A Death in the family

My Friends:
      On Thursday October 3rd, just after 9AM I authorized a veterinarian to give my dog Sally a lethal injection. She was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer on Saturday the 28th. She had a few good days before I saw her take a dramatic turn for the worse around 4 AM Thursday morning, when she couldn't breathe to the point that she could not walk herself to the door to go out.
      I want to share with you a note that the staff at my vet share with me. The Author is unknown:

                      The Last Battle

  If it should be that I grow frail and weak
And Pain should keep me from my sleep
Then will you do what must be done?
  For this-the last battle - can't be won
   You will be sad I understand
   But don't let grief then stay your hands.
   For on this day, more than the rest,
 Your love and friendship must stand the test.

We have had so many happy years
You wouldn't want me to suffer so,
When the time comes, please let me go.
Take me to where my needs they'll tend
Only stay with me until the end.
And hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.

I know in time, you will agree
It is a kindness you do for me
Although my tail it's last has waived
From pain and suffering I have been saved
Don't grieve that it must be you
Who has to decide this thing you do
We've been so close - we two these years
Don't let your heart hold any tears.

My wife and I rescued Sally from the Dixon street shelter in Allentown on the fourth of July weekend of 2003. She was an adult Springer/Cocker Spaniel mix in need of a home. The Irony is that she made our home a happier place with her presence. We don't know how old she really was, but we are forever grateful to God for the gift of her presence.

Sally the Dog goes to the Vet

  Last Friday I took our Black Springer/Cocker Spaniel Sally to the Vet. We received a notice in the mail that she was due to have her shots updated. So I made an appointment. Sally hasn't been to the vet since before her running buddy/playmate Lucy died in her sleep about 16 months ago. At That time, Sally weighed 23 pounds. We always remarked about how skinny she was, but the Vet told us not to worry.

    One other issue is that Sally does not like to be groomed. We have pretty much ran the table of all the local dog groomers over the ten years we have had Sally. They all know her and don't want to do her, so it has been something we try to do a little bit of every time we give her a bath. Just like the professional groomers we like our fingers, so Krista and I are lucky if we can get one or two minutes of hacking away with the scissors before Sally makes her feelings known.

    The result is that if a dog had a punk rocker haircut, it would look like Sally. I would post a picture, but I don't want anybody, especially Sally, who I believe has internet access, mad at me.

     So Friday at 5:15 I took Sally to the Vet, and the first thing they do is weigh her. The Nurse was astounded. "34.4 pounds!" she gasped. This annoyed Sally. She took two steps off the scale, squatted and left a large pile. Then she got back on the scale. "34.2 pounds!" we all laughed.
  It made me think of all the times I visited the doctor and emptied my pockets before getting on the scale.
     Sally emptied the only thing she could. And cost me another $27 because now they had a stool sample they could test.

   It just goes to show that even a dog can be sensitive about their appearance, and not fond of being mocked for it.

   To make a long story short, Sally is as fit as a fiddle, be it a slightly chunky fiddle. My long work hours the past few months have curtailed her daily walks, so I am hoping that once Spring gets here, her and I will get out more.

   In the meantime, we had her bloodwork done, and next Thursday we will drop her off at the Vets for a haircut. They will put her under anasthetic and do the whole nine yards, bath, haircut and nail trim.
   We have to do it every couple of years, or she looks like a 1980s hair rock band with more than a few mullets.
    The things we do for Love.

The Chipmunk in my shoe

   I am like a lot of guys who have a yard to take care of. I have certain shoes I wear when working in the yard. Mine happens to be a pair of New Balance tennis shoes, and I keep them in the garage. I put them on when I am going to be mowing or weed whacking. Yes, I am still too lazy to wear the steel toed ones, and that's why I keep whacking my toes. I will never learn.
   But the point of todays long awaited post is that I went in the garage, went to pick up and put on my shoes, and a chipmunk jumped out and ran down the driveway.
   First, I have to wonder how any creature could survive living in something so embedded with my sweaty foot odor. Second, it didn't faze me, and third, I shook the shoe out, checked it for any other residents or deposits, then I wore it.
     I will never be normal, but that's what makes me special!

A movie that made me think: The Descendants

  My wife and I don't get to go to the movies as much as we would like, but over the Holidays we managed to make a trip to the Carmike on Airport road. I kind of admire George Clooney, so when she suggested we see his latest, "The Descendants" I agreed.
   It had a good primary plot about a husband (Clooney) who discovers after his wife suffers a traumatic brain injury that she has been having an affair. As he follows her wishes and ends all life sustaining care, he works out life issues with his two daughters, one 17, the other 10.
   It's a nice story, and thought provoking on many levels. But there is a secondary storyline that really got my attention. Clooney's character is being pressured to sell off large tracts of land that his family has owned for over a century. The sale would put millions of dollars in the pockets of his many relatives. Most favor the sale, but some don't believing the family has an obligation to protect the land from over development.
   And it got me thinking about what's going on in my own back yard, as one old farming family seems intent on squeezing every last dollar it can out of its vast local land holdings.
      In the movie, Clooney's character decides not to sell, and vows to find a way to protect the land for future generations. In a perfect world, the local land baron would see the film, and have a change of heart about his drive to pave over every possible acre of farmland he can.
   But we don't live in a perfect world, as a matter of fact, I live in the Macungies, and out here it is all about building as many warehouses and townhomes as fast as we can everywhere we can, traffic and infrastructure issues be damned. Quality of life? Who cares?
    I wish there was a way to remind our local land baron of just what he is pandering, and making him take a look at just what he has created. No amount of charitable donation will bring back all the farmland that has been lost. The green of lush fields has been replaced by blacktop and the reflective glare from row after row of shingled roofs. Trees give us breathable fresh air. Asphalt and tar give us....asthma attacks.

      Oh well....Nature has a funny way of putting things in balance. I wonder how that will come about, and I wonder if I will live long enough to see it.

The end of time is 365 days away! But I don't believe it

If you believe anything that has been written about the Mayan civilization and their calendar, you know that it says the last day of all existence is December 21 2012. I don't know if that means all the Republicans in America will be assumed into heaven at the start of a great rapture, or that after a very contested Presidential election with numerous recounts Newt Gingrich will be declared President by the Supreme Court.
   I don't know anything about the end of the world at all. Prophets have been predicting the end of it all since time began. We even make movies with incredible special effects to put our fears out where we can mock them.(2012, anyone?)
   The point is, I expect a whole bunch of crazies and charlatans to spend the next year counting down to the perceived Doomsday and I personally don't care to play along. Que Sera, Sera, What will be, will be.
   I can't fathom going through life knowing what day it all ends, and I don't believe anybody has a clue. Lets just live life one day at a time, and see where it goes from there. As Doc Brown said in Back to the Future, "The Future is whatever you make it, so make it a good one."

   Mayans be damned