You Will Never Get Over It

You will never get over it. 

You will learn to live with it.

These wise words were offered in response to a woman depressed over the death of her beloved dog.

I can certainly relate to that. I can't say I'm depressed because my dear, sweet Jett died at only 2 years old. But I still cry for him when I think about how awful his death was.

I also get angry when I think about how I was treated by the staff at the veterinary clinic after his death, a veterinary clinic I had patronized with six or more dogs for 14 years. And I'm angry that the veterinarian didn't pick up on the source of Jett's problem.

The reception staff should never tell somebody grieving the death of a beautiful, young, vibrant and healthy dog who died two days after getting sick, to take a breath and relax. No, you stupid fool, I won't get over it. I won’t relax. I want answers. 

I was told my dog's necropsy would take about a week. Some three weeks later, I still could not find out where his body was. I wanted to bring him home. You work in an animal hospital. You are the front line with clients calling about their pets. Show some compassion. If you can't answer a client's question, find someone who can.

I no longer take my dog to that animal hospital. None of my future dogs will be taken there for any reason. The utter and complete lack of sympathy and compassion makes that entire operation unworthy of my patronage and the thousands of dollars I have spent over the years on my dogs. So go take a breath and f*** yourself.

I have a good friend who is a therapist. She is the person responsible for getting Jett to me because she recognized that he deserved a far better home than the one he had next door to her in North Carolina. She also mourns his loss. She understands how I feel. She told me I need to adopt another dog to help me replace the deep grief I feel with joy.

I looked online for several months for another dog, but I was unable to find an adoptable golden retriever, which is the breed I really want. I've had six and a half goldens over the years. I know I could find another wonderful dog that isn't a golden. After all, the shelters are full to bursting with dogs in need of homes. But my heart belongs, and will always belong, to golden retrievers. 

Online friends from across the country sent me suggestions of available adult goldens, but driving to New England or to Washington State or even to Colorado during winter is not an option. And I know how quickly goldens get adopted. So I decided to take a break for a while from searching, and hope that a dog would find me. 

I believe that when a dog I really love dies and crosses the Rainbow 🌈 Bridge, he will send another dog to me. It may take a while, but it will happen. I just have to be patient.

Six months after Jett's death, I am definitely not over it. I doubt if I ever will be. Everything about the death of this beautiful dog haunts me. I still cry whenever I think about it, and I'm not one who cries easily. 

Until Jett sends me another dog to start to fill the hole in my heart, I am enjoying my other dog, Jenny, as we deepen our relationship and she enjoys my undivided attention.

You will never get over it. You will learn to live with it.

What wise words these are in response to a woman depressed over the death of her beloved dog.

I can certainly relate to that. I can't say I'm depressed because my dear, sweet Jett died at only 2 years old. But I still cry for him when I think about how awful his death was.

I also get angry when I think about how I was treated by the staff at the veterinary clinic after his death, a veterinary clinic I had patronized with six or more dogs 

 for 14 years. And I'm angry that the veterinarian didn't pick up on the source of Jetr's problem.

You don't tell somebody grieving the death of a beautiful, young, vibrant and healthy dog who died two days after getting sick, to take a breath and relax. No, you stupid cow, I won't get over it. I won’t relax. I want answers. 

I was told my dog's necropsy would take about a week. Some three weeks later, I still could not find out where his body was. I wanted to bring him home. You work in an animal hospital. You are the front line with incoming clients. Show some compassion.

I no longer take my dogs to that animal hospital. None of my future dogs will be taken there for any reason. The utter and complete lack of sympathy and compassion makes that entire operation unworthy of my patronage and the thousands of dollars I have spent over the years on my dogs. So go take a breath and f*** yourself.

I have a good friend who is a therapist. She is the person responsible for getting Jett to me because she recognized that he deserved a far better home than the one he had next door to her in North Carolina. She also mourns his loss. She understands how I feel. She told me I need to adopt another dog to help me replace the deep grief I feel with joy.

I looked online for several months for another dog, but I was unable to find an adaptable golden retriever, which is the breed I really want. I've had six and a half goldens over the years. I know

You will never get over it. You will learn to live with it.

What wise words these are in response to a woman depressed over the death of her beloved dog.

I can certainly relate to that. I can't say I'm depressed because my dear, sweet Jett died at only 2 years old. But I still cry for him when I think about how awful his death was.

I also get angry when I think about how I was treated by the staff at the veterinary clinic after his death, a veterinary clinic I had patronized with six or more dogs 

 for 14 years. And I'm angry that the veterinarian didn't pick up on the source of Jetr's problem.

You don't tell somebody grieving the death of a beautiful, young, vibrant and healthy dog who died two days after getting sick, to take a breath and relax. No, you stupid cow, I won't get over it. I won’t relax. I want answers. 

I was told my dog's necropsy would take about a week. Some three weeks later, I still could not find out where his body was. I wanted to bring him home. You work in an animal hospital. You are the front line with incoming clients. Show some compassion.

I no longer take my dogs to that animal hospital. None of my future dogs will be taken there for any reason. The utter and complete lack of sympathy and compassion makes that entire operation unworthy of my patronage and the thousands of dollars I have spent over the years on my dogs. So go take a breath and f*** yourself.

I have a good friend who is a therapist. She is the person responsible for getting Jett to me because she recognized that he deserved a far better home than the one he had next door to her in North Carolina. She also mourns his loss. She understands how I feel. She told me I need to adopt another dog to help me replace the deep grief I feel with joy.

I looked online for several months for another dog, but I was unable to find an adaptable golden retriever, which is the breed I really want. I've had six and a half goldens over the years. I know I could find another wonderful dog that isn't a golden. After all, the shelters are full to bursting with dogs in need of homes. But my heart belongs, and will always belong, to golden retrievers. 

Online friends from across the country sent me suggestions of available adult goldens, but driving to New England or to Washington State or even to Colorado during winter is not an option. And I know how quickly goldens get adopted. So I decided to take a break for a while from searching, and hope that a dog would find me. 

I believe that when a dog I really love dies and crosses the Rainbow 🌈 Bridge, he will send another dog to me. It may take a while, but it will happen. I just have to be patient.

A few days ago I decided to check the website of a local animal rescue group that I hadn't checked recently. To my immense surprise, there was a 5-year-old male Golden retriever listed. It was noted that he has a medical waiver because he needs some dental work done. 

This dog, named Marley, was admitted to the shelter on December 12. I found him online on December 17. I got to the shelter shortly after it opened the following morning at 10:00 a.m. after filling out some preliminary paperwork, I got to meet Marley and a small room. He wasn't terribly interested in meeting me, but I learned that he had been brought from the shelter or animal control facility in the small New Mexico town of Artesia. So he had been through a lot of changes. He was a happy boy, and he enjoyed playing with a large squeaky rubber hamburger. 

I decided I would like to bring him home with me, but first I needed to bring Jenny, my current dog to the shelter so the pups could meet. We did that the following day. The dogs didn't have a great deal of interest in each other, but there was no growling or snarling between them either. 

Unfortunately, one of the attendants discovered what she called a significant amount of blood in Marley's poop. So that put everything on hold until he could be checked out by the veterinarian. 

He has been seen by the veterinarian, but now we're awaiting results of a stool sample that was sent to a laboratory for analysis. I'm told I will be called as soon as Marley is cleared for adoption, pending Jenny's second visit to meet him.

 I could find 

You will never get over it. You will learn to live with it.

What wise words these are in response to a woman depressed over the death of her beloved dog.

I can certainly relate to that. I can't say I'm depressed because my dear, sweet Jett died at only 2 years old. But I still cry for him when I think about how awful his death was.

I also get angry when I think about how I was treated by the staff at the veterinary clinic after his death, a veterinary clinic I had patronized with six or more dogs 

 for 14 years. And I'm angry that the veterinarian didn't pick up on the source of Jetr's problem.

You don't tell somebody grieving the death of a beautiful, young, vibrant and healthy dog who died two days after getting sick, to take a breath and relax. No, you stupid cow, I won't get over it. I won’t relax. I want answers. 

I was told my dog's necropsy would take about a week. Some three weeks later, I still could not find out where his body was. I wanted to bring him home. You work in an animal hospital. You are the front line with incoming clients. Show some compassion.

I no longer take my dogs to that animal hospital. None of my future dogs will be taken there for any reason. The utter and complete lack of sympathy and compassion makes that entire operation unworthy of my patronage and the thousands of dollars I have spent over the years on my dogs. So go take a breath and f*** yourself.

I have a good friend who is a therapist. She is the person responsible for getting Jett to me because she recognized that he deserved a far better home than the one he had next door to her in North Carolina. She also mourns his loss. She understands how I feel. She told me I need to adopt another dog to help me replace the deep grief I feel with joy.

I looked online for several months for another dog, but I was unable to find an adaptable golden retriever, which is the breed I really want. I've had six and a half goldens over the years. I know I could find another wonderful dog that isn't a golden. After all, the shelters are full to bursting with dogs in need of homes. But my heart belongs, and will always belong, to golden retrievers. 

Online friends from across the country sent me suggestions of available adult goldens, but driving to New England or to Washington State or even to Colorado during winter is not an option. And I know how quickly goldens get adopted. So I decided to take a break for a while from searching, and hope that a dog would find me. 

I believe that when a dog I really love dies and crosses the Rainbow 🌈 Bridge, he will send another dog to me. It may take a while, but it will happen. I just have to be patient.

A few days ago I decided to check the website of a local animal rescue group that I hadn't checked recently. To my immense surprise, there was a 5-year-old male Golden retriever listed. It was noted that he has a medical waiver because he needs some dental work done. 

This dog, named Marley, was admitted to the shelter on December 12. I found him online on December 17. I got to the shelter shortly after it opened the following morning at 10:00 a.m. after filling out some preliminary paperwork, I got to meet Marley and a small room. He wasn't terribly interested in meeting me, but I learned that he had been brought from the shelter or animal control facility in the small New Mexico town of Artesia. So he had been through a lot of changes. He was a happy boy, and he enjoyed playing with a large squeaky rubber hamburger. 

I decided I would like to bring him home with me, but first I needed to bring Jenny, my current dog to the shelter so the pups could meet. We did that the following day. The dogs didn't have a great deal of interest in each other, but there was no growling or snarling between them either. 

Unfortunately, one of the attendants discovered what she called a significant amount of blood in Marley's poop. So that put everything on hold until he could be checked out by the veterinarian. 

He has been seen by the veterinarian, but now we're awaiting results of a stool sample that was sent to a laboratory for analysis. I'm told I will be called as soon as Marley is cleared for adoption, pending Jenny's second visit to meet him.

 wonderful dog that isn't a golden. After all, the shelters are full to bursting with dogs in need of homes. But my heart belongs, and will always belong, to golden retrievers. 

Online friends from across the country sent me suggestions of available adult goldens, but driving to New England or to Washington State or even to Colorado during winter is not an option. And I know how quickly goldens get adopted. So I decided to take a break for a while from searching, and hope that a dog would find me. 

I believe that when a dog I really love dies and crosses the Rainbow 🌈 Bridge, he will send another dog to me. It may take a while, but it will happen. I just have to be patient.

A few days ago I decided to check the website of a local animal rescue group that I hadn't checked recently. To my immense surprise, there was a 5-year-old male Golden retriever listed. It was noted that he has a medical waiver because he needs some dental work done. 

This dog, named Marley, was admitted to the shelter on December 12. I found him online on December 17. I got to the shelter shortly after it opened the following morning at 10:00 a.m. after filling out some preliminary paperwork, I got to meet Marley and a small room. He wasn't terribly interested in meeting me, but I learned that he had been brought from the shelter or animal control facility in the small New Mexico town of Artesia. So he had been through a lot of changes. He was a happy boy, and he enjoyed playing with a large squeaky rubber hamburger. 

I decided I would like to bring him home with me, but first I needed to bring Jenny, my current dog to the shelter so the pups could meet. We did that the following day. The dogs didn't have a great deal of interest in each other, but there was no growling or snarling between them either. 

Unfortunately, one of the attendants discovered what she called a significant amount of blood in Marley's poop. So that put everything on hold until he could be checked out by the veterinarian. 

He has been seen by the veterinarian, but now we're awaiting results of a stool sample that was sent to a laboratory for analysis. I'm told I will be called as soon as Marley is cleared for adoption, pending Jenny's second visit to meet him.

Memories of Christmas Past

It's the morning of Christmas Eve 2024.

My only nod to this holiday season is listening to a few of my 45+ Christmas CDs. But as I opened a new box of Rice Chex cereal to fix breakfast, I spotted the recipe on the box for Chex Mix.

I haven't made this tasty, crunchy treat for many years, but do I ever love it! It was for many years a holiday staple. Some years I would make two batches. I don't like Wheat Chex, so I would substitute extra corn and rice cereal in its place. 

The other thing I recently recalled from Christmases past was an annual trip to deliver plates of homemade fudge, cookies and fruitcake (I hate the stuff, but my husband at the time loved it) to the young enlisted men (I think all the personnel guarding the gate to the naval air station where I worked were male at that time in history). We, dogs included, would pull up Christmas Eve evening, roll down the window, and pass a couple of plates to the startled guard. I imagined that these young sailors were probably spending their first Christmas away from home. We would wish them a Merry Christmas, and then turn around to head home. I loved surprising them with some homemade goodies.

My final Christmas memory was walking through the kennels at the humane society where I worked for 8 years, handing each dog a dog biscuit or treat. I felt sorry for the dogs spending the holiday in a kennel, surrounded by other unwanted or discarded dogs. Of course, the dogs had no idea it was Christmas time. But I like to think the treat and a kind word made their day just a little bit brighter.

Those days are long gone. Terror attacks made it impossible to deliver food to unknown members of the military. I don't make Chex mix any more because it's so good I gobble it down. And I left the humane society in 1988 and lost the opportunity to hand out treats to the dogs.

But these memories bring a smile to my face every time.

The Business of Christmas

I am old enough to remember when Christmas was primarily a religious holiday. 

I don't remember when it turned into a day of little more than an opportunity to spend and spend and spend in an endless search for "the perfect gift." But a major commercial holiday is what this former religious holiday has become. 

And do you know what? It disgusts me. I'm not a religious fanatic by any means. I haven't set foot inside a church for decades other than as a tourist visiting a landmark church in another country. 

But the mad dash to get our hands on that season's must-have gift, the spending of hundreds and thousands of dollars many of us can't afford to purchase gifts that the recipients may well not want or like, the madhouse at the mall and at the grocery store - - all of these things have combined with my increasing age to turn me against anything Christmas. 

Once my daughter grew up and moved out on her own, I didn't bother to set up a Christmas tree. I stopped mailing out Christmas cards at least 10 years ago. I no longer do holiday baking, something I used to enjoy a great deal. 

I don't put decorations inside the house, or hang up Christmas lights in the living room. And for the past 2 years at least, I have not even listened to my large collection of Christmas CDs. When stores started setting out their Christmas stuff in August, I turned against the holiday.

My siblings and I agreed long ago not to exchange Christmas gifts. All of us have everything we need or want. 

I do buy something for my daughter every year, and if she can't put her finger on anything she wants or needs, I send her money. This year she had an idea of something she wanted - - a Kindle - - so that's what I sent her, along with a case and a charging cord. My grandson will get a large fire truck, as that's what my daughter said he would like. 

I didn't even have to go to the store to get their gifts. I simply went online, ordered the items, and had them shipped to their home in Kansas. My daughter made a batch of one of my favorite kinds of cookies and shipped those to me. And that is fine. I don't bake for myself anymore with rare exceptions, so the homemade cookies were perfect. 

As for the business of Christmas, I just read that Americans spent roughly $102 billion dollars on Black Friday this year. And on Cyber Monday, just 3 days later, Americans set a record and spent some $13.3 billion that day. I also read somewhere that a fair number of Americans is still paying off last year's Christmas bills. 

Somehow I don't think those who originated in the mid fourth century the whole idea of celebrating the birth of the baby Jesus intended for people to bankrupt themselves to buy unnecessary gifts for each other. This is especially true when so many families around the world, not just in the US, are struggling to pay for housing, medical care and food.

Buy something for the kids. But don't be like a woman who used to work for me. She never had extra money, but every Christmas she spent a small fortune on her kids' Christmas. And her daughter, at least, was rather critical of my daughter who didn't get a ton of things for Christmas. Don't get me wrong. My daughter got a lot of Christmas gifts, but not to excess. I never believed that I could buy my daughter's love with an excess of gifts. And my daughter didn't act like a spoiled brat. 

The business of Christmas has, for me, spoiled a nice holiday once rooted in a religious celebration, a time for family and a time to give to those less fortunate. It should not be a time of excess, greed and debt.

My Grown-up Christmas Wish

Every Christmas I hear people saying what they want for Christmas. And every year, the advertisers bombard us with ads for things they think we should want.

This was a big deal when I was a kid. All the kids in my family, all three of us, had a list of things we hoped Santa would bring us. And on Christmas Day and the day after, we would excitedly tell our friends and cousins what we got for Christmas. And although we attended church services, Christmas was all about the presents we got.

I left childhood behind decades ago, and I no longer wish for material things. I have everything I want and everything I need. So here is my new, grown up Christmas wish list. 

l want people who are sick with no cure to be able to be cured. I want children with no families to be adopted. I want people to never have to worry about food and shelter and heat. I want an end to war and to discrimination and to murder. I want people to live in peace. I want people to wake up and realize that planet Earth is our only home, and we need to start taking care of it. I want it into child abuse, and to animal abuse and to elder abuse. I want the homeless to have a safe place to live. I want all the homeless and unwanted animals to become part of families that will cherish, love and care for them.

This, friends, is my grown-up Christmas wish.

Simple Joys

I saw a video recently of a dog realizing that the man in the distance was his 'dad,' who had been away on a long military deployment.

The dog was nervous at first, but once he realized who the man was, he was beside himself with joy.

That made me think about how most dogs live their lives ... full of simple joys. Rolling in the grass. Sniffing a new odor. Going for a walk. Greeting a new person, or an old friend. Chasing a ball. Waking up and giving a big stretch. Drooling at the scent of something tasty. Enjoying, however briefly, their meal.

Maybe we humans don't have the same level of enjoyment when smelling a new odor, but we can find our own simple pleasures. Who among us can resist the smell of bread fresh from the oven? I love the smell of the outdoors, especially the smell of a pine forest. Unfortunately, I lost most of my ability to smell (and taste) several years ago due to an upper respiratory infection (before covid). But every so often I am able to smell something cooking or to weakly taste a special food. So I understand the joys of having these two senses. So I can only imagine what it must be like to have a sense of smell 10,000 times greater than we mere humans have.

Volumes have been written about domestic dogs. On some level, they seem rather simple. Their joy is simple and uncomplicated, But really, dogs are remarkable creatures, with abilities we can't begin to imagine. 

I recently heard that a drug-detecting dog can detect one drop of an illegal drug in the equivalent of 25 Olympic-size swimming pools. Other dogs can detect hidden currency or people. Some can alert a person to an upcoming seizure or low blood sugar. Some even are reported to detect the presence of the virus that causes covid.

These dogs are rewarded for their detection with lots of excited praise and a chance to grab their favorite toy for a few minutes of play. The special toy is brought out only after a successful detection.

Sometimes we humans have to schedule our joys, an outing to a favorite outdoor spot, for example. But it's important to do things, even if we have to schedule them, that bring us joy.

As a lowly human, I've been thinking about things that bring me joy. I love spending time outdoors, traveling, taking photographs, reading, writing, and taking a nap on a cold day.

What are your simple joys?

My Quandary

I have a quandary that has been with me for quite a while.

It involves a decision about what kind of dog to adopt. My favorite dog breed on the planet is the golden retriever. But goldens, especially adult goldens, are nearly impossible to find in the state where I live. Rescues in nearby states refuse to adopt out of state.

Roughly half of the 15 dogs I have adopted over the years have been mixed breeds or non-golden breeds. So I've been thinking, "Should I give up on finding a golden and instead try to find another kind of dog?" Animal shelters throughout the country are packed with dogs needing homes. 

So here is my quandary: I have looked online at several local rescue groups and animal shelters. I'm not seeing any dogs that really attract my attention. There have been a couple of older Labrador retrievers, and I have submitted an application to foster an old (11-12 years), black Lab whose owner died. More than three weeks later, I haven't been contacted about a home visit or meet-and-greet opportunity.

Should I apply to adopt one of the yellow Labs I have seen? I feel bad for the dogs that aren't pretty, or who don't photograph well, or who have other things doing on, such as they don't like other dogs or they have to be adopted with their canine best friend. 

I know that black dogs and cats are less likely to be adopted that animals of other colors. So should I wait and see what happens with my foster application, or should I apply to adopt one of the yellow Labs I have seen available? I know that Labs are energetic, but the ones I am considering are seven or so years old.

In the end, of course, whichever dog joins our family will be only with the approval of my current dog, Jenny.

I have read about people who go into an animal shelter and ask to adopt the oldest dog, or the dog who has been in the shelter the longest, or who has no chance of being adopted. I really admire people who do those things. I am not sure, however, that I can be that person. 

So I guess I will do the next best thing: give a loving home to a dog in need, whether it be a golden retriever, another breed or a mixed breed.

Words Of Wisdom From A Poet

We need much less than we think we need.

I love this quote by the late American poet Maya Angelou. She is correct, of course, but I daresay that most Americans believe that we should get all we can. We're always in search of more -- more money, a newer car, a bigger house, more fame or recognition.

Too many believe that "if only I had" more money, a better job, a prettier wife, smarter kids, and on and on.

What if, instead of focusing on what we don't have -- and often don't need -- we were grateful for what we do have? What if we recognize that we really do have what we need?

OK, I'll start. If only I had better vision. Instead, what if I thought about how grateful I am to be able to see at all. I have been very nearsighted since I was a child of 10. I wore glasses, then contact lenses, then I had surgery so I could see well without corrective lenses of any kind. Then as I turned 40, I needed glasses for reading. After surgery to remove cataracts, I could see well with glasses. Then I suffered the first of several retinal tears and detachments. Several surgeries later, I need glasses for both reading and for distance sight. My right eye, always the stronger eye, is now pretty useless for either kind of vision. I visit a retina specialist twice each year for scans and photographs of the interior of my eyes, and I use prescription eye drops in both eyes twice every day.

But you know what? As a photographer and an avid reader, and as someone who values her independence and needs to be able to drive, I am so grateful that my vision remains good enough for me to continue to pursue my passion of photography. And I can still drive safely, although I have chosen not to drive at night due to poor night vision. So yes, I am extremely thankful. And I have all I need.

If only I had more money to spend on travel. Or what if I thought about how grateful I am that I can still afford to travel the world, to visit places I have always wanted to visit or to revisit some of my favorite countries? I have cut back on travel due to the increased cost of trips and airfare, but I still get to take several fabulous trips each year.

If only I could find a golden retriever to adopt. What if I decided instead to adopt or foster a dog in need, one that might not get adopted. I have applied to foster an old (11 to 12 years old) black Labrador retriever who ended up in an animal shelter because his owner died. He has three strikes against him: He is big. He is old. And he is black. Black dogs and black cats are least likely to be adopted. 

You get the idea. I truly do need much less than I think I need. I just need to do a better job of reminding myself of this.