Time running out 4 little ducks. Burbank Hospitals past duckl... on Twitpic

Time running out 4 little ducks. Burbank Hospitals past duckl... on Twitpic

Pet Winter Safety: Prepping Your Pet for Winter Weather

Pet Winter Safety: Prepping Your Pet for Winter Weather
I thought this article offered some sound ideas and well worth passing on. I hope you agree.

"The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful." E.E.Cummings

Wow, it's been two weeks today since Brandy came to live in our home, and with this our lives have forever been changed. Having a Jack Russell puppy is like unleashing a tornado in the confines of your kitchen. If you are not prepared with all the appropriate apparatus, be assured of impending disaster. As my husband so aptly put it, Brandy is like a toddler with the quickness and agility of a Jackrabbit. Everything from food crumbs (my husbands) to leaves to dogie litter goes into her mouth. All objects ending up on the floor within her domain are presumed  to be her property. Just try to take it away!

As a proud parent, I look back at the highlights of these last two weeks and at the humor of our situation as the owners of an eight week old Jack Russell puppy. In our world, now known as puppy-land (adage coined by my daughter), the horrors immortalized by past puppies has returned fourteen years later. How much quicker those past puppy disasters surface when Brandy's piranha-like teeth are connected to my baby toe. There is an art to learning to traverse the kitchen with a puppy attached to your pant's leg, and it takes time. Luckily a word from the past came to mind. Redirect flashed across my brain just in the nick of time, which shattered the impulse to fling my annoying furball across the room. I used the Bully Bone to redirect in a positive way. They soon became my best friend, occasssionaly acting as a crowbar to pry her needle like teeth off my hand. Like a smelly pacifier, I watched Brandy peacefully gnaw it, and thankful that it replaced her need for my blood. But all kidding aside, the Bully stick has been my savior. My toes, fingers, ears, and all other bodily projections are also very grateful.

The first three days of my self imposed exile to the kitchen were a blur, but one thing did become clear during that time. I could not continue to spend my days sitting on the floor waiting patiently for our Brandy to become a grown up dog. Between getting up and down, the cold floor, and the auto reflexes needed to escape her razor sharp teeth, I felt like a truck had hit me, not a four and a half pound furball. I recommend you have the phone numbers of a good chiropractor and masseuse at hand. Oh, and a good chair.

On day three my husband brought down the chair from my writing desk, and my laptop also appeared on the scene, adding to the clutter and the chaos. Our once beautifully appointed kitchen had morphed into a gigantic playpen; with dog pen, dog bed, dog crate, puppy litter box, dogie rug, and a dozen or so bones and toys. All evidence pointing to the fact that not only had my life changed, but my environment as well. My space had been transformed into a safe haven, a protected space, a world in which I was now responsible for the care of a little brown eyed package of love and boundless energy. And in the quite of that morning I asked aloud for Rhea to help. If she was looking down on me, I needed her now. I needed her to look out for not just the puppy but for the mom, and see to it that I did my job, be a good mom. I missed my grown up dog. Even with all the joy and love that this puppy brings to our home, she was not a replacement of my companion, for my best friend, Ms.Rhea.

In dawns early light, when life is in balance and harmony, Brandy sleeps, eyes small black slits, motionless in my lap,and I am reminded of the simpler joys in life. Feed me, play with me, love me.

"A great man is one who does not lose his childlike heart." Mencius

Even the ancients knew the heart of happiness lies in the viewpoint of a child.

I could not resist sharing the heart felt story I received from my daughter-in-law today. Life should be kept simple, for in that state, joy and love abound.

A Dog's Purpose? (View point of a six year old)
Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten year old Irish Wolfhound named Belker. The dog's owners, Ron, his wife Lisa and their son Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.

I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer. I told the family we couldn't do anything for Belker, and offed to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.

As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be a good for six year old Share to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn something from the experience.
The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker's family surround him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered  if he understood what was going on. Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away.

The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker's death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives. Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, "I know why."

Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me. I'd never heard a more comforting explanation. It has changed the way I think and live.

He said "People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life, like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right? Well dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long."

From the mouth of a child comes the knowledge of the aged:
Live simply,
Love generously,
Care deeply,
Speak kindly.

And remember, if a dog taught your class you would learn to:

When loved ones come home, always run to greet them,
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride,
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy,
Take naps,
Stretch before rising,
Run,romp, and play daily,
Thrive on attention an let people touch you,
Avoid biting when a simpe growl will do,
On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass, On hot days, drink lots of water and find a shady tree,
When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body,
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk,
Be loyal,
Never pretend to be something you're not,
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it,
When someone is having a bad  day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.
ENJOY EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY!!

Dogless in Studio City: sharing the sidewalks with the neighborhood dogs.

There is something to be said about spending time with one's self. By that I mean; without the distraction of daily chores, without that inner dialog of mind chatter, without family or friends, and most certainly without that universal embryological chore, our CELL. Sadly, I learned that I had to add to that list, learning to walk without a dog at my side. This seemingly small challenge has been like climbing K2 in the dead of winter. I can not remember a time in my life when I ventured outside by myself for the simply pleasure of a stroll around the neighborhood.  

Now, I have been walking my neighborhood for over ten years, and you might  think in that time I would have at least met my neighbors. Maybe even moved their unwanted yard sale junk to my pile of yard sale junk  in the garage,or watched as their children grew, or signed some petition for the River Project when the city cut funding. The answer is no. I hate to admit that I am a product of Los Angeles, its cyberspace community, and the ever growing cocoon syndrome. If it were not for the hundreds of dogs held within a couple square acres, no body in Studio City would venture beyond their 50' x 75'-plus plot of land.

Sadly however, the solitary silence that rises from the concert was paid for by the passing of my dear Jack Russell, Rhea. But within this new territory comes enlightenment. The neighborhood dogs who had filed down the same streets that Rhea and I once walked, seem to instinctively know my loss. They see me as a human in need of a little dog love. Yes, I tell them in my intuitive dog voice, I am currently dog-less in Studio City.  To their owners, walking dogless is a moniker similar to proclaiming to be a communist in the '60's. There is an unspoken horror over my affliction.  Then, as if by magic or maybe just a need to expose my wound, they  stop, and allow their dogs to bestow their sympathy on the poor dogless woman. These, the same people who once cross to the other side of the street to avoid contact (supposedly a dog owner courtesy), now embrace our union.

To my surprise I found another world in which was shared by other dog owners. We shared, I listened, and  they proclaimed similar grief over the loss of a beloved animal. There was comfort in numbers, and now on my dog-less walks, I am  guaranteed a daily dose of  dog slobbers, and a smattering of dog stories that make me smile.

Dogless in Studio City: learning to walk by myself.

Rhea Wisdom: "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." Marcel Proust                         

Rhea Wisdom: "Trouble knocked on the door, but, hearing laughter, hurried away." Ben Franklin

Creating Space: a small Tribute to a larger than life personality

"I have a simple philosophy; empty what's full, fill what's empty, and scratch where it itches." Alice Roosevelt Longworth

During the first few weeks after Rhea's passing my emotions swelled like a freight train building momentum as it headed down a steep grade. I decided to focus that energy like I had done for the passing of my favorite Uncle. I designed and emailed a tribute to my friends and family. It might surprise you to know that I was overwhelmed by the cards and notes expressing sympathy for my loss.

Photos are really no more than small memories captured on paper, which through the years clutter our bookshelves and tabletops, until that moment of inspiration when we decide to organize our life. Usually, this divine intervention comes in the form of a traumatic event, a mental unsettling, or in my case those estrogen deficient moments that rise to the surface without warning. In the past I had attempted to organize my life by creating several photo albums. But in the case of Rhea's passing, this creation grew a personality all its own. As I revisited our lives through my photos, I was amazed at how cathartic the experience. That is when, to my horror, the obsession took hold. I realized how few pictures I actually had of my beloved Jack Russell.

During the first week, I spent my days lost in gathering photos from family and friends, than cataloging them like a research project for my next book. The world of photography had changed dramatically in the last 14 years, to say the least, and thus a rose my next problem. How best to create Rhea's final tribute.

I finally had to move on, with all (far more than one needed) non-digital images in hand, I headed off to my local Staples. There, I employed the expertise of my friendly Staples person to solve the dilemma of my multimedia chaos. The answer seemed simple, we made a high quality scan of each photo, and saved the images to a CD (not expensive). At this point my choices for a tribute were many(only in digital format): mouse pads to Calendars, slide-shows to T-shirts and coffee mugs. I chose a hardcover photo book from Shutterfly.com.

If you are savvy with Microsoft Publisher, a world of creative exercises is opened to you. You can create an entire page using multiple photos and text, then save it in jpeg format (I posted example in thelast post). But if you are computer challenged, done give up! Shutterfly is very user friendly with step by step tutorials. It is like scrapbooking, only digital. You can crop, color correct, resize and correct redeye. If you are a scrapbooker (my Idol) and already have memory pages, just have Staples scan the completed works, then upload the photo for an entire page of your book. These hardcover(or softcover) books are beautiful, and a nice addition to your coffee table or library. However for me, the journey was all about the process of creating my very special tribute. The creation of this tribute acted much like a pressure valve releasing my grief in small doses, no more than I could handle at any one time.

The creation of my small 8x8 book was a very personal journey, and it gave me a safe place to house my grief. A sanctuary for the tears I shed over my loss. This tribute to my best friend became a memorial. Rhea's eulogy, celebrating a journey traveled with abundant energy and curiosity, a life well lived. Use this tool, as I did, to help you let go. For it is in letting go that we empty what's full, and make room to fill the emptiness with the next generation of Jack Russell.