It's Me.

Chapter 7...  In which our hero Ziggy goes to the Dermatologist....

and checks his dignity at the door...

He's been itching and scratching and breaking out since the day we brought him home.  We've tried all sort of herbal and prescription remedies.  So it was time to head to the Doggie Dermatologist.  Who, by the way, is alergic to animals.  But that's another story.

 I told Nancy he was allergic to Cladosporium, Cephalosporim, Aspergillus Fumigatus and maybe Grain Smut - but she didn't believe me.

So, now he's styling a new 'do; and awaiting his allergy cocktail that we get to load-up into a syringe and administer for the next who knows how long.  I told him no one would notice.  He doesn't believe me either.

Check this out...

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                                         I had a flashback to my pre-teen years this morning. 
                               While walking through a parking ramp, I smelled a Thingmaker:

Thingmaker

From Radiolab...

After hearing our show about moments of death, filmmaker Will Hoffman went out in search of moments of life. What follows is what he found.

In the last few days Jake was with us, we had quite the hospice set up in our home.  With his path to the lower level blocked, we moved a new  litter box to a corner in the dining room.  Then we added another one in another corner.  Just in case of accidents, we'd spread a sheet of tin foil along another wall towards the living room. 
On the landing between the main and second floor, we'd done the same thing.  Also adding his original litter box to a corner on the landing.  "Cats don't like tin foil," was what we'd read.  The tin foil paw prints told us otherwise.  And the one-time pool of urine said the same.  But that was Jake.  Always doing it his way, seeing the world through his unique perspective.  Jake had taken to wanting the comfort of our bedroom as his infirmary.  So there, we'd put a litter box in a secluded corner. 
Then, when his control began to slip, we added one in front of the dresser where he'd had an accident.  And one just outside the bathroom door.  He had taken to lying on the thick bathroom rug or on the hard surface of the bathroom vanity.  Sometimes, just outside the bathroom door on the carpet.
Yesterday, it was time to empty out the litter from each of them.  They were all just plain litter.  To keep track of his habits, we had taken to clearing each box as he 'went.'  Nancy had already talked to the folks at the animal rescue, and they knew we had litter boxes, litter, medicines, shampoo, and food to donate. 
I was at work.  It was just Nancy and Zig working their way through the house, with Nancy explaining to Ziggy where all of this was going, and also asking Jake to understand his donations didn't mean we were going to forget him.  Around mid-afternoon, Nancy called to tell me she was cleaning, sorting, and boxing.  And to tell me that Ziggy was 'very down' today.  She said that he was acting strangely subdued.  You have to know our Ziggy is quite the neurotic.  So acting like a normal 2+ year old dog would be weirdness for him. 
But yesterday, Ziggy was sad, and it was obvious.  Nancy was being kind to him, talking to him while sorting out Jake's life.  And watching him sniff the area where Jake's food was normally set.  All the places Jake called his own When I got home from work, Nancy was telling me more about his sadness - how he'd just been lying around all day, not his usual I'm-in-charge-here self.  It continued when I arrived.  Normally Zig gets excited when he hears the garage door open.  Nancy usually helps a little with the "who's here?"  "where's daddy?" stuff.  This time, he just laid in his kennel, doing his neurotic licking-of-the- legs.   
This continued through dinner and after.  A time he usually sits in Nancy's face, waiting for his share of whatever we were having.  Not today, he just laid on the floor between us, not really watching either one of us, but not sleeping either.  We decided on something from the bedroom DVR, so we headed upstairs.  Ziggy loves this part of the day.  He gets to cuddle up with us to watch some TV.  Normally with a part of his body touching each of us.  Not really conducive to either one of us touching each other, but that's for another blog...
Last night, he went sniffing into the bathroom.  He never does that.  He went sniffing to the three other areas where Jake had 'stuff.'  He has a way of sighing that normally makes us laugh, but today it wasn't the same.  We could tell.  And when Nancy went into the bathroom, he laid down on the floor where Jake had a litter box.  A place he'd never lain before. 
Ziggy misses Jake.  I miss Jake.  Nancy misses her best friend most of all.  Yesterday was hard for Nancy.  Wanting Jake to know she wasn't just 'getting rid of his stuff.'  Rescue kitties all over would be getting the help he was providing.  She told Jake that yesterday.  And today will be hard.  We'll be dropping off all of Jake's medicines, food, and 'stuff' at the Homeward Bound Rescue adoption at a local pet store.  And we'll see kittens and cats of all shapes, sizes, and needs.  It'll be hard.  We'll be doing a good thing.  Something that Jake wholeheartedly agrees with.  After all, he was saved by Nancy a decade and a half ago.  And he saved her right back.

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We lost Jake at 3:30 am Saturday morning.   He had become so weak that he couldn’t stand or walk.  He really hadn’t eaten anything for at least 36 hours.  A mouthful of food here and there – a spoonful of meatloaf on Thursday evening, a bite of chicken, a bite of ground beef on Friday.  We even bought baby food and tried that.  He tried a couple of tastes, but that was about it.  His weakened state had become more and more troublesome on Friday, getting to the point late Friday night that he wet himself just lying on the carpet.

 There’s an all-night emergency vet hospital not too far from us – we’d brought Jake there a couple of weeks back when he was having some trouble.  We knew he needed to be seen – he was so weak.  We didn’t want to wait until his regular vet appointment at 9am later that Saturday.  They open when the other vets close and close up when the other vets open.  And they’re wonderful.  Doctor Susan Cox is wonderful.  And kind.  And thoughtful.  Jake and I left the house just about 3am.  He and I stood out in the alley behind our house for a moment or two, just smelling the air and looking around a bit.  He took a look down the alley and gave me a nice couple of meows – the first I’d heard from him in weeks.  We climbed into the car, with Jake wrapped in a nice blanket, lying on the seat next to me.  We talked for the whole fifteen minute ride. 

I told him how much I love him.  How much I liked having him fly out of the ‘forest’ of dining room chair legs to attack me.  I loved how I’d pick him up; carry him around for a few seconds while he enjoyed the view from that height, and how, after setting him down, he would always give me a smack and a chastisement for daring to pick him up.  How he would just swing at me for having the audacity to walk through the same room.  I asked him if he remembered the time back in Nancy’s apartment on the 22^nd floor of a downtown building, when he had that conversation with a pigeon on the other side of the glass.  I told him how much I appreciated his sharing Nancy with me.  Stuff like that.

Jake and I arrived there just after 3 am.   His weight had dropped to 3.1 pounds – down from 4.6 pounds just three days earlier.  We had just heard from our vet on Friday morning that his Wednesday blood tests showed that while his red blood cells hadn’t improved, other cells had – and that would lead to more red blood cells.  We were hopeful.  But as Friday progressed, Jake regressed. 

His temperature had dropped to 90 degrees – and he was placed in a heated space to warm him, and given IV fluids.   Dr Cox came back to tell me “Jake’s not well.”  I asked her what our options were, and she said we could keep him on IV fluids overnight to hydrate him.  But the look on her face didn’t give me much hope that this was much of an option.  I asked her if this was the equivalent of keeping a human on life support, and if this was just putting off the inevitable.  She said yes, it was.  And that Jake is ‘miserable.’  He was in rough shape, and had no reserves to call upon.  She called him extraordinary.  And was amazed at how long he’d held on already with nothing left in his tank.   I asked her if I could have a couple of minutes to call Nancy and discuss the situation. 

While we both thought this might be happening and that we might have to make this decision; we really didn’t have to strength to say it out loud.  I called Nancy, to tell her about our visit – and in tears, asked her if it was OK to let him go.  We both were bawling as we decided that letting him go was for the best.  I told her I’d be holding him as the doctor administered the IV, and that I would bring him home soon.  If I’ve been involved in a harder decision in my life, I don’t remember it.  And felt even worse that Nancy had to be alone.

A few minutes later, the doctor returned, and I told her that we’d made the decision to end his suffering.  She agreed that it was the best decision.  She also said that while she would have kept him warm, given him IV fluids, and continued to treat him through the night, she would have felt sorry for Jake. 

She explained to me what was about to happen.  While I held him, she would administer what amounted to being a triple dose of anesthesia.  He wouldn’t feel anything.  He might try to get up, or pick up his head – but it wouldn’t be from discomfort – it would be from disorientation.  And it would only take a couple of seconds. 

Jake was Jake right to the end.  I held on to him, told him how much I loved being his friend, and that I would take care of Nancy for him.  Crying (like I am now), stroking his ears and chin as he passed on without blinking an eye. 

That was Jake in a nutshell.  Change his food?  Eh.  New litter brand?  Yawn.  Move from a three room apartment to a three story house?  Buy a dog?  Bring it on.  I’m in charge here.  It’s my world and you’re just living in it. 

Dr Cox asked me if we wanted her to take care of him.  I said no, I’d be bringing him home to Nancy, and that we’d make arrangements.  She looked like she felt as bad as I did.  We wrapped him up in his blanket, and she also handed me Jake’s paw print in clay.  More tears, and I started for home - wondering how I was ever going to be able to hand Jake to Nancy.  It was a long ride.  Me talking to Jake, and Jake just listening to my stories again.

Nancy was waiting in the bedroom, still crying, when I got home.  I laid him on the bed next to her, she hugged him and kissed him, and told him how much she loved and missed him already.  She thanked him for coming to her rescue 14 years ago when she was going through a bad time.  And for being there.  Being the one soul that would listen.  For being the one soul that would keep her company, and be waiting for her to come home. 

We had already discussed cremation.  We’d discussed it long ago – before he was sick.  We’d discussed it when making arrangements for Nancy’s father – and as we discussed our own.  So around 5am we called the after-hours number for the Pet Cremation Services of Minnesota, and talked to the person on call.  Even though we had woken him; the first thing he said was that he was so sorry for our loss.  Pet People are a rare and wonderful breed.  All of them are in a business – vets, pet food stores, and hospitals – but they all share something special when it comes to the care of animals and their humans. 

Bob agreed to meet us in about 45 minutes to make the arrangements.  Neither of us had slept in the last 24 hours – I don’t think Nancy has slept comfortably in the last 24 days.  We were both drained.  We drove to their location to meet Bob.  When we arrived, Nancy couldn’t bring herself to hand Jake over, so I brought him inside, while she waited in the car.  I talked to Bob; we brought Jake to the back area – where he asked me if I’d like to place Jake in the crematorium myself.  I asked him to wait until Nancy and I had made the arrangements and had left the office.  We found a beautiful urn; Nancy had known for 14 years what she’d have engraved.  With tears in our eyes, we drove away, not to see Jake until days later.

It’s now about 7am Saturday morning – and it seemed like we’d lived a lifetime in 24 hours.  We talked and cried, I dozed off for about an hour around 10.  I had to leave around noon for a party for my daughter and her husband.  Knowing I couldn’t possibly leave, and couldn’t possibly not go, tormented me.  Nancy was insistent.  I had to go.  In talking to Nancy’s mom – she said the same thing.  Needless to say, it was a long afternoon.   Balancing the joy of Cori’s party with the tears just below the surface.

I made it home around dinner time, and we spent the evening crying and remembering.   Waking on Sunday, Nancy was still terrified that she had made Jake sicker and weaker by giving him meatloaf on Thursday evening.  She hadn’t thought about the onions in the meat – and onions are poisonous to cats and dogs.  She was worried that we hadn’t told the vet about it, and maybe something could have been done to save Jake.  The thought was tormenting her.  I called the hospital – and Dr Cox was there.  I asked her about a couple of things in her report – things that scared us into thinking maybe we had decided too quickly.  “Poor prognosis” sounded so vague – “Owner chose euthanasia”  “Good heart rate.”  She again told me that we made the right decision and that Jake was miserable.  And how she would have treated him – and had in the past for other owners - but always felt sorry for the animal.  Because who was feeling better about the prolonged treatment, the animal or the owner? 

I told her about the meatloaf.  Before I could even finish the sentence about the onions, she cut me off.  Telling me absolutely no – that wouldn’t have had an effect on him.  While onions are poisonous to cats and dogs AND humans, we and they would have to consume an incredible amount before it had an effect.  She explained that if you had a big pan of onions in butter, and a dog jumped up and ate the whole thing, maybe there’d be an effect.  This really gave Nancy some peace of mind. 

Dr Cox again mentioned that Jake was remarkable.  Other cats wouldn’t have held on as long as he did – she was amazed at his condition.  She said that there’s a possibility that he had held on that long to keep Nancy company.  And that he was so extraordinary, that he may have held on, lying on the bathroom rug for another week!  Who knows?  He was that strong.  And may have been protecting Nancy by not wanting to leave her.

I like that.  And I believe that. 

Now we begin to go on with life without Jake.  We still can’t bring ourselves to take away any of the six litter boxes that place around the house to help him.  Or his food dishes in the usual place and in our bathroom where he’d taken up residence for the last week or so.   I’m going to miss him so much.  I'll miss his disdain for anything that didn't appeal to him.  The impatience he had for that bumbling oaf Ziggy.  Or the way he lay between my outstretched legs on a footstool.  Or the way he'd magically appear even if you thought the word can opener. Or the way he'd sleep like a big fur hat on Nancy's head while she slept.  And I can only imagine how much Nancy will miss her baby.  Her best friend.  Her savior of the last 14 years.

Sneaky

A nice article...

From Esquire Magazine - July 09

By Chris Jones

I was on a bit of a bad run a little while ago, mostly because I'd grown to hate people and airports, people in airports most of all. That was until I was in Toronto, probably my least favorite airport after Newark, standing in the security line, in my stupid socks, my belt lost somewhere in the machine. There was a girl behind me. She had made some joke when we were undressing — I can't remember it, exactly, but it was more conversation than I'd been looking for, and I'd just smiled, fakely, and gone back to being mad at the world. It was only after we were through to the other side and gathering our things that I glanced back at her and realized she was crying, not just a little bit. She was a girl in tears in the middle of this awful, antiseptic place. I'm pretty sure it wasn't because I didn't laugh at her joke. I'm pretty sure it was because she had just kissed goodbye someone she loved, maybe for the last time. Normally I would have just picked my keys and coins out of the tray, but that morning I reached out behind me and put a hand on her arm before I walked away.

It was the shortest of connections, but it was enough. I waited for my flight that morning and never once wished gone the time. I sat there and remembered those years when I had been an optimist, honest and true, and when I'd been hopeful, and when I'd loved people I didn't even know existed. And I remembered when airports for me were gateways, opportunities, the places from which the best days of my life were launched. There was a time when I loved airports the way other people love churches, coming together under glass and high ceilings so that they might be released. I remembered especially waiting for my wife at the airport in Paris early one morning, back when she was my new girlfriend, the sun only just coming up in our lives together, and I remembered how excited I was when she appeared through the orange glow behind the sliding doors with her bags on a trolley. That's when I knew everything I needed to know, and I'd forgotten all about it in my rage and my rush.

Now, whenever I can, I go early for my flights and confuse my taxi drivers by asking them to drop me off at Arrivals. I pick up a drink and a magazine for the lulls, put on my headphones — Explosions in the Sky works well — and I watch people begin again. I watch them come off their long flights and I see their tired faces light up, their hearts explode, their knees buckle, their eyes close. Sometimes I want to ask them what they mean to each other, but most of the time it's not hard to tell. I'm not ashamed to admit I wobbled when I saw a boy and a girl hug each other in Los Angeles, and when two daughters ran to their father and each grabbed a leg in Orlando, and when a son with a giant backpack and a summerlong beard fell into the arms of his tearful mother in Boston. Every time I see emotions so familiar in the faces of strangers, I'm rescued from today, from all of our modern sins and plagues, again and again and again, brought back to those moments in my own life when I knew in my chest that everything would be okay, like the moment just before I hugged my wife in Paris, and the moment just after I let go of that girl in Toronto.

Actually, there are very few repeats on the menu.  We have favorites, like lasagna, or lemon chicken soup, or grilled romaine salad; but we never seem to get to them.  Nancy is a collector of recipes.  And I'm the willing lab rat.  Sure, we have the occasional 'let's just order from Lotus tonight' night, or throw-in-a-tuna-melt night.  But all in all, there is always something new to try.  Besides last nights Chicken Fajita Salad (capitalized to show how good it was), we also had Rhubarb Strawberry Crisp (ditto on the capitalization).  But it wasn't just Rhubarb Strawberry Crisp.  It was "This looks good.  But I think I'm going to take this recipe for Peach Cobbler and combine it with the Rhubarb recipe so we can have crust on the bottom too.  And I'm going to use this 50/50 butter.  It should work."  And it did.  Gloriously.  And we're both having left overs for lunch today. 
We have the meatless meals at least once a week.  And every recipe Nancy makes is adapted to use less butter, or low fat/fat free sour cream or cheese.  Or wheat pasta instead of regular.  Or Orso or Quinoa instead of the asked-for whatever. And never trans fats.  And extremely low sodium.  It's amazing how healthy we eat, while never sacrificing taste. I have a burger now and then, but if a recipe calls for beef - turkey or chicken works just as well.  I'm pretty sure Nancy hasn't had beef for a couple of years now. 
I wish I could tell you some of the other great meals from the past couple of weeks alone.  But you know how when you hear a bunch of funny jokes all at once you can't remember any of them?  That's me with Nancy's cooking.  The
other lab rats in my life (co-workers) even love it.  When she wants to make some new dessert, she'll make up a batch in her test kitchen - and I bring it to work.  Sometimes she even sends me to work with comment sheets!  We had a Friday lunch time grill in the yard at work last week.  And several people were actually mad at me that I didn't have Nancy make anything for our barbecue.  It was actually the first thing that one of the guys thought of when the email came out.  Not what would he bring, what was the weather going to be like - it was I wonder what Dan's wife will send with him!  I had completely forgotten about it.  Thus the 88 cent buns and 1.25 hotdogs I ran out for that day.  I told Nancy about the comments, and she said (of course) I would have made something! 

Well, nearly midnight.

I just dropped Nancy off at the station, got her settled into her sleeper car on the Empire Builder.  She's off to visit Patty in San Jose.  With Charles in charge of her rail car, she's in good hands.  By the time I left her in her bedroom on the train, he'd already fixed her up with a couple small bottles of champagne.  She's only been gone an hour and I miss her something terrible.
To make matters worse, I stood on the platform pathetically/jealously/sadly waving to her as the train pulled out.  Then walked to my car, started it, and She's Gone by Hall and Oates is playing on the radio...
Sigh.

Thanks to my lovely wife Nancy, I became certifiable!

Nancy bought me the PADI Open Water Diver certification course for Christmas.  The coolest gift ever from the coolest woman ever.  I finished the classroom work and pool dives with John at Scuba Center here in town in preparation for our vacation in Cozumel.  There, I hooked up with Luis at Deep Blue Divers.  Highly recommend him - patient, nice guy - and didn't worry me at all, even after pointing out that he may need some new fins one of these days.  He had a broken one, kind of floppy, just past the insert-foot part. "Oh, that.  I hit it on a prop"   First order of business was climbing into the wet suit, putting the gear together, checking gauges, etc.  I was amazed at how nervous, or more precisely, excited I was; and how much fumbling I did trying to do everything correctly.   My first two dives were from shore - to a depth of 25-30 feet.  There, I worked on some skills.  Removing and replacing my mask and gear (30 feet under water), buoyancy/hovering skills, controlled ascents.  Which was a skill I kept doing backwards, actually making Luis 'scream' at me underwater when I kept trying to add air to my BCD.  The next day it was out to the Santa Rosa Wall for dive three, and Tormentos Reef for dive four.  Both are 'drift dives' - where the current just carries you along, and there's really no need to do much swimming.  You basically just steer.  These pictures of the Santa Rosa Wall are from other divers, I just did a Google search.  If they were my pictures, I'm sure they'd fall into the "you and your god damn nature pictures" category...

Santa Rosa Wall Scooter Simpson Flickr

Santa Rosa Wall Ultrahi Flickr