"Family" Reunion

I guess I have a lot on my mind since this is my second blog of the day...

Dictionary.com defines "family" as follows:

"a basic social unit consisting of parents and their children; considered as a group whether dwelling together or not; any persons closely related by blood, as parents, children, uncles, aunts and cousins."

I find this definition to be interesting, but inadequate. I have learned in the last few years that family is so much more than blood relation. Today I received a forwarded email from my nephew Adam. It was originally sent by my eldest niece, April, who is expecting her third child in November. April pointed out that there will be 4 new children in the family by the time my niece Rachel's baby arrives in mid-May, 2011. She calls for a family reunion...a time for everyone to get together and meet the new babies as well as her 3 year old twins. Interestingly, she even says she is eager for her children to "meet the rest of their family." However, you will notice that I said I received a forwarded copy of this email. You see, I am not part of "the rest of their family." I was purposely excluded from the original email with absolutely no intention of ever being invited to this "family" reunion that is to take place right here in Wisconsin. Surprised? Don't be. You see, according to the definition above, I belong to this family. However, my unwillingness to comply with the life my "family" has envisioned for me has made me an outcast, not worthy of being invited to family functions and get-togethers. I am not worthy of their love because I chose not to have a white picket fence with one dog, a husband and 2.5 children. My choices are not supposed to be mine. I am to comply with whatever they set forth for me, without question and certainly without argument. I am to live a life they would choose and not stray from the norm...not think for myself...not be my own boss...not march to the beat of my own drummer. I am not to live my own life. If I do, I suffer the consequences of being shunned by the very people I was taught to believe would love me unconditionally as I have loved them and to be there for me without fail as I was taught to be there for them. It has been a very difficult lesson in learning that every "I love you" and every "I'm here for you" was a lie. Maybe it is my fault. Maybe I missed it when they followed, "I love you" with "as long as you do things my way." Maybe they mumbled. Maybe I just didn't hear it. I don't think I will ever know or understand it.

So to receive this forwarded email comes as no surprise, although I am sure Adam's intention was to include me. I had already heard talk of this reunion. It is hurtful, but no more so than when my niece Teresa graduated from high school last year and sent invitations to everyone but me. What have I done to Teresa you ask? Nothing. You see, Teresa was told by her father (my brother Raymond) that she cannot visit her grandmother because I have cats to which she is allergic. That was back when I lived with my mom. Ray told Teresa that grandma's house should be her "second home" and that it wasn't because of me. So, in young Teresa's words, she "dislikes me" for keeping her from her grandmother. The thing is...I have not lived with my mom for over 3 years. How many times has Teresa visited her "second home" in that three years? You guessed it...ZERO. I would imagine this is also why I don't hear from Teresa's younger sister, my niece Naomi.

Now, I don't blame Teresa for believing what she was told by her father and if she chooses to "dislike me" that's ok. She is entitled to her feelings. But, Teresa, if you should ever read this, I want you to know that I love you with all of my heart. I have always been and will always be proud to be yours and Naomi's aunt. I wish you both a life of happiness and love, free of heartache and hardship. And if, by some stroke of fate, you should ever need me, know that I will be there for you without question with every fiber of my being. You will always get the best of me, no matter what.

The last 6 years have been a tough lesson all the way around. My sister, once my best friend, no longer speaks to me, nor I to her. Early on, Thairn said that the strife between us was because I had the cats at my mom's house. Again, I have not lived with my mother in over 3 years. Why then does the problem continue? I don't know. Thairn has said that she wants better for me and that her anger and frustration comes from love. If this is love that I am feeling from her, I think I would rather be hated. I have never done anything to harm Thairn, or any member of my family. I certainly have never done anything to warrant Thairn illegally entering my house when she knew I was in Milwaukee with my beagle having emergency surgery done on her eye. Thairn photographed the litter boxes (which would have been very hard for me to clean from Milwaukee) with the intention of sending the photos to the rest of the family. Sure, they were full. I HAD NOT BEEN HOME ALL DAY! Is it coincidental that Thairn chose that day to photograph the litter boxes? Of course not. If I had been home earlier that day, the boxes would have been clean and her goal could not have been accomplished. Only by a stroke of luck, did I discover the photos before she got a chance to send emails. So I wonder...is it just that I choose to live my life in a way that apparently they believe does not warrant their approval? And through all of it, I just want someone to tell me WHY I need their approval. Why can't they just accept me and love me for who I am as I had them?

The most interesting aspect of all of this is that, throughout the last few years, I have been labeled a liar by my siblings. I wish I could tell you what they think I am lying about, but that answer evades me, along with many others. And as far as I can see, the lies have been theirs. I have maintained troughout all of this that I just want people to start telling the truth. Here are three glaring examples:

1. When I was forced by my brother Ron to move to a cow barn in the summer of 2007, I left behind a litter box at my mom's that I asked my brother, Robbie to take care of for me. He didn't and the litter box, shut in the back room and forgotten about, grew maggots. Three weeks after I moved out (and had not returned, even once, to the house), Ron photographed this litter box and sent copies to every member of my family, illustrating the conditions to which I allegedly made my mother live. They all blindly believed this "photographic evidence" without ever getting the facts. Ron now knows the facts but is not willing to correct his inaccuracy. Robbie knew the truth the whole time and said nothing.

2. When I initially began fostering kittens at my mom's house in 2004, my mom was in the hospital. I had sought and received her permission. However, when it came to turning everyone against me, Thairn told everyone I did it behind mom's back. She was told that wasn't true and was unwilling to listen. My mom knew the truth the whole time and said nothing.

3. When I was charged last January with "improper ventilation in an animal shelter" my very own sister, Gabby, took it upon herself without provocation to call the Columbia County Sheriff's Department and tell numerous lies to them about me. Interestingly, although we have been estranged and have not spoken in 7 years, she feels she is an expert on what I have said or done. She told them that the reason my mother's house was torn down when we sold it in 2007 was because it was "uninhabitable", having been ruined by the cats who had "used the entire house as a litter box." The TRUTH is that the electrical and plumbing were so outdated (the cabin was nearly 100 years old) and the realtor who bought it could make more money selling the lakefront property without the old house. But, again, the truth is irrelevant when it comes to painting me in a bad light. My mom, my brother Robbie, my brother Roy and my brother Ron knew the truth the whole time and said nothing. Gabby had not been to the house since my father died in 2003, but was somehow an expert on its condition in 2007.

Trust me when I say I could go on and on with many examples. It is a fight that is impossible to win and one that is, at times, very lonely. But make no mistake that I am a survivor. So, yes, it is hurtful to be excluded from the "family" reunion. That is, after all, April's goal. It was Teresa's goal. It will be the goal of the next generation that is raised to believe I am an outcast, unworthy of their love because I give my heart and soul to animals. Maybe I didn't do everything right. Maybe I would go back and change a few things if I could. Wouldn't we all? Does it make me unworthy of the love of my family...at least those with whom I share a bloodline? There are a few who share that bloodline that have never treated me differently than before I began rescue. Nikayla, Rachel, Adam, Jaime, Roy Michael, Jake & Gavin and I love you all very much. I appreciate your open-mindedness and willingness to accept me regardless of my apparently unforgivable and unloveable traits. You have all gotten me through the hardest times and comforted me in my darkest hours, probably without even knowing it. I would not have the strength that I have without you. I am proud to be your aunt and I will always be there for you, no matter what...as you have been for me.

To my siblings (excluding Gabby), my nieces Teresa and Naomi and to my nephew Donald...

You make your own decisions in this world and I will always honor that. I will never understand what I have done, but for the love and compassion for animals, that has offended you so deeply. I will never understand how my mere existence disgusts you on such a level that you no longer claim me as your family. I am just me. I am just here, hundreds of miles away from most of you, doing what I do...doing what you do...trying to get through this life one day at a time, one foot in front of the other, doing the best that I can to make the world a better place. I guess the difference is that I do it for all of God's creatures and not just for myself. If that makes me an outcast, I guess an outcast I shall be. I can rely on myself and I have a network around me of some of the most outstanding human beings on the planet. I am blessed and I try to remember that every day.

Gabby, you are a different story and I struggle the most with you. As your sister, I am supposed to love you and I was taught to always be there for you. The hardest lesson for me has been grappling with my feelings of raw hatred for you. You are a vindictive and self-absorbed person, like no one I have ever met. I try very hard to be accepting, but when you go out of your way, without provocation, to hurt me, I can't be peaceful. Hardest has been not wishing you harm. Instead, I have to consciously hope that, someday, you will get the help that you need. Someday, some doctor, somewhere, will figure out what is wrong with you and be able to help you. My medical background leads me to believe that you suffer from Munchausen Syndrome. Your need for attention is unhealthy and has cost you many relationships in your life, including ours. You didn't even go to your mother-in-law's funeral because it was planned by her daughter and not all about you. How sad. You seem to live in an era of self-absorption, stuck somewhere between grade school and middle school where every disagreement is more about who is on your side and less about the issues at hand. You are unwilling and incapable of fighting your own battles, feeling the need to get others to rally around you and your mental illness. Reality is that those "on your side" are either too afraid of you or are too tired of the unending ramifications they face if they think for themselves and go against you. They know you will not be accepting of their opinions so it is easier to comply and keep the peace. They know you can hold a grudge like a high-rise construction worker with a broken thether cable holds a death grip on a support beam. You are a tyrant, surrounded by people who fear you perhaps more than they love you. But you are willing to accept that because fear is at least an emotion that they feel for you. It's like a child who acts badly to get attention. It is negative attention, but attention nonetheless. I believe you have a deep-seated fear of being alone so ruling with an iron fist guarantees that people will stick around, too scared to leave you. But I guess if that is what you want...if that is the kind of "affection" you want in your life, you are entitled to it. Count me out. I only want love in my life from people who are free-thinking and genuine. You and I could have been great friends with a little understanding and acceptance. But you are beyond my capacity. All I can do is bite my tongue (hell, practically chew it in half) and wish you well. I pray to God you get the help you need before it's too late. Nursing homes can be very lonely when you don't have any visitors. And if you think your equally self-absorbed daughter is going to take time out of her perfect little princess life to visit you, think again. However, your unmarried sister might have. You blew it.

That's all I have to say today. I get so very tired of dealing with this crap and trying to figure out why I am the black sheep of my "family." I can only come to one conclusion and I have to keep moving on. The answer is that we are not a family. I just know I am not the one that ruined it and I hope those who are responsible are happy with themselves and can pat themselves and each other on the back. Job well done. At least you have each other and deservedly so. Enjoy your "family" reunion, knowing that you are not a family at all. You are a group of unaccepting, bigoted, intolerant individuals who think you are better than everyone around you. I look forward to the days when you are all knocked off your golden pedestals. Those will be the most glorious days of my life and I will not pick up the pieces this time.

The Lessons of Rescue

Hi everyone,

This morning I received an email from a friend whose cat was struck by a car and killed yesterday. She was seeking my advice on further protection of her other cats and expressing her frustration with the fact that there are good-for-nothing, wastes of flesh out there that will purposely hit an animal, especially a cat.

Here's the thing...I can't explain that. I don't know why there are people out there like that and I don't know who raises them to be the scum that they are. I am not talking about people who dislike cats. Those who know me, know that I have a firm belief in your right as an American to believe in whatever you want. As they say, "I may not agree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." However, I am deeply concerned with the portion of our population that ACT on those beliefs in a way that is destructive and hurtful, without provocation. I can't answer the question, "why" when it comes to that, other than to theorize that it is a mentality they are born into and taught from a very early age...a mentality that has carried on through generations within their family and a train of thought that will not easily be changed.

When you are a lover of animals, the pain of losing one is profound, especially if you otherwise do not have human children. My animals ARE my children. Maybe that is not an easy thing to understand for those who have human children, but for those who get it, it makes perfect sense. I don't try to explain it to people. I simply ask for respect for my feelings. Again, you may not agree with what I say, but I have a right to say it. I have worked with cat-haters who went out of their way to tell horrible dead-cat jokes and stories whenever I entered the room. I learned to be tougher than them and let it go, but, on a basic level, it was disturbing. There was no getting them to stop. This hatred for these animals and desire to make themselves feel superior by trying to "get my goat" is ingrained in them on a level that I alone cannot combat. I win by not giving them the feedback they are seeking.

In the 6+ years that I have been officially rescuing cats (I believe I was a rescuer of cats the day I was born), I have learned many hard lessons. The toughest of them has been handling the death of one of my children. When I started rescue, I honestly thought I could save them all. I thought I was a superhero and every cat that came through my door would become healthy, be happy and live a long and productive life. And then, in 2004, shortly after I rescued my first 2 litters of kittens, my Dory appeared ill, drooling with a terrible smell coming from his mouth. I rushed him to the vet and was given traumatic and devastating news. It was distemper. The kittens had been too young to vaccinate and one of the adults must have been a carrier. Through the weekend, three of the kittens died. Dory and three others who contracted the virus survived and are now carriers of the virus. Malachai, Tater and Frasier were not so lucky and, for the rest, of my life, I will never forget them. However, I didn't get the sign. I thought of it as a terrible set-back and moved on because I thought that is what I must do.

Through the course of things, I acquired a cat named Clint who had been severly injured in a tractor engine. I rehabilitated him and took care of his wounds, learning along the way that he was an incredibly sweet and grateful boy. And one day, when I was cleaning the kitten room, I allowed the 5 week old kittens to roam free to keep them from being under-foot. Sweet Clint killed two of them, right there in the middle of my kitchen. His only provocation was his instincts. The guilt was overwhelming.

In the summer of 2007, I was forced by people I no longer consider family to move to a friend's barn. I lived in the cow barn with the cats because it was the only way I could ensure their safety. Little did I know that the barn harbored a very strong strain of my worst fear...distemper. This time, the kittens had been vaccinated but the overpowering strength of the virus began to pick them off, one by one. I sat there, helpless, for a four day stretch, doing 24 hour nursing care to try to help them. I didn't go to work. I didn't eat or sleep. I could do nothing to get them into a different living situation. I could do nothing but hold them, medicate them, give them fluids and love them. There were too many of them to euthanize. The costs for that alone were astounding and I had to choose between investing the money to save those I could and euthanizing the entire batch. Thirteen kittens died in those 4 horrible days. Eight survived. The emotional and physical toll was staggering, but the lesson was an epiphany. In the consuming loneliness of that moment in time, I knew that my dreams of saving them all were fleeting.

Throughout the years since that horrible weekend, I have lost many. It comes with the territory. First, I am a rescue. Sometimes the condition of the cat when it arrives is not reversible. I have been blessed with the most honest, trustworthy and amazing veterinary staff on the planet and they have been very patient with me as I learned this tough lesson. Secondly, when the population is near 100 and the cats are of all backgrounds and ages, there will be a death rate. It is just a fact of life. They don't live forever. There are things like cancer, Feline Leukemia, FIV and FIP that I cannot control. I now know that the single greatest drawback of doing what I do is that I will probably outlive all my children. Acceptance of that fact has been one of the greatest releases to my heart and has helped me get through the toughest of times.

So what is my point in all of this? It is simple. I believe as a lover and rescuer of animals, that I was put on Earth to do the absolute best for them that I possibly can for however long I am meant to do it. Yes, sometimes their deaths seem senseless and avoidable, as was the case when my beloved soulmate, Riley, was killed by a car on July 17, 2008. But the bottom line is, that in the 6 years I had Riley, from the time he was 8 weeks old, I gave him the best of me each and every day. He died too soon, yes, but he died knowing without a doubt that he was the most loved cat on the planet. He had love and food and comfort...all things that all-too-many animals never experience. He got to spend 6 years of his life being MY boy and I got to spend 6 years of my life being his mom. That is an honor and a privilege for which I will always be grateful.

Last month, my cat, Ace, curled up at the foot of my bed to go to sleep as he did every night for the last 3 years. At some point during the night, his heart ceased to beat. Medically, I don't know why. I don't know anything about Ace except that he had lived an extremely rough life before I rescued him in 2007. He looked terrible when he arrived...emaciated and flea-ridden. His ear was deformed from earmites. His teeth were rotten and falling out. He had a terrible upper respiratory infection. He was one of the saddest sights I had ever seen. But when Ace died that night, he had weight on his old bones, food in his belly, a soft bed beneath him, and freedom from illness, fleas and earmites. And I gave that to him. I stand proudly, in my grief of losing this incredible boy, knowing that the three years that I gave him were good. THAT is what keeps me going.

After 6 years, the lessons of rescue are now clear. I cannot save them all. I can still try and I WILL still try. It is a part of my very being...so deeply rooted in my soul and such an integral part of every breath that I take...that I know I will forever carry the title of "Animal Advocate." But sometimes, within the limits of my humanity, I am powerless to do anything but help them achieve a peaceful death. I can do what is within my power and, sometimes, the rest is just up to God. I have learned to be thankful for the time that I have with each and every one of them and to treasure them all. And when one of them goes..when God decides that He would like to see them...I can let them go, knowing that, for however long I had them, I did the best I could. I have seen enough suffering of animals to know that my best is a lot better than what most of them would ever otherwise experience. That is what keeps me going and gets me out of bed every single day. And I believe that this outlook on things is also a gift from God. Without the ability to make peace with reality, I would not be able to survive the intrinsic sadness that accompanies what I do. It helps the good times outweigh the bad. And I can tell you that the best way to help your heart heal is to sit in the grass in the backyard and cry while all of the cats climb and play across your lap.

So if you lose your animal...your child...please remember that. They loved you as much as you loved them and that is not taken away by their death. You did the best you could. You are human. Love them while you have them. Mourn them when they leave. But always...always... know that they were yours, body and soul, and will remain with you, forever in your heart. There is room at the Rainbow Bridge for everyone and you will be reunited someday. In the meantime they will not be lonely. My kids will meet them there and show them around and keep them company until you arrive.

God bless.

Charlie Hustle and Michael Vick

There are certain topics in this world that make me very angry when I think about them. One such topic (as my friend Stacy can atest ;-) is violations of Constitutional rights. But another topic is Michael Vick, expecially when put in the context of Pete Rose.

Pete Rose, "Charlie Hustle", was one of the greatest baseball players of all time. He played for four teams throughout his 23 year career, most noteably for the Cincinnati Reds. He had a career batting average of .303 and is the ALL TIME hits leader in baseball history. He further managed the Reds from 1986 to 1989. He won three batting titles, three World Series titles, two Golden Gloves and Rookie of the Year. He appeared in 17 All-Star games. He also once posted a 44 game hitting streak. Even as a die-hard, lifelong Cubs fan, I found Pete Rose amazing to watch and couldn't help but root for a guy who went out on the field every single day and gave the game his all. In a world where athletes are grossly overpaid in a country where the common man is struggling, Pete Rose earned his money.

In 1989, Pete's world came crashing down around him. Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig banned the great Charlie Hustle from baseball, the game he was born to play. Rose was accused of betting on baseball while he played for and managed the Cinicinnati Reds. I don't knwo why Pete accepted this fate, other than, clearly, he knew he was guilty. No longer would he be allowed to play the game he lived and breathed every day of his life. Worse, one of the greatest baseball players of all time has been banned from ever being in the National Baseball Hall of Fame, where, clearly, he deserves to be.

Now let's address the issue of Michael Vick. Yes, he plays football rather than baseball, but it is a professional sport nonetheless. In 2007, Michael Vick was convicted of felony dog fighting. He had been staging dog fights with a pack of pit bulls, alowing them to tear each other from limb to limb. He called it a sport. In his plea bargain he admitted to hanging or drowning 6-8 dogs. He also failed a random drug test while free on bail. He was sentenced to 3 years in Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary in Kansas. He served less than one year. After depositing nearly $1,000,000 in an escrow account to care for the dogs, Michael Vick declared Chapter 7 bankruptcy and was protected by our government for from further lawsuit.

After being released from prison in 2009, Michael Vick was not only allowed to return to professional football without anything more than a "conditional probationary return" that meant nothing. He is now the quarterback of the Philadelphia Eagles, earning hundreds of thousands of dollars. And, if he proves himself "good enough" at his craft, of which he is admittedly talented, he could someday be elected to the Hall of Fame.

So my question is this: ON WHAT PLANET IS BETTING ON SOME BASEBALL GAMES WORSE THAN MAKING A PACK OF DOGS HALF KILL EACH OTHER???????? Michael Vick should be banned from football for life. And if I had my way, he would be torn apart by an angry pack of pit bulls...

The Love of a Beagle

This post is in honor of my friend Barb Ulrich's little deaf beagle, Tia River. Happy 8th Birthday Tia!

I have long considered myself to be a big dog person. I am neither a strict cat person nor a strict dog person, but if I had to choose, I prefer large breed dogs. It is no surprise that, in July 2007, I set out to get 2 golden retrievers. I came home with a springer spaniel, a rotweiller mix and a yellow lab...but that's a blog for another day. At any rate, they were all big dogs. In fact, today, Wrigley tops out at 80 pounds, Harry at 100 and Dawson at 100. I love my dogs more than life itself and I was wonderfully happy raising them. Then fate stepped in...

A friend called and asked me to foster her aunt's dachshund while her aunt was in the nursing home. To make another long story short, the aunt passed away and I ended up with the dog. Gretchen is an amazing and loving little girl and I grew very attached to her immediately. She is, after all, a dog. But at some point my roommate and I decided that little Gretchen needed a little friend. So we headed over to the humane society to look at a little yorkie. We were quickly informed that the yorkie was not cat-friendly, which was clearly a prerequisite to live with us. So we left, disappointed. But fate stepped in again...

The very next day we received a call from the humane society. They had a beagle that was absent the day before because she was being spayed. Her name was Chinny and, if we were interested, we could come and look at her. They advised us to bring Gretchen to see if the dogs got along. So we did. And from the moment I walked into the room and laid eyes on this little tri-colored beagle in her elizabethan collar, I was hooked. Never in my life have I seen such sweet brown eyes and a demeanor that would melt the heart of the most hardened individual. I knew there was no way we were leaving without her and the thought that someone had allowed her to run away and never even looked for her made me ill. Since she, at the time, was to technically be Jennifer's dog, Jenni chose her name...Charlie.

We took Charlie home and it was the first day of a new-found great love affair that I have with beagles. Everything about this dog is adorable. She has the softest little ears and the sweetest little bay. When I come home and she is out in the yard, I fall to one knee and she comes running with all her might, always thrilled to see me. It just makes my day and, many times, is just what I need. Don't get me wrong, the other dogs are happy to see me too, but it's because they know it is time to eat or to play. Charlie is just happy it's me.

Shortly after we adopted Charlie, Jenni and I had stopped at Pizza Hut for lunch. It was a nice day out and Charlie and Gretchen were content in the car while we went in to eat. Because we were in a hurry and it was a buffet, we were only in Pizza Hut for about 20 minutes. However, when we came out, I discovered that the rear passenger door of the car was open. Gretchen was sitting in the seat with a scared look on her face. Charlie was gone. Panic and desperation set in immediately and we began frantically running through the neighborhoods looking for the beagle. Of course, Charlie had no idea at that point that her name was Charlie, so it was futile to call her. One man stepped out of his house and said, "I bet you are looking for a beagle. She went that way," as he pointed to the fairgrounds. Jenni got the car and I set out on foot, my heart pounding. Then, the cell phone rang with a number I didn't recognize. I answered and a woman said, "Are you missing a beagle named Charlie?" "OMG yes! Do you have her?" In retrospect, that was a very stupid question, considering that knowing the dog's name told me that she HAD the dog! I got ahold of Jenni and we headed over to pick up Charlie. She had been running down the four lanes when she was spotted and rescued by this superhero lady.

When I next laid eyes on Charlie, I fell to my knees and held her, jokingly calling her a naughty puppy. I was so relieved she was safe and I just could not thank this woman enough for taking the time to catch Charlie. But, as we were leaving, something clicked in my brain and I realized I knew this kind lady. It was Barb Ulrich. What an amazing twist of fate that this little beagle would let herself out of the car and find the one person who understood beagles and would guarantee her safety. I couldn't let go of Charlie and held her close all the way home.

This spring, Charlie developed a limp on her left front leg. We took her to the vet and they weren't able to find anything wrong. So we gave her some anti-inflammatory meds and she got better. In fact, when I came home from work one day, Charlie ran to me as she always does, with no indication that anything was wrong. However, the next day, when I got home, there was no Charlie. I called her and she came, slowly, out of the house, holding her left front leg in the air. An cursory exam of her foot told me there was a fracture. So we went back to the vet and xrays showed that Little Beagley had broken all four of her toes in a perfect diagonal line. Dr. Gerber siad that most likely something heavy had fallen on her foot. We couldn't think of anything that would have been propped up to fall on the dog. So then he theorized that she had gotten her foot caught and, in wrenching it free, broke her toes. That made sense and the most likely culprit is the bed in the cat room. If she got her little foot caught between the queen sized bed and the wall, she could easily wrench it and break her foot. So, once again, our phenomenal vet was called upon to use his exceptional skills as an orthopedist and pin the beagle's toes.

Charlie came home with her leg in a cast for the next 6 weeks. Her sad brown eyes were the most pitiful thing I had ever seen and she milked the sympathy vote like a pro with her sore foot. But, after 6 weeks and a nasty infection, we were able to remove the cast and start talking about taking the pins out. Then, Charlie changed the ballgame again. She jumped off my bed and bent all four of the pins in her toes. Sighhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...off to the vet we go. Dr. Twardowski sedated Charlie and straightened her toes, recasting her leg. Another few weeks of a gimpy beagle were in store.

When we took the cast off the second time, there was no infection, which was a HUGE relief. However, within a few days, Charlie repeated her command performance and jumped off the bed again, bending all four of the pins. This time, however, in consultation with Dr. Gerber, we have decided not to reset the pins. Charlie's foot is healed and, although it is crooked, it does not cause her any discomfort or pain. Other than vanity, there is no point in putting her through another surgery. She is just going to have a crooked foot and I think it is all part of her charm.

Charlie is getting older now, turning white around her face. She knows her name and comes when called. She doesn't run away. And she has captured my heart, my soul, and every fiber of my being. I am 1000% in love with this tri-colored, barks-too-much, soft-eared, crooked-footed, brown-eyed, little ball of fur. For those of you out there who have never known the love of a dog, I highly recommend getting a beagle. The world would be a better place if we could bottle the amazing kindness of love of these little dogs. That is the love of a beagle.