GONE BUT ALWAYS LOVED

I'll just say it: Robin is gone, but she didn't die, at least not yet as far as I know.

Saturday evening somehow she and Scout the black Lab mix got into a dispute over biscuits even though everybody had a biscuit. I don't know how it started or who started it. Harper had wisely run out to the deck with his biscuit to chomp away.

It took quite a bit of work to separate Robin and Scout. I sprayed them with water and smacked them with a pan and screamed and finally they stopped. I was quite shocked by their behavior. Robin seemed to have gotten the worst of it but had an "I don't care - bring it on" attitude.

Everything seemed fine and then about an hour later I was working at the computer and Robin suddenly took umbrage at Scout's presence and attacked the hell out of him. She chased him under the desk and held onto his ear and wouldn't let go. I received quite a scratch and bruise on my hand during the battle.

I called my son and he offered to come over and get Robin. I panted, No, I'll put Scout in the bedroom for a while and everyone, including me, will calm down and we'll be fine.

So they were in separate rooms for quite some time and then they went out before bed and everything was fine. Then we went in the bedroom to go to bed and Robin attacked Scout next to the bed and cornered him against a wardrobe while she bit the hell out of him.

Distracting her and grabbing her and doing anything with her was extremely difficult, but eventually I got her out of the room. I called my son and said, I'm sorry. You have to come and get her.

We sat together in the living room, blood from her mouth dripping onto the area rug, and waited the few minutes until he arrived.

He took her with him and I don't think she can come back here. Perhaps she'll have to be euthanized, which would have happened eventually anyway because of the cancer.

It was very shocking and upsetting and I'm still upset and also concerned for Scout, who was limping last night and not acting like himself. This morning he seemed fine and danced for his breakfast and I think we're back to normal.

I just wish I knew what went wrong with this good, sweet girl whose only flaw was escaping under the house from time to time. Oh, and sleeping in the middle of my bed, if you consider that a flaw.

I loved her, and she disappeared as quickly as she appeared.

And like Forrest, Forrest Gump, That's all I have to say about Vietnam.

ESCAPE

Gentle Readers,

Yesterday the nice lady next door, who quite often helps me with escaped dogs, rang the doorbell and I asked Do I have a dog out? She said No, two, the black one and the white one. (Ebony and ivory live together in perfect harmony. Side by side on my piano keyboard, oh Lord why is this song so dumb?)

So Robin found another escape route, but I was pretty surprised that Scout had followed. He's such a mama's baby.

But just then Scout came running up behind me, so obviously he had changed his mind and come back through the escape route and through the open back door, big smile on his face.

And then Robin came running up to the front door with her big dopey grin on her face.

So the nice lady next door and I went out back to see where they had gotten out because I have worked so hard to prevent escapes.

And there it was: A little tiny space between the house and the deck. Robin had knocked over the cinder block that was in front of it after pushing a garbage can out of her way. Nice lady next door was quite amazed that Robin had gotten through this tiny space. I said, She's the incredible shrinking dog. When Robin wants out, Robin gets out.

Nice lady next door went home and I looked at the little space and thought, Mama's back just hurts too much after all the hoopla last week with fixing another escape route and having Harper take off and get an hour away. I cannot carry a bag of quikrete back here to fix this. So I put the cinder block back in place and wedged a smaller one in next to it and put a metal tub that was in the yard (I think the people who used to live here were into gardening and they used it as a planter) in front of the cinder blocks and put the garbage can in the metal tub.

Now I knew that Robin could move all of this quite easily if she chose to do so, but I hoped that she would make enough noise with the rattly lightweight metal tub while removing it that I would know what she was doing and could give her a stern talking to.

So after a little while I heard a rattly noise near the back door. There was Robin standing in the metal tub.

I descended the steps from the deck and hauled her out and smacked her on the butt and shouted NO.

I swear to God she looked up at me with tears in her eyes.

And I knew what I was.

I was a piece of shit who would hit a helpless dog when just pulling her away and talking to her would have sufficed.

And I wasn't a great big stinking piece of Thoreau shit just waiting for some smart-assed rich kid to step in me. No, not me. I was a little tiny miserable piece of shit that had been ground into the mud by someone's scruffy boot and a cigarette had probably been put out on me besides.

Robin was pretty quiet the rest of the day and she stuck close to me. I gave her lots of pats and kisses and told her what a good girl she was when she stayed away from the escape route.

She's already tried to check out the area this morning - twice. The first time I was on the phone and I pointed at her and she backed away immediately. The second time I said NO and she moved away immediately.

At the moment, she's resting on the floor, next to my desk, oh so quiet. I know she's not really asleep because she's not snoring.

As soon as my back feels better, I'll fix this escape route and we'll be o.k. for a while until Robin find another spot.

Robin, it looks like it's you and me to the end baby.

Infinities of love,

Lola

CANES AMANDI SUNT

Well, Gentle Readers, the little bulldog who could just knocked over the doggie food container right after I had filled it with a new bag of Pedigree. Everybody ate their supper off the floor tonight, including me. Mmmmmmmm kibble.

Robin, who was supposed to be at death's door by now, gets stronger and hardier every day. Her ribs don't stick out anymore. She still loves to sleep in bed with me and wherever I go in the house, she goes. I am bulldog besotted.

She continues to take an anti-inflammatory each morning with breakfast, but it's been a few weeks since she needed a pain pill. The sad look is gone from her eyes. The limp is gone. I just wish the great big tumor hanging off her belly were gone.

So now is when I take people to task for not caring for their pets. Of course, MY Gentle Readers take care of their helpless darlings, but if some non-gentle reader stumbles across this message, then SHAME ON YOU!

I know I told you that Robin came to me as a foster dog because of my son's young lady love, but I don't think I told you how Robin came to be at the emergency clinic where Julia works as a vet tech.

Some kind people were driving in the country and saw a dog running by the road. She was limping. They thought she had been hit by a car, so they took her to the emergency clinic.

Robin hadn't been hit by a car. Some stupid ***** had dumped her when they realized she was sick.

She was limping because she has bone cancer. The tumor hanging off her belly is there because she has mammary cancer.

She has a scar around her neck from a chain.

The vet said if the bone cancer had been caught early on, she could have had one front leg amputated, and, knowing her, she'd manage just fine on three legs.

She has the mammary cancer because she has been bred God Only Knows how many times, and because she has teats, she could get the mammary cancer. Julia said that if dogs don't have teats, then they don't get mammary cancer.

This beautiful, loyal, adorable bulldog has been mistreated to the nth degree, and all I can do is give her these last happy months. And we are happy together.

And what about you, dog and cat owners?

HAVE YOUR PETS SPAYED OR NEUTERED!

There are too many unwanted dogs and cats in the world as it is. Quit breeding more, you greedy, sick pigs.

Oh, pardon me - I shouldn't insult pigs that way.

You greedy sick assholes?

And if you're not going to take care of animals, then don't get any. Dogs are pack animals. They need to be part of the family. Therefore, dogs need to live in the house. Get a dog and stick the poor thing in your back yard because for some unknown reason you want a dog and you are going to have one miserable, lonely dog. Oh, but I feed him every day and he has a flea collar. Dumb shit. Dogs have feelings too.

When God gave humankind dominion over the animals, it didn't mean that we were supposed to treat animals cruelly. It means we are supposed to be their caretakers. Unless creatures are supposed to live in the wild and do so, they are dependent on us.

And they will reward us with such devotion and love and loyalty and everything that is good in this world, and in Robin's case, some of the most amazing gas ever smelled.

But I swear sometimes she looks at me in bed and I know she's thinking, She who smelt it dealt it.




But ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds of the air, and they will tell you; or speak to the earth, and it will teach you, or let the fish of the sea inform you. Which of all these does not know that the hand of the Lord has done this? In his hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind. (Job 12: 7-10)

With infinities of love and much gratitude that I have this time with Robin, (although summer will not come again),

Lola

CANES AMANDI SUNT = Latin for The Dogs Must Be Loved

HAPPY DOG NEWS

Gentle Readers,

It's time for an update on Robin!

I realized suddenly that she has been here for two months.

As you may recall, Robin is the cancer-stricken foster dog who came to my home with my son's young lady love.

And I am happy to report that Robin looks and seems to feel great.

I give her an anti-inflammatory with her breakfast in the morning, and about once a week she starts to look droopy and unhappy and then it's pain pill time.

But other than that, she is Rockin' Robin. She has mammary cancer and bone cancer. The mammary tumor is quite large, but it doesn't seem to bother her. The bone cancer is in her shoulder, and when she arrived, she limped badly. Now, however, she seldom limps. She jumps happily for her bowl at meal time, eats heartily, and enjoys going outside. Sometimes I peek out the window at her and see her lying on the patio out back, just enjoying the safe world inside the fence.

My nicknames for her are Robin-a-bobbin because she's bouncy and happy and it rhymes, and Little Lady because she's the only female dog in my world and it's a good name for quiet times when we're cuddling in bed.

The vet's prognosis was three months. It's been two.

Whatever happens, I will make sure she is as happy and comfortable as possible up to the last minute.

With love and joy,

Lola

SAFE AND RESTFUL SLEEP, SLEEP, SLEEP

Gentle Readers,

I was allowed to sleep in my bed last night. Robin began the night on a doggie bed on the floor. I don't know why. She just did.

So I made myself comfortable, and at some point during the night, she joined me. She didn't push me around. I was allowed to stay where I was.

Perhaps Robin read yesterday's message and realized that remaining a bed hog could make her unpopular.

In spite of the large tumor she has, I question the vet's prognosis of four months to live. She's so tough, I suspect she may decide to hang around awhile longer, especially now that she's living the good life.

In another life, I helped take care of a man who was dying from lung cancer. Oh, I adored him. Before the pain got really bad, every day I would take a fresh pitcher of water to him and he would tap his cheek and say, Gimme a kiss right here, baby doll.

I was happy to oblige.

But when he no longer asked for kisses and stayed in bed all day, the hospice nurse was called in. She said he had mere hours to live.

His family came to be with him. They gathered round his bed and cried, Daya-dee, don't leave us!

Daya-dee respected their wishes and lived about another six weeks.

So much for the hospice nurse and her prognosis of mere hours to live.

The man was the one who knew when it was the end. He told me he wanted his son to be called - his oldest son, not the rest of the family.

The son arrived at about 2 a.m. and the kindly man drifted away into lovely, soothing death. He knew when it was his time, and I think Robin will let us know when it is her time.

Love,

Lola

WHO OWNS THE BED?

Gentle Readers,

Poor, pitiful little Robin who is dying of cancer started out as a cuddler in my bed.

Poor, pitiful little dog, I thought. She is so starved for affection and attention. I was simply thrilled to give her the love she deserves.

But cuddling has turned into a turf war; that is, who owns the bed?

Before I can get in the bed at night, Robin hops in and settles down smack dab in the middle. I have to push and shove her as best I can so I can join her in bed. For a poor, pitiful cancer stricken dog, she is mighty heavy and strong when she plants herself in her desired spot.

Last night, I barely got into the bed, and when I did, I was allowed only enough of the sheet to cover half of myself. Robin was on top of the middle of the sheet and would not allow me to pull more onto myself.

I awoke frequently during the night, finding myself in danger of being pushed out of the bed. Robin, I said, You really must let Mommy share the bed and get some sleep.

I was exhausted this morning because I spent the night fighting for a spot in what used to be my bed.

So the question is: Who owns the bed?

The answer is simple: Robin.

Love,

Lola

AND SUMMER WILL NOT COME AGAIN

Gentle Readers,

Robin has come here to live.

Robin has come here to die.

Robin is some sort of bulldog mix. She has had I don't know how many litters of puppies. She has a terrible limp. She has a scar around her neck from being chained. Her ribs are sticking out.

And she has cancer. About four months to live, according to the vet.

My son's young lady love wants her to know what happiness is before she dies, and I think she already has it figured out.

Happiness is curling up in a chair in the family room and getting your tummy scratched.

Happiness is regular meals.

Happiness is a fenced-in backyard where you can run with the other dogs and feel free but safe.

Happiness is batting at Mom's arm when she's reading to make sure Mom doesn't forget you for one second, and you don't get in trouble for wanting attention.

Happiness is getting into Mom's bed at night and cuddling up as close to Mom as you can get.

I named her Robin because it is still spring. Summer will arrive soon, but right now, at this moment, it is still spring and the robins return in the spring.

So Robin has come to us during the spring. We will see her through the summer and care for her and give her all the love she wants and needs.

Then when fall arrives and it is time for the dying that precedes winter, we will see Robin through her death and we will make sure the death is as calm and gentle as possible.

Robin, you are loved.

Robin, this is what happiness is.

I am so glad you are here.

Love,

Lola