Fresh Start

For the past two days, I’ve written long, detailed blog entries only to have them disappear when I added a photo, last thing before publishing.  This was pretty upsetting.  But the last two days have been very tough ones, so maybe it was a message from the cosmos to me that it would be a good idea to just wipe them from my psyche, too.  And so I will. 

For three days, Grace has been ill.  She’s got her feet securely on the road to recovery now.  That’s the important thing to focus on.  The piles of dirty towels, sheets, and blankets everywhere will be washed soon.  Frank the Kind Plumber will come just as soon as he can (I’ve been unable to budge a certain key nut in my washing machine, so I couldn’t fix the leak myself).  And is laundry something to cause panic?  No, clearly it’s not.  It was just that the laundry was a kind of metaphor for Grace’s illness. 

The past two days, I felt overwhelmed.  And today I don’t.  Today there are three very important things for me in dogland.

First, as I say, Grace is better, and now I know what was wrong with her when I first met her, after she’d been in the shelter.  So now my vet and I are armed with knowledge which will help keep her healthy.  That is very, very good.

There was a new development this morning, however, which I’ll have to keep an eye on.  I awakened to the sound of Grace’s barks, coming from outside our suite.  I rushed out onto the covered patio to find her lying in the packed snow next to the woodpile.  This was pretty scary.  I have no idea how long she’d been barking.  I was exhausted last night, and may have been so deeply asleep that she’d been there for awhile.  I rushed her in and tucked her next to me in the still-warm bed, and felt her paws.  They felt cold, but not as if she were in any danger of frostbite.  Fortunately, it’s a warmish day here–warm for January, I mean. 

It’s an excellent sign that she felt well enough to go out the dog door by herself.  Even when she was in the peak of health–the peak so far, that is, since I adopted her–she didn’t use the dog door often.  So I’m pleased that she went out, but quite worried to think that she might go out and not have the energy to get back in.  Or maybe this time she wasn’t able to find her way back to the dog door, since her senses aren’t as sharp as a younger dog’s and her overall condition has taken a hit.  I think I’ll close off the dog door at night, for the foreseeable future.

OK, it’s a couple of hours later, and I’m very happy, because Grace has eaten a decent amount of roast turkey, enough for me to have given her her morning Clavamox (until now, she was getting shots of it at the vet’s), and her Rimadyl.  The Rimadyl, by keeping her pain-free or almost so, will only help, unless it was contributing to her diarrhea.  Since she had weeks of normal poop, though, I doubt that this diarrhea has anything to do with the Rimadyl.  Time will tell, and in the meantime, the ability to move around without hurting should help keep her spirits up.

While I was preparing the dogs’ breakfast upstairs, Grace did have a bowel movement in her bed, so after she’d eaten, I gave her another bath, this one with her sitting up and me holding her.  This allowed me to keep her upright for almost 20 minutes, and now she’s wrapped in towels, resting with her head elevated. 

And now there are more textiles wearing diarrhea, awaiting the arrival of Frank the Plumber, who will, I hope somewhat desperately, work his magic on the washing machine.

FRANK!  Can you read me?  Come SOON, Frank, SOON!

As I fed Grace, which took quite a while, I found myself crying over Beloved F, who has turned, in the space of a few days, from someone who appeared to be not at all in the market for a dog, to someone who is now crossposting Pit Bulls on Facebook.  What the heck?  I’m so thrilled I’m afraid to breathe on it, for fear of spoiling it.  That’s ridiculous, of course.  No one starts that kind of thing and then rejects it.  If you’re going to reject it, you’ll do it right away.  I am so proud of Beloved F that I can’t even fathom it yet.  ‘Proud’ isn’t exactly the right word, either.  It’s very moving, is what it is. 

And while we’re on the subject of friends I’m proud to call ‘friend’, I want to introduce ‘Nink’, my beautiful-souled friend who’s one of the three sides of the funky triangulation working on the big rescue benefit project I thought of a couple of years ago.  TA and I make up the other two sides, and although we’re unlikely trio partners, it seems to work very well.

Today, Nink has come through in a big way for TA, agreeing to drive her, in the absence of another candidate (someone else is willing and trying to work it out, the family who adopted my foster dog Jack–I’ll write about that sometime), to a city about an hour away tomorrow to pick up Renard from the transporter.  This is a big relief to me, and, I’m sure, to TA. 

I have always been blessed with friends who are truly admirable humans, and I’m very grateful.

And now that everyone is fed and peaceful, I think I’ll grab a quick nap and then try to work on my note production for a while.

So much for the nap.  I got a pop up message from Beloved F, who said she’d posted on our other blog, one we write about housekeeping and Scrabble.  I went to read it, and found that she’d written about a Pit Bull in a kill shelter in New York City, a dog who was haunting her to the point where she felt she had to do something about it.

Just days ago, this woman didn’t think she wanted a dog, let me remind you, and here she’s jumped into dog rescue, becoming a crossposter overnight!  And right now she’s on the phone with a Pit Bull rescue group in her area, offering to sponsor this Pit Bull, Augustine, paying for his ‘pulling’ and transport to bring him to her area, provided they have room for him.  More breaking news…I’ll update as soon as I know anything.

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