Releasing Molly

April 16, 2012 By

Our Little Miss Molly

Bill and I finally scattered Molly’s ashes in the garden a few weeks ago.  They’d been sitting in the small tin box decorated with flowers, provided by the SPCA which I placed on the mantle last November after she passed away.  We could have done it sooner but I just wasn’t ready to let her go.  I’m not sure I was ready on that lovely spring afternoon either. I was teary. I wanted her to come back.  But the freshly planted garden was ready to receive her and she is out in the sunshine, with birds singing praises as they themselves bring forth new life.

Despite the way it might sound I’m fine.  I miss her terribly, but I’m happy and thriving, still full of wonder at what beauty life presents me on a daily basis.

Sam, who I thought would be deeply effected by Molly’s loss was not his usual self for about a month after she died. But now he’s a new dog, full of himself instead of being Molly’s shadow.  He had always been her protector.  Out on the street he’d snarl and threaten any other dog that might be in interested in his one and only.  At doggie daycare where we sent them together once a week to socialize, he’d stick close to her, never letting her out of his site.  He’s now Mr. Popularity every Thursday when he still goes to All Things Pawssable and welcomes newcomers into the pack of “tots” or small dogs he hangs out with. He comes home exhausted, but still has enough energy for Tug of War or Let’s Chase Cats Around The House.  When Molly was still alive, he’d come home and crash, totally exhausted from being Molly’s body-guard all day.

Recently we were asked to take in another small dog who needs a loving home. But we’ve decided that we can’t.  Sam is so happy that I don’t want to rock his boat.  After Molly left, he found his way onto the foot of our bed at night and we’re enjoying having him with us.  But two dogs on the bed is way too much even though they’re small. Sam would have to return to his cozy small bed on the floor, which apparently isn’t as cozy as sleeping with us.

Now I’m keeping an eye on felines Cleo and Peppermint.  Two years ago we were told that Cleo would be gone in just a few months, but she’s hung in there with us.  She’s not looking so good right now and knowing she’s about seventeen years old, I’m not holding my breath.  Pepper is on prednisone for some sort of brain lesion.  I have no idea how long she’ll be with us.

Life moves along as it usually does.  There will be more losses and the thought of my own passing leaves me with one of the only real truths … nothing lasts forever.

Filed Under: Animals I Love, Life, The Garden Tagged With: , ,

Zed and Mousse

March 26, 2012 By

Zed with Mousse in the foreground, begging and Sam over to the side.

It’s been a lovely week.  The weather has been astounding with redbud and dogwood popping out overnight in the warmth and humidity that has more in common with early June than March.

My brother, Zed, is visiting from Vermont.  It’s been two years since I’ve seen him and five years since he’s been here in Virginia.  He came accompanied by Mousse, his soul mate and loyal companion. A dachshund, right on the line between a mini and a standard size, Mousse’s silky long hair is the color of rich dark chocolate. His nose, paws, and rear end look as though they’ve been dipped in a bit of caramel. He is well-behaved and a total delight. Sam loves him and they’re happy together, racing around the house at top speed. After a few minutes they collapse, smiling, happy, and panting with long tongues hanging out. Mousse is very respectful of my cats, backing off and giving them lots of space as they try to figure out exactly what he is … a strange kind of cat or just another small, silly dog.  Pepper glares at him but every now and then seems to want to rub up against him and welcome him into the pack.  She thinks she is a small dog rather than a cat.      

Mousse is unlike most dachshunds in that he is a Service Dog and he has made a huge difference in my brother’s life. He loves everyone and is the star of the show wherever he goes, because of his obvious attunement with all of the humans he meets. In a group of people sitting in a circle conversing, he hops from lap to lap checking out each individual’s mood, bringing heartfelt smiles from those who might be stressed from life’s deepest woes. 

Zed struggles with ADD and like myself, has often had difficulty with severe anxiety. Mousse brings stability to Zed’s life, reminding him to breathe and filling the sometimes deep, dark shadows that follow him with love and comfort. With Mousse there is no high blood pressure, only the sweet softness of his kisses and the unconditional love that every one of us craves.  Mousse and Zed have been together for two or three years and there is a world of difference in how Zed sees the world since his Service Dog arrived in his life. He is happy, calm, and with his small pal by his side, Zed is better able to deal with what at times are difficult social situations. Introductions are so much easier with Mousse taking the spotlight. Not being able to find the right words to greet someone he’s never met before is less of an issue since the beginning of most conversations are always about the huge presence of that sweet, little dog.

Terri Conti, a friend of Zed’s spent one night with us as well.  A lovely, soft-spoken woman, Terri is a musical powerhouse.  Sitting outside one evening listening to a recording of her playing the accordion, I was swept away to Greece, and a small Taverna where Bill and I enjoyed frosty glasses of white wine and servings of freshly prepared calamari in a spicy tomato sauce, as the sun set over the Aegean Sea. Later, on our piano, Terri played part of the latest piece she is working on, George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. And then she got us singing show tunes, all of us off-key to be sure, but having the time of our lives. It was a totally delightful weekend.

Having my brother here has been very special for me.  We are the only ones left of our small clan and our time together this past week has been a time for reconnecting after years of being apart. We’ve been able to share memories about what it was like growing up with our parents and that helps to keep me inspired to continue writing my memoir. He heads back to Vermont tomorrow and I’ll miss him and Mousse terribly.  As I grow older it’s hard to have him so far away.

Got any treats?



Filed Under: Animals I Love, Childhood, family, Gratefulness, Memoir, Vermont Tagged With: , ,

Setting My Intention For The New Year

December 28, 2011 By

Pepper having a cat nap.

Here we are at the end of another year.  It has been a rich one filled with insights, lessons and lots of love.  Instead of making New Years resolutions at year’s end, I like to choose a word that I will carry with me through the next twelve months.  In 2010 it was the word “open” as a way to allow newness into my life.  It’s easy to dismiss different ways of doing something or trying something you’ve never done before because it might be frightening. But new ideas give me a much broader perspective of everything around me. It makes life that much more interesting, turning it into a wonderous adventure.  In 2011 I chose “slowly” as my word.  As a result of these two special words, I’m much more open to trying new ideas, tastes, and listening to what others have to say. I refuse to be rushed, take my time making decisions and have slowed my daily pace to include more spaciousness. The knock-down-drag-out battle I’ve always waged with “the clock”  has become a mere discussion.  And should the discussion get too loud it’s easy to remind myself to slow down by simply repeating the word “slowly” to myself.

Now it’s time to choose another word. This is the year that so many have said will be BIG in so many ways.  The Mayan calendar runs out and big changes are predicted.  Some say the world as we know it will end. There are numerous conspiracy theories floating about and I’ve read that people selling survival gear will make a bloody fortune during the coming months.  At best, it sounds like it could be a difficult time, especially when it comes to the economy.

But I am not a fortune-teller.  I cannot predict how I will be feeling twenty minutes from now, much less what 2012 will bring.  How to deal with such dire predictions?

I’ve been thinking long and hard about what word to choose for this next year and couldn’t come up with much of anything that seemed suitable to me.  I thought “courage,” was a good one, but heard a little whisper that said there is another more important word  just waiting for me to discover it. A few days before Christmas it came to me like a shooting star out of a dark, moonless night.

I’ve always been a worrier.  Since losing Molly, a month ago, I’ve been worried about my cat, Peppermint, who has some brain inflammation that the Vet says can be managed if we can figure out which medicine to use and how much of it she’ll need.  Her perfect, little, round head has always tilted to the left and she’s always had trouble finding her balance and judging distances.  But the last few months have found her unable to walk at times, falling over on her left side when she tries to move.  She has difficulty eating and often hides on her bad days away from inquiring eyes. But when she feels good, she’s a happy, devil kitty who gathers pens and pencils from the tops of tables and desks scattering them around the house. She loves nothing more than to lie curled up next to me or in my lap as I read or write in my journal, making the furniture vibrate with her purr.  Just before leaving to spend the Christmas holiday in North Carolina with my family, she was having one of those difficult periods.

Since my usual house sitter was unavailable to take care of the cats, I had arranged to leave them at a kennel.  It’s difficult for me to do that because I HATE caging them for any length of time. They are all rescues and have already spent too much time behind bars.  And to leave a sick cat was not something I wanted to do.

On our way to the vet a few days before I had to leave, I asked Peppermint to tell me what she wanted.  Was she ready to throw in the towel and head for the Rainbow Bridge or did she want us to keep trying to help her?  She’d been feeling pretty ghastly for a few days and I was ready to let her go if that is what would be best for her.

In the exam room, Pepper tottered around, like a drunk but then began purring and rubbing up against my husband’s leg. He had come along  just in case there was a terrible, heart breaking decision to be made.  She purred for Richard, her doctor, and flipped her tail about in anger when he did something that made her feel uncomfortable.  We discussed what our options were and since she’d virtually come to life on the exam table I took it to mean that she wanted to keep trying.  So we upped her dose of prednisone and decided to give us all more time to see how it goes.  Two days later, she was feeling better and I dropped her off for her little “vacation” at the kennel.  I simply decided to “trust” that she would be fine at least until I returned.

All the worrying in the world will not change what the future will bring. If the world ends next year or if Pepper gets sicker and there is nothing we can do for her, it is the way it’s going to be.  I can change none of that. What I can do is live in this moment, the only one I have.  It’s more valuable to live out in the big world even when it seems to be falling down around us than to stay cooped up in a cave, waiting for the worst to happen.

I won’t sit here waiting to see what will happen.  I’ll try my best to live in each and every moment.  I’ll stay out in the sunshine and in the storm. I’ll make decisions and  choose my direction based on what I know and feel in my gut, trusting my instincts.  And I’ll work every day on the memoir I’m writing.  I’ve not been great at doing that, but I’m about to spend the next year working on my intention to believe in myself and to trust that all will unfold as it is supposed to.  It will take courage, but if my new word “TRUST” works out as well as the others have,  it will be a winner.

Filed Under: Animals I Love, Christmas, Navigating Through Life, Travels

Molly, 2001-2011

November 29, 2011 By

Miss Impy Molly !!

Molly came to us on November 22, 2003.  She was rescued during the middle of the previous night from a severely abusive living situation where she lived outside, chained to a cement block.  Her Home was made of 2 more cement blocks with a piece of ply wood fitted over the top.  Her food, table scraps, were tossed on the ground.  The same place where she pooed and peed.

She was delivered to us with a big pink ribbon tied around her neck and a brown paper sack filled with mats that my friend had clipped from Molly’s body.  We all fell head-over-heals in love with her, especially Sam who was her soul-mate right from the beginning.  My mother who was living with us at the time named her and spent hours massaging her as she herself was dying of lung cancer.

Molly was scared, ate as though she’d never been fed before and slept with us that first night.  We discovered she had heartworm. She mostly walked on three legs and found she needed both hind knees repaired so that she could walk and sit normally.  She was not spayed.  We attacked the heartworm first, then the knees, then the spaying, though now I regret that she never had a chance to have a litter of pups with Sam.  They would have been the world’s most perfect dogs.

We think she was a Maltese mix, perhaps a Malti-poo, meaning half Maltese, half Poodle.   She knew how to set your heart to beating very fast with love and how to sneak around and get the cat food when you thought you were looking, but apparently weren’t. She loved everyone, showed no signs of anger or victim behavior.  And she was great with kids.  When Noah, our grandson, was very small and grabby, he one day  took hold of her leg, looking as though he might try to pick her up that way.  Molly gently took his hand in her mouth and removed it from her leg, as I watched on in awe.

She constantly licked and cleaned Sam’s ears and eyes and anything that might hurt. When she sat in your lap she would clean every inch of skin that was not covered by clothing.  She would have made an amazing mother.

This past Sunday, at around ten years of age, after being sick on and off for several weeks, she passed, leaving this family totally bereft.

She had been doing well on Saturday, wagging her tail whenever she looked at me, went for her walks and ate well.  On Sunday her breathing became labored and she couldn’t walk.  We took her to the local emergency vet where she died on her own, as we hovered over her.  She was taken by a tumor on her spleen that suddenly split open on Sunday.  There was nothing to be done for her.  Sam came into the room after she died, sniffed at her, looked at her then sat down as if to say, “Yes, I knew she was dying.”  He is doing well, played with me this morning and later I watched Lily, our tuxedo cat, love him from head to toe as he slept on the floor.  He is very clingy though and does not want to be alone.  I know how he feels.

In my grief this morning, I was suddenly made aware that it is no mistake that Molly was sent to me and that my tendency to bring home abused animals is part of their and my own healing. Molly and all of the others who have passed, those still living, and those yet to come are my teachers, who have taught me how to parent myself and to find the light behind every cloud.

Lily, Sam and Molly

Filed Under: Animals I Love, family, Life, stories

Giving Thanks

November 23, 2011 By

Today is Thanksgiving Eve.  There is so much to celebrate and to be grateful for, I don’t know where to begin. But needing to begin somewhere, I am grateful for this lovely Iris that I planted last spring.

It is one that blooms twice a year, in spring and in the fall.  I’ve been admiring them in a garden that I’m familiar with for several seasons. Even entertained the idea of slipping in one moonless night with a shovel.  But of course that is stealing.  This bit of loveliness that I carefully set in my garden in May did not bloom at that time, but weeks ago I began to see signs that she was getting ready to present me with a glorious Thanksgiving gift.  It has been a fairly warm fall here, but we’ve had hard freezes and still she stayed the course.  I am grateful for this bit of color, as the rest of garden goes brown for the winter.

Peppermint

I am grateful for my veterinarian, Richard,  who is working with two of my pets who have been strangely ill these last weeks.  He’s promised to not charge me for rent because I’m in his office so often and kindly puts up with my panic when Peppermint, the cat, can’t walk without falling over or when sweet Molly, my little Maltese-mix , throws up all over the place and is in serious pain.  Both are doing better, but seem to have life long issues that they will need medication for.

Molly

I am grateful for all of my family.  My supportive husband who edits and helps me clean up most of these posts. He seems to know where I’m coming from and where I’m going before I do.  My children and grandchildren continue to be my teachers and sparkling rays of sunshine on dark, rainy days. For my brother, Zed, who has helped me through much loss.

I am grateful for all my helpers along the way.  Kevin, for recently agreeing to be my writing coach as I begin to cross treacherous seas and entertain the idea of a book.  He will be going off on a Semester At Sea, Around the World Cruise in the New Year. With his other coaching and writing jobs he may not be with me for long, but he is giving me phenomenal direction, not by telling me what to do, but by asking pertinent questions.

I am grateful to my dear friend, Sharon, who through her own pain, steadily holds the torch for me while I dig through layers of the past.  I can’t do it without the light she sheds on my life.

I am grateful to all of you who come to visit here and let me know what you think, whether by leaving a comment or sending an email.  I am grateful for all of you who don’t leave comments but come back again and again.  I know you are out there.

I am grateful for the richness of my life … my friends, those I find difficult, and the day-to-day comings and goings of people and creatures who cross my path.

May Peace Be With You All!

Filed Under: Animals I Love, family, Gratefulness, Life, stories, Thanksgiving, The Garden, The Seasons
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