Starlight Express

Twenty-Seven Years

2010-08-22T18:21:00.001-07:00

The beautiful Sirca, aka "Moo", Skater's great grandma ... the light of our lives. Hard to believe that she entered the world twenty-seven years ago today. She gave us so much. She asked for so little. I loved seeing her in generation after generation of puppies. Sirca was the talker, something that came through loud and clear in Skater. It's so silent now. I love and miss you, Moo.

Three Long Years

2010-08-13T08:39:00.001-07:00

Yes, I've used the marigolds again; it's one of my favorite photos of Skater and I have so few.

It's been three years. The old adage, "time flies when you're having fun," does not hold true. Life IS good ... but I miss my boy as much today as I did on the night of August 13, 2007. He still gets his plan every night, still plays in my head, still (and always) fills my heart. But, the physical absence and the ache so caused has not diminished. I had horrible dreams about dogs last night. I don't know why I had them or what they meant but this is not a happy anniversary and I think my subconscious knows that.

Last year on this date, I sent Skater a red heart balloon. Today, I will bury him ... again ... but nearby this time, in a beautiful place, in a peaceful place, in a place where I know he is safe. His plan, a photo of this magnificent dog, my "WWST" bracelet, a bit of his hair and some fluff from each of his 2 favorite bunnies are all securely in a beautiful metal case that originally housed recordings of Handel's Messiah. This will be buried at the foot of an old and majestic California oak and a few of his marigolds, the seeds taken from those plants in the photo, will be planted above. And, if, in 100 years, someone unearths this memorial to my dog, he or she will know that an angel truly did walk upon the earth.

I love and miss you, Bug.

The Walnut

2010-07-10T16:36:00.000-07:00

For some odd reason, my mom always called Warlock, "Walnut." Warlock was born 26 years ago yesterday. Bred by Rosemarie Davis, he came into our lives at 10 weeks of age and never left. The photo above was taken when he was almost 13 years old.

Warlock was an interesting dog and, by far, one of the most intelligent dogs I have ever known. He had a memory like the proverbial steel trap and was always thinking, sometimes in ways that weren't terribly appreciated. Warlock was not only bright, he was clever. And vocal. And strong. The funny thing about this boy was that he really wasn't any trouble as a pup. He was obedient and easy to live with, learned the ropes of the show ring in short order and had a temperament that was as close to perfect as they come. Then he grew up.

The first of Warlock's disasters was when he bred and tied a wire crate. Yes, there was a bitch in season in the crate but, when his efforts to get to her began, there was also a closed solid wood door and a bed between him and the crate. I'm not sure how he got through the door; when we came home, it was splintered and off its hinges. Then there was that bed. Like all beds, it had a mattress and one of my lovely old quilts. The mattress died ... well, actually, Warlock killed it. (He also killed my Raggedy Ann but that's another story.) How he managed to get every last bit of stuffing out of the mattress and spread throughout the entire room was and remains a mystery. It looked like a blizzard had hit. There was our Warlock, mounted upon and tied to the crate; the bitch inside looked partially disgusted and mostly amused. It took a pair of heavy duty pliers and the strength of 2 adults to free him and his penis. He was none the worse for wear. We were.

Warlock and my dear friend, Paula, had a very special relationship; it began when he pulled her over the top of two high-backed chairs and a table and broke her ribs. She adored that boy and brought him gifts yearly. I swear that he looked forward to her visits. Paula wrote a beautiful short story about Warlock and I will treasure it always.

When Fish was almost 6 weeks in whelp to Conan, Warlock opened a brand new jar of Filaribits. He didn't break it open; he held the bottle with his paws while he unscrewed the top with his mouth. As I said, Warlock was very bright. There were 4 other dogs in the room with him at the time, including the pregnant Fish. When I discovered the open jar and counted the remaining pills, I knew there were approximately 70 missing. With Warlock involved, he could have eaten them all himself or divided them evenly among the five of them. I spent quite a bit of time on the telephone, at 2:00 AM, with the vet on call at the manufacturer to find out what devastation was about to befall my dogs. Apparently, the only problem with the amount potentially ingested by one to five dogs was temporary liver damage. I was told to watch the color of their urine; if it turned orange, we needed veterinary help. Well, it was most interesting to stand outside at 3:00 AM, armed with a flashlight, and try to determine what shade of pee was what. Everyone was fine and Fish delivered 5 healthy babies 3 weeks later.

Warlock was relentless ... if he wanted to play, you played. If you walked away, he played alone. Besides being an excellent catcher, he excelled at both tether ball and soccer. And, he could throw. Near the end of his life, Warlock lost the function of his rear end. BUT, that didn't stop him from playing Frisbee. You could sit 10-15 feet from him and toss the disk ... he would catch it and toss it back.

Warlock was an amazing soul. I still miss his wit and his constant "banter." Can't wait to see you again, Buddy!

Shining Brightly

2010-06-30T07:40:00.001-07:00

Dawn has always said that she has a foot in each of two worlds; she has recognized my Skater's "visits" on more than one occasion and realized things about him that I had never told her. She suggested that I keep a candle lit in the window for him every night.

Here is your candle, my precious boy; let it guide you to whatever you seek.

Birthday Bunnies

2010-06-29T10:13:00.000-07:00

Whoever believes that there is no heaven and that the spirits of those who have gone before us do not watch and guide us from the idyllic place, has never been blessed with the love and friendship of a Dog.

Thank you for the message, Skater. Again, happy birthday, my boy.

5479 Days

2010-06-29T07:42:00.001-07:00

Fifteen years (or 5479 days) ago, on an overcast Thursday afternoon, you entered this world and my life. In that first moment, little did I know that I was holding a tiny miracle, two pounds of fur-wrapped bliss that would forever change my life.

Our journey has been amazing, yet very unevenly weighted on those heavenly scales. You have put so much into your side, I have put comparatively little into mine. I am human, incapable of the unconditional and constant faith, devotion and love you have always given. My love for you is greater than any I have ever known yet inevitably lacks the purity of yours for me. There is a reason the God spelled backwards is Dog.

You are my prayer, my constant presence, my ever-vigilant guardian. If I could only see your beautiful face, look into the depth of your eyes and bury my face into your comforting neck once more ... then MY life would be heaven.

I miss you, Skater, sometimes more than I can stand. I pray for you, for those who went before you, but, first and last, always for you. I honor and celebrate you. And, on this sunny anniversary of your birth, I celebrate your journey and thank you for choosing me as the faulty human with whom you take that journey. I love you, Bug. Happy Birthday.

Boundiful Blessings

2010-06-07T16:21:00.001-07:00

No, the title of this post is what I meant it to be; no typos involved.

Sometimes .... all the time ... I miss Skater so much it is palpable. One of his most endearing qualities was an immeasurable sweetness with a little bit of goofy thrown in for good measure. No matter what my mood, Skater could always bring a smile to my face or flat out make me laugh. He had talent. He had heart. He had a wonderful sense of humor.

Bounder is a very funny young dog and spending time with him, just watching him BE a dog, is one of my life's secret pleasures. Yesterday, I watched his silly antics and just reveled in my memories of THE dog of my heart. Somehow, I think Bounder knows what will make me laugh, what will make those photographs in my mind come alive again. When Skater was a baby, we called him Baby Huey; he was this goofball of a mobile stuffed toy that loved to explore and expand his unique sense of humor.

First of all, Bounder cannot seem to just lay down. Instead, he does this silly tuck and roll, eyes sparkling and tongue lolling. The end result is a major flop to the ground, on his side, with a definite grin on his handsome face. That was Skater's first "trick", invented on his own, perfected over time. It reminds me.

Both Skater and his uncle, Grouch, had a unique way of approaching someone they loved. Each would run, full tilt, straight at you. Skater ended the run with a tuck and roll. Grouch, who was a very large dog, ended his run with a dive between your legs. With his shoulders below your crotch, he would stand up straight and tip you over. Doggy bowling I suppose. Bounder has combined the two ... he runs, dives between your legs and just keeps going! It reminds me.

As I've said many times, I do ... I MUST ... believe that my Skater is still here with me. He leaves little signs and, yesterday, Bounder brought me one of those reminders. My little dork, Divot, who was raised by Skater, has always removed the eyes from all her toys; it's as if she thinks it blinds them so they won't see her coming. Skater, on the other hand, never harmed any of his precious toys. Bounder has a stuffed puppy. He obviously loves the spit-stiff little thing and he was VERY proud to share it with me yesterday. When I picked it up to throw it to him I noticed that he had removed one eye. It reminds me.

Does A Ton Weigh 2000 Pounds?

2010-05-28T18:54:00.001-07:00

This photo was taken during Paula's first visit with us in California, well over 20 years ago. I remember how delighted she was to meet Don Quixote and I caught this image of the two of them, sitting in Helen's front yard. Although both of our lives took turns and traveled in directions neither of us could have predicted, I still consider Paula my best friend and am ever in awe of what she has accomplished, despite some terrible odds.

Skater's Uncle Ray was Paula's heart and it devastated her when he passed. She and Ray were a symbiotic pair, a joy to watch. She also had a very special place in her heart for my Warlock, (despite the fact that, on the same visit as photographed above, Warlock broke a number of Paula's ribs by pulling her over the dining room table and chairs), and he adored her like no other.

Anyway, I have often heard the saying that we are not given any more to bear than we are able and, that, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Those words are all good and well as a cliche but, when they have a direct relationship to what is current in life, they can be nothing less than daunting.

Yesterday, I learned that Paula has Multiple Sclerosis. Why? This is a woman who has devoted her life to the animals with whom she shares this planet. For many years, she has had the ability to communicate with and, therefore, kindly train any dog. Over the past few years, she has gotten heavily involved in equine rescue and it has truly become her life's passion. Now, she has to deal with the worry of how long she will be able to do what she feels is needed for her beloved animals, including those she has not yet met, those who will need her. Why?

To top it all off, yesterday, she lost her open air barn to a freak desert windstorm. It twisted and tore the metal roof and endangered Paula's horses. Thankfully, all animals and humans were safe and the horses are now boarded out until Paula can have her facilities repaired. Again, I ask why? How much becomes too much? Why would so many bad things happen to such a good person? It makes no sense to me. I will add to Skater's plan tonight; he now has a very important job - to protect my friend.

Family and Friends

2010-05-17T13:40:00.000-07:00

This is how I imagine I will see my Skater and all those before him as they meet me at the Bridge. I love the anticipation, wisdom and peacefulness of this photo. It makes me think about the "ties that bind" and how some of those ties are so strong that nothing can break them while others snap at the slightest tension.

Part of Skater's nightly plan includes my telling him that he is my best friend ... and he is. Today, that made me think of friendships in general and familial relationships within the bounds of the same parameters that actually define a friendship. My mom is probably my best "human" friend. It took me many years into my own adulthood to realize that her love for me was absolutely unconditional; it's a nice and very warming realization. My dad was my friend but he has been gone now for almost twenty-nine years. My brother is not and will likely never be my friend; our relationship is purely an accident of birth. I have other friends who have entered into my life at different times and I am bound to them by choice. Friendship is a phenomenon unto itself; it is those ever-changing, multi-faceted and oddly balanced relationships that just plain work for the positive benefit and enhancement of those involved.

I've met many people who were and are completely baffled at the notion that a dog could be my best friend. I am equally if not more baffled at their lack of understanding so simple a concept. I've had a number of dogs over the years who were "heart" dogs, friends without whom I could not imagine living a happy life. Moo, Skater's great-grandmother and one of the kindest souls I have ever known, was my best bud for almost fourteen years. Her grandson, Grouch, the comedian, was another. I honestly can't say that there are degrees of friendship involved but, rather, a need fulfilled during certain times in my life. Moo and Grouch were there during happy times and I was less dependent upon them. Skater went through an entire cycle with me, from the heights down to the depths, and he always seemed to recognize what was needed and when.

I guess I have finally stopped feeling as though I had to compare each relationship to another, quit questioning which dog really meant the most and definitely stopped feeling guilty about even wondering such a thing. Each dog was there at exactly the right time and was exactly right for that time. To truly love a dog and for the dog to truly love you, there must be that sense of a symbiotic relationship that flows to the needs of both beings. I really believe that dogs are more in tune with that than humans are. Dogs do not try to control the emotional balance. Instead, they become a part of it, giving, taking, sharing. It's the "unconditional" that's the blessing. I have been SO blessed.

Who You Gonna Call?

2010-04-20T10:06:00.000-07:00

Mirriam-Webster defines a hero as: "1 a : a mythological or legendary figure often of divine descent endowed with great strength or ability b : an illustrious warrior c : a man admired for his achievements and noble qualities d : one that shows great courage." I hear the word "hero" being used an awful lot ... usually in conjunction with someone performing one act in a unique time of crisis. While I don't want to take away from anyone who has ever risen to such an occasion, I can't help but wonder why we don't applaud our everyday heroes, those who do so much for us throughout their lifetimes. It's the little things that add up to such big things.

Skatiebug did so many of those "little things"; I realize now that too many went unnoticed at the time. He amused me by learning to eat off a fork, made me smile to watch that huge jaw closing gently around the tines in order to pluck off a solitary morsel; it was a gesture of comfort to me during a bleak time in my life. He would converse with me or anyone of my choosing - all I had to do was ask and, doggy lips pursed, he would break into a sing-song that could force the most hardened heart into a smile; another gesture of comfort. He babysat puppies, taught the rescues, tolerated Divot with divinely inspired patience. He never complained when I got home late after an extra-long day at work. He learned to poop in the snow, something he hated. He held on - for me - through some horrendous health issues that would have killed another dog with ease. He was the epitome of comfort. Skater never harmed another creature on this earth. He never, ever complained. He lived an amazing life comprised of millions of softly heroic acts and gestures. Skater was, is and will always be my hero; that's unequivocal and cemented in stone.

Because of having been so blessed with the company of such an amazing dog, I now recognize the heroics of other dogs. My friend, Lois, and I were playing with Bounder the other day; he's still a baby with all the energy and humor that only a young, male GSD can have. At one point, Lois's 11 year old Glass Palace son, Rodney, whom I absolutely ADORE, was watching us, seeing Bounder run in ever-increasing circles, tongue and tail wagging. Rodney silently contemplated this scene until he had had enough, at which point he voiced his opinion of the child's antics and our fascination with them. Of course, Bounder had to go up to the fence and, with a look, tell Rodney, "Tough! I'm younger, I can outrun you and it's MY time now." I looked at this silent communication between the two dogs; one so young, full of energy (and himself) and just beginning on his journey through life and the other, older, graying, less steady on his feet and coming to the end of his journey. I told Bounder that, as much as I loved him, he was still just a Prince in Rodney's kingdom. Rodney was and is the hero; his wisdom, tolerance, sweet nature and continuous effort to be all that he ever was and could be still is so apparent in his aging body. Bounder is so lucky to have such a mentor. I hope he realizes it.

Hi, Skater!

2010-03-17T10:38:00.000-07:00

I found this tomatobunny photo this morning. Dawn says it's Skater saying, "Hi, Mom!" I choose to believe.

Skater had a whole collection of headbands. For Christmas, he had his moose antlers; they had bells on the ends and little red and green lights that lit up when he moved. New Year's Day found him wearing his champagne glass headband. He had a headband with little pumpkins on springs that shook and lit up for Halloween. For the 4th of July, there were red white and blue sparklers and, for Easter, he had his infamous bunny ears (there is a photo of Skater in his ears on an earlier entry). Then there was St. Patrick's Day. His green headband sprouted many little shamrocks that swayed in the breeze when Skater walked or ran around. I loved those shamrocks and wish I had a picture of him sporting the little green good-luck-clovers.

I don't think that Skater really appreciated wearing his various headbands and, way down deep, know that he probably felt more than just a little bit foolish in his holiday headgear. But, as with everything else, he did it to please me, wore them with all the grace and dignity that his poor embarrassed self could muster and showed them off proudly wherever we went. My beautiful boy was the epitome of the good sport.

How I miss the headband days and all the other days surrounding them. I miss Skater so much it is palpable. Thanks to Dawn, I have a strong belief that his spirit is with me always and that he continues to guide and protect me. I have to believe; I hang on to the belief. So, as a vegetarian who loves tomatoes, I thank my precious Skater for the St. Patrick's Day greeting and wish him all the love and happiness in the universe. I did notice that the tomato was not wearing a headband. I guess that would have been just too much.

Hot House Flowers

2010-03-12T12:08:00.000-08:00

Many years ago, Barbara Williams, a dear lady and someone I consider to be a pillar of the breed, wrote an excellent article and made the sad-but-true analogy of our German Shepherds becoming hot house flowers. The article was printed in The German Shepherd Review and, I believe, a number of other publications. Not only was Barb's analogy true at the time but a terrible prediction and warning of what was to come in our beloved breed. Why the hell didn't we listen?

A little over a week ago, I sat and listened to my friend cry as her dog was bloating and she was waiting for her husband to get home and rush the dog to the vet. As things turned out, it was not gastric bloat/torsion, but the always deadly mesenteric torsion and little Dylan did not survive. It broke my friend's heart; she had to grieve the loss of a 4 year old dog who died an excruciating death. Here is a woman who gives her all for her dogs and there wasn't a damned thing she could do to save her boy. The worst part is that this is happening every day in our magnificent breed. Gastric bloat and torsion have become almost commonplace and mesenteric is rapidly catching up. This is COMPLETELY unacceptable! What have we DONE to this breed?

Years ago, most of us had never even heard of bloat or torsion. The auto-immune problem in German Shepherds has reached epidemic proportions. Now people use Viokase without batting an eye, routinely have gastropexy surgery done to, hopefully, ward off torsion, use thyroid meds like we use aspirin and see no problem with regular "adjustments" from chiropractors to keep their dogs from becoming lame. And this is only the tip of the disgusting iceberg. We used to gave rabies and distemper vaccines. Then, along came parvo so we gave preventatives for that as well. Now, there are so many vaccines, pills, surgeries to PREVENT many situations which never should have come to be in the first place!

I find it really fascinating that the rescue dogs I have had do not have the same problems. Many of them have had no vaccines, have lived on trash and roadkill, are exposed to the elements and who only knows what else. Guess what? They don't get sick! I have never had to watch their stools to make sure they are alright. Are these dogs trying to tell us something? I sure as hell think that they are and, if we don't start to listen soon, it will be only the ghosts of this breed left to comfort us.

Barbara was so right - how I wish she wasn't. But we are turning our beautiful wildflowers into orchids and I, for one, can't raise an orchid to save my soul; every one of those damned expensive hot house flowers has died on me. We don't need this for our dogs.

The Eyes Have It

2010-03-02T13:46:00.000-08:00

Downtown Murphysboro, Illinois

I lost Skater on August 13, 2007 and left Illinois on November 28, 2007; I had spent more than enough time in that particular corner of hell and the weight of the plane taking off was less than the weight being lifted from my heart. Yes, my boy was buried there but, what made Skater who he was was, is and always will be with me. I never looked back. For me, Murphysboro was a small, backward, bigoted community that was SO proud of its rejection of progress and change. Getting back to California was like breathing fresh air for the first time in eight years.

I've been really lucky, lately. I find that I absolutely LOVE judging German Shepherds and was so very fortunate to have been asked to judge the Shoreline show at last month's Triangle. My only reservation was that it would put me back in Illinois, even if only for 3 days. The thought made me just a little nervous and just a little nauseous. And, I had no idea how I would feel about being in the same state where Skater is buried. He "lives" a life with me now and I wasn't too sure about the convergence of two vastly different worlds.

Well, I've learned that forced proximity can be a really good thing! When I got into the middle of that ring, with all those wonderful German Shepherds surrounding me, I felt a sense of peace and protection from bad memories that only the dogs can give! All the horrible memories of those eight years just vanished like a proverbial puff of smoke and, you know what? It was the dogs' eyes that made that miracle happen.

I've always said that the wisdom of the universe can all be seen in a German Shepherd's eyes and Skater had the most magnificent eyes into which I've ever gazed. Well, on this Saturday, in the ring, I saw the reflection of my boy's eyes in every German Shepherd I touched. My hands touched each dog; each dog touched my soul. I saw the spirit of my boy in every returned look, the wisdom of the ages, telling me that I could let go of all the bad memories and hold on to the good ones; the good ones were all of Skater.

It's hard to describe the feeling of being surrounded by these magnificent dogs, each pouring out his or her own perfection through the look only a German Shepherd can give. It was like being enveloped in an ethereal cloak of safety. I will never forget it. As always, I wore my "skate" pin; he was there.

Skatiebug'z For Real!

2010-02-08T19:59:00.000-08:00

Now ... is he too cute or what? That is my rendition of the "Skatiebug" and he is the logo for a new online venture of sorts - a store, offering an eclectic if not downright odd mix of merchandise for the German Shepherd fanatic. Obviously, it was inspired by my precious boy and I hope its success will be another tribute to his memory; there can never be too many tributes to the most amazing dog.

Come visit, browse, have some coffee or tea while you look through items. As you do, think of Skater's beautiful face and wonderful smile and ENJOY. Skatiebug'z is at:

http://skatiebugz.shutterfly.com/

The Plan Gets Longer

2010-01-27T21:05:00.001-08:00

Remember "The Plan" ... the words I speak to Skater every night and have for years? It keeps on getting longer. My poor boy must feel like he's in an eternal tug-of-war - him in his world and me in mine, always asking him to do this or that. But I only ask because I know that magnificent heart of his. Lately, I have prevailed upon him to please keep an eye on Paulette's Ella, suffering from a horrible cancer but always rebounding, Dawn's Kizzy, who has been at the Bridge's door too many times in the last year but always comes back to counter surf and, once again, block the doorway so Dawn can't leave the house without her, and Paula's Albert, whose tumor was benign. Then Lilly went to the Bridge and I asked Skater to meet and protect her beautiful shy self until I got there. I then told Skater to look for Koko, father of my ditzy Divot who Skater tried his best to teach some manners but was never wholly successful, who I felt would be a good friend to my boy. It occurs to me once more that, as the list lengthens, the more I realize that my reliance on Skater was greater than his on me. I relish my quiet time each night when I speak to him - it maintains the connection and gives me the comfort I need.

After all the foot surgeries etc., Skater and I lived a blissful existence in our own little world. He would go out to lunch with me and, amazing boy that he was, would lay under the table in the restaurant with the great cobb salads and just be patient until I finished. The waitresses never failed to bring him a tidbit or two so he never minded the waits. Winters remained a problem for both of us but we would stay in our little cocoon of a house and wait for warmer days. Skater made new friends, like Voodoo, the sweet little Pyr pup next door, who grew to be 1 1/2 time's his size by the time she was a year old. When her owners were on the road doing their music thing, Voodoo would stay with us and Skater would just put up with her big furry antics, look at me and sigh, as if to question her ever growing up. He trained rescue after rescue, teaching each to be a house dog and obey the rules; he was an amazing teacher.

I remember when I bought Skater a truck. It was a blue Ford Ranger and he just looked so damned good in it. I remember, the night before I actually bought it, we looked at the truck and I said, "That's our truck, Skates!" He was such an integral part of my life. When it became too difficult for him to get into and out of the truck, I sold it and bought a car that was easier for him to manage.

One weekend, we met my mom in St. Louis. She was travelling from Hawaii and, as we hadn't seen each other in awhile, decided that 4 days in St. Louis would be a good thing. My sense of direction being what it is, Skater and I got lost on the way home. He was used to it and I laughed as I walked into a service station to find out where I was and how I could get to where I wanted to go; I swear my dog looked out the car window at me, shook his head in disbelief that I couldn't get anywhere without getting lost, and lay down to take a nap. My boy.

Our life was as dull as could be. We both hated Southern Illinois but we made our own happiness; he was my comfort and my rock. The Plan started there and, as it grows, so does my love and admiration for this once-in-a-lifetime friend; Skater.

KoKo

2010-01-25T18:01:00.000-08:00

I really don't know what it is about some months that makes you just want to get through them and move on. This is one January I would definitely like to forget.

My good friend, Karen, called me in tears this morning. There is some psychic connection between dog people that tells you, without any words, that another wonderful member of a canine family is leaving this life. This time, Karen had the horrible ordeal of saying goodbye to two in one day, her Koko and Lexi. Yes, they were both seniors who had great lives but that doesn't make it any easier. It only makes you want to put off the inevitable and angry at the fact that our dogs' lifespans are so damned short.

I didn't know Lexi well but I adored Koko ... CH Jokare's Kocoum. He was my Divot's sire and is nearing his ROM but was oh so much more than the "showdog" or "producer". You know how you meet some dogs along the way, some very special souls who add a certain joy to your life and beauty to the path you take through this world? Koko was one of those dogs. I first met this beautiful black and red boy, the one with the sweet smile and soulful eyes, in 2004, but was fortunate enough to get to spend some really quality time with him right before I came home to California in 2007.

I stayed with Karen for 4 days before Divot, Lilly and I flew west. Karen had to work and, to be honest, I like getting to spend time with other peoples' dogs by myself. I was really interested in getting to know Koko and Kaz, Divot's sire and dam, and spent most of the cold days outdoors with them. I could easily see that Divot got her stubborn, bull-headed, my-way-or-the-highway attitude from her mother. Kaz was my kind of bitch, one who took no crap from anyone and made her feelings known loud and clear. She tolerated me, the stranger, but continually reminded me that I was on HER turf. I loved it. Then, there was Koko. My Divot has a soft side and it was clearly her daddy that gave it to her. It was hard not to revel in the peace of the countryside and the company of this wonderful dog. He hung out with me while I scooped, hosed and filled food bowls, and quietly accompanied me to make sure I did things right. He was a joy.

Koko need some minor surgery while I was there so I had fun building a little hospital ward for him in the house. Typical man, he milked it for all it was worth but he was such a GOOD boy; he reminded me of my beloved Skater and I really believe he knew, at that point, that he had me hooked. Like Skater, he was the epitome of everything a German Shepherd should be ... beautiful, regal, intelligent and loyal, he had that "undefinable" magnificence that only this breed has for me. And, like all wonderful German Shepherds, his eyes held the answers to all the mysteries of the ages; he understood what I was not evolved enough to comprehend.

I never got to see Koko again but he has held and will always hold that unique place in my heart, a place that is his and his alone. I look at his daughter a little differently, now, and see a bit more of her father's kindness in her. Bless you, Koko, and thank you for making my life more meaningful. I will whisper a hello to you each night when I give Skater his plan and, when my time comes to leave this plain, I will rejoice when yours is one of the faces I see again. Until then, play well my sweet friend.

Man In The Moon Made Marigolds

2010-01-13T18:26:00.000-08:00

I don't know what it is with me, the moon, marigolds and the incredible connection I have with my dogs. I suppose that the moon thing has to do with my name; depending upon whether you prefer Greek or Roman mythology, Diana was the goddess of the moon. Reasonable explanation, right? As for the marigolds, I have no clue. Skater liked to nap next to the marigolds, he liked to pose for photos with the marigolds and, although he would sometimes snack on the houseplants, he never touched the marigolds. I still have packets of seed labeled, "Skater's Marigolds". So I guess the link is tenuous but a link nonetheless - something out of Kevin Bacon's Six Degrees of Separation theory. It works for me.

It's an introspective week and a sad one. I miss Lilly, her gentle presence, her silly antics. As in any situation where one has to make a life and death decision, I am dealing with the inevitable question of "Did I do the right thing?", even when I know that I have; I do not envy God his power and authority. A few days ago, someone asked, "How do you know when it's time to let go?" Those of us who have been through the process of making that horrible decision all gave the same reply ... "They tell you." Later, I wondered if a non-doggy person could even make any sense of that answer. How do you explain the look in the eye of a beloved friend, the gesture that look makes and the question it begs? How do you explain that it chills you to the very core because, as a friend, love and guardian, you must comply with that wish? But, it's the only answer there is. These dogs are so much more accepting than we are; I believe that, as do the very religious among us, they understand that death is as much a part of the process as life, and accept the transition with a peace and knowledge we do not and cannot possess. These little canine miracles are wise beyond our comprehension.

I was so grateful that Skater never made me make that final decision. In retrospect, he actually did only I didn't realize it at the time. One day, when I am able, I will explain that. For now, I realize that Lilly bestowed the ultimate trust upon me, a faith that is greater than any other; that I would do what was best for her and not what was easiest for me. I did ... I hated it as I have hated it every time a dog has asked the same of me and will hate it again in the future. Nothing good comes without a price and the price of living with these amazing, noble and loving German Shepherds is having to accept their acceptance and do what's right for them in the end.

The moon above is what I see across the road every day. I now see Lilly looking down at me, telling me, "It's okay, mom, you did good." I hope so.

Silly Lilly

2010-01-08T14:34:00.000-08:00

Lilly has been part of my life for 3 1/2 years. I pulled her from a kill shelter in southern Illinois and took her in as a foster for Mississippi Valley GSD Rescue. She appeared to be between 6 and 8 years old and this poor, nameless girl had been so horribly abused that it was many months before I could pet her or put her on a lead without having her cringe and try to disappear into the floor. I named her Lilly because I thought that this crushed flower of a GSD could do nothing BUT bloom. And bloom she did.

Lilly had her quirks. One of them was spinning. I don't mean that slow-chase-the-tail sort of spinning but a whirling-dervish spin that could make you dizzy to watch her, Lilly spun when she was nervous, she spun when she was happy and she spun when she was excited. Lilly loved to spin! We had many trying months while still in Illinois and I soon realized that, if Lilly could deal with some of her fears, I would never place her anywhere but make her part of my own little doggy family; Lilly did not deserve any more rejection in her life. She respected Skater and tolerated Divot and the rest of the canine crew.

When I came home to California, Lilly got to fly for the first time. I was VERY apprehensive but she took it like a champ! This girl was an angel on paws who was finally responding to love. Lilly and Divot became fast friends. She put up with Divot's antics and bullying and found her own niche in which she thrived. The only thing Lilly ever hated were Terriers and I can't say that I blamed her - they annoyed her every chance they got. When I came to Santa Rosa, Lilly had to stay with my friend, Lois, for a few months but I went to see her and feed her every day - I couldn't bear to have her feel any abandonment and did the best I could for her. She did make one attempt to eat her own tail - something done to relieve stress - but we healed that up and she was fine. After a couple of months, Lilly was back with me and we were, once again, a happy family. She learned to be silly, loved stuffed toys and thought nothing of hogging half the bed at night. I loved it; my flower had, indeed, bloomed.

I had to make that hideous trip to the vet today and bid Lilly farewell as she travelled to the Bridge. Over the last few weeks she had become very ill and there was no alternative but to do the right thing and let her go. I asked Skater to please make her transition a happy one and promised her that I would be there one today and we would be a family - a HUGE family - once more. As was her life, Lilly's death was gentle. As I sat with that poor wasting body, I realized that all the titles and all the pedigrees in the world were meaningless when it comes to the value of a dog. Lilly had been beaten, abused, abandoned and came close to being gassed in a shelter. Despite her horrific beginning, she never showed one bit of aggression toward anyone; she was willing to try, once more, to trust and to love. Lilly succeeded; I only hope that I did. Till we meet again, sweet girl - I love you, Silly Lilly.

A Patchwork of Health Issues

2009-12-25T13:44:00.000-08:00

Before he bloated, Skater had begun to develop hard lumps in the pads of his front paws. I was really tiring of all the "interesting" and "fascinating" problems and prayed for some common, less spectacular ones. After much research and, with the help of Dr. Greg Keller at OFA and the late Dr. Chuck Krueger in Washington, the diagnosis was calcinosis circumscripta and keeping the pads debulked the only remedy. Apparently, this condition is especially particular to German Shepherds and Rottweilers and, though it causes no harm or poses no threat to the dog's health, it is very uncomfortable; sort of like walking with rocks in your shoes. Skater ended up having more than a dozen "surgeries" on his front feet, all successfully sutured closed. Every surgery was done with Acepromazine and Lidocaine; Skater was fully awake and I was his only restraint. His pads were never malformed as a result and, most times, he was up and running only hours after a surgery.

At ten and a half, Skater was a happy, spoiled walking miracle. His eyes were clear and bright and it is only his age that prevents him from doing some of the things he formerly enjoyed. There was no scar and were no white hairs where the tumor was excised from his croup and the cancer never returned. If anyone were to look at his footpads, they would have noticed nothing unusual or abnormal. He was a beautiful, bright senior with only a few gray hairs on his muzzle.

My beautiful boy was the inspiration for my memory quilts. The picture of the small wall-hanging above was made with him in mind and later donated to a North Carolina GSD Rescue for auction. I've made a number of memory quilts now and loved doing them all. Skater's quilt, however, remains unfinished. I haven't yet found the courage to complete it.

My Worst Nightmare

2009-12-09T12:13:00.000-08:00

Skater and I were still living in southern Illinois and the summers were miserably and relentlessly hot and humid. One August evening, Skater began to exhibit symptoms that were all too familiar to me. He was bloating. I had told the vet on many occasions that, with all the stress Skater had been under, I feared bloat. And, on this hot and horrible evening, my fears were realized. Keep in mind I was living just east of nowhere and it was after hours at the clinic. I began calling the vet at his home at about 7:00 PM and, by midnight, was leaving him messages every 5 minutes. Skater was miserable so, with the help of a friend, we took him to the "high-tech" clinic, almost an hour away. My friend drove like a madwoman, I sat in the back seat with Skater, listening to him scream, doing what little I could to comfort him and terrified that I was going to lose him.

A wonderful vet met us at the clinic and confirmed that Skater was in terrible trouble. She got him stabilized and told me that his temperature no longer even registered on the thermometer - it was above 106 degrees. By now, it was after 4:00 AM and, once I knew Skater was stabilized, I went home; I was promised that he would be in surgery by 8:00 AM. When I called at 11:00, to find out how he was, I was told that they hadn't even BEGUN the surgery - they wanted a deposit. I couldn't believe what I was hearing ... no one had called me and my poor boy had been suffering all those hours. I think the receptionist heard about every word in the book from me and then some. Needless to say, I took off and got them their money so they could operate on my dog. I no longer hold vets in a very respected position. Thank God, the surgeon was excellent and my miracle on paws made it through the surgery with only the loss of a small part of his greater omentum. I drove them crazy for the week he had to remain in the hospital and, when released, I took him home and never brought him back to where they had cared so little for his well-being.

Skater made a full and beautiful recovery. The photo above was taken with his friend, Albert, 3 weeks after the surgery. Other than the shaved leg and belly, you wouldn't have known anything had ever happened. But, that was typical of Skater - he never dwelled upon anything negative nor did he take advantage of any situation. Once again, I had my miracle back with me.

Oh, What Next?

2009-12-05T11:16:00.000-08:00

I guess it's become all too obvious that this was a painful and difficult time in my life and has become one about which I have trouble writing.

Skater's blood and enzyme levels were monitored and he continued to improve. I did, however, notice a lump on Skater's croup and, since it was increasing in size, the vet agreed that it needed to be removed. When I asked the vet what type of anesthesia would be used, I was absolutely floored with his answer, "none". He felt that, with all the problems the dog had been having, it would be too risky to put him under. Almost afraid to hear the answer, I asked how he planned on doing surgery on a very large dog who was wide awake. "Tranquilizers and local anesthetic" was the answer I got.

Extremely skeptical, with my boy only slightly affected by less than one cc of acepromazine, I paced the clinic's waiting room, fully expecting to hear that Skater would have to be put under after all. Less than one hour later, the vet, now wearing a substantial amount of Skater's coat, informed me that he had removed the tumor and Skater was fine. Days later, when the lab report came in, it stated that the mass had been an apocrine carcinoma, low grade and with clean margins. My boy would be fine.

Skater's next blood studies revealed thyroid dysfunction and he was put on .8 mg per day of Soloxine. A few days after this regimen began, Skater began to hemorrhage from the nose. Again, in a panic, I called the vet. Keeping in mind that he and I had only been dealing with each other for about a month, he assumed that Skater simply had a bloody nose and told me to ice it. As I looked at my kitchen floor, which appeared as if something large had recently been butchered on it, I doubted that any amount of ice was going to remedy the situation. It didn't. Skater continued to have these hemorrhages, on and off, over the next couple of weeks but NEVER during the clinic's office hours. Finally, one started at 4:55, five minutes before closing. I will never forget the look of absolute horror, pity, amazement and empathy for the dog on the vet's face. Skater's nose was packed and he began a regimen of vitamin K injections.

In an effort to determine the cause of the bleeding, Skater and I were sent to a larger, more "high-tech" animal hospital in the area for an ultrasound. Of course, no ultrasound could be done as the skull is not penetrable but, after taking a very thorough history on Skater, they decided to take his blood pressure, which was extremely high. Skater was put on a daily dose of Benazepril and never had another bleed.

Chug-A-Lug

2009-09-15T18:45:00.000-07:00

Once Skater was stabilized and his blood and enzyme levels being monitored twice a week, the next order of business was to rule out any obstruction in the gut. We scheduled a series of barium x-rays and, as I would not simply leave Skater at the veterinary clinic all day, it meant that we had to drive back and forth every hour to do more films

Skater and I were at the clinic at 8:00 AM. I was told to pick him up at 9:00; they would get the barium in him and do the first films. So, I picked up my boy at 9:00 and we basically spent the day driving back and forth. At 3:00 I was told that it wasn't working, that there wasn't enough barium in him and we would have to redo the whole series. Excuse me??? WHY, I asked, was there not enough barium in my dog and WHY did it take until 3:00 for them to figure that out? I was told that Skater fought them tooth and nail, (literally), and that both they and the dog ended up wearing more than he swallowed. Okay, I thought, so what do we do now? I was sent to another local vet to pick up more barium and I told them that I would give it to Skater the next morning and we could start all over again. They were more than fine with my solution.

I have had barium x-rays and I will admit that the stuff simply tastes terrible. But I also knew my dog; if I asked, he would comply. The next morning, I mixed the solution, put it in a bowl and said, "Skatie, please drink it - yum yum." He drank up every last drop (except for the residue of white stuck to his chin like a gruff old man's beard stubble). When we got to the vet clinic at 8:00 and I told them he was ready, they asked in astonishment how I got all the barium into the dog. My answer was simple ... "I put it in a bowl and asked him to drink it. He didn't appreciate your fighting him and, if you'd asked, he would have done the same for you."

We spent the day, again, driving back and forth. The films were done. There was no obstruction.

On A Wing And A Prayer

2009-09-14T14:25:00.000-07:00

The morning after Skater and I arrived back in Illinois, I woke up to find that Skater had not only resumed having watery stools, but had also been vomiting all night. The only vet I knew was the one whose name was on Skater's rabies certificate and, at 7:00 AM, on a very cold, snowy morning, I made a very panicky call. The vet agreed to meet and, a half an hour later, my dog's life was in the hands of a virtual stranger. After a thorough examination, the vet expressed deep concern for Skater's condition and prognosis and, for the first time, I had to acknowledge that I might very well lose my dog. Aside from the terrible fear that Skater might not survive, a million thoughts were running through my head. This was NOT a high-tech veterinary clinic but, rather, a typical country practice. How on earth was this man going to figure out what was wrong with my dog in order to save him?

Simple blood and enzyme tests revealed that Skater's liver had suffered damage and was not functioning as it should; he was immediately put on different antibiotics as well as a prescription diet. I'll get back into the medical history next time but, for now, have to comment on the diet.

Skater, who had NEVER voluntarily missed a meal in his eight plus years, was NOT going to eat what was in those prescription bags and cans. Day after day, he turned his nose up at the food and we would end up having a food fight. My trying to force-feed him only resulted in my wearing most of the food. After a few days of this nonsense, I couldn't stand "torturing" Skater any further; it was awful to watch an animal who had always had such joy in heating become one who felt he was being punished by being fed. So, I called the company who manufactures the prescription food and told them I needed some sort of recipe that I could cook for my dog; that he would not eat their prepared diet. I spent a rather bizarre hour on the phone with a rocket-scientist (NOT!), who, when I asked her what type of "animal fat" she wanted me to use (after she said it was essential ingredient), proclaimed, "from a dead animal". I am not the most tolerant person and, when stressed, what little tolerance I do have goes straight in the toilet. I told her I hadn't intended to walk out into a field of grazing cattle with a machete and slice off a day's worth of fat ... and asked if she could POSSIBLY give me a genus or species ... something. We finally agreed on poultry. With the help of an old friend, a diet was devised for Skater that he not only was willing to eat but actually went back to enjoying his food.

As always, he was patient, waiting for me to figure out what he already knew. There are always alternatives; you simply have to be aware enough to look for them.

A Long Day's Journey Into Night

2009-09-12T17:32:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile since I've written anything ... this is the hardest part of the journey for me. From the time we arrived back in Illinois until Skater's death, four and a half years later, it was a roller coaster of health issues, all stemming from that original problem in Maryland. Apparently, Skater had licked up some de-icer and it wreaked havoc with his health. As always, Skater handled it all with grace and dignity and always seemed to know when my own emotions were on the edge; this dog ALWAYS took care of me first and his own needs were secondary.

It's still difficult for me to recount what went on during those years so I think I will go back to an article I had published and try to get it written down in the most succinct way possible. I have to try - for Skater. My amazing boy went through so much; I got to the point where the words "interesting" and "fascinating" were the LAST words I wanted to hear from a veterinarian. In fact, to this day, the words themselves bother me but they also serve to remind me what a miracle Skater was and always will be. I have never before and not since met or heard of any animal with such an immense capacity for love, compassion and the ability to give of himself. The bizarre health issues, all stemming from that horrible de-icer, that plagued my boy ... many, alone, would have been too much for any other dog to handle. But, Skater handled them all and taught me AND his vets what tolerance, understanding and love really mean.

The Pupsicle and Me

2009-08-19T19:37:00.000-07:00

Winter in Maryland is VERY unpleasant. As Skater and I were only to stay for a couple of weeks, I was pleasantly surprised that the temp rarely fell below 50. As soon as we realized that our stay was to be considerably longer, it never got above 19 again; it was miserable. We were there for two and a half months and I don't know which one of us dreaded each venture outdoors more.

Mom had in an absolutely huge apartment in a high rise. Skater and I navigated the halls, elevators and lobby each day to the tune of many snide remarks about the "big damned dog" and "he's not allowed through the lobby - take the freight elevator". It was loads of fun but I explained to each and every naysayer that, with his Service Dog vest on, Skater could go wherever I went and, as he was a perfect gentleman 100% of the time, they would just have to deal with it. We progressed from there to the "he craps like an elephant" routine. Never mind that I froze my hands off bagging and disposing of all Skater's stool, unlike so many of the residents who walked their little foofoos and looked the other way when it came to their smaller but equally stinky little piles.

I came to many realizations in Maryland, the first being that Skater was the most loving, wise and patient dog on earth and, second, that I loved him more than I ever could have imagined loving anyone or anything. He was my heart and my light. I also came to the realization that, if getting old meant being crabby and feeling that every one's business was mine as well, I preferred to die young.

Our last day in Maryland, Skater developed watery diarrhea and was vomiting. I took him to a local vet who loaded him up with cimitadine and flagyl and, feeling it was just a stomach upset, sent us on our way. We got on a flight back to Illinois the next day and I prayed Skater would be able to, literally, contain himself until we got back to St. Louis. He did.

To Skater, Eternal Playground, Out Yonder

2009-08-13T07:28:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it. Skater has been gone for two years; it's a sad anniversary. After 12 years, one month and 15 days on earth, Skater crossed the Bridge on August 13, 2007.

Today, I am sending Skater a red heart-shaped balloon. I will take it up on a hill, overlooking the vineyards and beautiful peace of this Sonoma Valley, and sending it flying upward to my boy. Attached to it will be "The Plan". He will find it, he will know it's for him and he will share it in a game of balloon volleyball with his friends and doggy family. Till we meet again my precious boy, this is the best I can do. God, I miss you.

A few hours later ... I know you caught your balloon. In that one split second, it vanished from my sight and I felt your presence, your warmth just surrounding me on that sunny hill.

At Your Service

2009-08-10T16:15:00.000-07:00

In the fall of 2003, my mom, who, when I moved to Illinois, had relocated to Maryland in order to be near her brother, fell and severely fractured her leg. The break was bad enough to require the implantation of extensive surgical rods and pins. When she got out of rehab, I flew out to Maryland to spend a couple of weeks and help her, literally, get back on her feet. There was no WAY I was going to leave Skater in any one's care in Illinois so I took him with me. As a young dog, he put on quite a few air miles while traveling to shows but, other than when he was shipped from California to Illinois, it had been a couple of years since he bore the tag, "live freight". I could no longer bear the thought of him traveling alone, in the belly of the plane; I wanted him with me at all times. So, I got him a service dog certification and, wearing his green vest, off to the airport we went.

I was somewhat nervous but, as with everything else, Skater was amazing. After eyeing the escalator with complete distrust, he figured he might as well get on and see what it was all about. Same with the security men and their "wands"; he was fine with being wanded, himself, but never took his eyes off them when they checked me for whatever contraband they were hunting that day. Even the bulkhead seats were a bit of a tight fit for Skater and me but he was a perfect gentleman who, although he did NOT care for the take off any more than I did, took the rest of the flight as if he'd been flying "like a person" all his life. I loved the fact that he was the first one "served" on that flight from St. Louis to Baltimore; the flight attendant brought him his own glass of water and bag of pretzels. As Skater was not the neatest drinker on paws, I did suggest that she trade his water from some nice neat ice cubes.

My cousin met us in Baltimore and we made the hour plus drive to Silver Spring, Skater sitting in the back seat and wondering what new adventure was about to take place. I sat in the front seat, wondering the same thing. But, we both knew that we would make that journey together and it would all be okay.

Bug's Bunnies

2009-08-07T13:28:00.000-07:00

I really don't remember when the bunny addiction started. Skater's first few years in southern Illinois were uneventful for him and like a flower opening and coming to a full and beautiful blossom for me. While I absolutely despised where I was living, it afforded me the time and desire to really get to know this canine life which I had planned and awaited. Each and every day, Skater proved to be a miracle. He adapted to living in the house immediately and loved nothing more than to curl up in bed with us at night. His fascination with the hardwood floors was a constant source of amusement; he would play his own version of slip-and-slide with wonderful abandon, always searching for the perfect skid. Skater learned to eat off a fork, play volleyball, catch, hide and seek and a host of other games. He adored having children of "his own" and all the kids in the family learned my one hard and fast rule: whatever you do to Skater, however you TREAT Skater, that's what I will do to you and how I will treat you. While my own step kids were great with animals, their cousins were not and, in reality, I didn't trust them. So, the "rule" was born. When I once caught my 6 year old niece about to plant her bare foot up Skater's butt, I planted my foot up hers. She never pulled another stunt like that again. My dog was now first, last, and everything in between in my life. It was pure joy to watch him and he began to fill my heart in a way that it had never been before.

Two things that neither Skater nor I EVER got used to were snow and thunderstorms. He hated the thunder as much as I did and quickly established the relationship between the lightning flashes and the booming crashes of air that, at times, shook the house. He would glue himself to me at those times, determined to protect me from whatever those atrocious sounds were! Winters proved to be a real problem. I do not like the cold and Skater would NOT poop in the snow! When I would take him out, it would turn into a battle royal, inevitably with me screaming, him looking sad and both of us freezing. I wish I could take back those horrible moments of temper on my part. Why couldn't I simply accept the fact the this dog did not want his poor butt so close to the freezing stuff that fell out of the sky? Finally, and only out of sheer desperation, I took to shoveling sections of grass. It was not fun.

Spring was our best season and, along with the change in the weather, came the influx of baby bunnies seeking their way into and exploring their new world. Like most dogs, Skater had a strong urge to chase squirrels, deer, cats, screeching toddlers etc. But not the bunnies. He would lay on the lawn and quietly watch the little ones hop around the yard, a beautiful look of adoration on his handsome face. So, I bought him a stuffed bunny. Then another. Friends began buying him stuffed bunnies. The bunnies took over; when the time came for Skater to cross the Bridge, he had over 100 bunnies of all shapes and sizes. He never harmed one of them. When I came home to California, I had to put almost everything in storage. But I brought two of Skater's bunnies with me; a ratty brown one whose fur is matted in Skaterspit, and BedBunny, the one who lived on my bed. Skater knew that BedBunny was for sleeping and would move him around until he became a perfect pillow for his magnificent head. Those two bunnies are the last thing I see before I fall asleep each night.

Blowing Out All The Candles But One

2009-08-05T10:07:00.000-07:00

Just a slight break in the story today. It's my birthday. I will make my wish and blow out my candles but one lone candle will remain lit. It's the one that holds my special wish, the one I hold in my heart every minute of every day. I wish I could have even one more day, an hour, a moment, to hug my beautiful Skater again, feel his soft fur against my face, the steady beat of his huge heart against mine. I would give anything to look into those loving and beautiful brown eyes one more time and see the wisdom of the ages in them. I miss my boy. I wish he were here.

The candle will always stay lit for you, my Bug.

Little House On The Prairie

2009-08-02T11:20:00.000-07:00

I didn’t have Skater shipped out to me until right before Christmas of 1999. My mom had had enough of her babysitting job and told me to take responsibility for my dog. As Skater had never been a house dog, I figured I was in for some rough days, especially with a Christmas tree, aka “pee post” right in the living room. I met Skater in St. Louis and, after a 2 ½ hour drive home to a very small town in southern Illinois, brought my four year old dog into a strange house in what was a VERY strange land. He was so happy to see me. I was glad to have Skater with me but nowhere near as thrilled as I should have been; to be honest, I really didn’t know him as anything but the show dog. Was I in for a whole slew of surprises.

I was thoroughly amazed at the fact that Skater was housebroken after one day and never, not once, did he lift his leg on the Christmas tree or touch any of the gifts underneath it. He adored my soon-to-be stepkids, who were only three and five at the time, and was so gentle with them. Skater adapted to EVERYTHING immediately. Well, almost everything. And his obsession with the bunnies began.

The Cream Always Rises To The Top

2009-07-29T20:26:00.000-07:00

If my vision weren't already limited, it was this period in Skater's life during which I seem to have lost my sight completely. When I looked at this precious soul, all I saw was the epitome of the "showdog". Skater had blossomed into an exquisite, plush, typey, beautifully angulated black and red young dog who had an iron back and moved with the same power and grace as his sire and dam. To top it all off, he loved to show and, once again, I had struck gold. Skater's campaign was short and sweet - he finished quickly and gave a stellar performance each time out. His first show was the most memorable. We drove from L.A. up to Sacramento for a weekend of 5 point Specialties. It was a thrill to have him go Best Puppy on the same day his sire, Cajun, went Best of Breed. Nice start for the kid! Pity that I can't remember anything else about the weekend with this beloved dog except his time in the ring.

As I knew he would be a dynamite Special, I decided to let him "grow up" some while we campaigned others. So, Skater's life became very routine; he was kenneled 90% of the time. All our dogs had "house time" and Skater was no exception but, again, I wasn't paying any attention to his individuality. Skater was roadworked and went out to Saturday morning class just to stay ring-wise. This was his life; in retrospect, no life at all.

Marital problems and a subsequent divorce forced me to make some very difficult choices. I could only take two dogs with me and chose to take Grouch and Skater. Sadly, Skater was an afterthought and, to be honest, a last minute decision. I knew he had much glory ahead of him in the show ring and didn't want to lose that. So, Skater came with me simply because I was being selfish. It really didn't change his life except that, now, he got no house time at all. For almost five months he literally lived a life of solitude. The only time I spent with him was when I fed him and when I cleaned his kennel.

In September, I lost my Grouch. Between the dissolution of my marriage and the loss of a beloved dog, I had had enough and took off to visit a friend in another state, leaving my mom with the care of Skater. After a few weeks, I chose to relocate to the midwest but STILL didn't have Skater shipped out to me until another month had gone by.

I look back at the first almost four years of my beloved boy's life in absolute horror. While his physical needs were more than met, his emotional needs were completely neglected. Yet, every morning I was greeted with so much love it was if he forgave me over and over again. I never saw the hope in those soft brown eyes; the hope for time, togetherness, a hug. If I could take back and redo anything in my life it would be Skater's first few years. Inevitably, they were MY loss, time I could never recover, hours I could not go back and spend telling my boy how precious and special he was. Yes, Skater forgave me. I will never forgive myself for being there yet missing a full third of his life.

Lend Me Your Ears

2009-07-28T15:06:00.000-07:00

Like all German Shepherd puppies, Skater grew so quickly. By the time he was six months old, we knew we had a "star", much like his mother. In fact, he was the spitting image of Babbitt but with his own masculine stamp of nobility. With almost no training, he quickly began to win Best Puppy at many Specialty shows, the first of which was under Kathy Potter who remembers him to this day. I was thrilled with his success in the show ring and the promise of so much more to come. Again, as I did with his dam, I saw the consummate show dog. I missed the real dog almost entirely; those beautiful warm brown eyes, always lit with humor, wisdom and pure happiness. He asked for nothing except my love. This was the beginning of many regrets for me, regrets which I wouldn't realize until many years later.

From about the age of three months, Skater had always been kenneled with his sire, Cajun. They got along extremely well and played like two happy kids for hours on end. When Skater was about seven months old, he ran headlong into one end of his kennel run and injured one of his front legs, enough to require sutures. The last thing I remember telling Andy, when he picked Skater up from the vet and brought him home, was that he needed to be sure and kennel Skater alone for the night as he would be sore from the injury and repair. We had a quiet and uneventful evening.

When I went out at 6:00 AM the next morning to begin my feeding and kennel chores, I first noticed that Skater was, as always, kenneled with Cajun and figured that Andy had put him back in his usual run before he left for work that morning. I wanted to see how his leg was doing so went up to check on him before I began doing anything else. He seemed happy, his usual self, and bounded up to greet me. Cajun, on the other hand, did not seem so happy. I gave him a quick head-rub and was shocked when my hand came away covered with blood. Then I noticed it - the entire tip of Cajun's ear was gone and the torn ear was bleeding quite heavily. As I bent to look more closely, I noticed the ear tip laying on the ground. It was cold and had obviously been there awhile. I took Cajun in the house, cleaned his ear and drove him to the vet where he, too, was sutured.

I was livid. When I got home, I put Cajun in the solid-weld "visiting girls" kennel, ALONE, and went in to call Andy and tell him what happened. Apparently, when he had brought Skater home the evening before, he had automatically put him back in his own kennel with his father. As the two boys normally played very rambunctiously, I figured that, at some point, Cajun had inadvertently hit Skater in the leg and, reacting in pain, Skater had retaliated by biting his dad's ear off. Neither dog was to blame. We, the humans, had failed to ensure their safety in the most rudimentary way. It was an accident that never should have happened. It was also the only time in his life that Skater acted aggressively toward another dog; he and Cajun were kennelmates for many more years without even so much as a hard look between them. Again, I missed the lesson as I still was too blind to see and learn; it took great lengths to anger Skater. He was a patient, reasonable and good-hearted dog who bore no ill will toward anyone or anything. It was human error that had, in this instance, brought out the worst in him and forced him to cause harm in order to defend himself. I hate that I put him in that position.

Up On The Roof

2009-07-27T19:17:00.000-07:00

Skater and his litter mates were about three months old, a beautiful, boisterous and happy little tribe of typically trouble making German Shepherd pups. It was Saturday and I needed to leave my mountain and go run some mundane errands. Andy was home and said he would spend some time with the puppies outside. My only warning to him before I left was, "If you're going to fall asleep, please be sure to put them back in their kennel first."

You have to understand the way our property was laid out in order to appreciate what happened that day. Because we lived 9/10 of the way up a very craggy mountain, out property was actually on three levels and, of course, perimeter fenced. On the first level was the driveway and the carport; the carport had been converted into a 20X30 puppy kennel and had a full roof over it. From the carport, you could walk up a few steps which brought you to a patio and the level of the bedrooms in the house. Now, if you walked from the driveway to the front door, you had to climb a small flight of stone steps; then you were level with the main part of the house and the front yard. From the front yard, there were two different full flights of stone steps up to the kennel area which was actually level with the roof on that side of the house. The roof, incidentally, extended over a narrow side yard which brought its edges to within a couple of feet of the kennel level. Make sense? Good.

I went on my merry way into town and it took about two hours to do what I needed. The road to our house was a one lane, barely paved little mountain road. As we had a 6 foot high chain link gate across the driveway, I normally turned toward it and parked to unlock it. Not this time. Imagine my surprise when I drove up to the gate, looked up and saw all five of my puppies UP ON THE ROOF!!! All tails were wagging, all faces sported huge grins and my dear husband was sound asleep on his chaise on the lawn. Skater was standing at the peak of the roof, facing the front. If he jumped, it was an approximately 15 foot drop to cement. If the pups ran to the right side of the house and jumped, it was an approximately 30 foot drop. The only semi-safe way off was, obviously, the same way they got on the roof to begin with ... from the side near the kennels and they still had to clear that two foot gap, ten feet above cement.

I knew that if I got our of the car, they would want to come toward me; couldn't risk that. I also knew that if I yelled loud enough to wake my husband, it still might make them come toward me and couldn't risk that either. So...up on my mountain, in the wonderful quiet that had drawn me there to begin with, I leaned on my horn for all it was worth. It took a couple of minutes but Andy finally raised his head. I only dared use hand gestures to show him where his charges were. When he finally saw them, I could see the color drain from his face. After a serious, hand-gesture conversation, we had agreed that the only hope was for him to walk slowly up to the kennels, get on the roof and call the pups off, making sure that each one got down safely. Thankfully, it worked. I don't think I spoke to him anymore that weekend and he was permanently relieved from puppy babysitting duties - forever.

I will never forget Skater's beautiful, baby black and red face, smiling at me as if to say, "Welcome home, mom. Look at where I am!" Even then, tried as he might, he knew I would let no harm come to him.

Skating; What's In A Name?

2009-07-26T09:10:00.000-07:00

Andy and I decided to name Skater and his littermates after Andrew Lloyd Weber productions. "Skater" was chosen to be Silstra's Starlight Express; I thought it was a beautiful name for a beautiful boy. We had never had much success at coming up with call names; our dogs all seemed to have chosen their own. Skater's great-grandma, who we called "Sirca", chose "Noodle", then "Moo". His great-aunt chose "Fish" and his great-uncle "Juice" had a son called "Grouch". Oddly enough, my sweet beautiful puppy chose "Skater". While the production of Starlight Express actually was done on roller skates, it was by sheer coincidence that this puppy gave us further reason to pay attention to HIS choice and call him "Skater".

He shared a kennel with Cajun, his sire, who was really quite the clean and tidy dog. Skater, on the other hand, chose always to leave a "pile" right in the middle of the kennel run. While Cajun took great care not to step in it, Skater never failed to run and "skate" right through it with all four of his big puppy feet. While it annoyed me at the time, I look back and realize that, for the first of many times, he had to go to great lengths to get me to recognize and understand what he was telling me. My Skater was always so much smarter and quicker than I was and I thank him for being so patient and working with me until I "got it".

June 29, 1995

2009-07-25T10:08:00.000-07:00

Skater came into this world in the most unusual way; I should have known then that his life would be one filled with humor and the unexpected.

His mom, Babbitt, was due on June 29, 1995 and we had already told Dr. Sam to be on standby in case Babbitt needed a c-section. By three in the afternoon, we decided that it was time to leave for the vet's office; Babbitt seemed perfectly happy as an incubator. We loaded her into the van and down the mountain and off to the clinic we went. What should have been a 15 minute drive turned into an hour and a half long journey.

Five minutes and half a mile down the lake road we heard it ... GRUNT! Andy pulled over and we got Babbitt out of the van just in time to catch a puppy. I stood there with that precious new life in my hands and just laughed - leave it to Babbitt! We settled mom and baby back in the crate and continued on our way.

Four more times we had to pull over and catch a baby; Babbitt even managed to deliver one right across the street from a local hospital. We must have been quite a sight to passersby! There we were, two adults, splattered with blood and birth fluid, holding a dog who appeared to be fighting the worst case of constipation in history! But Skater, his three brothers and a sister were fat, hungry, healthy little puppies!

Even though we thought Babbitt was finished, we were, by that time, so close to the veterinary clinic we figured we might as well stop in and be sure. Of course, Babbitt had to show everyone how happy and proud she was by wagging her tail like mad and splattering all four walls and reception area in Sam's waiting room.

We took our new family home and got them settled comfortably in the living room, right in front of the fireplace. I wish I knew in what order the pups were born but I do know that I held all five of them as they made their way into this world. It does my heart good to know that, all those years ago, I said, "Welcome, Skater!" with a hug and a smile. He was loved from the instant he was born but I had no idea what a joy, love, teacher and companion he would be, no clue as to the impact Skater would have on my life. It was the beginning of the most amazing and loving relationship I will ever know. I was simply too blind to see it then.

My Bug

2009-07-24T10:49:00.000-07:00

It's hard to decide where one soul begins and another ends. Skater was an enigma in that it was hard to understand how such an old and wise soul could shine from the face of a newborn pup. He was of many generations of my breeding, lives known and loved before him all enjoined in this one magnificent body. Skater entered this world on June 29, 1995 and changed my life forever. The twelve years, one month and 15 days of his glorious life were so magical and prophetic that I want to share his story with all who will listen. Skater and I had a ritual ... every night, before I went to sleep, I gave him the "plan" for the next day. It went like this: "Okay, my Bug, here's the plan. We'll get up in the morning, do shnookles because I love to hug you, get up, go out, go walkies, come in, I'll make your breakfast and you can eat it. Then we'll do shnookles again because I love to hug you. And, then, my beautiful boy, I will spend my day loving you because you are the most amazing, magnificent, beautiful, kind, wise, loving, giving, forgiving person in the universe ... and you're my best friend. I love you, Bug, and I can't wait to see you again but you live in my heart forever. I love you my Bug, my puppy." I still whisper the plan to Skater every night; obviously, the last part was added after he crossed the Bridge. I will tell his story ... the show dog, the friend, the ambassador, the conscience, the magnificent....Skater.