The Toughest Two Days....And Infinite Love Before, During, and After

My dogs are no longer here by my side...

We said goodbye to Daisy on March 6. She passed at home, in her bed, with the assistance of an in-home hospice vet with her family by her side. As the process began, she sat up, licked Claymore’s eyes (which she had done a million times before) as he began to lie down. She put her head on Claymore and he stayed with her until after she was gone. She had taken care of him since he joined our family—it was comforting to see him take care of her as she left this world.

Claymore was here with us almost exactly 48 more hours. He passed Monday with the assistance of the veterinarian who had cared for him (he had many health problems before cancer) for years. Though we were not at home, it was the first spring-like day here in Virginia and we were able to say goodbye outside in the sun. We used to call him Claymore Seeker of Sunlight.

Our hearts are shattered. I have felt physically sick and every part of my day feels completely wrong. They were the absolute best. I miss them more than words. I am so grateful they spent their lives with me. I am thankful for BARC, the rescue organization who helped them find us. My family needed them—I needed them—they needed each other. I will carry their love and lessons and laughter with me for the rest of my life. Everyone who knows their bond is not surprised that they left this world so close together. And, since they did, we requested a private cremation for them together...and they will be returned to us in a single velvet bag. (We have never had ashes returned to us before, but somehow this felt like the appropriate thing to do.) Our plan is, when we are ready, to take a trip in their honor. They lived all over the country with us. And we would like to return them to some of their favorite places, together, forever. Maybe I will right about that journey...

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I shared the posting below on my Facebook page on March 9. I still want a place to come back to, if I need help remembering (though I can't imagine I would ever forget) or to move forward with processing this overwhelming grief:

No words can even begin to do justice to how lucky I am or how much brighter my life is because Daisy and Claymore shared their lives with me. I want to tell their stories, of their adventures and all of the love. Of how they were the most bonded pair I could imagine AND two unique individuals—a yin and yang that fit perfectly together and completed our family. They loved their human family members as much as they loved each other. And we felt that every single day. And then, I realize, because of the outpouring of support, people DO know quite a bit of this. I find comfort in the fact that they made so many people smile and laugh and feel the love, whether they knew them through Facebook or in person. It is my hope that others will continue to be reminded of them, perhaps when they see pure unconditional love and friendship in any relationship, or any of their other unique characteristics that made them so amazing as individuals. To say one is “a Daisy to another’s Claymore” or “a Claymore to another’s Daisy,” (or a Daisy or a Claymore in their own right) in my opinion, would be the highest compliment among family, friends, or partners (or to an individual).

Saying I miss them so very, very much is an understatement to say the least. I read the quote below in a book recently and it resonates with me... I will take the pain—I only feel it because of the love...so much love. Maybe one day I will find my own words to better honor their lives. But that is beyond my abilities right now and it also seems an impossible task for a human to ever put into words the pure love, life, and joy they embodied. So for now I will thank you all for seeing them and loving them...and for being there for my family during this time. I believe their love was so infinite that the compassion we are being shown right now is my two best buddies still finding ways to spread that love to help me through these tough days.

“Moonlight beams through his eyelids and he can see, as if it’s the lake in front of him, the pain and loss he’s been swimming in for years. In the moonlight, though, the pain is revealed to be love. The emotions are entwined; they are the two sides of the same gleaming coin.”

From Dear Edward by Ann Napolitano

(Picture from February 2018, San Diego)

Grief and Goals

 

My dogs are dying.  (Yes, I know "we are all dying..." My dogs are terminally ill--with cancer that's rapidly advancing.)  It feels unbearable.  I could go on and on about how they are the most bonded pair I have ever met, how they were diagnosed with the same (rare) lung cancer exactly two weeks apart, the expenses and guilt of choosing palliative care for this senior pair, the rollercoaster of the past four months, the lack of sleep, the INTENSE anticipatory grief that won't let up and the fact I know the grief to come will be even worse, the fact that these dogs saw me through over a decade of military wife life as my constant companions in a world of chaos...  I realize that many people are struggling and I am fortunate to have so many privileges (like the financial ability to do all that I can for them and a flexible work schedule to spend time with them).  But these dogs are my family--they have pulled me through some tough times.  My time and energy have been dedicated to them in so many ways (especially recently) and my self-worth and comfort, I realize, are largely wrapped up in that bond.  I am so lucky their lives have been spent with me--we've had so many adventures and wonderful times.  I used to say the only time I was ever truly happy and in the moment was when I was walking my dogs.

All of this comes down to the fact that I hurt physically and mentally in a way I have never have before.  I have lost dogs before--dogs that I loved deeply.  I have never lost two dogs at essentially the same time, with a full-time demanding career, with huge family commitments, during a global pandemic where I have been isolated for a year.  People have suggested I journal about my feelings.  I don't like feelings/emotions--especially the ones that are so hard to feel.  But I do realize that I USED to write about my trials and tribulations with my pups.  I realize that I once found a blog about a dog who had the same disease as my Sampson, and reached out to the author who gave me some solidarity and support during that tough journey.  Maybe this will help me.  Maybe somehow in some way someone will find this and it can support them.  Or maybe I'm just rambling with no reason or purpose because I am so desperate.  Regardless, here I am--after a LONG hiatus from this virtual space.

I'm trying to figure out how I am ever going to make it through this still standing.  It seems impossible.  But I have a daughter (and husband, career, family, and friends)--so I have no choice other than to try--not just try, but stay "still standing."  I'm searching for any way for some GOOD to come from this tragedy.  I can't fathom how that is even possible, but I have to hold on to something to keep me putting one foot in front of the other and functioning on some level these days.  I am working on living in the lessons Daisy and Claymore have taught and continue to teach me, not the least of which are to live in the moment and love unconditionally.  I hope I can come out on the other side of this stronger somehow.

Speaking of strong, the one thing I have been making sure I do during this time is exercise.  I've always been dedicated to fitness, but it has taken on new meaning.  We got a Peloton last year (I may have joined a cult but that's for another post...) and back in December I committed to trying to do at least one activity every day for a year.  That doesn't mean I have to do a hard bike ride, but SOMETHING Peloton offers--even if it is a 5-minute stretch or meditation...something that forces me to focus on that goal at least once per day.  So far, I've kept it up.  Today, the weather was actually nice (after a ridiculous month of insane winter weather) so I went for a run in my neighborhood with the Peloton app.  I've been riding much more than running these days.  (I am now 40 and my knees and below often feel like I'm way older than that.)  But I thought about the fitness goals I have had before.  I wonder if I could run a half marathon again?  Not for speed or time or even in a formal race, but just to have a goal to help push me through this grief.  So, that's (maybe?) my goal...by my 41st birthday.  I'm putting it out there.  And I will try.  If I fail, I know I can do 13.1 miles on the bike.  I just hope I can make it through this seemingly unbearable time still standing...

Closure?

I've been trying to work up the guts to come back here...to say that I lost my best friend.  Yes, my best friend had 4 legs...and he's been my BEST friend through the thick and thin of the past decade.  I am so glad I have chronicled my relationship with my pups here on this blog.

Here is what I wrote on my Facebook page the day after I said goodbye...

We said our final goodbyes to Sampson last night.  Hardest thing I have ever had to do.  He was my BEST best friend over the past decade--better than I could ever have imagined when I picked up that little puppy nearly 10 years ago. I could write a dissertation-length eulogy, but the song I am posting (My Old Friend) says it better than I could right now.  So I will just say, while I have no peace and comfort now, I hope to find those by knowing his struggles are over and by remembering all of the love he received from and gave to so many others.  He taught me so much and will always be a part of me.  

"The love and the laughter, will live on long after, all of the sadness and the tears..."

Since then, I have worked through what I imagine are the stages of grief--intense anger and guilt (directed at myself), intense sorrow, and I've moved on to acceptance.  I accept that he is gone.  I accept that he lived a good life.  I accept that I did all I could.  What I can't accept, is that life really will be "okay" without him.  I'm still struggling to figure out my way and navigate adult life without my sidekick.  

I have since found comfort, as well.  Comfort from my friends and family, comfort from his medical team (yes, he had a team--a great one).  I have found peace knowing that his sweet soul will forever outlive his body.  But I still am not at peace with my loss.  I'm getting there, I think.  I started to go to a support group. But, as I told one of my dearest friends (who I met through Boxer Rescue when we were adopting Angel) that I couldn't go because I could never believe that anyone else loved their dog--their friend--as much as me.  Her response was priceless.  Mind you, this friend is the biggest animal lover I know--her house is literally dedicated to fostering homeless animals and finding them good homes.  She, herself, has lost some dear pets, including a boxer, in the past year.  She said, "I'm not sure anyone ever has loved a dog as much as you loved Sampson."  I suppose that, on top of the huge outpouring of support I received, helped me to know that Sampson knew he was loved beyond belief--and that's what truly matters.

In the time that has passed since Sampson's passing, I have also found some great outlets for my energy--including getting involved in a great organization that helps people pay for life-saving care of their pets.  I always felt one of our gifts to Sampson was the ability to handle all of his health issues.  He had the best of the best medical care--even if that meant sacrifices in other areas of our financial life.  He was worth it!  And I'm so glad that was not a guilt I had to grapple with through this process.  I am always searching for ways to share his story--to keep his memory alive.  This will get me through.


We also welcomed a new boxer boy into our home, Claymore.  I was hesitant at first, but as Buzz said, "This is just want we do.  We are dog people.  And if we're not dog people, I don't like us."  True, true.  Even after that, I was not sure I could manage another boxer.  But Sampson was partial to boxers--could pick one out of a crowd.  So we got a boxer, but one whose looks do not resemble that of Sampson.  He's a good boy.  He came from the same Boxer Rescue as Daisy and Angel.

So, today, I'm searching for closure.  I know that can't totally be achieved, but at least I can get it out here...on this blog...so I'm not "scared" to come back to it.  I am so lucky he spent his entire life with me.  He was the best.  And I carry him with me in my heart and my soul.  


I miss my Old Man...My Old Friend.  As I said in my Facebook note when I was at a complete loss for words, this song says it all...  As I told Sampson every night during our cuddle time before he drifted off to sleep, and as I told him the night I said my final "goodbyes" and "I love yous," 

Good Night, Sweet Prince.


"The love and the laughter will live on long after all of the sadness and the tears..."

Maybe?

So I'm working on positive thinking...I'm ALWAYS working on positive thinking, it just doesn't always work for me.  ;)  But looking over these old posts last night brought back some memories and have given me a better sense of time in terms of Sampson's progression.  And MAYBE, just MAYBE, things aren't AS bad as I have made them out to be...  Let's take a trip back in time...

You can chronicle Sampson back to 2002, but let's start with his back problems.  It was early in 2010 when we first became aware of his spondylosis.  He was exhibiting some crazy symptoms, including some trouble with mobility.  We found that disease on x-rays--the same disease that took our Angel-girl--and we found it the same way, with x-rays for strange symptoms.  We made some adjustments--crate downstairs, better attention to gentle exercise, etc.  Because of his crazy tummy problems, we couldn't go the long-term pain meds route.  That's when we started acupuncture.  It was AMAZING.  He literally went from not being able to go up and down stairs, to RUNNING all around the back yard like a crazy man.  Good times.

I can't believe that was two years ago...

He started to regress a little bit last year--maybe springish timeframe.  I was worried.  I even had family portraits taken at our house because I began to fear if I didn't do them soon, we may not have the opportunity to take them with Sampson.  Then, all of the sudden, at the same time his left foot began to drag to the point we needed his "boot" to keep his toes from bleeding, he perked up.  I didn't get it--but I loved it.  He went back to playing like a crazy fool in the mornings, talking to me when he woke up, kidney bean dancing better than any boxer, running laps around the yard, taking steps and jumps with no problem, and kissing me with his big sloppy boxer mouth.

Until now, I didn't make the connection...

The degenerative myelopathy (DM) is what causes the foot to drag.  It is indicative of his spinal nerves "dying."  Without nerves, there's no pain.  It's painless.

This horrible disease that I curse on a daily basis, that makes my old man wobble, that makes his legs drag and cross, that renders him unable to run has taken away his pain.

Now, I'm not going to go so far as to call DM a blessing in disguise, but I will say that this connection now makes sense.  Unfortunately,  it's progressed to the point that he can't kidney bean dance for me...or run...or walk normally.  But, for a moment in time--MONTHS of time--I now believe that it gave me my Sampson back--in full strength.  It took away his spondylosis pain--pain that can be excruciating--pain that can make a dog suffer to the point that no responsible human would allow.  Maybe, just maybe, DM gave me more time with my Sampson.

Sampson in the sun, Fall 2011

On his last set of x-rays, it showed his spondylosis had progressed beyond any stretch of the imagination.  Yet, because of the DM, he can't feel it.  His spondylosis has progressed beyond the extent that Angel's reached, yet we had to let her go because of the damage it had done.  Again, I can't call DM a "blessing," but I will be thankful--putting on my positive thinking hat--that he is still here.  And he is not in pain.

A Scoop of Moon-Flavored Ice Cream?

So, I'm back.  I've been here, just not *here*-here.  My writing time at the computer has been spent dissertating.  Dissertation is a dirty, dirty word to me right now.

But blogging fell by the wayside.  Lots has been going on, but I'm going to keep it short and to the point right now.  This blog started out in the "old days" of MySpace (ha!) as a place for me to write about my dogs.  Writing has always been therapeutic for me--not writing in the dissertation sense, but in the journaling sense.  And now, more than ever, I need some therapy. Sampson--my old man/my best friend--has degenerative myelopathy--more big words I have learned through Sampson's health issues.  It's not good.  Basically, the nerves in his spinal cord are dying.  (Here's a good, quick summary via the American Boxer Club: http://americanboxerclub.org/purina1.html .) He is becoming paralyzed.  He has lost almost all control over his left, back leg.  But he is holding on.  He has some good times and bad times.  I think he's still happy--getting joy from food, treats, and love.  We have made some adjustments to daily life.  My heart remains heavy--in all likelihood, his spine is going to give out before the rest of his body--and that means a tough, tough decision for me.  But I know it's the right one--I just hope I know when it's the "right" time.

I found this great blog today while Googling Sampson's disease.  Great, because 1.  It made me feel like I am not alone and 2. It reminded me that maybe blogging shouldn't fall by the wayside.  I came back here...my Moon-Flavored Ice Cream--the things that make me smile and give me the warm and fuzzies.  And I read about Sampson over the past few years.  I am glad I have a place where some of his life up until this point has been chronicled.  Maybe I should get back on that routine?

So, here I am...and I think I'll be back.  I can't promise when, the topic, or the tone.  If there is one thing Sampson has taught me, it's to be happy and enjoy the here and now.  Whether it was during a deployment or just a plain old gloomy day, he was there to make me smile--to bring me joy.  And that's the meaning of the crazy title of this blog...so, I *think* I will be able to make time for my writing therapy, with a scoop of Moon-Flavored Ice Cream.

Pour Your Heart Out: Almost 9 years

I will spare you my "I love my dog" speech.  (Feel free to check out my insane love for all of my dogs as chronicled on this blog.)  I know everyone loves their pets--as they should!  But my love for my dog Sampson goes beyond wagging tails, sloppy kisses, and long walks.  Sampson makes me who I am as a person--I don't care if I sound crazy (since I'm pouring my heart out and all).  And my love for him goes deep...into my bank account.  I cannot even fathom the amount of money we have spent on this dude.  Sometimes, I think of all of the things I could have if he wasn't so expensive.  But then, I realize I don't care.  He is worth every penny--hell, I can't even count pennies with him anymore because that unit of measurement is too small--he's worth ever hundred--every thousand--that has been put into his care.  (My husband may or may not agree with me fully.)  After losing our Angel-girl a few years ago, I KNEW that we would continue to do everything within our means to give Sampson every healthy, happy day he has in him.  The only solace I got from losing Angel was that I knew we went to every length humanly possible to give her the life she deserved to live from the day we brought her home from the boxer rescue.

Today, we went back to Sampson's integrative medicine doctor at UT.... 

Sam the Man riding shotgun to the vet

It was an amazing visit.  I am so scared to even give too many details because I'm a bit superstitious and seriously scared of jinxing things.  Let's just say that both the doctor and I teared up as I left--with happy, proud tears.  Sampson, God-willing, will turn 9 next month.  There was a time I did not believe he would make it this long.  No, I'm not living in a fantasy world that he will live FOREVER and I know (as hard as it is to think about) his natural lifespan is reaching a limit quicker than I would like.  But "9" means so much to me right now.  Along this journey, there were procedures and medicines I almost did not try for him because I worried it was a lost cause.  It wasn't. He's still here. Before his exploratory surgery, I made a deal with him.  If he promised me he would keep on fighting while he could AND if he promised to let me know when he wasn't ready to fight anymore so I would KNOW when he was ready to go, I would do my best to give him all the care he needed and give him a walk most days (even if it's a short one).  So far, he's kept up his end of the bargain--and I have continued his top-notch care and done mostly a good job in the walk department (with LOTS of help from Buzz).  He's amazing. Even his doctor today said he is different from other Boxers in 1. that he is not dumb as a box of rocks and 2. his sensitivity.  He has emotions and feelings--he has empathy, I swear.  He is just the best.

I feel like dogs have the ability to bring out the best in people.  Somehow, at least for me, they have the ability to literally touch my soul.  In the past almost 9 years, Sampson has been by my side for all of the changes, ups and downs, military life-issues (including moves, deployments, various separations), newlywed issues, motherhood issues, graduate school issues.  You name it, he has been there.  He has shown me unconditional love and friendship every step along the way.  He has taught me so many things (including a lot of medical terminology and how to squeeze the most out of a dollar).  He has been the sloppy kiss when I needed it most but least expected it, given me a kidney bean dance when I needed a partner with whom to celebrate, and been a silent shoulder when I needed a friend to listen or just to be there.  He's watched over my daughter when she's been sick or sad.  He's licked away the tears of every one of my family members.  He has truly warmed my heart on so many levels.  I can't find the words to adequately pour my heart out beyond these words written by Richard Biby:

From time to time people tell me, "Lighten up, it's just a dog," or, "That's a lot of money for just a dog." They don't understand the distance traveled, the time spent or the costs involved for "just a dog."

Some of my proudest moments have come about with "just a dog."

Many hours have passed and my only company was "just a dog," but I did not once feel slighted.

Some of my saddest moments have been brought about by "just a dog," and, in those days of darkness, the gentle touch of "just a dog" gave me comfort and reason to overcome the day.

If you, too, think it's "just a dog," then you will probably understand phases like "just a friend," "just a sunrise," or "just a promise."

"Just a dog" brings into my life the very essence of friendship, trust, and pure unbridled joy.

"Just a dog" brings out the compassion and patience that makes me a better person.

Because of "just a dog" I will rise early, take long walks and look longingly to the future.

So for me, and folks like me, it's not "just a dog" but an embodiment of all the hopes and dreams of the future, the fond memories of the past and the pure joy of the moment.

"Just a dog" brings out what's good in me and diverts my thoughts away from myself and the worries of the day.

I hope that someday they can understand that it's not "just a dog" but the thing that gives me humanity and keeps me from being "just a human."

So the next time you hear the phrase "just a dog," just smile....because they "just don't understand."


I used to care when people thought I was crazy for going what they considered to be "overboard" for my dogs.  But the past nearly nine years have thickened my skin to others' words on the topic.  Now, I just don't care.  These almost 9 years have taught me so much about myself and the world around me--not only through Sampson, but just in the path which my journey has taken me.  Having him by my side has certainly made it all better.  Cheers to my 8 and11/12 year old Sampson, who is SO much more than "just a dog."

My Old Man

"Dogs' lives are too short--their only fault, really." -Agnes Sligh Turnbull

I used to only write about my dogs. Then, my life took a turn better known as PhD school and I got a little sidetracked. So, I would like to take a few moments to RE-recognize my best friend with four legs...My Old Man, Sampson.

Sampson came into my life in May of 2002. After graduating college, I got a wild hair to get a dog. And it HAD to be a boxer. I got the pick of the litter and I brought him home over Memorial Day weekend of that year. He fit in the palm of my hand. And so began our love affair.

In the early days, the old man was the puppy. He chewed everything from clothes (he had a special interest in my bras from the dirty clothes), door and window frames (in my first home after being married--good thing they were remodeling base housing that year or we would have been slapped with a BIG fee), and rubber balls from Petsmart (a 99 cent ball turned into a $1000 endoscopic surgery to remove said ball). He was social (he went to doggie daycare every weekday when I worked full-time before I got married) and friendly. He kidney bean danced and stole my pillows and covers at night. It was a match made in dreamland...and then the illness came. Even with his problems, he has always known how to party.

It wasn't until 2009 that we finally broke down and had exploratory surgery to find out what was going on. He has inflammatory bowel disease. It has been a long journey through that as well as the arthritis in his spine that is pretty much fused together. We have been creative with our treatment. Acupuncture and diet change has helped immensely.

Throughout our time together, he has been my comfort, ear to listen, and shoulder to cry on through deployments, various other military separations, pregnancy, birth, two rounds of graduate school, and every part of life in between. He has been a great friend. He's gained and lost one sister (our Angel-girl), gained another sister (Daisy Duke, AKA Daisy the Crazy) and has followed me through five states. Next month, God-willing, the old man will turn 9. In dog years, that's more than I want to talk about, especially for a boxer with lots of health problems. Luckily, our unconventional medical treatment has brought back some kidney bean dancing and playfulness that remind me of his puppy days.

I often joke (sort of) with my husband that Sampson is my true love. But who else could love so unconditionally?!? One of my favorite quotes is "My goal in life is to be as good of a person as my dogs already think I am." What human could be there through all of life's ups and downs and give you a kidney bean dance and a big, sloppy kiss to cheer you up on the even the worst of days? He's licked my tears. He's danced in happiness with me after a deployment or after a rough week. He really is the epitome of a best friend. Despite the financial burdens he has brought us, I feel blessed that he is MINE. And I'm glad he is mine because a man with all that love deserves a family that will nurture him--bad tummy and all. He's worth it. So, here's to Sampson--my old man. And here's to hoping he will live (happily and pain-free) to be the oldest boxer on the planet. I will continue to cherish all of the moments that he is here on earth with my family and me. And I am thankful for all that he has brought to my life from puppy that fit in my hands, to a gray-faced, sleepy old man.

If I didn't have a dog...

This morning after Buzz left, the dogs and I did our morning routine...we piled into bed together and I had to fight for enough space to lay in my king size bed. As I often do, I wondered, what would happen right now if I didn't have a dog.

If I didn't have a dog:

I would get the whole bed to myself after Buzz leaves in the morning.

I would never clean poop off of paws.

I would not often step in dog poop.

I would not pooper-scoop my yard.

I would not talk about poop as much.

I would not know much about pancreatitis, inflammatory bowel disease or know words like lipase, Tylan, or Azathioprine.

I would not have to deal with the embarassment of jumping, humping, or worry about loud or SBD dog gas when there are guests in my home.

I would have a lot more money.

I could travel without worrying about things such as IBD flare-ups.

I would not have experienced the spraying by a skunk to my Sam-dog at 6 am on a cold RI morning...thus, I would not know about the process of "de-skunking."

I would have never paid nearly a thousand dollars to have a 99 cent ball removed from a canine stomach by a GI vet.

I would have never driven from NC to FL to have a tumor removed from a Boxer.

I would not still get teary thinking about my Angel-girl. (I miss her so much...still.)

I would know much less about myself.

I would have never met some great friends (of the human persuasion).

I would not truly have a concept of "man's (WOMAN'S) best friend."

I would not have a daughter who can handle herself as well around animals.

I would not have a man of the house in Buzz's absences.

I would not have best friends that move with me and see me through life's ups and downs.

I would not have such great fans.

I may not have survived pregnancy.

I may not have survived 2 deployments.

I would not have anyone THAT excited to see me.

I would not know what it means to kidney bean dance.

I could not get boxer hugs and kisses on command.

I would get less exercise

I would not have a shoulder to cry on any time I needed it.

I would not laugh as often.

I would not have 4-legged, furry, stinky cuddle partners in the mornings when Buzz leaves for work...and I would miss it.

Thank goodness for dogs!