Resurrecting...

The last time I posted on my blog was about this time last year. Growing tired of Facebook pollution (i.e., a lot of crap, and click bait posts) I thought I'd raise the veil on the blog again.  Fitting that I'll be going to see my best friend in California again, too.

I thought I'd share a dream I've held for a very long time. Meet Wynn...

Is it really almost over?

"If I dropped a tear in the ocean,

the day they found it,
 would be the day I'd stop loving you."
                                                                 -- Unknown

I haven't written about you much here, baby. I haven't been able to open my heart enough to let anything out. Unlike Ty, who belonged to the world as much as he belonged to me, you are all mine. I have never shared you with the world, and you never wanted me to. It's always been about what's between us.

As I return from a visit with Dr. Leslie, and news that wasn't what I wanted to hear, I find I would not be fulfilling my promises to you, and what you've meant to me, if I didn't take time to write to you, as I wrote to Ty toward the end of his life.

Why has it been so hard to write to you? I don't know, really. I've tried several times. I think the short answer is you are my heart. I've never given my heart out easily, and doing it now is difficult, but without writing to you here, now, I wouldn't be honoring who you are, who you've been, and what my life has been like because of you. I have never dishonored you, and I won't start now, so here goes.

Tears are streaming down my cheeks as I write, knowing it won't be long before you leave me, with wings upon your shoulders, knowing, as I always have, that this time would eventually find us.

The day I first saw you, I knew you were mine. Three puppies were put in my lap. Two blues, and you. The two blues wouldn't settle, and wanted down, but you turned yourself around, scooted up my chest, and set your head down under my chin, with a big sigh. I say I didn't pick you, that you picked me, and you did, though I knew it the moment I saw you, you were the one I wanted. There was something there, in that moment.

You would take me down paths I never knew were even available to me. You took to training and performance like you'd been born to do it. You loved it, and tolerated my clumsy training and guidance in the early days. As I look back, I can see just how driven you were. With me in your way most of the time, you found a way, and lead us along the path to success. For us, it was never really about the wins, it was about the time together. It was about walking to the line together, looking into each other's eyes, and doing what we loved so much.

Sometimes I would catch myself, and think, "gosh, what will I ever do without you," then I would push the thought out of my mind. We had so many years ahead, I would tell myself, and we did. But no matter the number of years ahead, we were slowly marching toward the day I dreaded more than any other.

You were wise when you were just a baby. You seemed to know things, like you'd been here before. Calm and smart, you faced every challenge with a deep knowing, like you'd experienced it before. Even as we get close to the end, you have a calm about you that makes me wonder, "have you done this before?"

We have been, for the last 5310 days, each other's hearts, in every way. Performance, long walks, trips hither and yon, raising puppies together. No matter what we did, always together. Poppa calls you my sentinel, and you are. I know, even when you leave this life, you will continue to be exactly that. I know you will watch over me, as you always have. I hope your days aren't over yet, but my eyes see you losing ground every day, and I know you can't stay here forever.

You have never really loved anyone but me. You have tolerated many, but your love has been mine, entirely, and I've always known it. I never encouraged you to love anyone else, because I wanted you all to myself...I wanted my heart to myself, and you, my sweet boy, are, forever, my heart.

How do I say 'good-bye' to my heart? How do I say farewell to the one thing I have loved more than any other? I don't know, but I imagine you will guide me there, as you always have, with an understanding only you have.

So, here we are, stepping forward, together, inching toward the moment we have to say "good bye", and I'm powerless to stop the momentum. Even as you begin to weaken, I hear you, telling me to be strong, to believe in the power of the love we have, and share, and to trust you, as I always have.

I love you, Jet...I never learned how to fully love until you came into my life. I know it was the lesson you came to share. It was your job. You did it so well, almost too well, and even as you weaken slowly, you are still doing it, with every breath you take.

I don't know if I will write to you again, as our language is so intensely personal, as you know, but even if I don't, look into my heart, my baby boy.  I will speak to you there, as I always have.

You are my everything, Jet...forever and ever, my heart.

True love

It's been an up and down few weeks, filled with things I welcome, and things I dread.

My beloved Jet, my first Sheltie, and the four legged love of my life, has been experiencing a few health issues.  Without going into a great deal of detail, I can say that his age has slowly been catching up with him.  Always a very young looking older dog, he is now looking like an older old dog.  At 14, I'm realistic and understand that he won't be here with me forever, but the thought of losing him is extremely difficult to bear.  I'm not sure I know how to breathe without this dog, and while that may sound like a dramatic proclamation, in many ways, it's how I feel.

For now, he's here.  He's comfortable, and he isn't experiencing any pain.  He's a little wobbly, and can't hop up on the deck like he could not long ago.  It's hard to watch him age before my eyes.  It's hard to look into those brown eyes that are wise and full of understanding, knowing I can't change the course he and I will travel.  There are times I think he seeks my gaze to connect with me, and tell me it's okay, that somehow he knows more about what's coming than I do. And, knowing him as I do, I'm sure that's true.

People say dogs come into our lives to teach us things.  I believe that.  Ty did.  I know Jet has, as well.  My heart knows what Jet came to teach me.  For now, I will keep that knowledge to myself.  Unlike Ty, who came to change me in ways that affected others, Jet came for something more personal...

There will never be a good time to say good-bye to my furry true love.  I keep saying "not now", and even if he lived to 20, it would never be enough.  I just hope we have more time together, to ease into the changes I know are coming.  To somehow prepare for something there is really no way to prepare for.

Your lake...

Saturday, as we were driving home from the show, we stopped at your lake, Bun.  I feel you so strongly there.  I don't know why.  Maybe it's because it was a place you loved, and when you were sick, it was the place I most wanted to take you, you just never got well enough to leave home those last few days.

I sat in the car, thinking of you, as I looked over the shore where you used to have a conversation with the waves, letting them know their disorderly splashing needed organization, which only you were capable of providing.  The waves always won, even though you gave it your best.  Your wet fur, and big smile were really your only goals...we all knew that much.

Sitting there, listening to those waves lap up on the shore, I could almost hear your voice.  I could see you, 'talking' to those waves, and the tears just came.

It seems like only yesterday you left us.  Every day I try to live to the fullest, in your honor, but my heart still hurts with an ache that never leaves.  I don't think it ever will.

I miss you, baby boy, so very much.  I hope you know...I hope you know.

Jett Foster, July 5, 2010 - May 3, 2013

The silent popcorn popper...

The day you came into this world, I knew I would face the day of your passing.  There could be no way for me to know your life would be so short.  I never imagined it, never thought of it, and never believed it possible, yet here we are.

The day you were born was such a special day for me.  I never had human children of my own, and in some very small way, there was a sliver of that kind of excitement on the day you came into the world.  You were one of two in my very first litter.

Your sister was born first.  She entered the world wiggling and full of life.  Text book.  So excited we were.  We knew there was one more.  I'd seen two on the x-rays just a few days before.  So we settled back and waited.  An hour turned into two.  Then two turned into three.  I started to worry.  I called a friend, a long-time breeder, and told her I was worried.  She suggested a shot of Oxytocin for your mother.  After checking with our vet, we proceeded with the shot. The labor came on quick, and it was hard on your mom.  It went on for a while.  We knew you were on the way, but it was taking too long.  Finally you emerged, but you were cool and not moving.  We warmed you, removed the fluid from your lungs.  We willed you to life.  It felt like hours, though I'm sure it was just a few minutes, then you finally started to wiggle, and once you did, you never looked back.

We had the most fun with you for 8 weeks.  You made us laugh so many times, it's difficult to count.  You were the opposite of your sister.  She was high strung and never stopped.  You were laid back, and just one cool, suave daddy. Nothing was of such great importance that you had to get there immediately, as though you knew all good things would find you in time, and they did...even the family who would come to love you as much as life itself.

We took you on field trips as you grew.  You had visitors and experiences too many to count, and you enjoyed them all.

When you were six weeks old, we took a road trip, and it would prove a life changing trip for you.

We spent two weeks in California with you and your sister.  You had more experiences, met more people, and continued to blossom, bringing laughter and joy to all who met you.

On your eight week birthday it was time for photos and time for us to ready for the trip home.  We had planned to take you and your sister to a local park.  I was worried about exposing you to a public park for photos, so my sister suggested the home of her friend, Ann and her husband, Hank.  We made one phone call, and we were off to Ann's beautiful home in the hills of Santa Barbara's Hope Ranch.

We spent a couple of hours taking photos, letting you and your sister explore Ann's beautiful property, but something else was happening, as well.  I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but I knew things were about to change, then I heard the words, "I really like this boy, is he for sale?"  I looked up into Ann's eyes.  I saw the 'look', and in her arms you laid.  For the first time in eight weeks, you were settled while being held, and you started to doze off.  In eight weeks you'd never fallen asleep in the arms of another human being.

In that moment, I wondered if you would be making the return trip home with us.

I said to Ann, "I don't know yet.  I'd really like to keep him another two weeks", and even hearing myself say the words, I knew they weren't true.  We took you and your sister, and left.  I told Ann I would think about her question, and give her an answer by morning.  As we drove away, the tears started to come.  I already knew the answer.  I didn't have to wait until morning, I called Ann later that evening and told her you could be her new puppy.

I don't think she could hang the phone up fast enough before she was off to the local pet supply to buy every imaginable toy, bed and accessory any puppy would be lucky to have.

She came by to see you that day, and to take photos.  I could tell by the smile on her face that this was a moment she'd been waiting for, for a while.

We went to bed, and I cried myself to sleep.  I woke up the next morning, and we drove you to Ann's house on our way out of town.  It was there we said our farewells, and with tears streaming down my cheeks, we drove away.

For two hours I sat in the car, hoping I'd made the right choice in leaving you there.  I finally settled in for the long drive home, distracted by your sister.  The next morning, as we started the final leg of our trip, I got an email that started with "We are completely in love with this puppy..."  That was the salve my heart needed.

You would go on to bring a great love to Ann and her family, and they would shower you with every possible opportunity, giving you a life like none other.

The emails would continue to come, full of love for you, and so, so much pride.  You had become Ann's baby...and we were so happy for you.  You were truly living a charmed and wonderful life - the 'life of Riley'.

When you became sick in April, your family would stop at nothing to save you.  They left no stone unturned, they spared no expense.  They did everything humanly possible to save you.  Watching them prepare to lose you was one of the most heart-breaking experiences of my life.  I cried a river of tears as they tried to save you.  Nothing seemed to stop the wave determined to take you.

At 11pm, the night before you passed, Ann sent me a simple text, she said, "I can't let him go yet, it's not quite time," and while she knew it was coming, she needed to lay down with you, and hold you, one more time.  She asked for blankets in the veterinary hospital.  She held you, and you slept on the floor together one last time. At 2am the text I dreaded had come.  "I think it's time."  With more love in her heart than I ever thought possible, she released you to fly with the angels.  Twenty minutes later she told me you were gone.

Not even three years old.  I could feel Ann's heart breaking from a thousand miles away.  It burned a hole in my own heart, and in that moment, I found out what it means to be a breeder...the true heart-ache we all carry.  The incredible highs, and the unimaginable lows.

In all my tears, I knew one thing for certain, you were a boy on a mission.  Ann and her family needed you in ways only you knew.  You found a way to find them, and once you did, you told me, in no uncertain terms, that you were 'home'.  The pain that Ann, and her husband Hank suffered, and continue to suffer, is a tribute to a rare and powerful love.

I know you have found friends in Heaven.  I hope you've found Ty, Bogie, Sundance, Gracie.  But most of all, I hope you found a popcorn popper.  It remains my fondest memory of you.  A popcorn popper, in honor of your memory, hangs on Ty's tree, along side the ornament holding a tuft of his hair.  Two special souls...

I love you, sweet baby.  I always will.  Until we meet again.

A loan from God

I ran across this poem on FaceBook yesterday.  I thought it was so beautiful, and especially meaningful in light of our loss of our beautiful Ty...perhaps it will help others who have lost a beloved dog, or other furry friend.

I wish I knew who the author was.  I do not.

A loan from God

God promised at the birth of time,

a special friend to give.

His time on earth is short, he said,

so love him while he lives.

It may be six or seven years,

or twelve or then sixteen.

But will you, 'til I call him back,

take care of him for me?

A wagging tail and cold wet nose,

and silken velvet ears.

A heart as big as all outdoors,

to love you through the years.

His puppy ways will gladden you,

his antics bring a smile.

As guardian or friend, he will,

be loyal all the while.

He'll bring his charms and grace your life,

and though his stay be brief.

When he's gone, the memories,

are solace for your grief.

I cannot promise he will stay,

since all from earth return.

But lessons only a dog can teach,

I want you each to learn.

Whatever love you give to him,

returns in triple measure.

Follow his lead and gain a life,

brim full of simple pleasure.

Enjoy each day, as it comes,

allow your heart to guide.

Be loyal and steadfast in love,

as the dog there by your side.

Now, will you give him all your love,

nor think the labor vain,

nor hate me when I come to call,

to take him back again?

I fancy each of us would say,

"dear Lord, thy will be done.

For all the joy this dog shall bring,

the risk of grief we'll run."

"We'll shelter him with tenderness,

we'll love him while we may.

And for the happiness we've known,

forever grateful stay."

"But shall the angels call for him,

much sooner than we've planned,

we'll brave the bitter grief that comes,

and try to understand."

-- Unknown

Missing you, Bun...

Every day without you is still so strange.  Christmas without you was hard.  The turning over of the new year without you was hard.  Thinking about breeding Kindle, and raising puppies without you is hard.

You were the best puppy raiser.

I have struggled to find the right dog for Kindle's first litter.  With every dog I considered, I thought of you, and the promises I had made to you, and your memory.  I found a dog I believe is the right one.  I hope I am right.  I hope and pray that any resulting puppies will be healthy, strong and live long, happy lives, loved and adored as every puppy should be.

At several points along my journey to find the right dog, I considered giving up, afraid to make the wrong choice, afraid of the mines that litter the breeder's playing field.  It is such a difficult, and frightening field to navigate through, but for whatever reason, I choose to march on.  Call me crazy...I think every breeder has a drop of two of crazy in their blood. Why else would we put ourselves on this path?

I pray that I have made the right choice.  There is nothing sweeter for me, and more life affirming, than the joy of puppies.

Jet...

My beloved Jet...enjoy your nap, my beautiful boy.

Mobile grooming station...

For the dog show enthusiast who is too tall for one level of crates, and too short for two...

 

How they attach.  Just a couple of L-hooks, screwed in.  Spaced so they drop into pre-drilled holes in the crates.

 

The stain was called "Black Cherry", but I thought it looked more like eggplant when applied.  No matter, I like purple.

 

Casters attached with nuts and bolts.

 

And it all folds down and goes in the back of the Element.

Thoughtful Tuesday: worried about Ty...

Today is thoughtful Tuesday, and I don't much feel like writing.  I'm worried about Ty.  I don't wish to vocalize anything specific, but would ask for some prayers for him, and to give the vet healing hands for his visit this afternoon.  That's all...

What happened to Kindle?

 

Last summer I noticed something just a little bit 'off' with my beloved Kindle.  Nothing overtly obvious, I could just tell her body wasn't in alignment with all of its parts.  She'd never been injured, that I was aware of, and she'd never had a lame day.  It was more an overall lack of full extension in the way she uses herself.

I decided to have her x-rayed.  On x-ray, we discovered compression between L6 and L7.  After extensive discussions with the vet, and the orthopedic specialist, we could not conclude the cause, but assume it was either birth trauma, or an injury.  If it was an injury, I was at a loss as to when it happened, though I can recall one incident when she was playing with her litter brother, and he jumped at/on her.  She got pissed, and snarked at him, but it looked as though it pissed her off more than hurt her.  I didn't really think more about it, other than noting just a few 'shake it off' steps that followed.  All was well...I thought.

I still can't conclude that's where the 'injury' took place, but there is just no other time I can remember anything else like that happening.  What we do know for sure, it was some form of an injury, we just can't pin-point when/where it happened.

On we went, and she appeared fine, none the worse for wear.  She was about 6 months of age.  It wasn't until she was about a year old I noticed this very slight 'off' in her.  I really don't know how to describe it, other than to say I just could tell she wasn't 100%.  She was damn close, but perhaps it's just something you know when you live with, and observe your dogs as closely as I do.  No one else saw it, just me.  I tried to convince myself I was just being paranoid, but I decided it was time for x-rays.  It was time for her hip preliminary x-rays, which were excellent, BTW, so why not just shoot the entire rear assembly.

This is when we found the aforementioned compression.  We got on the waiting list of the very highly recommended chiropractor/acupuncturist in our area, Dr. Leslie Griffith.  To say we love Dr. Leslie would be a gross understatement.  Treatments started about the first of October.

What we discovered is that Kindle, while maintaining very near to full function, had no feeling in her left hind leg.  None.  No cognitive reflex response.  Nothing.  She was just using the leg, because it was back there.

Several treatments would follow.  In mid-November, while showing her in the ring, she suddenly turned around, as though something had bitten her in the rear.  It really freaked her out, and me, too.  I thought, "oh, crap, here we go...the well known Sheltie meltdown."  Absolutely not what I would expect with this happy, solid and confident girl.  We came home from the show, and she was a mess.  She wouldn't settle, couldn't sit still, stress panted, and paced, constantly, for 24 hours.  By Monday morning, I was so upset, I called the vet.  We needed to do something for her.  What the hell was going on?

The regular vet couldn't get us in...I guess all the money we have spent there over the past 8 years really meant nothing, in terms of priority, but bless Dr. Leslie, she said, "get here as quick as you can, and I will see her."

Well, guess what?  The treatments were working.  The nerve compression was releasing, and feeling was returning to the leg.  It was simply a matter of Kindle feeling that "pins and needles" feeling that we all feel when our arm falls 'asleep', and begins to wake up.  In her case, it was the entire leg...the one she didn't know even existed.

It took another treatment, and some institutional medications, but we got her through that 'waking up' period.  Of course, I now had the challenge of helping her realize there weren't monsters behind her, looking to bite her butt at random.  It's not like I could explain to her what had happened.  I let Dr. Leslie do what she does best, and I worked on the psychological part.  I'm so glad I have so much experience with recovery following adversity, and I'm so thrilled I work so hard at building that into my puppies.  Without it, where would be be now?

Once she was through the major 'waking up' period, we slowly weaned her off the institutional medications, and we were back to the Chinese herb combination.

Progress has been slow, but it's been marked.  I asked Dr. Leslie if Kindle would ever be able to do agility, which was my plan for her, from very early on.  The short answer was "probably not".  I can't tell you how hard that was to hear.  I so wanted to prove this girl in both conformation, and performance, but my dream was now derailed.  But, Dr. Leslie added an "if" to her response.  If full feeling and full recovery could be achieved (and we were *so* close), and the opposite shoulder could be limbered up (from all that compensating it had done for nearly a year), there was a chance, albeit a very small chance.  Okay, that's all I needed...hope.

Kindle had also been released to work with a PT, and that would be my very good friend, Bobbie Lyons, of Pawsitive Performance in Portland, Oregon.  I met Bobbie, several years ago, when she came to my training school with her Border Collie, Stanley.  She had moved into canine conditioning and rehabilitation in the ensuing years.  I just knew she could help us, and I was right.

With Dr. Leslie's green light, we worked on PT with Bobbie.  I have been quite religious about Kindle's rehabilitation, and PT, and while it sometimes felt like two steps forward, and 1.99 steps back, progress was happening.

Yesterday was Kindle's monthly appointment with Dr. Leslie.  After all the months of treatments, and all the weeks of PT, we had a break-through.  She yelped when the acupuncture needle stimulated the nerve that had been compressed all that time.  While her leg had been slowly returning to full function, the stimulation wasn't complete...until yesterday!  While I feel horrible celebrating her pain, it means the leg is completely free of compression!!  This is what I had been dreaming of, praying for, and believing in - for months!

So, with hope, I asked the question I'd asked before - "will she be able to do agility?"  Dr. Leslie smiled and said, "I think so."

I can't tell you what that meant to me.  Yes, Kindle is "just a dog", but this little dog is my pride and joy.  She is my baby.  I love and adore her like I have only ever loved and adored one other dog, and that is my heart dog, Jet.

She still hasn't been released for the agility work, and it may be a few more months, but it's going to happen, and my baby is back to 100% sensation/reflex!  A late start in her training is far better than no start at all.  We must continue with re-training her body to use itself with balance, and we are making great progress, but the work is not done.  The nerve, however, is free!!

So, that is what happened to Kindle.

Thoughtful Tuesday: every endeavor is an unfolding dream

I fancy myself a planner, a thinker (some call me an analyzer, and others just call me 'anal retentive', or, more commonly, 'anal Annie').  For all the thinking and planning I do, I more often follow what's presented vs. what I deliberately create, so there is an element of a 'fly by the seat of your pants' girl in my spirit somewhere.

This year it will be 13 years since I acquired my first Sheltie.  His name is Jet.  He's still with me, thanks to God.  When I look back on that acquisition, I'm reminded that so much of my life, in the ensuring years, would be dictated by what Jet presented to me, as far as options.  He was a busy puppy, so we attended some agility classes.  He would go on to become an agility star.  Quick, agile, smart and responsive, he would take me on one hell of a journey.  Other dogs would follow, but their path was predicated by the path Jet paved for me, and for them, as well.

Yesterday we had a good dumping of snow.  It was late in coming, and in many ways, I feel as though we should be preparing for spring, though winter finally did make an appearance.  We took some shots yesterday, after letting the dogs out to play in the snow, and one of the shots just hit me full in the face.  My almost 13 year old Jet, with that 'look' of knowing he has always had.  An old soul, coming through in his aging, yet bright eyes.  Today I made a tribute from that photo.  I posted it on FaceBook, but I want to memorialize it here, too.

There really are no words to express the love I have for this dog.  I have tried to come up with them many times, and I fail miserably every time.  But, my heart knows how I feel.  And so does my beloved Jet.

I can only look to the Heavens, and thank God for the gift of Jet in my life.  So few gifts have been as profound, pivotal, and completely fulfilling.  Life is sweeter because of my special boy, my heart and soul dog - Jet...

The nose knows...

I love this puppy.  She is everything I had hoped for, and so much more.  She was laying upside down, in Cliff's arms, and I couldn't help but snap a few photos of her.  She is special, beyond my wildest dreams.

Cart topper

I'm a tinkerer.  Cliff calls me a mouse-trapper.  I'm always looking for ways to make things easier, more organized, or make better use of the things and spaces in our lives.

We show dogs.  Once upon a time, we showed in agility.  We now show in conformation.  I'm sure at some point we will swing the pendulum back to agility, but for now, conformation is the 'sport' d'jour.  For those that do conformation, with a coated breed, you are well aware of all the equipment you need to bring along, not to mention the dogs, too.  A grooming table, grooming arm, crate cart, towels, tack box, crates, etc.  The list is long.  We have a smaller vehicle, so getting everything organized is no small feat.  We have stacked our four crates, and they double as a grooming table when we go to a show.

Today I re-designed the crate topper so it would be lighter in weight, and give me options to hang things, such as leashes, poop bags, toys, etc.  I'm happy to say it turned out great.  And what's even better?  I used materials I had here at home, so it cost me nothing.  It was totally made of re-purposed materials!

I really had to jockey that grooming arm bracket into that position,
even pulling those slats apart to work it into the position I wanted
it in. The lip on the shelving was too deep to allow the bracket
to fit over it, so it had to be worked in through the slats.

 I love the hanging possibilities here.  Not just leashes,
but my show clothes, and any number of other items I take,
and find I need a spot for.  I'm sure I will think of many other things
I want to hang off my topper.  =)

I had a hook bracket (I actually had two), and with the addition
of some washers, a small plate and some screws leftover
from an old set of crates, I was able to secure the
two pieces together in the middle.