The first rule of Carpool: you do not talk about Carpool

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Autumn and hunting and learning experiences

I crack up when I hear that it is "the beginning of fall" right now in some areas that are pretty near to me. Although all the leaves have not turned, here, in northern Wisconsin, it is well into fall. In fact it could snow any day now.

Autumn here means that most of the male population take to the woods with their guns or bows to kill creatures. When I moved up here 9 years ago, I thought that was cruel. Last week, at the suggestion from someone I carpool with, I actually went into the woods with dogs and a man carrying a rifle. It may or may not have anything to do with hitting 3 deer in my time up here.

Not that we were hunting deer - it's grouse season now, as I learned.

<--- This is a grouse.

Anyway, after work, I was picked up from home with my 11 year old Newfoundland, Dulse, and brought to this "secret place". Although I was not blindfolded, nor was I threatened, I was strongly advised not to reveal the location. That, I guess, happens a lot up here.

Dulse and I and my buddy (I have friends with sons older than him), his 2-year-old Lab, and a giant gun started trekking along a path into the woods. At first Dulse, who misses playing with his brother, was chasing after the lab, who was doing all sorts of gymnastics I did not think were possible for a dog to do. Soon, my 11-year-old Newf backed off. I could tell he had this "f--- this!" look on his face and stuck mostly by me.

My buddy was determined to show me how his dog flushed a grouse and he would shoot it. He warned me not to scream when the gun went off, as this would throw off his concentration. (I did not mention when I lived in a neighborhood in Minneapolis, I heard gunshots regularly.)

He told me what kind of brush the grouse preferred, the height where they usually roosted in the trees, and their favorite times of day to feed.

We walked quietly, and every once in a while, my bud would say, mysteriously, in a whispering voice, that I should stay right there and look "down there" (he pointed in a general area) and that he was going off the train with his dog to see if he could flush a grouse. I spent the next 10 minutes "seeing" grouse anywhere but where my buddy was, whisper-screaming for Dulse to "come" by me so he wouldn't get shot, remembering any TV show/newspaper/radio story about how someone was accidently shot while hunting, and enjoying the woods. This happened twice. By the second time I had decided that he was proficient enough with the gun to know where his hunting companions/dogs were that he would not accidentally shoot anyone.

We neither shot anything, nor flushed anything in our hour and a half in the woods. We enjoyed our dogs, the beauty and scent of the fall woods, and chatted very little. It was wonderful and a great way to end a day of stressful work in the middle of the week. I am incredibly lucky to live here and to have the kind of friends who are willing to teach me something every day.

Goodbye, my friend

Hugybear's Tintoretto "Baci" (06/15/97-08/21/08) Godspeed, my heart dog!

It's been almost a year and a half since I have written in here and a month since I lost my best friend - my "heart dog", Baci. For those of you who don't know what a heart dog it, it is that once-in-a-lifetime dog, the dog you have connected with since the day you met.

This was so true with my Newfoundland, Baci. Even at 5 weeks of age, it was obvious that he would be my buddy. He came to me at 8 weeks with his littermate, Dulse. I was taking care of both of them for a couple of months for the breeder, and it was agreed that they would be xrayed for hip problems at age 4 months and at that time, I would relinquish Dulse to the breeder to go to another loving home.

I worked at a vet school at the time, and I remember my colleagues saying that I would keep both of them, just watch. Well, guess what? Dulse had his own charms - he was obedient, he was handsome, he was quiet and intense, and in the household, he firmly set his role as guardian of the house. In truth, he was the antithesis of Baci.

Baci was my clown. There was not a day I lived with him that he did not make me laugh. He was naughty and a counter surfer, but he was so sneaky in his food stealing that I had to laugh. I mean, before I learned to put all consumables on top of the refrigerator,there were times when I swore I was only out of the room for a minute and when I came back the food would be gone and he would on the other side of the room, sleeping. Unfortunately, visitors who did not live with him were also affected by this behavior. Some laughed, like the time we saw him trotting off with a baguette from my friend's bag, and it was not later until we realized that he had already consumed the wheel of Brie that was on the bottom of her bag! Others were not so kind about this bad habit and would sulk for hours. All I can say is that I warned everyone about Baci's food obsession, and if they couldn't remember, well.....

Baci's breeder and I used to joke that Baci suffered from Canine ADD. He was easily distracted and interested in everything. He lived his entire life to the fullest, and looking back, although I know I gave him a good life, with the best of care, I know I could have done more to foster his intelligence and happiness.

On June 10, 2008, 5 days before his 11th birthday, he was diagnosed with osteosarcoma (bone cancer) in his front shoulder. He had only been limping for one day before I took him in to the vet. This disease is particularly insidious and the vet gave him one month to live. I was stunned at first before I was forced to face reality by a vet at work and look at options for treatment. The treatment of choice is amputation, but at the time, I thought that amputating an 11-year old Newfoundland's front leg, even though he was in good health otherwise, would be cruel. He had hip dysplasia that was being treated, he had had a knee replacement when he was younger, and he was at the top end of a Newf's lifespan.

The only other options were for controlling the pain, which some say is horrible, like the bone is exploding from the inside. He was put on pain meds, but I wanted to do something more. I contacted the vet school I used to work for and asked about a treatment called "palliative radiation," which is supposed to slow down the progress of the tumor, and thus cut down the pain so that the dog has a better quality of life for a few months longer. This consists of three radiation treatments in a span of a month. It is supposed to work on 75-80% of dogs. This meant that I had to travel four hours to Minnesota for initial oncologist consultation and for the treatments. I loved this dog so much and did not want to see him in pain and I thought that the odds were pretty good, so I did it.

It was so difficult to go through those weeks with him. I read books, I joined a web group that consisted of owners of dogs with bone cancer (invaluable for support, information, and tips to deal with this hideous disease), I arranged to get him a drug that would decrease the likelihood that his bone would fracture because of the weakness of the cancerous bone.

I constantly worried that I would not know when the time would be to let him go. He could swim, he seemed happy, but he really never stopped limping even though he was on all the pain meds I could give him. I made quality of life charts, I bugged the vets at work for advice on determining when he was in too much pain, I asked a friend to come up to help me decide, but ultimately, I used a combination of gut instinct and the advice from two friends who worked with animals and who have been through this disease with them. One said to pick three of his favorite things to do. When he could not do,or was having trouble doing two of them, it was time to let go. He loved to eat, he loved to swim, and he loved to be wherever I was, with a paw touching me.

Another friend said not to wait until he was unable to function; that I should be able to remember him still walking, still bright, still reasonable happy.

By the end of July, he could not get down to the beach anymore to swim.

He was still able to get onto the couch to lie next to me.

One day he refused a treat. The next day he would not eat. I knew it was time.

I took him into the vet, still walking, on August 21. He lifted his leg on 3 bushes there. He was still alert, but I could tell he was in pain and looking at me to do something about it. At 10 a.m. I whispered "I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you" into his ear as the vet administered the euthanasia solution. Part of my heart flew away that day.

This is an appropriate to put the piece about the Rainbow Bridge, but it makes me cry, even when I am not grieving for a recently-lost pet, so I won't.

I am sad, still. It takes a while to go through the grief. I have another dog to take care of - Dulse is still with me and still healthy, even at 11. I thought he would mourn more because his littermate is gone. Honestly, I think part of him enjoys having "only dog" status, and, of course, he is still guardian of the house.

Hugybear's Titian "Dulse"