And Then There Were Five . . .

I did not expect to have such a long break between posts. It's been a momentous couple of months, what with the unexpected election results, the breakdown of my gaming computer, and finally the loss of a family member this weekend.

Our Pack at Its Peak

This is from a couple years ago, before he lost weight.

Thank you to all who expressed condolences for the loss of our sweet old dachshund Dexter. He had developed congestive heart failure, which became acute over the last week. We took him to the vet on Saturday. Sadly, while he could have been treated temporarily, his prognosis even in the short term was not good at all. So Scooter and I made the decision to be with him in his final moments and say goodbye together, rather than risk him passing away while we were at work, struggling to breathe, essentially alone.

I thought I had prepared for this, especially after we lost Zane so unexpectedly. But that didn't make Dexter's passing any easier. There's an empty space at the foot of the bed where he belongs, softly snoozing under a blanket or obsessively licking his forepaws. And there's an empty space in our hearts, where Dexter has left his paw prints on his way across the bridge to play with Zane and Ginger and Didi, his mate.

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Scooter proofreads almost all my articles before I post them, for which I am very grateful. However, any mistakes are mine and mine alone (unless otherwise noted). If you are reading this post through RSS or Atom feed—especially more than a couple hours after publication—I encourage you to visit the actual page, as I often make refinements after the fact. The mobile version also loses some of the original character of the piece due to simplified formatting.

Blaugust the 26th: Every Day

In columns from left: Moina, Zane,
Bella, Chico, Lucy, Dexter,
and Quintus.

To think, five years ago, I wasn't much of an animal person, much less specifically a dog person. I mean, I didn't hate animals. We had a cat when I was growing up, and fish (which are more like a decoration), and even a bunny that really belonged to my children, but that I helped take care of. I felt that animals should be treated kindly, but never felt any particular attachment to one.

Things changed in 2011, when my older daughter and I adopted (feels warning) Zane the Magnificent from the local pound. I was already known at my future lovely bride's house as "The Treat Man," but that was more to ingratiate myself with her pups—treats are so exciting!—than any particular love for them. Zane was special, though. And I am so glad he picked us (because that's what he did by being the dog he was).

As you may know, Dear Reader, if you've been following this blog for any length of time, a series of adoptions and rescues followed, culminating in the birth of my favorite little devil, Lucy and her angel brother, Ivory. The pack is down to six now, but we love them all. Every day is National Dog Day at our house.

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If you're interested in joining the madness (Vloggers are welcome, too!), Belghast has a set of rules for qualifying for any prizes at the end. Your second stop should be the Blaugust Nook, where Bel is keeping track of everything and community members are sharing encouragement and ideas.

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Farewell, Oogy

With sadness, I learned today that Oogy, a pit bull (or perhaps dogo) that had been abused and severely injured several years ago, passed away Monday. I had wondered why I was seeing occasional pictures of him yesterday in my Twitter feed. The following passage, from Abused and Abandoned, brought me to tears as I read it just now.

On a recent Saturday afternoon, Oogy was curled up on the couch asleep, his head in my lap, and I was thinking about how his life is now, as opposed to the way his life had been before: daily acts of unspeakable violence for no comprehensible reason until the ultimate, searing horror. Had he sensed he was dying as he lay in the bloody puddle of his life disappearing? Was he conscious when the police put him on a rubber sheet and took him to the hospital? He could not have comprehended the significance of the siren wailing the journey as his head was beaten with hammers. Oogy went to sleep in a world consumed by terror and pain and awoke surrounded by angels in white coats who put out the fire in his head, who were kind to him, who stroked him gently and talked softly to him. Instead of people who tortured him, he was surrounded with love and kindness and healing mercies.

I realized then that Oogy probably did not know that he had not died and gone to heaven. So I told him. I said, “Listen pal. You’re may not believe me, but it only gets better after this.”
~~Laurence M. Levin © 2008

As you may know, Dear Reader,  I am a strong advocate of adopting animals from rescue shelters and especially the city pound whenever possible. These beautiful creatures will fill your home with love at a fraction of the cost of whatever trendy pet from a breeder would be. They'll need extra love from you, of course. The Levins and their vet are heroes for turning the story of Oogy's life from a short, violent tragedy to a long saga of love, peace, and safety. Meanwhile, there is a special hell reserved for those who abuse the animals in their care, along with child molesters and people who talk at the theater.

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution NonCommercial ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. If you are reading this post through RSS or Atom feed—especially more than a couple hours after publication—I encourage you to visit the actual page, as I often make refinements after the fact. The mobile version also loses some of the original character of the piece due to simplified formatting.

Happy Birthday, Ruciboo

The 6-Pack: Lucy on the left, then clockwise from the top: Bella, Chico, Moina, Dexter, & Quintus

Perhaps a bit off topic, but it's not the first time. I wanted to get this post out yesterday, but I procrastinated. And then there were Dominion weenies to slaughter, so the blog fell by the wayside.

As you may know, we "rescued" several dogs last year, two from a coworker who was moving, and one quite literally a stray off the street. The stray (top-middle in the top pic), whom we named Bella, turned out to be gravid, and on Mother's Day last year, she gave birth to two beautiful puppies. Sadly, our tiny Ivory puppy did not make it, and though we had planned to give them away to friends or family, we decided to keep the Ebony one, formally naming her "Lucy."

Lucy quickly had the pack alpha wrapped around her finger. She has earned several nicknames: Lucifer, Rucifee, Ruciboo, and so on. We know she's half chihuahua, but we're not quite sure about the other half. She may be a chiweenie, given her length, but some other characteristics make us think of other breeds. I need to break down and get a genetic test, just to satisfy my curiosity.

Lucy loves to play. She wrestles her mother and her Auntie Moina(on the far right in the top pic). She loves to run outside with Moina and Unca Chico (top right). And she loves to get up on the couch or bed and snuggle close to me. She has competition from my "overly attached puppy" Moina. Unfortunately for Rucifee, she's not a jumper, having strained her hips or hind legs at some point while our magnificent Zane was still with us. But she generally holds her own, getting my attention with little barks and yelps.

Scooter finds it amusing that I—a man of such large stature—have this tiny puppy as my favorite.  As I said, she has captured my heart. Unlike the rest of the six-pack, I have known her all her life. And I plan to know her all her life.

So Happy 1st Birthday little Lucy-Boo! And many more to come.

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution NonCommercial ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. If you are reading this post through RSS or Atom feed—especially more than a couple hours after publication—I encourage you to visit the actual page, as I often make refinements after the fact. The mobile version also loses some of the original character of the piece due to simplified formatting.

Zane the Magnificent

Blurry tail

While I usually restrict the posts on this blog to gaming related stuff, it is my main venue for other things I want to put out there. Slice-of-Rowan's-Life posts. This one is tragic, so if you want to skip it, I understand. Thank you to everyone on Facebook and Twitter who posted condolences. I have read every one, but don't have the heart to respond to all of them individually.

His first portrait, at the shelter

In May of 2011 (not a prolific time on the blog), I personally shopped for a dog for the first time ever in my almost 40 years. The house had been broken into a couple times, and my teenage daughter was not feeling safe, so we decided to get a canine companion. Up to that point in my life, I would say I was tolerant of animals, but I'd never really gotten attached to any.

Always happy

After encountering a complicated adoption process at the local no-kill shelter, we decided to check out the city pound, where we met a beautiful Queensland Heeler "mix" (I think he may have been a purebred). In a kennel with a rambunctious Lab, we saw this unflappable dog with eyes of two different colors. We decided he was perfect, naming him "Zane" after the main character in Piers Anthony's On a Pale Horse, a favorite of both my daughter and me.

Workin' on his tan

I didn't realize how lucky we were. Zane was just about the most well-behaved dog I know, able to learn quickly and responsive to commands. Despite his initial calm (a result of nervousness we think), he was full of energy, loving to be outside, playing and sunning himself. Often when he slept, he would twitch and make funny barking noises. We'd joke that he was chasing bunnies in his dreams.

Being a cattle dog, he was ever watchful of his herd, as it continued to grow from just my daughter and me to include my new bride and her daughter, their two dogs, the two dogs we took in from a coworker who was moving, and finally a stray Scooter rescued, gravid with two pups.

Zane's pack of precious

True to his compassionate namesake, Zane formed a special bond with Bella and her puppy, perhaps sensing they needed more protection than the others. Lucy and Zane were inseparable.

Sweet Lucy

loves her Unca Zane

Over the past few days, Zane had seemed out of sorts. He'd vomited a couple times, and was listless. He'd had bouts like this before, but had recovered. We figured something he'd eaten had disagreed with him. Then yesterday morning, he refused to eat, and soiled himself and his blankets during the day. By 4 o'clock, Scooter was concerned enough to call me at work to say we needed to go to the vet. Our local vet, suspecting a possible rat poisoning, directed us to a pet hospital about an hour away, where they discovered an autoimmune condition had destroyed virtually all of his platelets. He had lost a lot of blood through his digestive tract and probably elsewhere, leaving him weak and severely anemic. We had to make the decision to end his suffering. Scooter and I bawled, feeling like we'd lost a child—and guilty that we couldn't do more for him. My daughters were inconsolable.

DoubleUnder said on Twitter that "Dogs are so wonderful." Zane was the one who taught me the truth of that. He was precious to me. Before Zane, I was not a dog person. Now I have a pack of them.

The house feels empty now, even with the rest of the pack intact. Our other dogs seem to be searching for Zane. Though they may have picked up on his illness long before we did, none of them really understand where he's gone. I'm not sure I really understand either. Or why he had to go, especially so young. I'd like to think he has joined our tiny Ivory, chasing bunnies in open fields. . .

One of my favorite pictures: Zane on the move

A New Mother on Mother's Day: Puppies!!

It's not all fun and MMOs around here. Sometimes life gets real. A month ago, Sctrz and my stepdaughter found a scared, hungry—and pregnant, as it turns out—chihuahua while out and about. They took her to the veterinarian, who gave her a clean bill of health, but didn't mention the puppies. "Bella" was very nervous and shy about coming to live with us. We've slowly coaxed her out, while at the same time noting her growing girth. The vet said a little bloating was normal as she got used to regular, healthy meals; though she never seemed in any particular digestive distress. Well, about a week ago I was holding her—after all of us had suspected for a bit that she may be "in a family way"—and I felt the puppies move. Yesterday evening, she went into labor.

Anyway, long-short, here they are:

Puppy #1. We know they're at least part chihuahua.

Proud Mama

How about "Ebony" and "Ivory" for names?

Pink Nose

UPDATE: Sadly, our little Ivory angel didn't make it. He went home on Thursday, 16 May, after less than 96 hours in this world, leaving tiny footprints on our hearts.