many ways

The first thing that goes nuts when you are stressed is your sleep cycle. You wake up at night, think about all that's troubling you, come up with some ideas about how to proceed the next day, and then in the morning, you cannot for the life of you remember what they were. Ideas born from lack of sleep have no staying power.

I found in my e-mailbox today some advice (handed out to probably millions of seniors) on how to minimize health issues with each year as you shift from 70 to 75 to 80. As always, "eliminating stress" was high on the list of "things you must do." How is it that you eliminate stress? Are you supposed to shed stressors like you would for a dog that is feeling overanxious? Walk the other way? 

True, you could go the route of "I dont care, I'm going to do what feels right and ignore the pressure to do better." But I am reminded of the little poem a childhood friend wrote in my autograph book some 60 years ago -- "good, better, best, never let it rest, until you good is better and your better best." I guess we do always strive to rise above the easy path. I know I was never satisfied with letting things be.

 

Sadey woke up, as usual, being absolutely perfect and charming. Lick, wag, wait. Still not perfect in the leash department, still not quick to do her stuff, but she's trying! 

Mornings with Henry were always the best part of the day. This is true with Sadey as well. She is the sweetest girl then. Well, not to the people she sees on the streets, but once inside, she's all mellow sweetness.

Breakfast. 

Things are getting tight schedule wise. Trying to figure out Sadey's future takes time. Picking up kids takes time. Seems that everything just sucks the hours out of the day -- this, when I am leaving the day after tomorrow, on a trip that was planned... in July! Not sure how all of it will play out, but I'm working on it!

 

 

 

The kids are one foot into spring break already. It's always like that in March. An eagerness to have a week off after two months of work. They're both excited about forthcoming adventures: Sparrow is off to the west coast, Snowdrop is crossing the ocean. And Sandpiper? I find him at home, back from school early! 

He's excited about a trip too, but it doesn't come until late spring for him. And still he is just all smiles. 

 

 

 

The older two come to Sally's House with me. Ours is a slow pace. I could have been the kind of grandma who plans exciting projects and has everything set out for an afternoon of play. That's one path to a successful grandparenting situation. It's not my way. I'm bookish, so I introduce books left and right. There are toys, of course. Too many, Ed would say. But if they choose to play, it requires them to invent that play. I make few (any?) suggestions.

 

Towards evening, I take Sparrow to Taekwondo and Snowdrop and I go on to pick up Sadey. Snowdrop has learned not to shower her with hugs and kisses now. Sadey is stressed after daycare and the best you can do for her is to shower her with calmness.

 (a perfect moment, for both)

 

 

At home in the evening, I watch Sadey's inquisitive eyes and I wonder why I never noticed how unsure she still is. It's really no surprise that she barks at people coming toward her. She's unsure there as well. The less understandable is her lunge and nip at people in the park who weren't at all interested in approaching her. She approached them. It's really that which caused this flood of anxiety and stress on my part. She was a happy, well exercised dog then. She could have taken the day in any number of directions. Why did she choose that one?

I suppose it's like asking me "why did I opt to take on dog care." There isn't an explanation that would satisfy you. I did it because for me, it was the right thing to do. Sadey has her reasons too. We are able to sort through some of them, but not all. My beautiful girl of infinite mystery... Oh, Sadey!

with so much love... 

 

dog talk

I'll always remember this period, the one immediately after my years at the farmette, as my time of really learning about dogs. It's fascinating to me that though I had dogs for a good chunk of my life, I knew too little about them. Oh sure, I bought the dog books, I read them. I trained, fed them, took them to the vet, walked them, and yet they were a shadow to my life. My focus was on the kids, on my work. If my dogs had problems, I wasn't going to spend time digging deeply to get to the root of their troubles.

It's only when you accept the responsibility of caring for a dog with serious challenges that you get to really dive deeply into their inner soul and start to think about what makes them tick and what causes systems failure, so that they make poor choices, destroying the fabric of your life with them. Without that understanding, of course, you cannot hope to help them. And so I have spoken with countless people about my two dogs, Henry and Sadey. Experts, lay people. I've read so much, and talked and listened, and watched Henry and now Sadey in ways that I never watched a dog before. And when I see other dogs, I can pick up things I would have missed in the past. Late in life lessons that I wish I did not have to learn. I wish so many dogs were not in need of special care and handling because of those internal mechanisms that cause them such trouble.

But would have I taken Henry or even Sadey had I known? Probably not. I had the time, the patience, I freed up some resources, and yet I couldn't help Henry. That failure stays with you. I dont really blame myself, but the experience was so heart wrenching that deliberately signing up for it would not have been my first choice.

And yet, having Henry was one of the best, most important experiences in my life.

And Sadey? Well, I'm more gray haired and somber about the whole thing. I know she needs a lot. What she does not need is a person who is broken up about failing Henry.

Still, here she is, ready to roll with the day. A very cold day it is too!

I cant have my usual breakfast because I have a doc's visit that requires no food. So it's a short training session and off to doggie daycare for her.

I spend a while at the daycare, talking to the director about Sadey, and what is the best possible future for her. We come up with a plan. There's a lot of waiting and more talking ahead of me.

On to the doc, then home for a very late breakfast...

 

 

 

... and then more conversations, emails, all about dogs, about Sadey, and finally a lunch at Tati's. With a friend. When was the last time I had lunch with a friend? Oh.... maybe in May? And from there -- off to pick up the kids.

The talk in the car is of dogs of course. Theirs is a simple line, with obvious outcomes: dog means love, love means happy dog (eventually, anyway), happy dog means happy home. Their idea for me and Sadey is for us to keep on truckin' and cross fingers that things will get better. That would have been my idea too, as little as six months ago. 

The conversation shifts to a video character. Or two. A name comes up that makes Sparrow and Snowdrop guffaw. I ask -- who is that? They tell me -- oh, she's a YouTuber. A what? A youTuber! What's that? Gaga, you don't know what a YouTuber is? Indeed I don't. I do know that YouTube has been deemed a poor choice for Snowdrop, for reasons of stupidity (of the content, not the girl!), but stupid stuff sometimes refuses to go away once implanted in a kid's head, so here they are, laughing away at a Salish -- a name that I myself would have instantly forgotten, but one that apparently is important enough to stick around for these two.

In the evening we pick up Sadey. Dear, dear Sadey. I can tell she is in her high stress mode. Little girl, I'm going to try my damnest to figure out something for you. I just dont know yet what that might be.

 

 

 

with so much love... 

 

blizzard

It's a storm that was in the forecast for days. The epicenter of it was to move right through Madison Wisconsin and it did just that. First ice, then snow, in sheets and with winds pushing it into heaps and piles in places that surprise you. Two steps and you're in a drift. Ten steps and you're out of it. How do you walk a Houston dog in something like that?

It's been a while since we had a blizzard of sizable proportions here. Somehow all the winter storms of 2026 moved along tracks that left us cold and snowless. And now, four days before the official start of spring, here we are -- snow covered. It will start melting later in the week, but today (and tomorrow as well) we are frozen into a white stillness. 

Lots of cancellations and closures out there. Including doggie daycare. Understandable, but it does mean that I have to imagine a good day for Sadey, and I have to reschedule stuff that really needed to be done on a kid-free day.

My mantra for the day? We will manage! I think.

Sadey is eager to go out this morning. Ha! Little girl, you have not ever been in stuff like this! There had been one snowfall of the two to three inch type when she was over-nighting at camp. It had mostly melted the next day so I missed her moment of play. They said she liked it, but of course, this is something else altogether. It's windy, it's cold, it's deep in spots. I bundle her up and we set out.

Where am I supposed to do my stuff -- she asks me. (Not with words, but with body language.)

We find a sheltered spot. She is grateful. We continue.

But not for long. It's such slow going, for her, for me. She shakes snow off constantly and still it comes down. At one point she goes up the steps of a random house as if to ask -- can we pause inside this one for a while? We can do this Sadey! Let's keep moving!

Finally, home. And a hardy breakfast for her. The usual for me.

I do repeat sessions of training all morning. She is tough to train, not because she is a slow thinker or not food motivated, but because she is so anxious to move close to me and my treat filled hand that getting her to sit in place or stay or come is a challenge. She comes automatically whenever I move. I can't get her not to come! So we keep working at it.

I also try to work on getting her to bark less. Movements outside inspire her woofs. I can try to tame those, though this too may be challenging. She still barks at Ed when he is here. (His comment -- you sure got the crazy dogs! Thanks for reminding me...) 

 

Just before noon I go out to shovel. There's not much sidewalk to clear, but the driveway has a mountain of snow, blown in from the other side of the road. I do it, but I am wondering if I should get a power snow blower for the future. It seems like a stupid idea for the small amount of blizzard snow that comes our way each winter, but on the other hand, when it comes, someone has to remove it and if it's me, I'd rather not kill myself doing it. (Ed of course says it's good for me, and I have to agree: that which doesn't kill you will make you stronger!) 

Sadey is good about my working outside, but once I'm in, she lets me know it's her turn now. Sadey, let's skip the sweater and just keep it short, okay?

I really need to get this pup out to the park this afternoon (once they clear the roads). 

But let's not forget the ice! If you have cleats on your shoes, wear them! I am that wise person after the fall. I went out for a second to check on something and did a classic slip and fall on my tailbone. Ouch!! Luckily with just a slight head bump and hand scrape. I had to smile: I'd complained about the ice at the farmette by the parked cars. I'd complained about the abundant salt sprinkled on sidewalks around the Edge. Who can I blame for this slip? Me!

 

By mid afternoon I deemed the roads clear enough for me to take Sadey Cakes to the dog park. Every day has at least one moment that is just so full of Henry and I suppose today's visit to the park did that for me today. Henry loved to play in the snow. Oh, I suppose many dogs are with him on that, but my boy had the grace of an antelope -- he would soar and leap at Prairie Morraine and I could never catch it in a photo, but it was pure joy to watch. From the day I adopted him in October, I took him to dog parks at least twice a week (on the weekends; sometimes more...). That leaves many memories of our time there -- perhaps the sweetest one being in the middle of a blizzard before the new year. That selfie of him and me as we tried to get to the car is one that makes me sob now. I wont repost it. Bad enough that when I went looking for it on Ocean, I had to scroll through, for the first time since his death, all the posts with him front and center in December. (The blizzard photo was actually earlier -- November 30th.) Will there be a time when I can look at his face and just... smile?

 

Park time for the girl. She's a runner too. In speed, she matches Henry, though her body is more compact and her legs are shorter.

And here's a truth about Sadey: she is a little like Henry in slo mo, moving in that direction, only not so rapidly and not so forcefully. She is, if truth be told, reactive. Yep. Totally and without doubt. A barker, but not of the kind where the tail is wagging and a conversation is underway. The kind that doesn't really like to see people across the street. (Have I seen this somewhere before?) The kind that views people at a dog park as threats to our existence. 

Sadey doesn't have the fierceness of Henry (yet) and perhaps she will never aggress against anyone. (Perhaps.) She is a velcro attention hog who loves cuddles. But then, so did he.  

Our trip to the dog park was an eye opener. She loved the snow, the high winds, the thrill of being in this place in this fierce weather, running, mostly just with me, as there were few people there initially. 

But, slowly people showed up. Some she liked. Or ignored. Some she did not like. Her bark at them had me turn from being relaxed to vigilant. And when she went up to a guy and nipped him in the leg (not bit, but nipped -- his word for it) I thought -- oh no... Sadey! Really?!  

The thing is, do I have the strength to go through this again? For the training that may or may not lead to success? The restrictions on her movement outside where there are people? If you lived through this with one dog and could not save him, you may not be the best candidate to take on another reactive dog. Especially one whose genetic makeup is that of a German Shepherd and Belgian Malinois with pitbull in the mix as well -- all three breeds requiring aggressive training and socialization from puppy hood, neither of which she had obviously. A Malinois is not a family dog. Sadey is a sweet girl in my home. She bonded with me quickly. (Though she still stresses over Ed.) 

 

 

 

What now? Well, I have to talk to the people in Texas about her. Should she stay? Maybe. But maybe not. She is a reactive dog, but she hasn't really bitten anyone yet. And still, she just closed the door to dog parks. I have never had any dog on any outing to such a park aggress against me. And now I have had two of my own that aggressed against others. Sigh...

Oh these poor damaged strays from Texas! Such tough lives they've had. Will good intentions help them out of the mess they're in? Sometimes. Not always, but sometimes. And someone has to try. Because they deserve a chance at a good life. I gave my heart to Henry. He deserved it. Sadey deserves that chance too. We'll see what happens next.

Sigh indeed!

with so much love... 

ideas

I have a great one -- let's get rid of evenings. Just eliminate them. They're the worst. I dont care that I thought a year ago that they were the best, second only to breakfast! I still love breakfast -- that stays. But evenings? Yuk. I miss Henry then. So much. Too much. Grief comes in waves and the evening wave is the most powerful of them all. It wallops you and knocks you down and honestly, you dont really want to get back up. 

Luckily they turn into night and the dreams come and you dont much like those either, but then eventually there is morning. 

Hi, Sadey!  7:15 is much better thank you. No one has ever expressed as much joy at seeing me at this hour as those two dogs have. Sadey is as bad as Henry was: licks wags leaps. Total delight. How can you be so enthusiastic before you had your morning coffee? Oh wait. Dogs dont do caffeine. The transition from wake up to bounce for them is immediate.

Everyone in south central Wisconsin is thinking and talking about the weather today. We've been warned. It had rained at night. There is a pause and then the storms will come. Rain changing to sleet and finally heavy snow, but with plenty ice in the mix. Lots of both. I do a quick mental calculation: there is no way I can exercise Sadey once the stuff comes down. If the first round is to arrive soon after 8, I better get her to the dog park now, before breakfast, hers and mine.

I'm not the only one with this idea. Or maybe a Sunday morning routinely brings out the dog walkers. I'm glad. Sadey runs, plays, gets used to strangers. It's a high priority for me, all of it.

We do two laps around the perimeter, allowing her to thoroughly empty all that she needs to empty. Phew. Got that out of the way. 

Time for breakfast, finally. Hers and mine.

Of course, she is quite ready for a nap then. So am I, frankly. But I have too much to do. I've been completely immersed in dog issues and dog questions and dog discussions and dog literature. All this fills the hours. Outside? Oh it's just miserable. Rain and freezing rain. Sleet. Honestly, it will be a relief to switch to snow, though I do feel awful for those who have to be out on the roads or catching flights. Your worst travel day is upon us.

Okay, Sadey, got any ideas on how to spend the rest of this day? Let's do some training first. Maybe we can get to a stay that lasts more than 3 seconds! Yes, I know, you wish you had your playmate to bother. Me too. Sigh...

(A selfie with Sadey is a challenge. Does. Not. Stay. In. Place.)

Family dinner is called off because of the horrid weather that's being thrust upon us. But Ed is here. Walking over the ice covered terrain. To Sally's House and back. All for my chicken millet soup. Well, maybe to make this evening more agreeable for me too.

(A selfie with Ed is also a challenge, though for different reasons.)

 

Sadey and I watch the Oscars. Continuity for me, and a lap for her to lean on. The snow is picking up now. With chilling temperatures that will stick around for a couple of days. Schools are closed tomorrow. It'll be a mess out there. Tonight? Well, I'm grateful. For all of you. For my dogs. For so much and so many in my life.

with love, always... 

 

a lift?

At some point, the weight lifts a bit and you sail forth. It's not an uneventful or easy sail. But you know you're moving at least, no longer mired in your grief. 

I keep Henry within me for the ride. Just not physically next to me, but within me for sure. I'll never let go of that pup. We were bonded at some deeper level and that bond remains. But, too, I am starting to focus a little on the here and now. 

Here's one here and now: Sadey! She slept upstairs with me again. And she woke me just before 7. Her clock isn't as perfect as Henry's was but it's good enough!

Breakfast. She works away at her antler, I work away at my granola. Candle still burning.

I know my home is just too quiet for a dog. There isn't enough here to keep an intelligent dog occupied. Until I do add a playmate, she will need to go to doggie daycare regularly. I am just too boring, even with our training sessions and her toys. Still, I have to admit -- she is easier to keep happy than Henry was. He was always trying to figure me out. Always gazing deeply to understand what I may have been thinking. My daughter once marveled that I spent so much time planing my day around him, reflecting on him, accommodating him. Sadey is more... normal. I spent the morning reading and researching and she played, then she napped, and the morning just passed. Henry would have asked (gently) for my engagement or, in the alternative, something edible to gnaw on. She made do with my boring day.

 

Just after the noon hour, I piled her in the car and we picked up Ed for a trip to the dog park. Sadey is in fact scared of men, but if given the chance, she warms up to them. It's taken a while with Ed, but she is now happy to trot alongside the both of us. She needs more contact with people. Without that, she's likely to retreat rather than flourish. 

At the dog park, she is radiantly happy. I still take in my breath when she runs up to someone. There's that fear -- will she act menacingly? Once, she in fact did bark, but the person reached out to her and she sniffed, wagged and trotted off. We need more of that.

She is getting to be an expert though at playing with dogs. I can see the change in her after a couple of weeks in the doggie daycare. She's reading and sending signals much more adeptly. 

Such an energetic girl! The color of the landscape right now.

Beautiful and strong.

I looked at my cobwebbed from disuse and disinterest to-do list. Time to get back to it. I have taxes to do. I have a trip before me. Am I ready for any of it? Maybe not today, but soon! Really soon.

In the meantime, it's  just me and the dog. Recovering. And yes, waiting for the storm that is about to hit Wisconsin. My shovel is ready! Sadey's sweaters are waiting for her. We are bracing ourselves for something awful, but you know how it goes -- if you think it'll be miserable, it probably wont be too bad. What's a few feet of ice and snow anyway!

with so much love... 

and the one after

Grief is so weird. I don't really understand it. Yesterday, very very late into the evening, Ed and I talked on the phone. He called me and I called him at exactly the same moment. A good thing, too, because I was very upset. Something along the lines of. "Henry had done everything for me, every last thing, with a passion and wisdom that was strong and beautiful. And I had let him go." Sobbing, I went around these words yet again with Ed. Ed, the patient one. Determined now to make me understand, reminding me once more about the risks Henry posed, not only in his biting, but in his forceful attack on people with his powerful body. "Listen, you are so risk averse, but I'm not." -- this from Ed. "I take chances. I calculate the risk and often land on the side of "it's worth it" where you would never ever choose that route. And despite that, I am telling you that to me, the risk here was too great and should not have been taken. I know you worry about your tendency to make quick decisions. I've watched you over the months be terrified that he would hurt someone, first in the apartment building then out on the streets. Let me say again that weighing all the risks for a while now, I truly believe what you did was exactly what had to be done. In fact, I think you waited too long. You took many chances with that." 

It's true. It's not that I was in denial. I saw his ferocious attacks on people who came too close. I just believed, or simply cradled the  hope that his bark was worse than his bite. That this gentle dog that loved so deeply would never really want to hurt anyone. But I worried. In all my long walks, my visits to dog parks, in picking up my guy at daycare, I never saw any dog lunge so determinedly at people. Not one. Just Henry. And when he started to make contact with the person of his disaffection, this is when I knew I was in trouble. That's when I started frantically to look for a house to rent. Even if it meant another move in the summer. 

So after this soothing talk with Ed, I felt relief. For a while anyway. Sadey and I go upstairs. She sleeps in his bed, but then she'd taken over that one when he was still here. He let it go. If this is what it took, he would acquiesce. Looking at her with his serious eyes, making that mental calculation. This is what is required now. Fine.. 

 

Morning. I wake up. No Sadey. Where is she? I go downstairs and smile my sad smile. I think she's missing Henry. In the last weeks he often rested and slept in the hallway by the door. His ultimate protective stance. Guarding, making sure. This is where his scent is strongest. This is where she spent half her night. 

 

We go outside. It is so windy! The weather this weekend is going to be such a mess and it's starting now. Henry was tense when it was a very windy walk. Sadey had to be more used to it, no? I mean, isn't Houston windy? 

 

Breakfast. Hers first. I'm trying to teach her things that Henry had long mastered. A sit-stay for him was easy. Not for her. She is so restless that she cannot hold anything for long. That's okay, sweet girl. You've been through so many changes! The "rule of threes" tells us that a rescue dog needs three days to decompress when she arrives, three weeks to learn her routine, and three months to fully settle and build trust.  

I sit down to my breakfast. I feel the need to keep that candle by me, to bring out Henry's mug which captures so well that look in his eyes. 

All the photos have it too. I can't look at any of this without feeling terribly sad. So why do it? It's not going to help him any. And contrary to what I speculated with the kids, I dont really think he's looking down on me and watching. I've always thought that death fuels too much sadness. When I die, I would like my kids, grandkids, Ed, friends, to be sad for exactly one day. Light your candles then, sing a song or two and then please, move on! Return to your laughter, your friends. Think of me with a chuckle not with a tear. So why am I bringing out Henry's cup? Why do I keep his sweatshirt as my most special clothing item? Snowdrop went to the fridge yesterday and took down the magnet of his face and put it aside. Is that okay, gaga? It makes me too sad to see it. It's more than okay! That's exactly the way to go. He does not demand sadness. Grief makes no sense here -- he was a great dog who opened us to such splendid love, the love of this soulful animal and of ours for him.  Let's keep that with us, not the sadness that came with losing him.

And yet, I light the candle and eat breakfast drinking from his mug because in my mind it underscores the power of his greatness. And I realize that's just stupid. It underscores nothing of the sort, it just makes me weep. Nonetheless, here I am, doing exactly that which makes no sense at all.

I drop Sadey off at daycare. One of the staff members -- a great fan of Henry's, and she wasn't the only one -- comes up to me. Listen, I don't want to make you sad or anything, but you know, we've been taking pictures of Henry  all along (such a unique and special pup!) and I'd like to put together all of them for you this weekend. Would that be okay?

Of course I would love them! But the sadness does now come right back, fiercely. Should I do a photo book myself of his life? But why? For me? Doing it would be extremely painful. Is it that I want to leave something tangible of him? That's so silly. Who, except for his small circle of friends would ever even look at it? Who would be made happy by it? Maybe instead I should imagine that his spirit remains. The tangible markers are nothing. Just items that will eventually make it to a landfill.  

 

And yet, right now stuff matters. I go grocery shopping. Stocking up for the weekend. Will we lose power? Will there really be a storm dumping snow and ice and isolating us in a cold world of late winter here? Maybe. So I stock up. And this too is ridiculously sad. 99% of the stuff I buy in a grocery store has nothing to do with Henry. But I see him in these foods anyway. Asparagus? I usually make it with a salmon fillet. How he loved it when I baked salmon! Yogurt? That's for breakfast. A meal of peace, where he curled up on the couch and waited for me to be done. Wheat crackers -- he loved it when I shared. And the worst -- the dog treats aisle. I see the soft heart-shaped banana-bacon treats. I made sure to give him those as he was falling asleep next to me in his final moments. Cheek to cheek, his face touching mine. Until he could eat no more. 

 

I take some food to Ed and bring the rest home. I'm thinking -- I'm not doing too well in the grieving department. Why? I'm a great blocker! I dont meander into  the past. Always move forward. Rarely look back. And here I am with these images of Henry refusing to let up.

 

Today is Snowdrop only day. I stop over at her house first -- I've not seen her mom for ages. Of course, I talk about Henry. Or rather about my inability to shed this profound feeling of loss. So not like me! She tells me -- listen, pet grief is something altogether different. I cried for three days when Goldie (her cat) died. And you know my friend -- her husband went to counseling to deal with the loss of his cat! Six months of grieving! I have to smile at that! 

Snowdrop is happy -- the family is going to a fish fry tonight. She asks me now -- gaga, will you be getting another dog? Only if the perfect small friendly older nonreactive easy pup shows up on my doorstep. 

We pick up Sadey. Ah, Sadey! She is finally getting my full attention. As the second child, she always had to share. Henry had to be mollified. It was assumed that she would fit in. And she did fit in. She wanted rather desperately to be part of our pack right away. She has that drive to make it happen! And because she managed to jump faster onto the couch next to me, she got first choice there. And still, my worries were with Henry. Now, she is the girl sitting in the prime spot. Both eyes, fully on her

Tomorrow? Another hard first -- taking Sadey to the dog park. How Henry loved it there! Pictures of them running together are still some of my favorites. Pure exuberance. Tomorrow, she ventures out alone. May she love it anyway. May she fly with others. May she be as happy as he was there.

 

(did I tell you that Sadey loves pillows and will arrange them perfectly to suit her needs?)

 

with so much love... 

 

the next day

I promise I wont spend the next days writing only about Henry. There is a side of grief that is too hard to describe and it wont make your day any better if I try. To those who wrote with such kindness to me -- messages, emails -- I thank you. I put your emails in my Henry folder. His life was way too short and his heart was way too full of love to let it all be lost with the events of yesterday. Henry will always be part of my world and your words give strength to that. He made a difference to your lives too.

Aside from the troll (who basically wastes time telling me repeatedly for years now how deranged I am, with Ed outpacing me in all aspects of insanity and stupidity, and delighting in finding evidence of this on Ocean), you've all been so very wonderful. The world really is filed with good, trusting, caring people. 

I do want to add something to my Henry story that may help you understand how we got to this point. Because honestly, in the last few days I have had a hard time accepting that this was an inevitable outcome. I've had the horrible feeling that in order to protect others -- all strangers out there -- I was sacrificing him. I was letting him down. True, no one (except for the troll) would argue that he should have been given more time. That further accommodations could have been made. The risk was so high and he'd crossed the line so often, that it is a miracle that we got off with only one big bite. And no, he couldn't have been a farm dog. People come and go all the time. Workers. Family. Ed and I have witnessed first hand aroused dogs that chase bikes on rural roads. There, too, they are a terrible danger -- I'd been chased by one, Ed has been bitten by one. Henry could not live in our dense world of Amazon deliveries and school buses with children and construction workers and people coming and going at all hours of the day. I gave him time away from stressors by moving, and still he found new stressors and reacted, each time with greater force and with harsher consequences. But until I thrashed this out yet again with Ed (who is possibly the greatest advocate for animal rights that I know), I felt that I had let Henry down. To save others, I gave up my Henry Bean. After promising him that I would always love him and take care of him. That I would never abandon him or give up on him. I felt that I had broken my promise.

Ed argued strongly against this. What he said (and I agree with this now) is that I gave Henry what he needed --a good ending. That a return to a shelter, or a seizure by Public Health with a mandatory isolation, with the inevitable euthanasia for his repeated attempts to harm others, and ultimately an unprovoked biting incident --  all this would have been a thousand times worse, not only for the victim and for me as the responsible owner, but for him as well. He truly felt loved and adored until his last breath. He was with his two favorite people. It was absolutely the best we could do for him. Experts, specialists, people who understand dogs way better than I do agreed that there wasn't another path.

Reason. Okay, there's reason for you. But then there are feelings: I miss him like crazy. I see his serious face, his eyes, and I cry. I can't help it. 

 

Did Sadey wake me or did I wake Sadey this morning? I'm not sure. The girl has been in a state of puzzlement since I picked her up yesterday. It's as if all this is good -- me, without the bother of another dog claiming rights to the couch, to the food and treats -- and yet it's not what she came to know and accept. It feels strange for her. I see it in her questioning eyes, in her sniffing out the house -- Henry's scent is everywhere and yet, he is not here. Do dogs ask the question "why?" Yes they do. They want the "why" to know what comes next. I reassure her as best as I can by acting... normal. Because Sadey my girl, this is the new normal.

The walk is good and this is the one bit of the day that gives me a huge sigh of relief. We see many kids, many people walking to school (which is just a short two blocks from Sally's House). Sadey is excited by this, but not in a negative way. If she perks up and stands on attention, wondering what's up with these people popping up suddenly, I call out "treat!" and she turns to me wagging, waiting for a handout. Which she readily gets. 

 

At my breakfast time, Sadey takes out her antler and works away at it. She now has two to choose from. Sigh...

 

 

I take her to doggie daycare. 

 

 

 

She needs it less than Henry did. I could crate her. I could take her to a dog park. But honestly, I need the time to be with my thoughts and feelings, and, too, I want her to continue her play with the dogs she knows and likes. Her main play buddy was always Henry, but they said she had recently branched out. Goose is there. Familiarity, repetition, continuation. She needs all of that.

 

From the doggie daycare, I go to the DMV to renew my drivers license which expires in a few weeks. I'd been putting it off. This and everything else it seems. The guy takes a photo for the license. I hadn't showered this morning and I'm my usual sloppy mess of these last few days. I ask him -- is it okay? He says "yes! you look happy!" I want to say to him -- no, take it again! You told me to smile, but I am not happy! I do not wish to look happy! It's fake and it doesn't do service to my beloved dog! But I don't say anything. I go to the window to go over the paperwork. She asks for my passport (for proof of citizenship), I hand her the passport, she tells me -- "that's not yours you know." Damn. I picked up Snowdrop's from our June trip. Back to Sally's House, then once more to the DMV. I'm told to look into the machine for the vision test. I can't see anything. My eyes are so puffy and hazed over that it all looks like a Russian alphabet. I take a few minutes to settle. I take some wild guesses. Enough to satisfy her. Thank God. Not only do I not need glasses for driving, they are only for clarity in reading and actually disturb my vision for anything other than a book. 

She's not done with me. What color are your eyes? I had put down blue gray. You have to pick one! I don't know! I am nearly 73 years old and I dont really know the color of my eyes! And hair? I had put down brown gray. Again --you have to choose one. Ridiculous requirements! Most women dye their hair. What does it matter what color it is today? I should have said gray. I feel gray. 

 

I spend the rest of the morning with Ed at the farmhouse. There are a bunch of showings of Sally's House today and in the next few days. I can't imagine why the sudden interest, but I need to stay away from it for now. And so the morning passes. It's good this way. The farmhouse does not remind me of Henry. Sally's House does. It's for him that I am there. Without him now.

 

In the afternoon I have the kids with me. First Sparrow, then Snowdrop. Both have been upset by the news of Henry, but Snowdrop has been more than upset for three days now -- she is heartbroken in ways that make it tough for anyone to help her. She knows, she understands, she doesn't challenge the outcome. But the loss just feels so enormous. Big serious dog who loved his people. And still, kids are resilient. They cry hard and recover faster than us old guys. This afternoon we do the usual: read, play, eat and even manage a big smile at pet jokes. 

Eventually we pick up Sadey, who is of course eager as anything to get in the car with us. I take the kids home. Sadey and I come back to Sally's House. I'm glad it still is light outside when we return. A dark brooding house without the chaos of two large dogs playing would have been so very tough to face. 

Sadey is tired after a day of play. This is good. Her best playmate isn't here to give her a lick on her nose or a soft chew on her neck. She rests next to me on the couch. Beautiful, serene, calm. I rub her ears, she sleeps.

 

with so much love... 

waiting, then -- not waiting

 BEFORE

Anyone who has lived through any medical drama will tell you that waiting to find out bad news is awful. I don't think it's worse than the bad news itself. I imagine that once I find out what's to become of my poor Henry, it will feel plenty awful, but I'm not liking this stage much either, that's for sure. Made worse by the fact that I'm plagued by the question of "have I really done enough?" And "did I miss anything at all?" It's not so much believing that I made a bad decision somewhere along the way. It's more the worry that I am giving up even where others would hang in there. But would they? And would that be the right choice, given what we all know about Henry?

But hanging in there is not without its own scary moments. Last night, Henry lunged at a construction worker across the street. I could hardly contain him -- he is so powerful, so determined! This morning he lunged toward a father and son, walking to school. I quickly redirected, being oh so glad that they did not round the corner earlier. How can I hang in there when my gentle pup, the most loving lap dog in the world, is a holy terror when confronted with the human world outside my doors?

 

Morning. He comes over to greet me, breaking my heart right down the middle. We walk...

They eat. I eat. Daffodils. Pretty. Coming of spring.

(for you, Henry)

They play. Side by side, chewing.

 

 

 

I take them to day care, I meet up with my friend for coffee.

 

 

 

It's snowing outside. It will snow more later. Two feet they say, this Sunday. Henry loves snow, but hates the coming down of wet stuff. Funny contradiction there! My dog is full of those funny contradictions.

 

DURING  

I finally have that talk with my vet, whom I love so much for her smartness, her compassion, her advice. A long talk. It's a consensus. Henry cannot function in a world with strangers in it. It's not his fault, it's not ours. He is and will always be fiercely protective of me, of the two of us. And maybe the meds have made him feel even more powerful so that he is losing his inhibitions. Or maybe they've helped him feel more calm at home, but not outside. We wont know. As Ed keeps telling me -- I've had ample warnings that he could hurt someone. 

Time to say good-bye to this most magnificent, regal dog -- a dog that I love so deeply that I cannot imagine a day without him, I cannot see his image, his eyes without bursting into tears. 

Ed and I go together to pick him up at daycare.

 

 

 

Henry Bean, the Navigator. My beloved pup. Rest in peace knowing to the last second of your life that you were loved more than I could ever have believed a person could love a dog. 

 

 

 

AFTER

I pick up Sadey. Is she puzzled that he isn't here? I dont know. I just don't know anything right now except that Henry is with the stars and the moon that used to shine so brightly on us all at night. And in my heart. Always.

with so much love... 

 

Henry

It would be a lie to claim that I am thinking or worrying about anything else today. Henry is front and center for me. Henry Bean, the dog with the serious eyes that pour forth love. For me. And mine -- for him. The most difficult dog on the planet to incorporate into the normal human world (if indeed we are even normal) and yet one that has begged me with his whole heart not to give up on him. He balked at being left alone. I stopped leaving him alone. He balked at having to share small spaces in the apartment building with others. I took him out of there. He balked at people coming near us. This I cannot remove from his environment. Not completely and the inadvertent encounters that remain are creating more and more anxiety for him, even as his meds go up and his training has intensified. 

Henry is in trouble and my heart breaks for him.

There's no sweet way to write about this -- the dog I love so much cannot remain in the place I made for him -- in a house, with Sadey, in the blocks of the new development, with people next door, across the street, down the block.. His intensifying unstoppable protectiveness is leading him to choices that are unfortunately not acceptable.

What happens next? As I write this, I do not know. The consensus (among trainers, vets, dog daycare folks) is that he should be returned to the Shelter in town. I'm in discussion with them over that. 

 

Since yesterday evening, when I saw him cross that line and knew he had gone too far, I am nothing but a sack of tears. Ed has tried to talk me through this, this morning I zoomed with Bee...

... and all this helps, but it wont take away the pain of losing my best dog pal.

Henry and I have been through so much together in these last five months! And every morning, he was there, reassuring me that the day was fresh, there were wonders to behold, we would face them together, he and I. How do you give up on a dog like that?

I walk him, he is calm. But it is a false hope. I've had so many with him -- they've always fizzled in the end. 

At home, he plays with Sadey, with stuffies. 

 

 

 

 

 

He knows I am sad. He snuggles next to me, taking my sadness onto his massive shoulders. Saying nothing, looking as serious as ever, so intensely, with so much love. 

I eat breakfast and read endless papers on dogs with his problem. 

 

 

 

None have a good solution. All point to the huge risk I take by keeping him with me. A dog that's meant to guard a property where no strangers should enter without invitation. A dog that protects his beloved owner. A dog who would give his life for her. Except now she has to let him down.

My best Henry Bean, my pooch whom I love so totally much, in trouble now.

 

I take him to daycare. I pick up the kids on autopilot. How do I tell them that Henry the Navigator should not be with us in the car? That he should not be going out for walks? Or to parks? Or anywhere at all? How do I tell them that the dog that nuzzles Snowdrop's hand again and again and again is not a good fit for the human world? How do I tell myself that? 

We talk about all of it on the car ride to Sally's House. Both are sad, but Snowdrop is beyond consolation. Henry was her guy. In the car, she sought him out and he her. Did we really all give up on him? Just like that?

 

I haven't forgotten about or neglected Sadey. She is not one who would ever allow herself to be neglected!  But I do have her take the back seat to Henry today. It's quite likely that she will have my full attention pretty soon. Just not today.

(my beloved boy...)

 

with so much love... 

 

a day like this

A day like this one is not to be had in early March in south-central Wisconsin in normal times. And it wont be had in any of the remaining days of the month. It is absolutely gorgeous (to borrow one of Ed's favorite words). 68F/20C, for goodness sake! With sunshine to fill the cup of the most sun deprived soul. 

And maybe it's for this reason that my pups, too, had such a good morning! Up at 7:30, out without issue, Henry stifling his barks with a look to me for treats, Sadey not pulling too hard. I tell you, every bad morning (Saturday) has its counterpart (today)!

My two dogs play together with their duckie toys, and rest while I eat breakfast.

At 9:30 they are antsy to get going

Off to doggie daycare, where they can both romp and play without worry. Happy dogs indeed. I do a quick run to the grocery store, where for once the daffodil bucket is not empty, then home again to unload it all and still be on time to meet up with my visiting friend for lunch. Outside!

I could run through all my dog issues with her all over again! It's good to have friends who have their own troubles and yet will listen to you talk for a long time about what it's like to have a dog who barks and lunges at strangers.  

And in the afternoon? No kid pick up today so I finally have the time to go biking with Ed. It's a perfect day for it. Like June only it's March!

As is our habit, we pause by Lake Waubesa.

 

 

 

I watch two kids playing, wading in the icy cold, muddy water and I think -- would Henry bark even at these two?

 

 

 

If Saturday began poorly and ended well, I'd say this day is a flip side of that coin. Stunningly beautiful beginning, sad ending: I was picking up the two pooches and as usual, they are besides themselves with joy to see me. Henry is not besides himself with joy when others come into the room to pick up their dogs. A close encounter of the type you dont want followed. I pulled him away yet again from the sources of his stress. So now there's this: he cannot be led out into a room where others enter. At the very least, he has to be muzzled. It's as if the doors are closing around him -- the most beautiful, loving dog I have ever known, who has just one great big issue: he wants to protect me, us, from strangers coming toward us. The most natural instinct in the dog world, but one that cannot be allowed to be present in the human world.

Time to take all this to my vet again and to the doggie daycare staff who all adore him as much as I do. I suppose there's only one way that I can end this post -- with a great big "Oh, my poor, beloved Henry! You sure know how to make a mess of things!!"

with so much love...