A time for dogs



The Pack, Christmas 2009

Ron and I have gone from three dogs to one in less than a year. It's been a huge adjustment each time we've lost a dog. We only started with one (Brittany) 10 1/2 years ago. Alex and Shawna came to us as fosters and became part of the pack.

They all became elderly at the same time and caring for them has been a lot of work, both physically, emotionally, and financially.

Ron and I aren't saints. We've loved our dogs to distraction but lose our patience sometimes. When we get frustrated or just plain exhausted, I always say calmly and quietly, "They'll be gone soon."

That always brings us back to the reality that their lives are short ones. And so are ours.

Pre-Brittany, I had an immaculate home. Floors were shiny, carpets were like-new, kitchen was spotless. I took great pride in my home and still do. But since the dogs came along and my ability to work full time disappeared, the house is, well, lived-in.

During those moments of frustration with the dogs, I've sat and thought about how much easier my life will be when they're gone. I'll get my floors refinished, I'll get all of my rugs cleaned, and I'll stop tripping over stuffed animals, dog beds, and dogs.

My credit cards will be paid every month, we can start saving money again to do projects around the house (and for retirement), and I won't have to go out in freezing cold or driving rain to do a potty run with a dog.

No more being awakened at 4 am because a dog has to go out or is sick. No more looking at my watch when I'm having fun with friends because I have to get home to take a dog out to pee. It will be freeing to have my life back as well as the finances and energy to accomplish the things that matter to me.

I go down that road pretty quickly when I'm tired. When I get to the cul-de-sac I start thinking about what I'll miss.

No more tail-wagging and happy talk when I get home. No more company as I work at the computer. No more cold, wet noses on my bare legs. An almost unbearable silence when I'm home alone save for the cellphone buzzing and the email notification dinging.

I'll miss the people that my dogs have introduced me to -- the vets and all of the amazing caregivers at the animal hospital, the kindest dog groomer on the planet, the cheery woman who runs the independent pet supply store nearby. And the countless strangers who stop to say, "What a beautiful dog!" while we're out walking.

Still, I have to remember how many friends I've made because of my dogs, either through Rescue work or simply a shared bonding over the love of a pet. That won't end. And that's where I'll find all of my dogs -- in those relationships.

I always quote Ecclesiastes in my blog since that's really what my life philosophy is. There is a time for all things. There is a time for dogs, and there is a time for remembering dogs. There's a time to take care of, and there's a time to be taken care of.

Recognizing and accepting these cycles of life is what "grace" is. I know there will be a time for me to reflect on all of this. But now is a time to take Brittany outside for her daily walk.

It's 1986 all over again

Me in college

There aren't a lot of regrets in my life. I'm actually very proud and happy to say that. Sure, I've made mistakes but that happened mostly when I was young and clueless.

I do, however, have a couple of major regrets that haunt me. I was reminded of one of them tonight when I read the local paper. It snuck up on me five years ago as it did tonight. I hate it but can't escape it.

This article in the Lowell Sun details a horrible crime. No, I wasn't a party to the crime, but I feel that I could have prevented it and always will. If I had only been wiser.

I was dating a guy named Michael in 1980 and we were headed out with our friends Mike and Judy for a Friday night date. When Michael picked me up that night, he said plans had changed. We were meeting our friends to help them look for Mike's nephew Patrick who had run away from home.

We all met at Patrick's house - the home of Mike's brother Richie. A plan was devised and we split up to look in places that Patrick's parents thought he might be. We spent quite a bit of time roaming around Tewksbury but found nothing.

The next day Mike called me and told me that a neighbor reported finding Patrick hiding behind their wood shed and he was now home safely. I asked Mike if Patrick had run away before and he said he ran away a lot and caused his parents a lot of worry.

Fast forward to 1986. I'm 27 and flipping through the Boston Globe before heading to work. I see a familiar name and realize it's my old college friend Mike's brother. I had lost touch with Mike a few years after our search for his nephew.

The article in the Globe reports that Richie is accused of murdering his son Patrick while drinking and snorting coke. It was a gruesome scene, according to the Globe. Richie also tried to stab his wife and daughter when they walked in and found Patrick's body.

I held my breath and I could swear my heart stopped cold in my chest. This was Patrick. The young kid who ran away from home. The kid I tried to get back home. Home, if you can call it that, ended up being a nicer name for "hell." The article claimed that Richie had been abusive to the entire family and they were all scared to death of him. Just as they are now as he tries again for parole.

My thoughts then and now, and every five years when I read that Richie is trying again for parole, are ones filled with guilt. How stupid I was not to see the signs. How trusting I was that my friend's brother had the only side to the story. I never even questioned why Patrick had run away so much. I was in love and playing "responsible adult" with my boyfriend by bringing a child home where he would be safe. I felt closer to Michael because we were working together during a friend's crisis. How Pollyanna.

I look at the Kathy I was back in 1980 and know I was naive. I was a very young 20-year old. Though, to be truthful, 20-year olds back then were a lot "younger" than they are today. But still, I was only about a year older then than my oldest nephew is today. Would I expect him to recognize the evil in that household? Could he possibly know to even question the situation? No. But that's him. I hold my own street smarts to a higher standard.

There is no undoing the "miss" on my part. I will always feel like I could have at least asked some questions. The hardest thing for me to let go of in all of this is that if I had just had a couple of more years under my belt, I could have maybe been that outsider who pulled the alarm.

I look at Patrick's picture in the paper every five years and think, if only.

Random thoughts while grocery shopping

As I was coming out of my weekly mindset to just get through the grocery store without my head exploding, I started to notice little things that made no sense to me. I list these not so that I can get an explanation, but so that you might add some of your own.

1) Why do tomatoes that sit in the sun until they become dry and unrecognizable as tomatoes, cost more than the fresh ones? I have access to sun and could use that extra money to buy fresh tomatoes.

2) Imitation meat products are, in reality, imitation food products.

3) How does an item that is listed as an "everyday low price" make it into the sales flyer? I thought sale meant "less than the everyday price"? If they're going to add things that are the same price every day, wouldn't the entire store need to be added to flyer? That would be a lot of work and I'm not going to be the one to do it.

4) Why is it that if you give the bagger five reusable totes, he squeezes everything into four? Is there a contest going on that I am unaware of?

5) And why is it that two of those four bags contain all the glass and canned goods, while the other two have paper napkins, a loaf of bread, and an avocado?

6) I used to always stand on the back of my carriage and ride it to the car. When did I stop doing that and why didn't I notice? I miss it.

7) If we're such great multitaskers in this millenium, why do people talking on their cellphones always walk into traffic without looking? Have we started counting only those tasks that are dependent on electronics? If so, that would mean that walking and breathing at the same time is off my already short list.

8) If we have clothes washers and dishwashers, why do we have car washes and not car washers? Should we start saying "I'm going to run the dishwash?" Consistency is all I ask for.

That's all I've got for ya. Tell me what you come up with.

New Year's resolutions for politicians

A friend asked what resolutions I'd like pols to make for 2011. Here's what I sent to him:

1) Make this country the free and equal place it was meant to be.

2) Stop hate crimes.

3) Feed the hungry and house the homeless.

4) Find a cure for all cancers.

5) Stop thinking about yourselves.

6) Start giving breaks to citizens who live in the margins and forget about cutting deals to the big businesses that funded your campaigns.

7) Talk to each other as caring and committed public servants and spare us the drama.

8) If you need to make budget cuts, stay away from social services. These people make almost no money and do the work that the suits in DC would never be caught dead doing.

9) Stop wasting taxpayer money investigating MLB practices. It's a freakin' game.

10) Make those who kill and torture animals pay the same price as those who do the same with people.

 

That's my top 10. I'm sure I could go on all night.

Thanks for asking the question.

 

Happy New Year, everyone! May the force be with us.

Kathy

Farewell to a sweet friend

A week ago today, Ron and I kissed our little cocker spaniel Shawna for the last time. She had an aggressive case of Cushing's Disease that we couldn't get under control without introducing major side effects. She was 14 years old yet we only had her for 2 1/2 years.

Shawna came into our lives when my friend Mark passed away. I met Mark at my church and we became instant friends. I think the fact that we were about the same age and had both done dog rescue for years (he, cocker spaniels; me, springer spaniels) helped our friendship along. When Mark passed away, Shawna was taken in by Mark's friend and dogwalker. His three other dogs were taken in by his family members. I was the backup plan if anything didn't work out. When Mary's dog didn't get along with Shawna, Mark's brother called me.



Although Shawna was never completely house-trained and was very food obsessive, we happily took her into our pack. We had both Alex and Brit at the time and although we never really wanted (or could afford) a third dog, we were committed to giving her the best care and the most amount of love possible. I was happy that Ron agreed to take her in since I felt that this was the greatest gift I could give Mark and his family. Besides, when I was visiting Mark before he died, Shawna was the dog that always jumped into my lap without any encouragement. I hated to see her go back into rescue instead of into a home with someone she already knew and trusted.

Shawna bonded easily with Alex after letting him know in no uncertain terms that she wasn't going to be the pushover that Brit was. Shawna (who was half Alex's size) quickly became the alpha dog. That does not mean, however, that she was not affectionate with Alex and Brit. When we had to send Alex to the bridge, Shawna grieved as much as Brit, which kind of surprised us since Alex and Brit were the ones with the long-standing love affair.

This past year with Shawna has been difficult because of the Cushing's disease. The meds and tests were costly, though our vet was so kind and gave us discounts when she could. But more than the money was the heavy emotional toll the treatment took on her and on me.

When our vet said the words "She's gone" last week, I sobbed and sobbed. I didn't do that when Alex died. I don't know where the gushing well of emotion came from but I think it had a lot to do with other things besides being completely heartbroken to lose Shawna after trying so hard to help her.

This has been the year from hell for me. It started by losing Alex and ended by losing Shawna. Sandwiched in between was my mom's incurable pancreatic cancer diagnosis. I've been quite stoic through all of it but I think I've finally reached my limit.

I discovered too, that I was never completely done grieving the loss of my friend Mark. I always felt that since I had Shawna I still had a little piece of Mark. He was taken too soon and I miss him still.

Shawna's ashes will go back to Mark's family. He requested before he died that her ashes be buried at his gravesite. Mark will be reunited with Shawna as he should be. After we left the vet's office last week, I just kept envisioning Shawna running into Mark's open arms at the bridge and it did help me let go of some of the pain.

Mark gets her ashes but we still have her little coat that kept her warm as the Cushing's took her fur. We also have her 2" thick folder filled with vet bills and instructions. Her bowl, collar and leash, and a lock of fur from her wavy little ears are all tucked away in a box next to the one we have for Alex.

I learned many things about myself in those 2 1/2 years. I learned that I have more patience than I ever thought I could muster. I learned that the 1000-dollar custom made wool rug is not as important as the little dog who had no control over staining it. I learned that my vet is one of the kindest and most generous people I know.

And I learned again that love doesn't come in human and animal versions. A heart is capable of enduring heartbreaking sadness without ever breaking. It can't. There are too many other loves for it to hold.

Youth group joys

One of my greatest joys in my volunteer work is the high school group I co-lead at my church. We meet most Sunday mornings while the younger kids are in Sunday school and the adults are attending the service in the Sanctuary. Leading the high school group is actually a ton of work for me. My friend Carlene and I write all the curriculum, organize and coordinate service trips, and generally obsess over details.

Coming of Age group 2009

It might sound simple but the biggest part of my "job" there is to keep the group not only engaged, but also safe. That means that everyone feels respected and heard.

I've always been better with older kids than younger kids. I have a hard time relating to anyone under 14 because I don't feel like I can have a meaningful conversation with them. I stumble over what is appropriate to say. Luckily, I don't have kids of my own so there will be no expensive psychotherapy bills later.

There are challenges with the high schoolers also. Finding boundaries as far as what is shared and how it is processed is difficult for me. I want to be their friend and mentor, but more importantly be their guardian.

We talk about some serious issues in our group. Suicide, bullying, civil rights, politics, and much more. Our discussions often lead to some soul-searching. I have never been anything but blown away by the thoughtfulness of these kids. They just get it.

Being their leader, though a huge stretch for me, is also very satisfying. They make me proud and also hopeful for the future of this country. But I struggle often with my role as a group leader there. I still think I'm better with teens in a one-on-one relationship.

When I was in my 20s, I said I wanted to be a Big Sister. There are opportunities everywhere for those sorts of relationships and I hope to do that once my life settles down a bit. 

Until then, I will do the best I can to help the high school group at my church learn more about their faith, themselves, and the world they are heading out into -- one Sunday at a time.



What's your bumper sticker say about you?

My dad said once that bumper stickers are for people who don't have the guts to speak their mind in person. So, when I've added the occasional sticker to my car over the years, I think about that. Because of my dad's great point, I only put something on my car that I'm already vocal about.

I did Springer Spaniel Rescue years ago and on one of the household cars are two rescue-related stickers: "Rescue Mom" (with a paw print), and an anti-pet store/puppy mill sticker. We also have a sticker of the logo for the Westford Conservation Trust where Ron and I were directors a few years ago.

Our other car has a couple of Unitarian stickers. The only one that has any real verbiage says "Deeds are more important than creeds. - Ralph Waldo Emerson".

I figure since all those stickers represent causes I've put my time, talent, treasure, and voice into, my dad's philosophy on bumper stickers doesn't apply to me. So I'm good.

Yesterday I was driving home from a lovely lunch with a Unitarian friend where we discussed, among other things, the hypocrisy of religious extremism. I got behind a minivan that was plastered with extreme Christian stickers. One read, "No Jesus; No Peace". The others were quite militant and had pictures of flaming crosses and verbiage like "Assimilation inevitable."

I thought immediately of my dad and wondered if the driver was one of those people who let their bumpers speak for them. Or if he/she was more like me. Either way, I was struck by the hypocrisy of the slogans. And the driver was obviously unaware of it.

As a Unitarian, I am often questioned about my religion's lack of a creed. I can very easily explain that we are more focused on how we live in the larger world than repeating a creed written for us by a hierarchy we don't know.

Lots of Unitarians will balk when others inside the church want to talk about Jesus. I know that a lot of that comes from some really negative experiences in their pasts, often at the hands of the Catholic Church.

Even though I've suffered that same sort of religious turnoff, I've always felt that I am very Christian. I try to live my life the way Jesus did -- Jesus the man; not Jesus the "God".

So when I see bumper stickers like those on that minivan, I wonder how those extreme Christians reconcile their exclusive, angry words with the words of Jesus. Jesus the man in the New Testament that they can't possibly have read; not Jesus the Christian Rights' reinvented poster boy.

I've had to deal with some religious-right scorn and disapproval because of my Unitarianism. I've been shut out by a family member because I believe in the human and civil right for two consenting adults to marry.

But I've always been able to rise above it and view the hypocrisy for what it is. And I do ask myself at times like these, "WWJD?"