In Memoriam

We had to put Inky down about 3 weeks ago. That dog had become my best friend and I feel compelled to write about her.

Inky was not an immediate fit into our lives. We'd had to put down Acer a month or so prior and were still unsure of when we wanted another dog. Honestly, we felt a little coerced into agreeing to foster again, but it turns out that's what we, by which I mostly mean B, needed.

A bright-eyed, skinny ball of energy. The skinny part would diminish with us. :-D

This little boxer was much stronger and more energetic than our old Methuselah (rescue name for Acer). She liked to jump and had a knack for landing square on the crotch of the target. She was only about 50 pounds, but it was 50 pounds of muscle packed on her small stature.

I didn't want such a frisky dog. It didn't feel right to force a dog with so much energy to stay in a kennel all day while we were at work, then expect her to find a way to disperse that energy when we had none by the time we got home.

I made efforts to be a good dog foster. I gave the rescue a written description of her personality to put on their webpage. I took her to an adoption event in Belton and answered a lot of dumb, ill-advised questions from people who had no real interest in her ("She must be really old, look at her gray face!" or "Are those her natural ears?" and, my favorite, "How much would it cost to get her tail docked?").

Excuse me, I'm perfect as I am, sir.

But one day, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, my left leg stretched out in front of me, my right hanging off the edge. Inky was right between them, getting full body rubs and loving every moment. She turned toward me, her head upside down and natural boxer smile exaggerated, and gave me this look.

It was a combination of love, trust, contentment and devotion in her eyes, given in that pure, unadulterated, in-the-moment way only animals can manage.

I knew then she'd decided to keep us, and we would keep her.

Her energy level adapted to ours. She had her bat-out-of-hell moments when she was let out of her kennel in the evening for dinner, but she always ended up finding "her" spot in the couch -- her preferences being having her chin elevated slightly and some part of her body wedged against me or B -- and settled down.

Not uncommon.

She was a bit of a "grumpy old woman" at times, known for growling at whatever noises she heard in the front yard. B and I joked that she was muttering for them kids to get off her lawn.

She loved squeaky toys and being chased down for them.

She was completely food-driven, even learning new tricks at 7+ years old with the promise of a Milkbone. But she did have manners; she never got on the couch when one of us was eating. Someone, at some point, had taught her a thing or two before she ended up at Killeen Animal Shelter, and eventually the Austin Boxer Rescue.

I still compulsively look at her kennel when I walk into the bedroom, I guess checking to see if she's just reappeared. I haven't had the gumption to take it down yet, though I've put her bowls and toys in the garage. Every time I pass the kennel, it clinks as I brush it and my heart clenches a little.

The bed feels colder than usual, even with two people, because we don't have a little boxer body anchoring the top of the covers in place near our feet.

Like this, for example.

I don't have to worry about getting home in the evening to feed her, though the driving habit is still there. I still feel odd staying out later to run errands or do things because I Have To Get Home for no reason now.

You'd think you'd cry out all your emotions at some point. I thought I was doing well after that first week. But reliving things still unloads the tear ducts.

My heart aches for something to fill the dog-sized hole in my life. I'm trying to respect Brian's grieving process, which is taking longer than mine. It's not that I'm over Inky, I just can't stand the coldness and quietness I feel in the house without her presence and the gap in my daily routines that used to be filled with feeding or cuddling or other care.

I've never known a better cuddler.

Some of B's favorite moments.

I love you, Inky. I'm glad you didn't suffer, but we miss you terribly.

When you're torn between two big developments

Yesterday I went to training for my insulin pump trial. On my way home, I learned my dog has cancer on his liver and is looking at a maximum of two months left to live.

How else do you introduce two stories that inspire such opposing emotions?

On the one hand, I'm still not sure how to feel about the pump. It's a small weight attached to me at all times, and has already gotten on my nerves by preventing me from rolling after aikido.
On the other hand, I feel sad and distracted about Acer and trying to decide if and at what point to put him down. It's a constant psychological weight in the back of my mind.

I want to go into a discussion about both of these, but in focusing on one I feel like I'm not doing the emotions and gravity of the other situation justice. With the lack of photos to share, I'll just leave it with this:

• I have two weeks until I learn to use the CGM. In the meantime I'm going to try my darndest to really acclimate to this little purple pump. 
• I don't know how long I have with Acer, but we are planning to spoil him with car rides and treats this weekend, culminating in a small barbecue for him on Sunday, where he will get his own helping of steak and watermelon (I've never seen a dog like watermelon so much). 

Sorry for the lack of meat in this post. I wanted to say something about it while it was on my mind, but I'm having a hard time focusing.

Sometimes things get too quiet

Looks like it had been too long since something shook up life for Audrey and Brian, so fate decided we needed two extra dogs, a parrot and eventually another person in the house.

Sunday we heard that Brian's friend/ex-stepmother had fallen from a tree and broken her back. While checking on her in the hospital, she was concerned about her animals (four dogs hers, three foster dogs and a parrot). Collaborating with her rescue friends, we got everyone into temporary homes. Brian and I took the parrot, one boxer and one jack russell terrier, the dogs that our dog would not have a problem with.

I was able to adjust okay the first couple days to keeping three mouths and a beak fed -- though that last one did require a battle of wills -- but after three days I realized I needed to make sure I took care of myself too. I took a night to not drive to Moody or Killeen and just relax and I felt a lot better this morning.

Oddly, relaxing is all they've done this morning too.

My eventual-mother-in-law (by-default) had surgery a couple days ago and is doing well and will be coming to live with us when she is discharged. Our house is closer to the hospital and will not leave her living alone while trying to recover, so it makes sense to have her here. I'm not antsy about it; she's awesome and I'd love to help her out, even if she would rather do it on her own. I just don't know what all I will be expected to do. Transport to therapy? Cook every night? Tie her to the couch to make sure she doesn't hurt herself trying to do too much? All are possibilities.

But other than that excitement, things are still okay here. The bell peppers are growing a total of two peppers, and I made a last-ditch effort at radishes in a pot, which look to be doing well. Most everything else has died though. Sometimes I wonder why I put in so much effort in the spring and early summer when I get almost no results, then I remember how much I enjoy the process and keep on daydreaming about next year.

I've also been thinking a bit about future career paths and am wondering how to start teaching myself graphic design. What I've researched makes me think I can do it if I can get past the technology challenge. The best idea seems to be trying it out as a hobby first, then attempting some freelance if I like it enough. If I don't, well, at least I've learned something new.

But I need to really get off and try to get some tasks accomplished today. I want to visit the hospital, get the transition lenses for Brian and go to the grocery store. Though staying here surrounded by sleeping dogs, Pandora and Pinterest also sounds like a good plan...

In memory of Grace

I hadn't mentioned my dumbo rat Grace in a while. She'd lost motion in her back legs and tail, wore a gaping wound in her back leg from dragging herself around and appeared to have lost the ability to even notice when she was urinating. Friday, Brian and I finally had to admit that it was no longer fair to let her keep living as she was.

We called the vet, who confirmed that things were not going to improve.

She was put to sleep Friday morning.

I miss my clumsy, scuffling, burrowing little rodent. My first non-fish pet since I left home. So, here's a photo collection.

**(What follows the photos is a detailed story of Grace's final days. If you prefer not to read, this is your disclaimer.)**

The day she came home, June 1, 2013.

 

She became adept at knocking the lid off her ball, but wasn't always quick enough to get herself out. 

 I won a free pet portrait at a raffle and this is the picture of Grace I sent to the artist and her depiction.

 "That's me!"

 Teaching Brian to use the touch screen.

Bat Rat helping Audrey in the kitchen.

 Hickory dickory dock, the rat ran up the clock.

 Every now and then, I'd catch her sleeping in a tucked-in position. Those ears!

 A family picture.

 Halloween laughs.

 Very helpful file inspections.

 One of the last pictures I took.

~*~*~*~*~

I had cried about the idea of losing my girl when we first noticed her legs not working, about a month ago. Apparently pet store rats are prone to this degenerative thing due to overbreeding. The vet speculated that it was due to a blood clot that found its way down her spine.

It was hard to think about losing her, because even without her back feet to use she was still so spirited. She still wanted to be held and burrow in the bed covers and know what was going on.

Part of the difficulty was that Grace had been with me and Brian through a lot of the hardest times of our relationship: alternating joblessness, crappy jobs, money troubles, moving to Temple, taking care of his grandmother, coping with losing her, dealing with an estate, more joblessness, etc. etc.

For a while, I thought she'd be okay, honestly. Then I picked her up one day and found she'd worn, literally worn, a wound in her leg from dragging. I was scared.

Shortly after I noticed that her back end was stained yellow from urine. Apparently she couldn't feel when she peed, so it was just sitting there on her fur (and presumably the wound).

I couldn't take her to get put down on my own, so Brian took Friday off work so we could go together. We gave her yogurt and fruit and sunflower seeds as we were getting ready, some of her favorite treats.

The vet and tech seemed as sad as we were. They had worked on her in January to remove a tumor from her chest. In fact, when Brian called the office and identified himself as "Gracie's owner," the girl on the other line immediately knew who he was talking about. I'm guessing they don't get a lot of rodents out there, or maybe Grace was just that charming.

She hated that bandage, but her stitches from the tumor removal healed without a hitch because of it.

They were very kind through the procedure, even letting us be with her as she went to sleep for the last time. I literally had snot dripping from my nose I was crying so hard. We wrapped her in a handkerchief that was normally a hammock for her, accepted a box of tissues, and left the office.

Grace is buried in the backyard next to my raised bed. I'm thinking of planting a pink rosebush over her grave.

The most touching moment of the day happened later though. We were getting in the car so Brian could drop me off at work when a guy ran up from a van with a bouquet of flowers for us. They were from the vet's office, with a card offering their condolences. Live flowers. Delivered.

I know that a  small vet's office couldn't possibly afford to send flowers to every euthanasia case. All I can figure is that they loved our rat as much as we did. I'm still in shock that they'd make such an effort, but very grateful for the kindness. With some time, we will return to them for care for our next small pets.