An Empty House

It's too quiet around here. I try to knock around the house and revel in my newfound freedom and act like all is as it should be, but it's too quiet. I miss Jake. I really do. He was such a good dog except for the thunder fear, but there was little that could be done about that. Other than that one thing (and sure, maybe it wasn't a LITTLE thing), but other than that, he was a GREAT dog. And I miss Nevada. She was my little maestro. Always instigating and never taking the blame. If ever there was a mastermind, it was Nevada. A matriarch, that one was. And for the first time in many, many years, I finally realize that I miss Dakota. Hardly anyone I know now knew Dakota then, but I will simply say that Dakota was better than Nevada, Jake and Jack combined. And perhaps because this is the first time that I have been dogless in 23 years, I finally have time to mourn for my Dakota. First there was Dakota. Then Dakota and Nevada. Then just Nevada. Then Nevada and Jake. Then just Jake. And now there is just me. And it's just too quiet around here.

So I'm starting to entertain the idea that I will get a dog eventually. I mean, how can I not? I am a dog person. The problem is, I keep looking at all these rescue dogs online and I can't figure out what kind of dog to get. So I'm hoping that the people who know me best can help me identify the breed that is right for me.

There is one thing I do know. I can't have another border collie. I don't have the shoulders for it. I threw out both shoulders and earned a pitching injury just getting through two border collies. And these are injuries that don't heal quickly if at all. If I dared to get another border collie, I'm afraid my arms might come unhinged. And don't think this doesn't depress me greatly. Border collies are the most intelligent, fun loving, fantastic companions you could ever hope for. They are healthy, hearty, and ready for action. And they are darn beautiful to look at--Jake notwithstanding. My Dakota was a frisbee dog, and Jake was addicted to tennis ball. Because they are so high energy and DEMAND regular exercise, they always kept me outdoors myself. I liked that. I liked having to get out in the chill of the morning to throw the ball. I liked knowing that as soon as I came home, we'd have a dedicated period of time for "play" every day. It was a great end to my work day and a sort of formal transition to home life. I like that the border collie remains engaged with people. There was no such thing as a couple of pats on the head and then the dog went off to entertain itself. Border collies take the companion part as seriously as the herding part. I liked the level of intelligence. Life with a border collie is a partnership. And since I'm not a person who relaxes by vegetating (I relax by doing stuff), the D-and-border collie matchup was one made in heaven. And despite how much trouble my shoulders give me today, I really did enjoy meeting these dogs exercise needs. I am just unable as yet to determine how to do that without sacrificing my joints in my advancing years. I'd like a dog that gets me outdoors without causing me bodily harm, if that makes sense. Problem is, I don't like just "walking" a dog. A dog that can hike, swim, climb, and play with toys would be more to my liking.

There are a few breeds that are out from the get go. No short, toy, teacup or yippy dogs. No dog that demands daily grooming. No giant dogs (great danes, irish wolfhounds, and the like). No poodles. No labradoodles. In fact, no -oodles of any sort. No German shepherds, aikitas, huskies, or chow-chows. With all due respect to D-friend Bek, no bull dogs and no bull terriers. I am not interested in a fighting dog of any kind. I am not interested in having a dog I have to chain or that people will be afraid of. I like friendly, active dogs that are patient and good with most people, children, and cats. I want a medium size or larger dog that can hike a good 3-5 miles. I need a smart animal. No, not smart. Brilliant. And I want a dog that isn't afraid of trains, gunfire, or thunder.

Do I sound too demanding? It's because I've been spoiled by/learned my lessons from those damn border collies.

My sister has a cocker spaniel that has turned me off this breed forever. My brother has a English setter that is a talented hunting companion, but a rather lackluster companion animal. So unless some breed of spaniel is significantly different than these representatives, spaniels are pretty much meh. Now, my sister-in-law's daughter has a German wire-haired pointer. Lovely animal. Stunning in fact. With a gait that absolutely rocks it. However, it rather ignores anyone but it's own family. I had sort of hoped for a more friendly dog. I also get the sense that they are rather a bunch of dunderheads.

I love the herding group. In fact, all my dogs so far have been pretty straight up herding dogs. Now Nevada was a fantastic dog. Part Australian cattle dog, part Australian shepherd. Australian shepherds are much like border collies (high-energy, high-activity herding dogs), and the purebred Australian cattle dog is a bit nippy and 100% scrappy. It is hard-working and intelligent. However, this mix (sometimes called a Texas heeler) is a wonderful combination. Nevada had an even, sweet disposition and far less demanding exercise requirements. I might consider another Nevada. The only downside to Nevada? She was a bit of a princess and not quite as outdoorsy as I might have liked. Oh, she enjoyed a nice romp in the woods, but I really can't imagine her relishing a 3-day backpacking trip. And heaven forbid if I expected her to carry her own food and water. Oh the inhumanity! That might have just been her personality, because certainly neither of those breeds is known for being rather snobbish or elitist. And both are known for an abundance of enthusiasm and energy, which Nevada basically lacked. These dogs are not generally thought of as beautiful, but I thought Nevada was cute as hell.

My brother once had a terrier mix and while it had a sweet, even temperament, it seemed more at home in the shade beneath the truck than scrambling up some rocky hillside. I've never really heard of anyone having a terrier as a hiking companion. I think they look handsome, but I've never really been around one and don't know a lot about their personalities, their dispositions, or their habits. People who grew up with these breeds think highly of them, but I'm a bit wary. I'd like to try, but I'm afraid of making a mistake and getting something that doesn't fit. I really like the look of a schnauzer. I think Airedales are quite handsome. One that really interests me is the soft-coated Wheaten terrier. This is an all around "benji" looking, floppy-eared dog that seems to be as friendly as I had hoped, tall enough to make it a decent hiking dog, and having some stamina. I worry about what burrs might do to that coat, though. But still, a definite maybe. So I'm not rejecting the terrier group outright (with the few exceptions of the "fighting" terriers).

Another brother had a Labrador retriever. I think they are fine animals. D-friend Liv has a lab-pit bull mix. Tough. Loyal. Affectionate. But for some reason, I don't think the retrievers really fit me. Call it a feeling I get.

I guess the last thing I should mention is that the strength of the dog's personality really doesn't concern me. I seem to be able to establish pack leadership position with any dog I encounter. I wish I could say the same for everyone I know! In any event, I now leave the comment section open for any and all suggestions. Let me know which dog you think fits me best. Defend your choices! I'm happy to consider all breeds and mixes!

Nevada: A Photographic Flashback

Just a few pics that I overlooked that struck me as exemplifying Nevada. I thought I should share them somewhere, so why not here?

Loved to be warm. Sunshine and radiators were her friends.

Always dove in head first.

Liked lawn naps.

Earthworm wrangler.

Hated costumes.

Loved chicken.

Distrusted papparazzi.

Boldly explored new territory.

Scarcely ever got caught.

Was my one and only sweet pea.

I miss her. You can't even begin to know how much.

Things change and so do I

When I was younger, I was full of myself. Or piss and vinegar. Ok, maybe I still am full of it. =) My friends told me I should never marry. That I didn't have the temperament or the ability to stick with a relationship in the long-term. They were right and they were wrong. Well meaning as they might have been, they didn't allow me the capacity to grow.

We change with time. We change with experience. We change, sometimes for no reason at all. My sister and I once remarked that when a marriage goes south, at first you hardly notice it. You make accommodations, little compromises, deals with yourself. Somehow, you justify every disappointment in your mind until one day everything is so completely out-of-whack that you don't recognize yourself or the relationship anymore. Life is like that. Relationships are like that. Just one day, it hits you that everything has changed. Life is a slippery slope and sometimes it is all we can do to hang on, and sometimes we just have to let go.

With Nevada's passing, I was thinking about how much my life and her's changed over the time we shared. How we changed one another. We shared a lot.

When I got Nevada, I was a newlywed. I've now been divorced longer than I was married. She was there for the good times and bad of that. I hope she didn't much remember the bad.

When I got Nevada, Dakota was alive. She's been gone nearly 9 years now. I got Nevada as a companion to Dakota. Around 5 years old, Dakota slowed down considerably. She couldn't do the Frisbee anymore. Her hips were shot. I thought a puppy would bring out the old spark in her. It really never did. Instead of becoming more puppy-like, she became very mom-like. Interestingly enough, Nevada did the same thing when I got Jake.

Nevada came into my home in Riverside. That was a great house and a great neighborhood. We had great neighbors. In the winter, she loved to shove her whole head under the radiators and sleep. I used to fear she would cook her brain. Dakota, Nevada and I (and a soon to be dispensed husband) moved into our first real house together in Shorewood. There we lost Dakota and the husband, but we gained Jake. She moved with me back into my childhood home after the divorce. Then she came with me as I started a new life in a new home in southern IL. Her last home. The diaspora mattered little as long as we were together. Nevada's home was with me.

Nevada saw me through my second bachelor's, my first master's, and a good portion of my doctorate. That alone may qualify her for sainthood.

Some of the things that Nevada and I loved to do together, I couldn't seem to bring myself to do without her. Like go for hikes in Pyramid State Park. For the past several years, I haven't done that with Jake alone. Maybe it's time to take him for a good run outdoors. Maybe after gun season ends.

Unlike Dakota, Nevada never got car sick. She loved a ride in the car. You couldn't go anywhere without her. About two years ago, she simply stopped wanting to go to the store. Or the post office. I think it hurt her back or hips to jump in and out of the car. Since then, the only rides she has taken were to the veterinarian's office or for a long trip to visit family. I think both were equally hard on her.

Nevada's illness was an abrupt change in our lives. In reality, I've gone through two grieving periods with Nevada. The first was three years ago when I thought I'd lose her to her mystery ailment. I watched her waste away to nothing. It was one of the slowest, most pitiful declines imaginable. She was so sick. Concern became desperation became acceptance. And then I got her back. Addison's disease is completely treatable. But this time there were no miracles. I could only let her go. I won't say it was easier, but at least I felt she wasn't going before her time. Nevada herself is responsible for helping me be able to let her go. The girl exhibited grace in defeat. All she wanted was for me to be there at the end and I was happy to accommodate.

Watching a dog get old--accepting those changes--changing your own pace to accommodate her's--is like no other lesson you will learn in your life. You walk slower. You give treats you never would have considered when she was younger. Rough-housing gives way to gentle pats and quiet moments shared together. You sit on porches. You accept that some less-than-desirable behaviors aren't as big a deal as you once made of them. You accept that she has a right to her own mind and some of her own decisions. You accept that the medicines she requires, despite their expense, are owed for a lifetime of happiness she's provided.

My mother remarked that I have a way with my dogs. I've always had a way with my dogs. I think the reason is, I never treated them as pets or objects or with a sense of ownership. I have always tried to treat them as companions, as partners, as equals. Of course, I am responsible for their health, safety, and happiness. I think in some ways, they felt responsible for my happiness, too.

My girl is gone. Yes, I am sad. Yes, I am grieving. We grew together. And though our partnership is over, her value in this world is undiminished, because she made me a better person. Everything is different. And I wouldn't trade a minute of it for anything. Would you?

14 Years and 14 Days

Was all I got with my girl.

She passed away this morning. I would love to say that she went peacefully. I was unable to find an emergency vet to ease her pain. She went not so gentle into that good night. Maybe she was raging against the dying of the light.

In the end, all I could do is be with my girl. I think she wanted that. I think that gave her some comfort. Watching her life slip away was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

She was a great dog, my sweet pea, and will be forever missed.

Celebrating My Favorite Older Lady: Canine Edition

Today, Nevada is 14 years old.

She was born on this day in 1994. That makes her, in human-equivalent years, roughly 98. Now this may not seem like any big deal, but if you consider the challenges that this little dog has faced over the years, it is pretty damn amazing. You see this really is a remarkable dog. You might even call her a miracle. And I'm going to tell you her story. It's pretty amazing. But first, in her honor, a little poem.

LOVELIEST OF TREES

By A.E. Housman

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride,
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom

Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

This is, in fact, my favorite poem. A little poem with a little message: Carpe Diem. When your companion approaches the ripe old age of 100, the lesson here is not for Nevada, but for me. So while today is my little dog's birthday, it is one of many days we will celebrate in the time we have remaining.

And this is my celebration of Nevada's life.

Nevada almost wasn't my dog. At the time, I was married and living in Riverside Lawn in the Chicago area. We had this really cool place on the river. It flooded every February, but it was pretty darn cool the rest of the time. My other dog, Dakota was about 7 and was suffering from early onset hip displaysia. She had lost interest in playing and didn't want to interact much with us. So I thought she needed a companion. So I set out to find Dakota a pet. The ex and I looked at shelters and while I did fall for a basset hound in one, the ex refused to consider it. Other than that, we didn't see any dogs that were appropriate for us.

There was a place down First Avenue that sold dogs. Most of them came from private homes. It was November and my ex and I stopped by and found a really cool lab/border collie mix and took him home. The first night the dog became very seriously ill. I suspected parvo. I took him back the next day, they said they would get him to a vet and call me to pick him up when he was better. I called several days later only to learn that the puppy had died. I suspected that they hadn't taken him to a vet at all.

Since I had paid for a dog, they suggested I come in and pick another. I went several times, but could never find anything that struck my fancy. One Saturday in January, I walked in and the place was bursting with puppies. I was looking for a border collie. They didn't have any. So I was just wandering around looking at all the pups. And I came upon a kennel in which there were 13 pups, everyone identical to the other. Twelve pups were yapping and jumping and eating soggy puppy food. In the midst of this cacophony was one pup curled up in the corner, sound asleep. It was like trying to take a nap in the middle of Union Station at rush hour. Amazing.

I took one look at that pup and said "that's the one!"

I put her in my lap. She was scarcely bigger than a stick of butter. She was so tired, she couldn't wake up.

She sat in my lap and slept for at least a half hour. You know how sometimes you just know? Well, I knew. I didn't call the ex. I just took her home. She seemed fine. She met Dakota. She wandered around a bit. But that quiet little dog that I saw in the kennel just hours earlier had big plans in store. She was just waiting. Waiting until nightfall.

That's when the howling began.

These were not just little puppy yaps. These were mournful, heart-wrenching sobs of a dog that was lost and alone and facing certain death. From a litter of thirteen pups, I plucked her half asleep and she wanted to go home. She wanted mama. She wanted the comfort and warmth of twelve wriggling, sleeping litter mates. I tried to comfort her. I tried to console her. I tried to ease her fears. She was having nothing of it. She didn't stop howling for three days. I could only look at her, shake my head and think "you fooled me". It was so bad that my neighbor put a ladder against the house to look in the windows to make sure everything was okay.

Dakota didn't know what to think of this. All in all, I don't think she thought this was a good idea. Soon enough, though, Nevada had found a mama substitute in Dakota. In fact, one of Nevada's favorite things to do was to sit on Dakota. She would straddle Dakota's behind and sit on her. Dakota had the patience of Job. She never once chased her off. Considering that Dakota had hip displaysia, I think that was pretty tolerant. They became fast friends. And Dakota did perk up again for many years.

Out in the back of our house, behind the garage, we had a fire pit. One of Nevada's favorite games was to entice Dakota to chase her around that fire pit. Until the day I die, I will remember the two of them running circles around that pit. They had run a path in the dirt. Nevada could run fast, fast, fast around that fire pit until she almost lapped Dakota. Then Dakota would change direction and Nevada would high-tail-it in the other direction. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Dakota would always run at the same speed. Like a metronome. Cautious always to never seriously threaten to catch Nevada. They loved that game.

Dakota was a world-class Frisbee dog until her hips gave out. I mean the twisty, aerobatic superdog-like-on-tv kind of Frisbee dog. So I thought I'd teach Nevada Frisbee. I tossed a Frisbee at her once. It hit her in the head. I tossed it again. Frisbee. Flinch. Head. I tried one more time. Whether Nevada intended it or whether it was amazing coincidence, she opened her mouth and t he Frisbee landed between her choppers and seemed to catch on one of her canines. She dropped it immediately. Blood poured from her mouth. Somehow, in that single game of Frisbee, Nevada had split her tongue. I never did heal back together. The split remains. Her Frisbee days were over.

Dakota got older. In January, 2000, Dakota died of liver failure at the age of 12. While Dakota could have lived out her days alone, Nevada was not a loner. Nevada was heartbroken. So was I.

Shortly after Dakota's death, my marriage failed and the ex moved out of the house. Undeterred, I sought out a companion for Nevada. A friend had gotten a dog at a border collie rescue, so I went on the site and began my search.

I couldn't find any dogs that seemed appropriate. They recommended Jake, who back then was known as Keifer. Keifer! What a name. Ugh. I didn't think he looked like much, but I agreed to meet him. He had big bat ears and a goofy look in the picture they posted. But I invited them to check us out and his foster parents drove "Keifer" down from Janesville, Wisconsin. He seemed okay. But I'll tell you what, Nevada was star struck. She had picked her companion. When Jake left she was heartbroken again. Now Jake has his own set of issues for another day, but for now we'll set those aside. Jake has been a wonderful companion to Nevada. He's allowed her to dote on him, lick his ears, his eyes, push him around, tell him who and what to attack...he's allowed Nevada to be the mother she never was. I don't think she was ever happier.

In late April 2005, Nevada became ill. She began to stumble. I took her to the vet. It was a mystery. She got very, very sick. Very sick. The vet didn't know what was wrong with her. I was trying to prepare to defend my masters thesis. I was sleeping on the floor with the dog at night, fully expecting to wake up next to a dead dog in the morning. I tried to work, unsuccessfully during the day. I was at the vet's every other day looking for an answer. I was frustrated. I watched Nevada waste away to nearly nothing. She was miserable. She couldn't walk. She had to be carried in and out of the house to relieve herself. She couldn't keep any food down. Finally, I decided she couldn't take it any longer. I asked the vet to put her down.

He talked me out of it and scolded Nevada to stop scaring me.

Two days later, he figured it out. Nevada has Addison's disease. Her adrenal glands are non-functioning. She is on lifetime hormone replacement to keep her sodium-potassium pumps running. I expected her to live six months. I think the vet thought that was being generous.

But she got better. A lot better. It was nothing short of a miracle. Oh things changed. Nevada never wanted to chase ball again. She became fixated on eating red worms in the yard. I chalked it up to a little brain damage perhaps from her health ordeal. A little bit squirrely, but still my same ol' girl.

Three years have passed since then. Nevada is fourteen years old today. I don't want to think about how much I have spent in vet bills and medicine keeping this wonderful old dog of mine alive. She has been worth every penny. Despite getting really, really old and crapping on the wheelchair ramps and waking me up in the middle of the night, she is still my girl. We've had Christmases I never thought we'd get.

Nevada has always been my rock. She's the one that used to rest her head next to me on the couch while I watched tv. The one who follows me wherever I go in the house. The one who snores so loud that sometimes I have to wake her up in the night just to make her stop. The one that reminds me it's 10 o'clock and time for biscuits. The one who gives kisses just for the asking. The one whose fur absorbs my tears in my moments of weakness and sorrow. The one who comes in the bathroom when I'm getting ready in the morning and just leans her head against my leg. The one who reminds me, in her old age, that slowing down isn't always a bad thing.


Nevada is a world-class dog and today I am thankful for every day I've shared of her 14 years.