Love Is a Dog Named Daisy, That Pulled At Your Heartstrings One Petal At a Time

For the last month or so, I noticed that Daisy, our Lab/Airdale had been losing weight.  She also had a cough for a while now.  We had taken her to the vet about the cough previously but was told that it was from hair in her throat since she licked her paws habitually. 

At first I thought it was worms, so I treated her for that.  She starting eating better for a few days, but then Friday night she didn't want dinner.  Nor would she eat breakfast the next morning.  I couldn't even temp her with a hot dog.  Off to the vet we went.  By the way, Banfield Hospital at PetSmart takes walk-ins and are very nice and courteous.

To make a long story short, and because the best story is her life, not her death; my beloved friend Daisy had her pain humanely eased yesterday evening.  Unbeknown to us, she had been quietly suffering through the end stages of lung cancer.  She was so much stronger than I, I think. 

As I write this in the very early morning hours of my 37th birthday, I don't bemoan the fact that this happened so close to what normally would be my day. My day, my way, everything I say day, is what I always liked to call it.  I think that this was God's way of showing me what a wonderful gift I had in her.

We (I should say I) got her from the Humane Society when she was 11 months old.  She had been there a few weeks already after her owners had surrendered her because she ate the siding on the house while she was tied up all day while they were at work.  Lovely reason huh?  Anyway, my son and I (the hubby didn't want to go, thinking he would want to take them all) had went up there to find a companion for Harpo, our at the time, 2 year old Kelpie. 

We had walked in to the shelter and I remember thinking that there was no way a person could really evaluate whether a dog was for them in this environment.  There were about twenty people milling around, looking at the dogs.  The dogs were all jumping up to the wire that separated them from us.  They were running in circles, some pacing and whining.  But then I looked to my left and there sat my delicate, little flower, Daisy.  Although at the time her name was Phoebe.  She was skinny as a rail, and you couldn't see her eyes because of the hair hanging over them.  She looked like a straggly Ewok. My friend Sonja reminded me yesterday that when she had first seen her she had asked, "What the heck is that?"  I just replied, "That's Daisy.  Isn't she awesome?"  Eventually we did start getting her groomed as you can see by her different hairdos.

She had sat in her kennel, as regal as a princess.  Just patiently waiting, with only her tail wagging; waiting for me to find her.  We took her home that day. 

I could not have asked for a better dog.  Harpo was great, but he was man's dog.  He obeyed the hubby more than I and he was just not snuggly.  He was always on the go.  I wanted a dog that would let me love on them and hug them, and kiss on them.  Daisy was mine, through and through.  She didn't chase the cats, she never peed in the house, and always obeyed every command like she was born with an instruction booklet on how to obey your master. 

Daisy truly showed her worth a few years ago when I was diagnosed with MS and she became my service dog.  Even in her middle-age, she did well by me when I needed her.  I relied on her for balance and strength.  Now I rely on a cane when I need it.  Not as cute, but it works.

I could not have asked for a better friend in a dog than her.  I miss her.  This morning I instinctively moved to step over her when getting up this morning, since she, without fail, slept next to my side of the bed every night.  I put down three bowls instead of two for breakfast, before I remembered.  I went to let the dogs outside and stood there waiting for her to come to the door before I remembered. 

Daisy will forever be the flower in my heart.  And was the best dog ever.

Birthday Pondering

This year I will be 37.  I know that everyone says this but, I can't believe how time has flown.  I keep telling my son that before he knows it, he will be my age and wondering where the time has gone too.  He just laughs.  Whatever.

So I was thinking about what I wanted to do for the Ole birthday.  I'm thinking about doing a throwback and having a skate party at Skateworld like in the old days.  I hear that on Sundays nights they have 80's tunes.  But then I start freaking out like a kid giving out the invitation to her b-day party.  What if no one comes?  What if that just proves how delusional I am in thinking that I actually have more than one friend?  I think throwing yourself a birthday party is just too stressful.

I guess  will just stay home like I have the last few years and just wallow in my old age-ness.  Fuck it.

To The Trees! To The Trees!

Last night my chickens decided that they needed to roost in the trees/blackberries.  Now, I am a new chicken owner and this new development also came right after Reba (one of the Rhode Island Red/Cochans X's) decided to start making this god-awful racket.   She sounded like she was dying.  I was busy checking the Internet (to later find that she was probably getting ready to lay an egg or something), when the rosebushes began to shake, and the rooster was making a racket trying to get his girls up in the rosebushes with him. 

I was able to go outside and shake them down, but then a few minutes later the rooster, Jay-Z, managed to convince Reba and her twin sister Lucille up in to the arborvitae that also has a few blackberry vines wound through it .  Lady Gaga, the bantam-frizzle-cochan was the only smart girl and was happily roosting in her regular spot up in the coop.

Admittedly, I had, by then, had a couple of glasses of wine, so when I went out to try to get them down, the only thing I could think of that would reach them was my extend-able loppers that I use to prune with.  (For some reason the garden hose, or a rake perhaps did not even enter my mind.) I can only imagine the trauma that they went through last night when the one human in the whole world that they trust, went at them with a pair of pruning loppers, while shining a flashlight in their faces, when all they were trying to do was sleep.

It didn't work by the way.  I ended up just saying fuck-it, and praying that they would all be there when I awoke.  They were.  I guess I should just trust Jay-Z's instincts and let nature take care of my chickens (to an extent).