say "if your shoulder were dislocated, you couldn't rotate your arm like that." She thinks it's a torn rotator cuff. And to confirm that, Mr. T needs an MRI. So, that's scheduled for...wait for it, wait for it...next Friday.

Or, should I say "next Doctor Day." Stay tuned...