The Plan Gets Longer

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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.