Birdbrained

A couple of ongoing projects (and some really good books) have consumed my blogging time lately, but in between working (and reading), I've become a bird watcher. 

When the new sidewalk was poured in my backyard this past December, I made sure that a tiny patch of earth for the bird feeder was left near the corner of the patio. This turned out to be a good decision in some ways and not so good in others.

It's good that I can refill the feeders in even the worst kind of weather without getting my feet muddy. It's good that the feeders draw the birds near my house, where I can hear them chatter while they feed and see them if I'm fast enough. I suppose Butch thinks it's good that fallen seeds have sprouted at the bottom of the feeder and turned into a "salad" that he enjoys daily.

The down side is that my plan to sit on the patio and take photographs of the beautiful birds gathered there isn't working out at all. The birds don't seem to like to eat when humans are so close to the feeder. They approach in large numbers, but if I'm out there,  they don't stay.

My patio is enclosed by the house on two sides and a privacy fence on a third, with the fourth side (where the bird feeder is) opening out to the backyard. It's interesting to see the numbers and varieties of birds that fly directly toward the feeder, then spot a human or a dog and make a last-minute, mid-air U-turn. Watching birds from the patio feels sort of like watching an air show, except that these "planes" don't land. The fly-bys, though, with their swoops and sharp turns, are spectacular.

So, I've had to devise other methods of photographing birds, and even though my bird photos aren't as good as I'd hoped they'd be, I'll show you some of the feathered beauties that brighten my days. First up is one of several varieties of sparrows. Not so pretty, I know, but there are too many of them to ignore.

Sparrow on neighbor's tin roof (shot with zoom lens).

There are Cardinals, too, so many beautiful redbirds and all of them extremely cautious.

Cardinal on ground beneath feeder (shot through glass door).

The bravest birds have been some of the smallest, like this red-headed House Finch...

House Finch at feeder (shot through 3-inch opening in door).

...and this charming Chickadee:

Carolina Chickadee (also shot through narrow door opening).

The most frequent feeders are the doves -- lots and lots of doves.

Five plump doves on utility wire (shot with zoom lens).

This was the slowest one of seven that were feeding together:

Mourning Dove (shot through glass door).

And this one flew away -- but not far enough to deter me.

Mourning Dove (shot through lattice of privacy fence).

I've apparently reached a stage of life in which a visit by a new species of bird can be a high point of my day. Yesterday a small flock of Tufted Titmice visited my feeder several times. One of them actually stayed put for 15 or 20 seconds while I was seated on the patio, but I didn't have my camera with me and didn't want to risk moving to go get it. I tried several times later to take a picture through the glass door, but they saw me before I could focus, and they flew away.

I'll stalk them again today.

Breakfast for supper

In the past few months several members of my family have embraced a low-carb lifestyle. My daughter Kim and I, both single, have teamed up to try new recipes for dinner twice a week. We take turns with the cooking, and, with a couple of notable exceptions, we've been pleased to learn that we can eat quite well without the sugars and starches we'd always craved.

Eating this way does require a little more effort. Cooking flavorful recipes is more difficult and time consuming than driving half a mile to pick up a burger and fries, and eating more fresh foods means shopping more frequently. So far it's been worth the extra effort.

Sometimes, though, I just don't want to give that much thought to what I'm going to eat. That happened one night recently when Kim and I had a dinner/TV night planned and I wasn't in the mood to cook.  "Would you be okay with something simple tonight, like bacon and eggs or an omelet?" I asked.

"Sure," Kim said, "but if you want breakfast, I do really good breakfasts. Would you let me cook breakfast for you?"

That night I learned to raise my expectations. Kim's breakfast was so spectacular I had to take a picture of it:

Crab cakes on a bed of fresh, steamed spinach,

topped with poached eggs and hollandaise sauce, with a side of fresh fruit.

This meal was delicious. It also clearly demonstrated why Kim's creativity has taken her to higher levels than I've ever attained: I think in bacon and eggs; she thinks in crab cakes.

Blogger is free!

Keep reminding me:  Blogger is free.

I'd complain about the fact that yesterday's post disappeared until a short while ago, but I can't, because Blogger is free.

I'd gripe about the fact that the comments I left on other people's posts yesterday have vanished, but Blogger is free, so I can't ask for my money back.

The old adage, "You get what you pay for," doesn't apply in this case; Blogger doesn't cost me a dime. I've used it for over five years now, and this was only the second big glitch I've encountered. Yes, there's been the occasional time when one Blogger feature or another has acted "peculiar" for a day or two, but for the most part, it's been dependable, reliable, right there when I've needed it.

That's more than I can say about myself when it comes to blogging. Who fritters away her computer time playing Mah Jongg or Bejeweled? Who gives up trying to write because her dog has just rolled his tennis ball under her desk for the seventh time in ten minutes? Who has days when she "just isn't into it"? That would be me.

Blogger is "into it" way more than 99 percent of the time. And did I mention that Blogger is free?

So I won't complain. Although I did have a few unkind thoughts for a while there.

Celebrations

The days between this post and the last one have flown by on the wings of everyday errands and mundane activities, but those days also contained a couple of special events:

Revisiting the past:
In the '80s and '90s I worked for 17 years for a company founded by the father of Alison, whose blog, Inspired Work of Self-Indulgence, was the first one I ever read. In fact, I found her blog in a Google search for her father's name in 2005, after a couple of former co-workers had called to let me know of his death. It was Alison's open, honest writing that inspired me to begin writing a blog of my own, although it took me nearly a year to gather the courage to try it.

Alison's father was an inspirational leader, loved and respected by all who knew him. The Louisiana branch of the company he founded is still very active, and once a year, near the founder's birthday, he is honored posthumously by a celebration in memory of the exceptional human being that he was.

This year Alison invited me to go with her. I was hesitant at first, reluctant to crash the party of people I hadn't seen in nearly 14 years, but Alison assured me I'd be welcome.

And, when the hour arrived, I felt welcome. There were still people there who had worked there when I did, and it felt like a homecoming to be in their midst again. There were big smiles, hugs, and plenty of old stories retold to new laughter.

I enjoyed spending time with Alison (who didn't stress out about the dog hair Butch got on her pants), and appreciate her invitation and encouragement to accompany her to this event. It was a special occasion I'll remember for a long time.


Mother's Day:
In what has become a family tradition over the past few years, we celebrated Mother's Day at my daughter Kelli's house, feasting on boiled crawfish and basking in a whole lot of love. I don't know if Kim and Kelli realize that just having them in my life makes me feel special every day and that Mother's Day, for me, is more meaningful only because it makes me stop and reflect on how rich they have made my life.

When our family gathers, when I'm able to sit back and watch the interactions of my children, grandchildren, their assorted spouses, and that one small great-grandson, my heart feels so full that I think it might burst. They're kind to each other. They crack jokes, but not mean ones, and they have each other's backs. They're good people, and I'm so, so proud of them.

The genealogist in me can't resist pointing out that there were four generations of family members at our Mother's Day gathering this year, including three generations of mothers. More than I love delving into the history of our ancestors, and I do love that, I love watching our family expand, watching people I loved in their infancy grow up, create full lives for themselves as adults, and, in some cases, have babies of their own. The sense of continuity thrills me.

One young family member is currently pregnant with her first child. She and her husband have decided they don't want to know the sex of the baby until it's born, and the announcement of that decision prompted me to send her a link to a beautiful song that fits their situation. You can hear it on YouTube here:
Marc Cohn - The Things We've Handed Down.

Or, if you'd rather read the words than listen to them, here are the lyrics:

The Things We've Handed Down
by Marc Cohn

Don't know much about you 
Don't know who you are 
We've been doing fine without you 
But we could only go so far 
Don't know why you chose us 
Were you watching from above 
Is there someone there that knows us 
Said we'd give you all our love 

Will you laugh just like your mother 
Will you sigh like your old man 
Will some things skip a generation 
Like I've heard they often can 
Are you a poet or a dancer 
A devil or a clown 
Or a strange new combination of 
The things we've handed down 

I wonder who you'll look like 
Will your hair fall down and curl 
Will you be a mama's boy 
Or daddy's little girl 
Will you be a sad reminder 
Of what's been lost along the way 
Maybe you can help me find her 
In the things you do and say 

And these things that we have given you 
They are not so easily found 
But you can thank us later 
For the things we've handed down 

You may not always be so grateful 
For the way that you were made 
Some feature of your father's 
That you'd gladly sell or trade 
And one day you may look at us 
And say that you were cursed 
But over time that line has been 
Extremely well rehearsed 
By our fathers and their fathers 
In some old and distant town 
From places no one here remembers 
Come the things we've handed down 
 

Recap and regroup

The last half of April has been a whirlwind of activity. The international news has been all about the royal wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton, followed closely by reports of protests and counter-protests in the Middle East. The top news stories related to America have been divided almost equally between the massive destruction caused by tornadoes in Alabama and Mississippi and the fact that Donald Trump bullied President Obama and the State of Hawaii into producing the long form of the president's birth certificate.

Things have been pretty busy in this small patch of Louisiana, too, and in order to regroup, move on, and restore a semi-regular flow of blog posts, I first need to catch up by recapping a few recent blog-worthy events:

The Graduate:
On April 16th Levi completed a six-week course in obedience training. He was a quick learner. He demonstrated a superior ability to understand and follow commands. The last class session was devoted to testing all the commands he had been taught, and he aced the test. The boy was a whiz kid while class was in session.

At home he understands the commands without difficulty, but each time he hears one, he gets a look in his eye as if he's trying to decide whether or not he really has to comply. Let's just say he follows the  commands when he's in the mood. Or unless there's something more interesting going on, such as a squirrel in the neighbor's yard. Or a leaf moving in the driveway. To reach perfection he needs a little more work.  I, on the other hand, need a lot more.

Visitors:
Two weeks ago today I had the pleasure of spending an afternoon with two friends -- an old one and a new one -- from Texas. The "old" friend (who is considerably younger than I am) is Annette, who recently began blogging at Writing My Novel. It's been nearly 14 years since we've seen each other, and it was a joy to be in her warm presence again.

The new friend is Leah, whom I found delightful and hope to see again soon. Leah and Annette were in Baton Rouge to find Leah a place to live. She's accepted a new job at LSU and will be moving here soon.

We had a wonderful visit despite its being dominated by unruly dogs. The ladies had come bearing a non-stuffed fake squirrel that did a fairly good job of distracting Levi, though even a distracted Levi disperses a lot of energy into a room. And Butch, he who regularly sleeps 20 hours a day, appointed himself host of the event. He stayed awake and present in a big way for most of the visit. He seemed to believe Annette and Leah had come specifically to spend time with him, and I'd never in a million years tell him otherwise.

Celebrating Easter:
All my grandchildren are adults now, and two of them are married. Because they've grown up in a "blended" family, they're used to splitting holidays between two sets of parents, and now in-laws have been thrown into the mix. That's why our family Easter celebration was held on Saturday this year.

Kelli and Troy (my younger daughter and her husband) hosted the bunch of us at a poolside barbecue. The weather was perfect: warm enough to swim, cool enough to be comfortable outside in the shade of a large umbrella.

Kelli and Troy are both good cooks, and I, being a non-swimmer but a good eater, parked myself under the above umbrella and over the sausage that was the first thing to come off the grill.

Everything I ate was delicious. I stuffed myself on sausage, brisket, and a little bit of chicken, cheated on my low-carb diet to have some baked beans, and told myself that that little cheat wasn't too bad in light of the fact that I resisted the potato salad and the scrumptious-looking dessert.

I took 294 photos that day -- most of which I won't show you out of respect for all the adults in bathing suits in those photos. My great-grandson, Owen, however, is only 13 months old. Since he doesn't yet understand that he has a right to object, I'll share a few pictures of him. He was the unanimously proclaimed star of the day anyway, so it only seems fitting to focus on him.

Don't worry; that's a swim diaper.

Safe and happy in his daddy's arms.

Angelic...and very, very curious.

In summary:

I realize there's not much in this post that's new to those of you who are Facebook friends,  but it's important to me to record events like these on the blog. It will be here, not Facebook, that I'll come to relive these days when they've long since passed. Facebook feels to me like a quick, public shout-out. This blog feels like home. 

"Sing, ye heavens, and earth reply..."

"...Alleluia!"*

Wishing each of you a basketful of love, joy, peace, and kindness...and, okay, maybe one chocolate egg or marshmallow Peep...on this beautiful Easter Sunday!


* From the hymn, "Christ the Lord is Risen Today
  Text:  Charles Wesley, 1707-1788

Keeping an eye on the neighbors

I've gotten in the habit of taking photographs almost every day, but most days I don't even leave my house. Keeping the photos from being repetitious is challenging, to say the least, so that's where my neighbors' yards come in handy. Sometimes I can stand in my own backyard and see things over (and through) the fence that are photo worthy. Here are a few recent shots:

The first two photos show the efforts of my neighbor up front, the mother of the family who lives across the carport from me. Her green thumb is responsible for the plants and flowers that greet my visitors, as well as hers, and I'm grateful that she has a knack for  gardening.

The neighbor on my left owns this precious little dog, Buddy, who runs the fence line with Levi almost every day. This neighbor, too, is a wonderful gardener, one who grows fruits and vegetables as well as a few flowers. Those beautiful pear tree photos I showed you a while back? That tree is hers.

The neighbor behind me has trees, trees and more trees, and I enjoy every one of them. This one, with its leaning trunk, is my favorite, especially when the early morning sun lights up its tender new leaves.

This photo was also taken through the back fence. The geese don't live there, but they've been frequent visitors over the past couple of months.

The neighbor on my right does no more gardening than I do (none), but my eyes and my camera lens are drawn to some of the manmade things I see over there.  This wind chime hangs in her carport:

And this stately lion guards her driveway:

I've never paid too much attention to this house two doors down, but the way the sun was shining on it today made me take a closer look.

The colors were so bright and cheerful that I thought you might enjoy them, too, and that's how easily this blog post was born.

Dream composer

Something weird has happened to me in the last month, and I'm wondering if it's ever happened to any of you. On two separate occasions I've awakened after dreaming that I listened to someone singing a song. The odd thing is that I've remembered the tunes and a substantial portion of the lyrics, even though the songs were ones I've never actually heard in real life.

The second dream song was the prettiest one, but I can only remember a few bars of it now, and I haven't been motivated to do anything with it. The first one, though, came to me pretty well packaged. I woke up with the tune for the whole thing and complete lyrics for the bridge. I wrote down those lyrics when I first got up, and before noon that day I'd written four verses to go with the bridge and the melody.

So, what do I do with the next great country western song now that I've written it? Well, since I have neither the talent nor the means to make a demo record and send it to Nashville, I'll share it with you, of course -- at least the lyrics. You'll just have to trust me that there is a tune, but since you can't hear it, knock yourself out and make up your own tune.

Here's my song (the words in italics are exactly as I heard them in the dream):

**********

Jump Right In

You made me think I meant somethin’ to you,
You told me that you loved me, now I know it wasn’t true.
The first chance you had you did somethin’ really bad
And you kept on, kept on just doin’ what you do.

You held me close while you told me your lies
Until I learned you’re nothin’ but a cheater in disguise.
The first time I knew someone else was lovin’ you
Was the last time, last time tears fell from my eyes.

Don’t want to be a friend to you,
Just want to put an end to you,
Don’t stick around like you’re hot-glued
Givin’ me attitude,
Take it to the river, dude,
And jump right in.

You say you’ll do anything to make me see
You’ve gotta have me in your life in some capacity,
But you did me wrong so I wrote this little song
Just to tell you, tell you to stay away from me.

You hang around thinkin’ I might take you back,
You say you’re sorry and you’ll get your life back on track.
You say no other man will ever love me like you can,
I say, “Do you, do you think that I’m on crack?”

Don’t want to be a friend to you,
Just want to put an end to you,
Don’t stick around like you’re hot-glued
Givin’ me attitude,
Take it to the river, dude,
And jump right in.

**********

Now, it was Sugarland's Jennifer Nettles who was singing the song in my dream, and Sugarland just happens to have a hit record of their own called Stuck Like Glue, so I'm thinking that my subconscious mind (or the Grand Poobah of Music Composition in the Sky who beamed it into my head) might have been slightly influenced by that song -- although Sugarland's song is about sticking and mine is clearly about unsticking.

Trinkets and Treasures - No. 3

Here's a small item that I treasure in a big way:

This little glass dish may appear to be empty, but it's actually full of childhood memories. It used to sit on my grandmother's dresser, where it held hairpins and bobby pins at her fingertips when she swept up her hair each morning.

My grandmother also had a large, heavy, V-shaped magnet, and I loved to play with the magnet and the bowl of bobby pins. I would dump the pins out on Mammaw's bedroom floor and arrange them into an elaborate design, only to eradicate the whole thing a minute later with one grand sweep of the powerful magnet. Then I'd do it all over again. And again and again.

(It occurs to me as I'm writing this that I can only think of one other thing that fascinated me in a scientific way as much as magnetic attraction did when I was a child. That other thing would be the way mercury from a broken thermometer spilled out onto the floor and formed tiny silver balls that we rolled around with our fingertips one long afternoon, smashing the larger balls into many smaller ones, just as round, then pushing the tiny balls back together to form a large ball again. No child would be allowed to play with mercury today, but if that exposure harmed me in any way, I'm not aware of it. Then again, maybe that could explain a thing or two.)

I don't know what happened to my grandmother's big magnet, but the pretty glass bowl came home with me after she passed away. I'm glad to have it as a reminder of those times and as a link between her life and mine. To make things even better, I have this picture (taken in 1950) of Mammaw doing her hair, the little glass dish on the dresser in front of her:

(Click photo to enlarge.)

Zoology 101

This little guy leaped onto the lawn chair next to mine and didn't seem to be in any hurry to get away.

Who was observing whom, do you think?

Mother Nature's loving hand

The title of this post may seem an odd choice in light of recent earthquakes and tsunamis, but the tender side of Mother Nature has blessed me all week long as I've begun to heal from the loss of my beloved Kadi. I've been warmed by the sun, kissed by gentle breezes, and lulled into peacefulness by the splendid songs of birds. In the face of so much life, I'm compelled to notice it and be thankful for it.

Spring is a short season in South Louisiana. The time between cold winter temperatures and blazing hot summers is measured in weeks, not months, and I'm determined to enjoy these rare, perfect days while they last. I bought a cap with a bill on it to shield my eyes from the bright morning light, and I put it on and sit outside while Butch and Levi roam the yard and pace the fence line, making sure nothing has changed since the night before. I can hear traffic sounds in the distance, but the beauty of the birds' songs overpowers the noise and  captures my attention. One bird calls over and over for "Ricky, Ricky, Ricky," and another calls, "Hear me! Hear me!" They flit through the air, darting in and out of trees, and their hustle-bustle energizes me.

----------

Late at night I stand outside with the dogs for the last time of the day and listen to the cooing of a lone dove and the hoot of an owl. The dove's call is a sound I remember from childhood, from late summer evenings spent playing outside with my sister and friends from the neighborhood until darkness descended and our parents called us back inside for baths and bedtime. All these years later I still associate it with bedtime.

The dogs return to the back door without being called and we come inside. While I give  Levi a treat and put him in his crate, Butch makes his way to the bedroom, where he waits in the doorway until I get there with his biscuit. In a few short minutes both dogs are settled down and ready to sleep. I climb into bed, pull up the covers, turn out the lamp, and lie there in the darkness just thinking for a moment. I think about the fact that another day has passed, a beautiful day. I take stock of my emotions at that moment and find mostly love and gratitude. I roll over, pull Kadi's collar out from under my pillow and hold it in my hand, close to my heart, as I drift off to a peaceful sleep.

The end of the girl with the golden heart

This post was hard for me to write and may be hard for you to read, not just because of the subject. It's long, it's somewhat graphic, and if you're one of the first to read it, it may be full of typos. I picked out the images earlier today, but I've written the text "stream-of-consciousness" style, and it went so far in a direction I didn't intend it to go that I had to change the original title. I can't make myself go back over it right now to check for errors, but I promise to edit it properly tomorrow. The point of this first paragraph is to let you know that I'll understand if you don't want to read all this, but please, please scroll through it and look at the pictures of my best girl, Kadi. She was so very beautiful, inside and out.

----------

Calendar note on August 22, 1997: "Troy gave Kelli a 10-wk-old yellow lab." That's right. Kadi was not my dog in the beginning.

Kelli is my daughter and Troy was later to become her husband.

Kelli and I had bought this property together earlier that year. She and her kids lived in the house in front of the carport, and I lived in the one behind it, where I still live today. We had talked about getting a dog, but the fence needed work first.

I wasn't working when Troy gave Kadi to Kelli, so it seemed logical that I would babysit her while her mom worked, just for a few days until the fence work was completed. Those few days were all it took for me to fall in love with her.

When the fence was finished around the backyard Kelli and I shared, Kelli wanted Kadi to be an outside dog. Kadi had other ideas. As soon as Kelli let her out in the morning, Kadi headed to my back door. As hard as I resisted it, I usually caved in and let her spend most of the day in my house. She wanted to be there, and I loved having her. I missed her when she went home in the afternoon.

Kadi at six months old - December 1997

In 1998 Kelli called from work and asked how I'd feel about her bringing another dog home. A friend of hers had found a plump, young puppy (too young to have been away from his mother) that had probably been dumped near her home. Calendar note on April 30, 1998:  "Janice M. gave Kelli a new puppy -- 6 wks old male -- we named him Jack. Kadi is so excited, thinks it's her dog." Three days later Jack's name was changed to Butch, who, as you now know, also wasn't my dog in the beginning. But he was Kadi's. (After Butch, Kadi showed the ropes to Kim's dogs, Frankie, Winston, Lucy, and Oliver. She was working hard on Levi.)

Kadi in fine form in 1998

By the time Kelli and Troy married in 2000 and were getting ready to move into the new home they'd built to accommodate their combined five children, I think Kelli knew how attached I'd become to Kadi and Butch. Or maybe she didn't like the idea of leaving me alone. Or possibly she was just tired of trying to convince me not to let her dogs spend so much time in my house. Whatever the reason, she told me she was giving them to me. That made me feel guilty about all the times I'd sneaked them inside, but I decided I could live with the guilt and accepted her offer gratefully. That's how Kadi and Butch became my dogs. Inside dogs.

Kadi - June 10, 2006

There are stories about Kadi all through this blog, so I won't repeat them here. I'll just add  that Kadi became more special to me with each passing year. Some people think of their dogs as children, which is sort of the way I've always thought about Butch, but when Kadi grew out of puppyhood, she no longer seemed like a child to me.

Kadi - April 3, 2008 - a beautiful, happy, mature lady

Kadi was a grown-up through and through, with her own set of standards for behavior -- hers and everybody else's -- and the facial expressions to tell you what she thought about anything that was happening at a given moment. She was more than a wonderful friend to me. If she could have talked in words (she did talk with her eyes), she probably would have told you that she and I were partners in the running of the house. She behaved like a loyal administrative assistant, alerting me to anything she had identified as a problem, then fully expecting me to take care of the matter post haste.

Kadi had a heart of gold. She loved her people, her canine friends, and life itself. The Sister-Mary-Katherine part of her might let us know if we'd somehow fallen short of her expectations, but she didn't hold a grudge. More than once she would head-butt a naughty puppy, then turn right around and look us in the eyes and smile, as if to let us know she wasn't really angry, she was just doing her job.

Kadi - July 3, 2009 - In charge of the house

In September of 2009 I took Kadi to the vet for her annual physical exam and shots. She was given a clean bill of health. She weighed a hair under 62 pounds.

In January of 2010 I took her back to the vet. She had begun to have trouble with her back legs slipping out from under her, and she was falling a lot. She also seemed to be choking on her food once or twice a day. The vet examined her thoroughly. He pressed on her backbone just above her tail, and her hind legs crumpled. He said he believed that her leg problem was caused by a degenerative condition of her spine. His recommendation was to give her Rimadyl (an NSAID pain reliever) and see if that might help, though he acknowledged that it might not. As for the choking, he said sometimes a dog's trachea will flatten out with age and that I should begin moistening Kadi's kibble and/or giving her soft food. That January checkup also turned up something I hadn't noticed: Kadi had lost almost eight pounds in four months.

The softer food stopped the choking problem almost immediately. The Rimadyl (50 mg daily) didn't seem to make much of a difference in Kadi's mobility, so I stopped it after a few weeks. The falling got quite a bit better because Kadi gradually began to walk with her hind legs stiffened into an upside-down V-shape, which gave her a more solid footing. When she had trouble getting up from a lying-down position, she'd scoot to the nearest rug or carpet to get some traction.

In August of 2010 it was time to renew her prescription for thyroid medication, and she needed to have her thyroid levels checked to see if that prescription was still appropriate. Back we went to the vet. She got the full senior dog exam, which included a number of blood tests that later proved to be in normal ranges (except for the thyroid, which hadn't changed). The alarming news was that she had lost another six pounds.

The vet told me that day that he believed Kadi's weight loss was "her body's way of preparing for the end of her life." She had turned 13 two months earlier. The vet said (I'm paraphrasing here), "Dogs' bodies, like people's, lose mass as they get older. That's why you never see really fat people in nursing homes; most of the patients are small and thin." That day was the first time I'd had to face the fact that there was a limit to the time I had left to spend with Kadi.

Kadi - October 16, 2010 - Her dramatic weight

 loss didn't affect her doggy smile.

We rocked along for the next five months without any new problems. I had started spoon feeding Kadi and Butch, bite for bite, after Kadi's last visit to the vet, just to make sure she was eating an adequate amount. She continued to lose weight on the same amount of food that made Butch gain a few pounds, but she didn't seem to feel sick or to be in a lot of pain. Her skin was beginning to hang on her bony frame, and her fur looked like moths had been in it. I think now that her sweet nature and her joy and interest in life masked her discomfort, but maybe I was just in denial.

In December of 2010 Butch developed another in his lifelong series of ear infections, and I took him to a new vet -- at least new to this area. She and another veterinarian had relocated to this area after Hurricane Katrina forced them out of New Orleans, and in the early fall of 2010 they opened a brand new animal hospital about five minutes from my home. In addition to his ears, Butch seemed to have been experiencing some pain from the fissures on his behind and the arthritis in his knees. I told the vet that I'd been giving Butch Kadi's leftover 50 mg Rimadyl tablets for the last week to try to alleviate some of his pain but that it didn't seem to be helping. In that context, I told her about Kadi's back and leg problems, and she told me she thought both dogs might benefit from a stronger dose of Rimadyl. I took some 100 mg Rimadyl home and started them on it.

Butch and Kadi both seemed to feel better on the larger dose of Rimadyl. Kadi seemed more confident and sure-footed, and I was encouraged. A month later, in the last week of January 2011, Kadi got sick with a case of diarrhea so severe that it weakened her in every way possible. She weighed only 42 pounds when the new vet checked her out, but despite her thinness, we still had to withhold all food for 24 hours. In the meantime I was to give her medication to slow down the diarrhea, and after that 24-hour-period I could begin giving her very small amounts of chicken and rice at regular intervals.

The diarrhea lasted six days, and poor Kadi lay on the cold floor (her choice) like a thick shag rug for most of that time. When she finally felt better, the spark returned to her eyes. Her disposition told me she was my sweet, happy girl again, but her body sagged, and I could see that she was worse for the wear.

Kadi - January 31, 2011 - I was happy that she finally

 felt like rolling in the yard, but not particularly 

pleased about the muddy spot where she chose to do it.

In the first week of March 2011, Kadi was back at the vet again. The diarrhea had returned. This time we saw the other new vet, who stated that diarrhea was a possible side effect of Rimadyl and said to stop giving her that immediately. We would wait a week or so and start her on prednisone, a steroid, to address her wobbly leg issues. He warned, sympathetically, "When the prednisone stops working, I'm afraid that's it." 

The vet noted that Kadi had dropped another two pounds in just over a month. When I explained her history of weight loss over the past year, he said his best guess would be that she had some type of gastrointestinal cancer. It might show up on an ultrasound test, but it might not. I declined the test because I didn't think a firm diagnosis would give us a different outcome. Kadi was three months shy of her 14th birthday. Chemotherapy couldn't possibly extend her life by more than a few short months, and I wouldn't put her through that kind of trauma for such a limited amount of time. The vet put Kadi on a diet of a special gastroenteric food and said to give her Pepcid AC twice a day to ease her stomach pain.

I remember telling the vet on that visit, "Kadi still has some good days." Near the end of the visit, he told me, "I want you to do something." He suggested that I go home and find two jars, label one jar "good days" and the other one "bad days" and put a penny in one or the other each night at bedtime. "When the 'bad-day' jar starts filling up a lot faster than the 'good-day' jar, you'll know it's time."

I didn't make those jars. When I thought about it, I realized that I'd exaggerated when I said Kadi still had good days. She didn't have any good days; she just had occasional  really good moments.

Kadi - February 18, 2011

Another sunbath, this time on dry ground.

Isn't she beautiful?

Kadi's second bout of diarrhea lasted about as long as the first one had, and the prednisone never really seemed to kick in to help her legs. She began falling more frequently and often needed human assistance to stand up. We had to pick up her back end, wait while she got her front feet positioned properly, then slowly lower her back feet to the floor and physically place each one in a position that would grant her stability. Once she got her bearings, she could hobble around the house or out into the yard, though her trips were shorter and much less frequent than usual.

At one point Kadi did stay in the yard long enough for me to grab my camera and take what I didn't know then would be the final pictures of her. Here is one of them:

Kadi - March 18, 2011

Still beautiful, but her eyes are sad.

I don't think she looks ill in that photo, but another one, taken moments later, presents a truer picture of her condition. I think seeing this might help you understand why I couldn't write about this in any detail while it was happening. My sweet girl was wasting away right in front of my eyes, and it was breaking my heart.

Kadi - March 18, 2011

Skin and bones and ragged fur, but her beautiful spirit shines through those sad eyes.

In the middle of the night after these pictures were taken, Kadi got sick again.  More diarrhea. I treated her all day Saturday and Sunday the same way I had done the other two times, the same medicine and the same small feedings. I knew if she wasn't better by Monday we'd go back to the vet for help. The diarrhea didn't go away over the weekend, but it didn't get any worse. Her little body, though, seemed to get weaker and weaker. By Monday morning she was pooping, then falling in it, and her distress made me cry. I cleaned her up and offered her food, but she wasn't interested. She lay on her side on the living room floor, her eyes staring straight in front of her, not lifting her head. For the first time in nearly 14 years, Kadi didn't seem to care what was going on around her.

I called Kim and said through sobs, "I think today may be the day." She came over immediately and agreed that Kadi appeared to be giving up. I asked her to call the veterinarian and make an appointment, and she did that for me. Kim called Kelli at work, and Kelli came, too. Kadi did look up and acknowledge each of the girls as they came in. We could tell she was glad they were there. She didn't wag her tail, but she lifted her head up a few inches and looked directly at each of them. When she lifted her head, she didn't lay it back down; it fell to the floor under its own weight.

We sat with Kadi and stroked her, telling her over and over what a good girl she was and how much we loved her. Around noon she tried to get up, so we helped her to her feet and she actually headed to the back door and went outside for a minute. She ate a few bites after that, then drank some water and lay back down. I don't know whether the food upset her stomach or the walking hurt her, but she seemed to be in a great deal of pain. Butch was with us, walking around excitedly, and we made sure he didn't accidentally step on her. We let Levi in the room for just a moment, but his fast, klutzy movements seemed to make Kadi anxious, so we kept him on the other side of the gate. Kelli had to go back to work, so Kim and I continued to stroke Kadi and soothe her while we waited until the appointed hour. When either of us couldn't hold back the tears, we tried not to let Kadi see us.

In light of what would happen soon, I no longer cared about Kadi's diet, other than not wanting to give her anything that would upset her fragile stomach and intestines. We talked about what might make her happy and settled on a spoonful of peanut butter. We took turns holding it, while Kadi, the side of her face still flat on the floor, slowly but eventually licked it clean.

It was time to take Kadi to the vet. Kim and I picked up our purses, and I picked up a leash. When Kadi saw the leash, she rallied and tried to get up. We helped her up and let her stand for a minute, then she took some wobbly steps to the front door, demonstrating  more enthusiasm than I'd seen in her for days. Five minutes later her last ride was over.

At the animal hospital I talked to the vet at length about my concern that I was "jumping the gun" in making this decision. He said his personal opinion was that I was not, that he believed Kadi was ready to go. He said that his medical opinion was that we could do the ultrasound to be sure what we were dealing with and then make a decision but that the main question to be considered was whether I was ready. Kadi was standing and shivering while we talked. I didn't think I could take her home, watch her suffer a few days more, then go through this all over again. I said I was ready.

They weighed Kadi while they put the catheter in her front leg. She had lost another three pounds in less than three weeks, down to 37 pounds from the 62 that had been her normal weight for the last few years. They brought her back to us then, and after we petted her and talked to her for a few more minutes, I gave the okay, and the doctor injected a sedative through the catheter. Kadi went out almost instantly. We held her to keep her from falling and laid her gently on soft blankets. She was still breathing, but the vet assured us she was totally unconscious. I wasn't convinced. Her eyes were open, not moving at all, but if my hand came too close to them, she blinked. 

The next injection, which the vet had explained was an overdose of a seizure medication, ended Kadi's life in a split second. I don't believe it caused her any pain. The procedure seemed so simple that I wanted to scream in the quiet of that room. How can a life be ended so easily and swiftly? How could such a beloved creature pass on without any kind of fanfare? In that moment I wanted angels for Kadi, lots of angels, some of them welcoming her with arms wide open and some of them playing trumpets. I wanted to be able to see Kadi running among frolicking puppies and fluffy kittens in green fields under brilliant blue skies.

Instead, her death was quiet and easy, and her little body just lay there on the blankets. It was too much for me, and it was not enough.

I've cried plenty of tears in the last couple of days, but the truth is the greater part of my grieving has been done in the last few months, because I've known I would lose Kadi soon. Every morning, ever since the first vet told me Kadi's body was shedding weight to prepare for the end of her life, I have opened my eyes and looked first for Kadi, to see if she was breathing. I was afraid she might die in the night and even more afraid that I'd have to choose the time of her death.

Through all of her illnesses, through all of her pain, Kadi stayed sweet and loving and interested in others, up until that last day. I made the decision for euthanasia based on what I thought was right for Kadi, but I will never know if I did the right thing. 

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I am so grateful to my daughters for the love and support they gave to Kadi and me both during this stressful event, grateful to the compassionate doctors and staff at the animal hospital, and grateful, also, to those of you who have left comments here and on Facebook and sent emails offering support and understanding. I am stronger because of all of you.

The toughest decision I've never had to make...

...until yesterday.

My beloved Kadi is gone, and a piece of my heart has gone with her. If dogs have a heaven (I believe they do), then it's a richer, happier place with Kadi in it.

I am sadder than any words I can write, but more than that, I'm thankful beyond measure for the years I was allowed to spend with that sweet soul wrapped in yellow fur.

God bless all of you who have ever loved an animal.

Kadi Marie
June 14, 1997 to March 21, 2011

Everything new is old again

Photoshop Elements has so many fun features that I don't think I'll ever learn to use them all, but this morning I spent a while experimenting. I started with this picture that I took in November of 1997 when my grandson and I went to a Civil War Reenactment at Magnolia Mound Plantation in Baton Rouge:

An hour or so later, after cropping, applying a sepia tint, creating a ragged border, and  painting an entire fake hat, here's the final result:

The hat obviously needed a better artist than I am, but it was a fun project anyway.

UPDATE 3/19/11:

In the comments on this post Janet asked if I thought I could add suspenders to my grandson. Who could resist a challenge like that? Thanks for the idea, Janet. (While I was working on suspenders, I also took the tops of Koby's ears out from under his hatband.)

I wish these photos were scratch and sniff

My next-door neighbor has a pear tree, and the subtle scent of its blossoms has been wafting into my yard for a few weeks now. I've never particularly enjoyed the taste of pears, but these blossoms smell sweet enough to eat.