Missing Bailey

Today is Christmas Eve, and I woke up with tears in my eyes.

Today I really feel the loss of Bailey, my little 14-pound ball of attitude. Bailey died very suddenly and unexpectedly on Sept. 23. She seemed happy and healthy all day, until she refused her dinner. Then she had trouble standing up, got a glazed look in her eyes, and finally started panting heavily. My veterinary clinic was closed by then, so I took her to another animal hospital a few miles away. By the time I carried her inside, her body was limp. The veterinary staff tried CPR and an injection of epinephrine to restart her heart, but nothing worked. She was gone. Bailey was 12-1/2 years old. Her sister, Layla, still lives with me, along with another dog, Benny, a golden retriever/corgi.  

Bailey and her sister came to live with me when they were 7-1/2 years old, when their human mom had health problems that kept her from taking care of them. We stay in touch from time to time, and I text her photos and updates about the dogs. 

I always described Bailey as a little dog with a big attitude. And she never would have won the Miss Congeniality award. She didn't care for men, or for other dogs. But after I started rewarding any good behavior she showed with small treats, her attitude improved significantly. Bailey never was an easy dog, and there were times when I questioned why I had agreed to adopt the little munchkins.  

Bailey had a playful side. Sometimes she wanted me to play with her, and sometimes she and Benny would play for a few minutes. I always referred to Layla as the fun cop, as she has never been very playful and seemed not to like seeing the other dogs playing.

But this ball of fur wormed her way into my heart. And I believe that she waited to die until I returned from a trip. She was happy to see me, gave me lots of kisses during the ride home, and died that same day. 

I hope she is now happy and well at the Rainbow Bridge, probably bossing around some of the other dogs and snoozing in the grass on a warm, sunny day.

Merry Christmas, Bailey.

So Many Dogs

So many dogs.

I follow my city's animal control page online, and it always makes me so very sad to see the never-ending parade of dogs either up for adoption or being held as strays. Sometimes the dogs are there through no fault of their own. Perhaps the owner has died, or had to go into a nursing home. Then there are those given to the shelter because the owner has "no time" for a dog, the puppy is too rambunctious or got too big, or the owner has decided to move someplace that doesn't allow dogs. Even worse are the people who dump a dog in the trash, or abandon it in the desert or the forest, or tie it to a tree in a remote area. Those people should be tracked down and spend the next 10 years in jail.

I know. People sometimes have to move. But I have moved with up to three dogs, from California to Texas to California to New Mexico. Never would I consider a move without my dogs. 

It just makes me so sad to see so many dogs in need of homes. (I'm not a cat person due to allergies, but I feel the same way about cats). Animals aren't disposable items that we get rid of when we tire of them. I've seen the faces of too many depressed, sad, given-up-hope dogs to ever find it acceptable to surrender a dog for a frivolous reason. And in my mind, most reasons are frivolous

Most painful of all is reading about an elderly dog, perhaps 10 or 15 years old, that suddenly finds itself locked away from the only family, the only home, it has ever known. And let's face it, people aren't exactly lining up to adopt an old dog.

Rescue organizations and individuals, as well as animal shelters, work tirelessly to rescue and rehome these sad, confused animals. But until puppy mills stop mass producing puppies for pet stores and online sales, and until people stop buying dogs from these sources, the unnecessary deaths of millions of dogs will continue. And that, quite simply, is not acceptable. How can we in the 21st century allow the deaths of millions of dogs every year, year after year, simply because there aren't enough homes for them, and because people continue to be irresponsible? It is unconscionable. 

If you are looking to add a canine member to your family, please visit an animal shelter or a rescue group, or a reputable breeder of the dog breed of your choice. Reputable breeders care about the dogs they produce. They have health checks done on the parents to minimize the chances of their passing on genetic diseases. They will take back for any reason any puppy they sell. Pet stores and backyard breeders care only about the money they get on each sale. I have adopted five purebred golden retrievers from rescues, all of them adults, and all of them wonderful animals.

Dogs are not commodities. They are not gifts. They are not something to get on a whim and then discard when they get old or sick or become inconvenient or too much work. They are living, breathing, feeling animals. They experience fear, pain, loss and depression just as humans do. 

If you care about dogs, please consider volunteering at a rescue or animal shelter. Donate food or new toys or beds or old towels. Donate money if you can. Above all, Adopt Don't Shop!

One of Life's Greatest Gifts

Everyone thinks they have the best dog. And none of them are wrong.  

Think about that. Don't you think your dog is the absolute best one? 

I found the quote above on Facebook. It wasn't attributed to anyone, so I don't know whom to credit.

The same day, I read a tribute by a man whose boxer was about to be put to sleep due to the ravages of old age. The sentiments below are inspired by what he wrote.

Dogs are one of life's greatest gifts. They don't judge us. They are always happy to see us, no matter how long we have been gone. Returning after a 20-minute absence gets the same welcome home as returning home after a week's absence. Their love is unconditional. It doesn't matter whether the dog is big or small, young or old, expensive purebred or a rescue dog.



Dogs listen without judging or interrupting. They don't check their watch and secretly hope we are about finished complaining or being sad. A dog's love is pure, with no expectation of anything in return

Dogs seem to have an innate ability to know when something is wrong. My second golden retriever, Toby, was particularly skilled at this. If I was crying or sad, he would  put his head on my lap. I'm not sure my current dogs would do anything, but like people, certain dogs are more empathic than others.

Dog lives are so much shorter than human, which is one of life's greatest tragedies.These kind-hearted, forgiving animals deserve a much longer time on earth. How painful it is to have to say goodbye to a beloved canine companion after just a few short years. Sadly, some dogs don't even get to live a normal lifespan due to cancer and other terminal illnesses. Regardless of how much time we spend with our dogs, it never is enough.

Dogs are wonderful teachers, They can remind us to play, to enjoy the simple things such as taking a nap in the sun or going for a walk. They make us laugh, something too many of us do too little of. My dogs get so excited about riding in the car. The words "Who wants to go outside?" get the same enthusiastic dash for the back door regardless of how many times they go out. Every time I go to check the mail or put something in the recycle bin, my dogs rush to the front door when I ask "Who's helping?" Dogs teach us to live in the moment, not to worry, to live life with no regrets, to not hold a grudge. 

Dogs, despite their inability to speak, do a fabulous job of communicating with us through their eyes, their various noises, their behaviors and their body language. If the water bowl runs dry, Bailey will find me and stare at me until I fill up the bowl. I always know exactly what she is telling me.


The worst part of sharing life with a dog is having to say that final good-bye. We all know that day is coming, hopefully later than sooner. In the meantime, it's time to cherish our furry companions, enjoy their company, and get out there and make a lifetime of memories with them.

Living a Joyful Life

Layla, a 10-year-old papillon

I have three dogs, two of them small and one medium size.

These are probably the least favorite of all the dogs with which I have shared my life. They, especially the small ones, are very high-maintenance. They also bark a lot. They have a great deal of nervous energy, even at 10 years old. But they still receive the same care and treatment as all my dogs have received over the years. I spend a lot of time with them, and they eat premium dog food and receive excellent medical care.

Bailey, a 10-year-old papillon

One thing I enjoy about these (and most) dogs is their joyfulness. As soon as they hear me turn back the blankets on my bed each morning, they are up and ready for a new day. They can barely contain themselves as I switch on the light and put on my house slippers. Oh boy! Breakfast! This food is sooo good!

After their trip into the back yard to relieve themselves, they rush inside for their traditional morning 'rubbies.' Each dog vies to be the first to receive the morning body scratch. Benny, my golden retriever/corgi mix, usually is first. I scratch him all over, paying particular attention to the area at the base of his tail. Then either Bailey or Layla, my papillon sisters, arrives. Each of them receives a scratch along her back, sides and chest. Once the morning rituals are complete, they happily go back to sleep, either in my bedroom or in my office.

Benny, a 6-year-old golden retriever/corgi

Since I am retired, I spend a lot of time at home, although I make frequent trips outside to put items into the recycle bin or to just hang out in the back yard. The dogs accompany me on every trip. 

Each foray outside is met with great enthusiasm, no matter how many times I ask if they want to go outside. Each trip outside is an opportunity for a grand adventure. Benny in particular races outside. If the back door is opened, he charges into the back yard. His favorite activities are searching the lavender bushes for lizards, barking at the resident Cooper's hawk or just relaxing in the sunshine. Bailey is the explorer in the family, searching under bushes and hedges for anything she can (and shouldn't) eat. Layla is more laid back, enjoying a nap in the sun. My dogs aren't very playful, especially the females, although they do get wound up when we get ready for our morning walk. Benny will get the zoomies sometimes, usually with one of his soft toys in his mouth.

I wish we humans would learn a lesson from dogs and learn to live more joyfully. Imagine what it would be like to greet each new day with enthusiasm, to look forward to each new opportunity, to relish the food set before us, to run and play and love life. Of course, dogs aren't burdened with the travails of everyday life. They have no worries about work or money or interpersonal issues. They don't worry about the economy or the threat of war or attacks on our civilization. But we can't do much about many of life's worries, so why not be joyful?

Our Amazing Dogs

The more I learn about dogs, the more they amaze me.

Just think about it. Dogs provide unconditional, unending love and companionship. They ask for so little: good food, clean water, a safe place to live and of course, love. That's a pretty small price to pay for all they give us. Unlike humans, dogs are quick to forgive and don't carry grudges. They are happy to see us, whether we have been gone for a few minutes or for several months.

Dogs soothe the minds and provide comfort to those with PTSD. They are the ears of the hearing-impaired and the eyes of the blind. They can detect an approaching seizure and tell when a person's blood sugar is getting too low. They provide emotional support. They can detect explosives, and find smuggled narcotics, weapons, money and humans. They can track and find escaped criminals, runaway kids and wandering senior citizens. Dogs can locate human remains, even those centuries old.

Some dogs can detect cancer cells in a human body long before the human knows anything is wrong. Dogs protect soldiers in combat areas, they parachute into dangerous situations, they stand guard over their soldiers and they provide companionship to those serving far from home. Service dogs help those with physical challenges, by pulling wheelchairs, picking up dropped items and turning on light switches. They can help a person with balance problems keep from falling. Dogs can detect the use of an accelerant in an arson fire. Some therapists use dogs as a way to calm and relax their patients. Some universities now have dogs visit during final exams, as their presence can help the students relax during this stressful time. Even dogs with no special training can have an uncanny ability to seek out those who need some extra support.

All these things aside, just think about what our dogs do for us as individuals. My dogs have never been trained to detect seizures, or to find explosives or to provide security and guard services. But they nonetheless have done a lot of things for me. Study after study has shown that petting a dog can lower blood pressure and reduce stress. A dog's goofy antics can make us laugh, another great way to relieve stress. One of my dogs gets very wound up about 10 o'clock every night, so now we enjoy a few minutes of playtime and chasing each other around the house before we go to bed. Dogs are wonderful listeners, and we never have to worry about them betraying our trust. They won't gossip about us, and they won't tell our secrets to anyone. Our dogs give us a reason to get up in the morning, and to go for a walk. My dogs demand a walk first thing in the morning after breakfast and a potty break.

Have you ever watched dogs run when they have the freedom to really race and stretch their legs? They are so exuberant and they get such joy out of the simple act of running. Watching dogs compete in agility and fly ball is an exhilarating experience. They don't care whether they win or lose; they just like to run. And how about watching border collies do what they are bred to do -- herd sheep? They are amazing to watch.

After years of living with larger dogs, I now have two small dogs and a medium-size dog. Despite their small stature and long, flowing coats, 'the girls' are quite the explorers. Bailey, the smaller of the sisters, loves to go 'off roading.' She will go after rabbits, birds and anything else that is small and moving. Her 15-pound body is fearless.She is always the first to sound the alarm when the door bell rings or the wind blows too hard.

Layla, left, with sister Bailey.

Benny

I think the world would be a much better place if we lived more like dogs -- don't worry about the future, love the ones you're with, enjoy each day, eat with gusto, and run whenever you get the chance.

Welcome Home, Benny!

My fifth golden retriever died from a brain tumor in April 2014. Since then, I have realized how much I miss having one of these wonderful dogs in my life.

Unfortunately, goldens are very rare in New Mexico. I know I could drive to California or Tennessee and adopt a dog from one of the rescues from which I got previous goldens, but that would mean a long road trip with my two little dogs for a 'meet and greet.' So I started looking locally.

The local animal control listed an adult male golden, so I paid him a visit, only to learn that he isn't a golden at all, but a Labrador retriever. The shelter in Santa Fe had a golden mix that looked a lot like a golden, but before I could get there, he was adopted. I found a little golden/corgi mix at a local rescue group, but he was adopted before I could complete the home visit. Friends of the family had talked about rehoming their golden, but decided they couldn't part with her. So I resigned myself to having to drive to Tennessee or California next year to find my new golden family member.

Then I got a phone call from the foster mom of the golden/corgi, telling me that he was available for adoption. She brought him to meet my dogs, which were uncharacteristically accepting of him. She completed my home visit, but she said the dog was scheduled to meet another family two days later. She would report her findings about the two home visits, and another woman would make the final decision. So I waited. And a  few days later, I got the call -- the other potential adopters had changed their minds, and the little dog (named Bailey) was mine if I wanted him. Arrangements were made for a 2-week trial period to make sure he was a good fit with my family.

Since I already have a dog named Bailey, I started calling the newcomer Benny. He fit into the family very quickly and smoothly. True, he has some rough edges we need to work on, such as staying off the furniture, not jumping on people, doors, etc., and not pulling when we go for a walk. But those are fixable things. After just a couple of days, I knew that Benny was here to stay, although the final adoption paperwork has yet to be completed.

This little guy, who looks much like a golden retriever with his long, red coat in the body of a corgi, has been through so many changes lately. So it's understandable that he remains somewhat uncertain. But his playful side is showing itself, with back yard zoomies and chomp fights with me when I sit on the floor.

I bought a no-pull harness for Benny and had it sized at the wonderful local pet food shop where I bought it. Benny is quickly learning his new name and 'sit,' but we are still working on staying off the furniture. He likes to sleep under my bed at night rather than on the soft blanket I put on the floor for him. And that's fine. Perhaps he will feel safer sleeping on the blanket as he realizes he is home for good.

I can't think of a better Christmas gift for either of us. Welcome home, Benny!

When Love Hurts

Yesterday, I killed my beloved old dog. It was done for all the right reasons, but my mind still struggles. I made the decision out of love, but it still feels as if I killed her.

She was 15 years old, and her hip dysplasia and arthritis were making it very hard for her to walk. She still had a good appetite (not surprising for a Labrador/beagle mix), but even that wasn't as robust as in the past. When I came home from a week-long trip, she walked to greet me, but gone were the whines, wags and happy kisses. The next morning, she had a great deal of trouble on our walk, going sideways in a crab-like fashion and breathing with difficulty.

It was then that I knew that Mila was telling me that she was ready for the next phase in her life. I had prayed for a sign, so I would know that she had decided to move on. I did not want to make that decision solely on my own; I needed for her to give me a sign. I certainly wanted to respect her wishes, no matter how painful for me.

So we walked slowly home. I woke my daughter to let her know and to give her an opportunity to say good-bye to Mila. She offered to go with us to the vet clinic, something I know was not easy for her, but an offer that I greatly appreciated.

When we got to the clinic, I let Mila take her time and sniff the bushes in the front of the building. Inside, I offered her some small dog treats and beef-flavored chews. Mila was not nervous and panting as she had been on previous visits to the veterinary clinic. I believe she was ready. She understood why we were there, and she was at peace. The staff had prepared a room for us, with a quilt spread out on the floor.

As we waited, Mila looked into my eyes three or four times. I believe that she was saying "Goodbye and thank you. Thank you for rescuing me and giving me a wonderful life, and thank you for letting me go with love." I sat on the floor with her as the staff made their preparations. I insisted that they shave the spot on her leg and insert the catheter in the room with me, so I could comfort Mila. The vet gave Mila a sedative to relax her. I was on the floor beside her. Although she had lost most of her hearing, I believe she knew what I was saying to her.

Mila put her face against my chest, and I held her close. One hand gently scratched her chest while the other rubbed her ear as I held her tightly. She passed away quietly, and she is now reunited with Jack, Toby and Gage.

Being able to release a beloved animal companion, whether a dog, cat, horse, rabbit or gerbil, from a failing body and pain is a blessing, albeit it a very painful one. I take some comfort in knowing that I sent Mila on her way to Rainbow Bridge with love. I was with her until she took her last breath, and she saw my face as she closed her eyes. She felt my hands stroking her fur and she rested her face against my chest. She was safe and at peace. It was as peaceful a passing as I could have asked for.

Still, deciding to end an animal's life, even to release it from pain, is a heart-breaking, gut-wrenching decision. It is something that I knew was coming, yet I could in no way prepare myself for the pain it caused. And yes, I still struggle with the idea that I took her life. Yes, she could be frustrating and stubborn. Yes, I got tired of cleaning up pee from the floor. But that pales in comparison with the love we shared. She was the most loyal of the dogs who have shared my life. I love Mila, and I will always miss her.

I love the lighting in this photo, and how determined Mila looked as she walked toward me.

Making The Connection

I have loved dogs for many, many years, despite being terrified of them at one point in my childhood. All of my dogs have been adopted from animal shelters, rescues or the streets. So I don't understand why I have a problem with 'the adoption thing.' Let me explain.

One recent weekend, my daughter wanted to stop by a large dog adoption event in which several rescue groups and shelters were participating. We weren't there to adopt, just to visit. The dogs were housed in pens under a large white tent in the parking lot of a local PetSmart store. As we walked by the pens, my heart was broken by the sight of so many homeless and unwanted dogs. It was all I could do to keep the tears at bay.

Little puppies crawled over each other. Chihuahuas ran excitedly to the front of their pen, wearing little 'Adopt Me' bandanas. Other dogs wagged their tails and sought even the briefest bit of attention. A black-and-tan coonhound bayed mournfully. Some dogs, either tired or depressed, slept curled up in the back of their pens.

I am bothered by the whole looking-for-a-new-dog process. I haven't always felt this way, so I don't know what has changed. But walking up and down the aisles, seeing so many dogs hoping to be chosen and taken home, not only breaks my heart, but it also bothers me on a deeper level. I feel as if I'm on a car lot, browsing the cars to see which model and color I want. But these are not cars; they are living, breathing, feeling animals. And depending on where they are, they may face death if someone doesn't adopt them within a certain amount of time.

Don't get me wrong. For me, adoption is the only way to get a dog. I would never consider going to a pet shop (where the dogs typically come from mass-production puppy mills) or spending hundreds or thousands of dollars for a dog 'with papers.' So I will always get dogs from a rescue or animal shelter. But something about the process makes me uncomfortable.

Maybe it's the helpless feeling that comes from knowing that I can save only a handful of dogs during my lifetime, and that when I decide to add a dog to our family, I will adopt just one despite so many in need. Maybe it's the realization that the dogs I don't choose face an uncertain future. Maybe it's the unspoken judging of the animals that bothers me. "Too big." "Too young." "I don't care for that breed of dog."

Then, of course, there is the search for that intangible, unexplainable feeling of connection when I do see a dog that calls to me.

I love golden retrievers, but my heart dog was a 25-pound Jack Russell terrier/cattle dog I named Jackson. He was stubborn, difficult to house train and sometimes grumpy, but he still holds a special place in my heart.

What is that undefined something that causes person and dog to connect? I can understand when someone is looking over a litter of puppies and one pup consistently goes to the person, or curls up on someone's lap. In that case, the puppy chooses the person. But choosing a dog at an animal shelter is so different. There is little interaction between person and dog. What causes them to connect? It isn't just breed preference or size or age or color of the dog, although those may be factors. I generally don't care whether I adopt a male or a female dog, and color really isn't an issue, either.

What is this connection and where does it come from? It cannot be explained. And it cannot be forced, I know that. It's either there, or it isn't there. This feeling has generally been clear whenever I adopted a dog. When I recently went to see a Jack Russell terrier available for adoption, I felt no connection, despite the fact that this dog was the 'right' breed, size, age and gender. With two female dogs at home, I felt that if I ever decided to add another dog, a male would be the right choice. I put a lot of thought into whether or not to adopt this dog, but the connection just was not there.

I guess this is one of those things I never will be able to explain. I will continue to adopt dogs as I can, because I know there will always be dogs that will connect with me. In the meantime, I will just have to deal with the uncomfortable feeling of judging and passing over many dogs as I search for just the right one.