Until we meet again

Yesterday we said goodbye to one of the best and funniest friends I've ever had. Ella just simply couldn't stand up anymore, not even to go potty. The pain pills that the vet prescribed didn't make any difference and over the course of about 48 hours Ella lost the use of her back legs. Robert called the place that Rose went to at the end of her journey, and verified we could be in the room with her. It was the same room where we said goodbye to Rose just over two years ago. Robert said he wouldn't be surprised if Rose waited patiently those two and a half years so she could be there for Ella and give her crap when she passed on.

Ella would have turned 13 today. 

I've had some good buddies in my day, both furry and human, but Ella is at the very top of my list. After Rose picked her out - out of dozens of dogs we visited - and carried her by the scruff of her neck to the car (this is the best Ella story), I wasn't sure I trusted Rose's opinion anymore. Ella was a complete jerk from day one. For the first three years of her life I kept trying to convince Robert to find her a new home. She ate about half of my shoes, all the base boards in our last home, and once, an entire box of $50 chocolates. 

While I was trying to get rid of her, something magical was happening. I remember trying to keep an eye on her every second she was out of her kennel, in the hopes of salvaging a few of my belongings I'm sure. For example, whenever I did laundry I plopped her in the basket first, dumped the dirty clothes on her and carried her to the basement. She would run around and eat spiders while I washed and folded laundry and when I was done, I would dump her back into the basket with the clean laundry. I carried her around in that damn basket for the first year of her life, and before I knew it, I found myself liking her sometimes. I couldn't help but be amused by her antics, her kiss-my-ass personality. She did as she pleased and enjoyed life to the fullest. It was tough not to be a little jealous of that kind of attitude. Rose came into our lives about as perfect as a dog can be. We were told repeatedly (and still get told repeatedly) that golden retrievers are the best dogs. Well here was this was puppy with the death glares and the horrid behavioral problems who appeared to be proving everyone wrong.

Before I knew it Ella had a hold on me. And perhaps due to my admiration or amusement she became a fan of me as well. She loved all of her admirers. And who knows, she may have had similar opinions of me - "well, here's this loud, obnoxious human who's always yelling at me, but she's kind of funny and hateful some times. I can appreciate that."

I wanted to call her Eloise. And though Robert immediately vetoed that, she was always a bit of an Eloise to me - a proper-sounding name that can turn white trash in the blink of the eye (my apologies to those of you named Eloise). She eventually became Thug Muffin (due to her tough exterior and sometimes, soft interior). She was also Ezzy Bez, Butternut Squash, and a few other cutesy names. One of the names she earned with age and wisdom was White-Faced Ghost Killah. A couple goofy things she did encouraged the rest of her nicknames. Whenever she flopped down, she would find the most unladylike ways to do so - mostly flat on her back, sometimes with only her butt in your face. Then she would give you The Stare. The Come Pet My Belly Stare. Because of this we started calling her a ho, which led to Skanky Doodle Dandy, Hootie and the Ho Fish (90s music has robbed a significant amount of my brain cells), and other unflattering nicknames. Most of the time she wasn't Ella. She was simply Skank.

If you click on this picture you can see that it didn't matter where she was. She made herself comfortable.

I have been immensely impacted by her zest for life. She went after everything with more gusto than one would think possible for a beefy golden retriever. She wasn't graceful in most things, only in the things she was passionate about. She went from Rug of Love (another nickname) to Furry Warrior with a Helicopter Tail whenever a ball was involved. She tore through lakes, creeks, lawns, fields, and swimming pools like the wind coming to life. When she went tearing after a ball I couldn't help it. I wanted my passion for life to be exactly like that. She gave everything she loved 100% and when she was tired she took a break and plopped herself down just exactly the way she wanted to. 

She was also my protector. I could be standing on the other side of the house, spot a spider, and before I made so much as a squeak, she would be right there next to me. This became both a little more sad and a little bit funnier as she grew older. The last couple times I spotted a spider I would hear her labored steps as she slowly click-clacked her way across the house to come give that spider some old lady whoop ass. Ella would also magically appear any time I was in tears or near tears. I truly believe she could smell my pain. Though she wasn't one for snuggles, she would come find me, squeeze herself next to me, and thrust her bony old-man elbows into my thighs before settling in. It was as if she thought she could vacuum some of the pain away with her body, and that's exactly how it felt.

She was my shadow, or perhaps more accurately, I was hers. I followed her around like the sun and the moon and the earth and all the planets revolved around her. 

Even as she got older, she stayed true to who she was. Once a jerk face, always a jerk face. In the mornings she would wait until I was settled in and eating breakfast before making her way out of the bedroom, ready for her morning routine. She would even give me a look like, "are you comfy yet?" Because I often had breakfast on our couch I figured out how she knew I was just getting settled in and decided to be sneaky. Before I sat down for breakfast I would hit the button for the foot rest, which makes a creaking sound. She would come stumbling out of the bedroom thinking I had settled in with my breakfast and shoot me the dirtiest look like, "You butthead. You tricked me." We had constant wars like this with each other and I doubt I'll meet another creature or person who delights in it as much as she did. 

While she was passing on I wanted to tell her that where she was going was better, that she would get everything her ornery little heart desired, and that she wouldn't be in pain anymore. But I struggled to tell her all this because I'm selfish - once a jerk face, always a jerk face. I still have years of things I want to say to her, years of romping through the woods, and throwing balls caked with slime into swamps filled with slime, years of long walks and ice-cream runs. So I decided to give her an impossible task, one I'm sure she will give 100%. I told her I wanted her to live in doggy paradise. I told her I wanted her to come back and live many more happy lives and bring happiness to as many people and creatures as possible. And most selfishly, I asked her to wait for me.  

Here are a few of my favorite Ella pictures:

Rose teaching Ella how to swim:



The Ella approach to frisbee (and life):



The best kind of nap:





Ordering ice cream at her favorite drive-thru:



Lounging with Rose:



Always hopeful:









The day we picked out her wagon:

turkey-flavored toothpaste cloud of love

Ella seems to be perking up a bit, eating a little more but only with an ungodly amount of encouragement. When she walks she's not struggling as much as she has been. We're picking up a pain pill at the vet's office today. Depending on how she responds to the pain pill we might be making a tough decision soon. But she keeps giving me a few wags and still enjoys the cuddles.

In other news I was so exhausted last night I asked Robert to take care of the dogs so I could go to bed early. I think I was asleep before 8. As I was falling asleep I felt like I was suddenly engulfed in a cloud of turkey-flavored toothpaste (one of the worst smells on the planet) and I also felt a quick flash of drool on my hand that  must have been hanging over the side of the bed. When I woke up this morning I told Robert about it. He said that after the pups went out and had their teeth brushed they came racing into the bedroom. Robert quickly blocked my side of the bed with his body and tried to get the girls to go into their kennels. Like a flash of lightning Margo slipped through his legs and came over to give a stern and exasperated sigh into my face before forgiving me (nudging my hand) and going to bed.

We've talked about how similar Margo is to Rose, but also how Margo doesn't have one mothering bone in her body (which would be appalling to Rose). Even though Margo was upset I messed up our nighttime routine, I think it's possible she also wanted to say goodnight and make sure I was in the room before she went to bed. 

Ella

It's been a bit rocky around here. For several months Ella has been battling a persistent ear infection. We've tried just about everything to clear it up, and finally two weeks ago I was delighted to flip her ear open and discover a clean ear.

But last week she started refusing her pills, which she normally looks forward to with unmitigated exuberance. For most of her life she would greet her loved ones, new friends, and food with a lusty woo-woo-woo. A couple years ago her singing morphed into a few old-lady croaks here and there, and they were mostly for her morning pills.

She's been refusing her pills and stopped eating for a few days, before we landed on a way to get her to eat a bit. Robert has been dumping clumps of canned food into his palm, which goes against everything she's learned about not licking humans ever, and probably why she's enjoying it so much. But she's also struggling even more than usual to stand up and walk. We've consulted our vet , and because Ella is not in any apparent pain and still gives us a wag here and there, we've been told to continue our wait.

She will be 13 in less than two weeks and is slipping away. We've been spending more time than usual burying our faces in her thick coat, coaxing her to eat, helping her get outside, and waiting. When Rose passed away it was quick, we were horribly ill with the flu, and it felt like a suffocating fog that eventually lifted. This is radically different. I find myself waking in the middle of the night so I can place my hand over her heart. I lift her gums, check for pink, and tell her I've got her back no matter what. If she needs to go, I'll miss her but can find a way to stand up to the spiders on my own.

I don't think she believes me, and perhaps she's waiting too. Waiting for me to prove I can make it without her. 

I'll keep everyone posted.

Favorite April Reads

Though I have just two favorite books from April, they were excellent. 

Underground by Will Hunt (Adult Nonfiction)

Hunt's exploration of the worlds beneath our feet is fascinating, compelling and supported by interesting texts. I simply couldn't jot down names and quotes fast enough. At times it felt like Hunt was gushing like a fangirl as he sloshed his way through sewers and reveled in what I can only describe as extreme underworld appreciation. I happened upon Underground in the Paris Catacombs gift shop. Though I wouldn't describe my appreciation of what lies beneath my feet as extreme, I do love caves and spent my college years caving every spare minute I had. I even helped with cave restoration and preservation. Sadly, the combination of a full-time job and the spread of White-Nose-Syndrome (a disease that easily spreads among bats and adds extra hours of cleaning cave gear to the expedition) pushed caving way way down on my priority list. But there is nothing quite like wedging yourself into a small cave nook, the back of your head pressed against the cool cave floor, as you flip off your headlamp and let the darkness embrace you. My experience in the Paris Catacombs was nothing like this, but I still enjoyed the tour, and more importantly I found Hunt's book. Hunt tends to meander, sometimes going on and on about something, zig-zagging from one thought to another. I recognize this isn't everyone's cup of tea, but I rather enjoyed it. It felt a little bit like caving. At times I felt lost and overwhelmed. Other times I was totally consumed in a labyrinth of wonder I never wanted to leave. I had to slow down while reading this, and take the time to enjoy the beautiful facets of the underworld. 

Here are a couple of my favorite moments: 

"Evolutionary psychologists have suggested that even our most archaic ancestral relationships to landscapes never quite fade, that they become wired in our nervous system, manifest in unconscious instincts that continue to govern our behavior. The ecologist Gordon Orians calls these lingering vestigial impulses 'evolutionary ghosts of environments past.' This was a brand-new concept to me. 

Underground also introduced me to the word, "songline." "A songline is a path marking the trail of a Dreamtime ancestor - an emu, a wallaby, a dingo, a marlu - as they moved across the primordial continent, bringing the landscape into existence."

With the Fire On High by Elizabeth Acevedo 

I really enjoyed and respected the main character, Emoni, a teenage mom who's trying to balance parenthood, classes, work, graduating, her passion for cooking, family, friends and not only a potential boyfriend, but what it means to date as a single parent WHEW. I was impressed with how well Emoni juggles everything. Acevedo doesn't try to make her this champion teen mom or on the flip side, shame her for being a teen mom. It's not a cautionary tale or one of those books that makes a struggle like teen parenting look easy. Acevedo balances writing about teen pregnancy and single teen parenting with grace. I really enjoyed the characters. I appreciated not only Emoni's strong friendship with Angelica, but also how Angelica's relationship with her girlfriend stays strong the whole way through the story. Every character was fleshed out, believable, and played a crucial roll in Emoni's story. There was a touch of magic realism sprinkled throughout the story, which I appreciated. Emoni's cooking evokes strong emotions in those who eat what she makes, and she has an experience with a chef who nourishes this ability. I loved how the descriptions of food are heavy-handed with a couple cute recipes here and there. Emoni is also proud of who she is - her culture, where she lives, and where she comes from. Her family isn't perfect, but she's ok with that and she's a whole lot more accepting of her father than I would be. I think my favorite thing about With the Fire on High is how it lets its audience know that you can still achieve your dreams and accomplish your goals, even if your path suddenly changes direction. You may just have to work harder for those dreams, and the new direction your path takes may make your life even better.