Lily is Back, Sonny is Gone, Rufus is Leaving and the Puppies Peed (Again)

Lily came home in a bag today.  A whole white pig stuffed into a little, itty, bitty drawstring bag imprinted with the words “Until we meet again at the Rainbow Bridge”.  I went to get her after church.  Tom has been bugging me to “find” her since the day they said her remains would be back.

Truth is, I couldn’t bring myself to call them and ask.  Couldn’t choke out the words.  But now as the days are ticking down for Rufus, I realized that I needed closure on one dead dog before I could deal with another one.  I told Tom if he got me the receipt for the cremation with the phone number on it, I would call.  They are only open nights and weekends, so I don’t think of it during the right times.

Finally, in the parking lot at church, he gave me the number, I called and asked.  “George” had the somber voice of an undertaker.  He said “we left a message on your machine on the 29th”.  Um, Nope, you didn’t.  He became a little indignant as he read me the number, “we left the message at 545-5749″.  Oh, well, that explains it George, our number is 545-5149.  Oopsy.  He sounded puzzled, “she must have thought that one was a seven.”   Ya think?

So I called Tom back and said that I would pick up the ashes on my way home.  And he actually said this:  (I am not making this up)  “Do you want to come get Rufus and drop him off when you go?  It would save gas and making an extra trip…”  Did I not say that I needed closure on one dog before dealing with another???

So, to continue with the parallel construction needed for this post as outlined by the title, Sonny is gone again.  We saw him enter the highway on ramp (without benefit of a turn signal) right before the cruisers arrived at his mom’s house.  Haven’t seen him since.  His truck was towed back a few days ago.  Hope he is resting comfortably somewhere taking meds.

Rufus needs to go to the Rainbow Bridge.   He will be happy there.  His wounds are open, draining, yucky and there is nothing that can really be done.  There is a new one on the end of his nose.  It is time.  Now that Lily has returned, I can deal with him.  It was 10 years ago that I knelt with Jennie in the vet’s office for her to go to sleep.  It was peaceful and I know she was grateful.  Even the kids are all on board with this.  Except that will leave us with “zero dogs” as Bubbles says.

We now have 3 demon dog puppies (Anne, Allison and Ari) whose breed apparently stemmed from a mix up between cattle dogs, Corgi’s, and wild dingos.  They are all teeth, like brown, ambulatory pirranhas, and full of pee.  And the pee comes out.  In puddles.  Wherever we just have cleaned.  They actually tell us when the want to go out, it’s just that in the 2 or 3 nanoseconds it takes us to respond, the pee comes out.

They are really, really cute, and have a sweetness that is the only thing that keeps us from bringing them right back to the shelter.  But they are herding dogs who need to be outside on a farm herding things that need to be herded, not old dying dogs.  This morning, as I noticed a forming puddle of pee, I hopped into the kitchen to clean it up. All 3 pounced on my slippers with a ferociousness that scared me.  I looked and noticed a poop pile as I turned, and they jumped and ripped off my eyeglass holder.  Beads went everywhere.  I tried to get the poop, the pee, save my slippers and grab the beads out of their little mouths all at the same time.  It was a fiasco.

Bubbles is sick.  She is not very bubbly.  Her temp has climbed all day.  Last check it was up to 103.8.  I gave her medicine, took away the comforter, put a cloth on her head and let her go back to sleep.  I will wake her in a minute and check the temp again.  I hate it when the kids are sick.

Everyone Needs a Spaeztle Maker!

Bubbles and I were delerious yesterday over the quality of the spaetzle that our new spaetzle maker produces!  Spaetzle should be a new comfort food.  Hot, mouth-watering, right from the pan,  YUMMY!!

I Googled “using spaetzle maker” and found a plethora of recipes and ideas.  For example, you can bake, pan fry, and sautee spaetzle for an unlimited array of dishes.  We buttered ours and added parmesean cheese.  We also only made a half batch just to try it out.  Boy, do I regret that.  I should have made a double batch.

The “old” way to make spaetzle was to push the dough through a collander with a wooden spoon over a pan of boiling water.  It was laborious, fraught with danger and yielded precious little.  The “new” way still involves boiling water, but the loaded hopper wastes nothing and glides over the pot effortlessly, allowing glistening blobs of gooey noodles to fall into the cooking bath.  The whole batch is done in about 5 minutes (or less).

The irony here is that I can only eat a very small amount of spaetzle at a time.  There is little protein in spaetzle, although I am now wondering how much protein powder I could add without altering the taste too much.  Hmm…

We are still looking for Lily.  Especially after dinner when everyone has scraps.  No more “Sit, Stay, and Catch”.  No more smiles.  No more “spank my butt”.  No more white pig.

What do You do with a Large, Dead Dog?

The facts:  So Lily is lying under the table.  She is dead.  We are sad.  Now what?  She can’t stay there (obviously).  We are scheduled to have a birthday party in an hour.  The ground is brick-like because of the drought.  It is 80 degrees outside.  It is Sunday.  Our vet who assured us that they would be helpful when the need arose, has a phone that just rings.  No machine, no emergency number.  Just ringing.  Now what?

Ahh, you say to yourself, “Google”.  ‘Cause you can Google anything.  Except, apparently, what to do with large, dead dogs in our area.  (In our last home out in the middle of nowhere, we just dug a large hole in the back yard – no problem- but we are talking city here.) 

I find “Loving Pets Emergency Care” which is only open on weekends and I think they might have a clue.  So I call. 

Me:  Hello, my dog just died and I don’t know what to do with her.

Him:  What kind of dog ma’am?

Me:  A german shepherd.

Him:  What happened?

Me:  (I explain what happened and how she dies).

Him:  (and I swear I am not making this up) If you bring her in we’ll be happy to take a      look at her and see what we can do.

Me:  (taking a moment to digest what he had said) But she’s DEAD! I don’t know what to do with her!

Him:  Oh, I’m so sorry, I misunderstood.  (And then he goes on to explain my options, none of which include bringing her back to life, but rather bringing her to them and getting her back in a small box a week later, which is what we ultimately choose.)

So Tom scooped her up, wrapped in Grace’s old tie dye sheet, bright and cheerful, and I helped him down the steps.  We put her in the back of the van.  Me, wearing my brightly tie dyed shirt.  We match.  It is a beautiful day.

I drove her by myself to the place where they had wanted to help.  Went in to find the guy, and lost it.  I went through my handy pack of tissues like a chain smoker tears into cigarette packs, one after another after another.  They seemed to get what I was saying through my tears because they got a gurney, propped open the doors and went out.  They brought her in and I reached out and touched her one more time.  Out of respect really, and sadness.  My white pig was gone.  They paused, then rolled on.  Through the swinging door, and whoosh, she was gone.

Next, they wanted my plastic; sign here, we’ll call you Monday.  The deal was done.  I got in the car.  Cried some more.  Prayed for peace and comfort, and went home to have a party.

There’s no White Pig in the Window

We came home from the Y today and it’s what we didn’t see that started the tears.  There was no “white pig” in the window.  This term of endearment came about when Bubbles was in Head Start.  She would come and go via the “little bus” complete with aide to assist the children.  Getting her on and off involved taking her to the bus and talking with the aide.  One day, as I was putting her on the bus, a little boy motioned to me, gestured with a pointing finger, and incredulously commented “y’all have a white pig in your window!”

I turned around, and sure enough, Lily was sitting on “her” chair, perched in the window, ears erect, waiting.  She looked just like a white pig.  And the name stuck.  When we would come home, if she heard the car she would hop up in the chair and we would say “look at the white pig!”

The empty crate is a problem too.  She loved her crate.  It gave her security, peace of mind, comfort, whatever.  She would head there if there was the least sign of trouble, impending thunder or fireworks, etc.  Sometimes she would refuse to come out.  Now the crate is empty.  I think I will take it outside today.  It is too hard to see.

It has been 10 years since we lost a dog.  The last one was the week before Christmas when I was pregnant with Bubbles.  We decided to put her down because she was terminally ill and suffering, and I had disturbing fetal testing results which might have foretold disaster.  It was difficult decision, but in that we didn’t want our world to fall apart on Christmas, we took action.  She went peacefully, in my arms, with Chance by my side, on the floor of the vet’s office. 

At least Lily was at home.  She’s in her Heavenly Home now.  What a glorious first day in heaven it was.  Just beautiful.

Princess Lillian has moved on (Lily Died)

She has gone to a better place, she is free of pain and happy to be with her doggy friends.  The little white puff of a German Shepherd that we brought home in a laundry basket eight years ago (this week) has died. 

Tom was with her as she breathed her last.  He called to tell me she was “about gone” as I was at a red light on the way home from church.  Ursula tried to answer it as I never talk while driving, but I knew, and snatched it from her.  “What does that mean?” I asked.  Is she gone OR NOT?  Why must I explain these things to him?  I analyze every little Asperger moment to guide him into answering my question in the format in which it was given.  Is she dead… YES or NO?  He decided she wasn’t, but was fading.  Freddy prayed an urgent, impossible prayer.  The faith of children.

When the phone rang again, 3 miles down the highway, I let Ursula answer it because I knew.  She asked “are you sure?” and that was that.  Lily was gone.  I am so glad that he was with her as she breathed her last.  She wasn’t alone, wasn’t in pain, and she was in my spot at the table, where she, inexplicably, had been resting for the last couple of days.

We sobbed the rest of the way home and found her where she was resting last, under the table.  I knelt and stroked her, emptying my heart into her still warm body.  Ursula and Bubbles did too.  Grace wondered aloud if this might disrupt her plans for a snack and finishing a craft project, while Freddy ran to play computer to distract his brain.  Grief hits us all differently.

This was so out of the blue, we had been preparing for Rufus to go.  He is old, dragging and smelly.  Then, ZAP, Lily was gone.  We were signed up to pick up some puppies tomorrow, they all still want to do that, amazing kids we have.

This was Bo’s birthday.  I called him to see if he could come a little later as I had a body to dispose of.  He agreed.  Funny thing, Lily was born on my parents anniversary and died on Bo’s birthday.  Rufus was born on Tom’s birthday, but how do dogs know about such things?  Will he leave us on a special day?

Sonny was taken off in handcuffs today, and another neighbor told me I had “enemies”.  What a day.  What a day.