Gyppy Time

    Gypsy had several good days last week, and ate a little food Tuesday through Friday. On Saturday and Sunday, though, she started vomiting, and went off food again. She's not in pain, and still loves getting fluids, but I can tell she is having trouble getting comfortable. These days she usually doesn't want to sit on me, but still snuggles up next to me. It's comforting to feel her warm body up against me, and the low, steady rumble of her purring. She is still bright and alert and happy.
   I'm giving her hospice care; neither hastening nor prolonging her life, just providing support and giving her the best quality of life possible. She's clearly not ready to give up, but is becoming a shadow of her former self; quieter, and thin. It's so difficult to see her go through this.
   I'm realizing that in some ways, though I treasure the time I have with her, I'm in the most difficult phase of her life—for myself, emotionally. While Atom's death was heart-wrenchingly fast—only 4 days from diagnosis to his end—in some ways it was easier to take. I didn't see it coming. Gypsy was diagnosed with kidney disease the same day that Atom died, so I've basically been grieving for her ever since. I'm torn between the hope that she can overcome this for a time, and the pain of watching her decline. It is awful to be grieving for someone while they are still here, and I remind myself that she will sense this and take cues from me.

   I feel so deeply sad, but am trying to allow myself some grace. I remind myself that I've been fortunate to have been spared the loss of someone so close to me for many years. Atom was gone so quickly that I didn't have time to stop and think about it. I've lost both my grandmothers in the last few years, but never in my life did I live close to them, so although I loved them, we didn't have a tight bond. Mom has lost Bailey and Madison, her Golden Retrievers, with whom I used to live. But I was already living in Kansas City when they passed, so I was sheltered from the pain. They didn't feel like "mine" anymore—I was sad for her, not myself.

   The last time I felt such deep pain was when I had to say good-bye to Justin, another Golden, when I was in college. He was the family dog, but really he was mine—like a big, furry little brother. I grew up with him at my side. He was ten when he was diagnosed with cancer. I'll never forget that call from the vet. Justin had been dropped off for exploratory surgery, in an attempt to determine why he had been so sick for a few months. "His body is full of cancer," the vet said quietly. "What do you want us to do?"

   I knew that he was so uncomfortable that it didn't feel right to let him come home and continue to suffer. I met the vet at the office—Charlotte drove me there. Justin's tail thumped against the inside of the metal cage when he saw me. He thought he was going home. I knelt and held his big, heavy head in my lap while she gave him the injection. It was the hardest thing I'd even done. I was twenty-one.

   These intense feelings were matched when I said good-bye to Atom. He declined so rapidly, and when I went to the emergency vet to visit him (he was on an IV for the weekend, to see if he'd respond), I knew immediately that the right thing to do was to let him go. He looked miserable. Yet, almost imperceptibly, he lifted his head and purred when he felt my hand stroking his face. His nose twitched. He knew it was me, coming to say good-bye, and he was glad I was with him.

   Gypsy will be the hardest yet; she has been with me longer than any animal, and we've had the tightest bond. It's hard to even describe how close I feel to her. I can't imagine life without her.

   No matter how long our pets are with us, whether it's one year or twenty-five, it's never long enough. And there's really no way to prepare for the big hole that they leave in your heart when you lose them. No matter how difficult this is, I'm reminding myself that they all have had amazing, happy lives that I have helped provide for them. They are the family that you get to choose. And my life is immeasurably better because of them.

Snowboarding success!

   I didn't have much planned for today and we have snow on the ground, so I knew it would be a good day to start tackling my New Year's resolution to learn to snowboard. I checked Snow Creek's website to see what lessons they offered and called to reserve my spot in a 3-hour group lesson. The ski school manager said they don't take reservations and that I'd better get up there in a hurry, because they were extremely busy today and that there was no guarantee I'd get in. He said, "There's already a line!" I asked how many people they take per instructor, and he said it depended on how many showed up. I said, "I'm on my way!!" (to which he laughed), threw on some warm clothes and dashed out the door.

   It takes nearly an hour to drive up to Weston, and I arrived just before 1:00, 30 minutes before the lesson. I waited in the long ticket line. The woman at the window wouldn't sell me a ticket until I found the ski school manager and confirmed that there was room available in the lesson. I found him and he gave me the same pessimistic, "You'll never make it in time!" story.

   Back to the long line at the window. Buy ticket. Run to rental shop. Throw on boots. Run to the counter and get in another line to get my board and helmet. It felt like it took forever. Hurry!!! Got them. Realized I had no change for the locker. @$%&! Throw my bag on top of the lockers. Cross fingers. Run out to meet the group for my lesson.

   I rented an interesting prismatic board (made by Head), but it's no Gnu Park Pickle!

   I was the first one there to wait by the sign for the lesson. I'm beginning to think they left without me, though I was right on time. Finally a man with a clipboard showed up and took down my name. I'm still expecting a 30:1 ratio of students to instructors and wondered where everyone else was. A few minutes later, my instructor came up an introduced himself. Turns out I was going to get him to myself for the whole 3-hour lesson. I couldn't believe my luck!

   The slopes (and especially the lift) were quite crowded, especially the beginner hill. Even the little hill looks big when you're standing tenuously at the top with your feet strapped onto a big slippery board. It's a very weird sensation when you first get started. Not unlike being caught in a bear trap, I imagine.

   Isaac, my 16-year-old, sophomore in high school instructor, turned out to be about the best teacher for me that I could have imagined. He was fairly reserved but very friendly, modest and extremely patient and quietly encouraging. We started up on the hill immediately. It was a little daunting, but I think I needed to start there. He talked me through the process without having me hold onto him, which ended up working well. Do or die!
   Since we were in a lesson, we were able to bypass the long line for the lift and cut right in at the front, so we were able to go up quickly again and again. Each time down the hill I got a bit more confident, and though I fell down plenty of times, it got progressively easier as I started to get a feel for it. After the first hour I was able to do more confident toe-side and heel-side turns, I could control my speed more easily, and I even linked a few turns. The hill was busy and full of other beginners, and I had to make quick decisions about which way to turn to avoid hitting someone who was stopped in front of me. At the end of that first hour I had the feeling that it was clicking and that this was definitely something I could learn to enjoy!
   I managed to only slip and fall down the very first time on the lift, and got the hang of it after that. After a while the thought of falling off the lift in midair was almost more scary than the thought of careening uncontrollably down an icy hill. Progress!

   After my lesson ended, I thanked Isaac and gave him a nice tip (judging by the size of his eyes, he was pretty pleased) and headed into the cafeteria for a hot chocolate. Turns out I couldn't resist the fried jalapenos stuffed with cream cheese either. "They'll help me warm up," I reasoned. I sat at a long table and chatted with some other friendly people as I enjoyed my snack. Then it was back outside to give it a go on my own!

   Turns out I wasn't on my own for long. While I was waiting in line for the lift, a scrawny, frecked, red-haired kid approached me and asked if I was going up alone. I said yes, and he asked if he could ride up with me. He said his name was Justin. I would have guessed he was around 7, and was surprised when he said he was 12. I couldn't tell if his speech was funny because he was so cold (his jaw was shaking the whole time and his words were muffled) or if he had a speech impediment. But I liked him immediately. He was bright and friendly and very excited to be learning snowboarding.

   This was Justin's first day, too, but he didn't take a lesson. He said his dad couldn't afford it. I asked where his dad was, and he said he was hanging out inside... he couldn't afford lift tickets and rentals for both of them. I had this weird mix of concern that this kid was out there by himself, but also admiration that his dad was doing what he could to give Justin new experiences at a young age. Justin seemed confident enough to handle it. He told me he just talked to people to see who was friendly and who would help him out.

   Justin insisted that I meet his Dad, so he ran in to the lodge to get him. He came out and greeted me and thanked me for looking out for his kid. He told Justin to go a few more times, and then they had to head back home to Independence.

   We rode up together a few more times. He asked me for tips but wasn't quite ready to listen attentively and actually try it out, so he flew down the hill in a straight line as I practiced linking turns, occasionally falling hard on my hip or knees and working hard to get it. By the time I got to the bottom, Justin was already waiting in line for the lift, so the wait was short for me!

   When I got to the point where I was pretty much exhausted and ready to call it a day (5 hours is a long time to struggle with learning to snowboard!), we rode up one last time together. The whole time, he was begging me to keep going, but I was physically finished for the day and had to get home to feed and walk the dogs. I turned in my gear and headed out, thankful that I had such a great experience with the lesson and glad that I helped a kid have fun out there.

   I can't wait to go back and practice some more, but am going to have to scrap the idea of returning on MLK day. I think my banged-up knees deserve a break, don't you? Ouch! And if you think this is bad, you should see my a... uh, never mind!

Day of:

Next day:

   To quote MST3K, snowboarding is a "fun way to blow a Saturday... or a knee!" Snow Thrills, indeed.

blast from the distant past...

I've been sorting through bins of old, uncategorized photos lately, and ran across this one, which is probably circa 1986. These guys were some of my pets: Justin (a 100+ pound golden retriever), Bailey (as an 8-week-old puppy), Solomon (a grey-cheek parrot, perched on Justin's back), and Jordan, a Canada goose (or gosling, to be more accurate). Not pictured are the 1 or 2 cats we had at the time, because it may not have ended well for the birds.

Justin was one of the sweetest & best dogs I've ever known. We got him as a puppy (from one of my aunt Martha's litters) and for 10 years he tolerated untold humiliation; namely, me dressing him up in clothes & taking photos of him. I was also in 4H and competed in dog obedience with him, which he didn't enjoy although he was quite good at it. We won lots of ribbons! Justin was extremely mellow & easygoing...he was willing to put up with anything. I had to euthanize Justin during my junior year of college after he had been sick for a couple of months & was diagnosed with aggressive cancer. My best friend Charlotte went with me. I have never been so heartbroken in my entire life, and still get teary-eyed when I think about him.

Bailey, too, was one of Martha's puppies & turned out to be a model citizen. She did obedience work with me, and ran down the driveway every single morning to fetch the paper for us. She even was hit by a car once while fetching a paper that was in the street, but fortunately it wasn't serious. Bailey & Justin knew at least a dozen tricks, which I loved to show off whenever we had visitors. Bailey passed away a few years ago at the age of 16. Selfishly, I was so glad to be living out here in Kansas City and not around when it happened. Made it slightly easier on me. But my mom & stepdad still aren't over her.

I don't know how I talked my parents into getting Solomon for me. I wasn't the kind of kid who was reliable about caring for birds (my parakeet had been killed by one of our cats years earlier), and I hated cleaning the cage. But he was very cute & amicable. He was named after the NES game "Solomon's Key." Justin & Solomon were featured on a local news station's "stupid pet tricks" story. We went down to the studio to be filmed. Solomon sat on Justin's nose until Justin decided he had had enough, and he shook his head, sending Solomon flying. We ended up selling Solomon to a bird lover when I decided I didn't want to deal with cleaning the cage. If I had been a more mature kid, he would have made the coolest pet!

I found Jordan abandoned on the property of Sharon Goodburn, for whom I worked for 6 years (I've basically been working non-stop since the age of 12!) Sharon was a collie breeder & ran a boarding kennel, so I was caring for 30-80 dogs at a time, often by myself. Back to the goose...Jordan was dehydrated & sick when I found him, so we took him to our vet, who taught me how to feed him liquids through a stomach tube until he was better. Jordan was young enough that he imprinted on me & I was "Mom." He followed me everywhere. I took him down to Alum Creek, which ran through our backyard, rolled up my pants legs & waded in the water while he swam behind me. I would sit on the steps of the deck & he would lay on his back on my lap and fall asleep. Nothing cuter than a sleeping gosling curled up in your lap, with his goofy webbed feet up in the air! When the school bus would come in the morning, Mom had to hold Jordan on the deck behind the house while I went down the driveway in front, to prevent him from following me onto the bus. Which happened once! As Jordan grew he became more interested in the Canada goose that visited the creek, and eventually he migrated with them. A perfect, happy ending! For years Mom said she would see one goose who stood apart from the rest of the flock & keep watch. I'd like to think that was my little guy.

So there you go: a little window into the zoo that has been my life for as long as I can remember!

p.s. - Jordan was named after the New Kid on the Block. (I blame Kelley!)