I am 39 years old and I have been "heavy" my whole life. You can call it what it is and avoid all the happy, supposedly less painful euphamisms like "big boned" or "overweight". Call it what it is...fat. I currently weigh 220 pounds as of this morning. That is officially my heaviest weight ever. I have tried just about every diet known to man and the only one that ever worked was the Atkins Diet. However, as an advocate for animals, I find it very difficult to sustain a diet of almost entirely meat and cheese. And I can't imagine what it does to my cholesterol level. So, that's out. Recently, my sister-in-law, Mickie, lost weight. She looks fantastic and you can tell in speaking with her for 5 minutes that she feels better too. I want that.
The other day I had my niece, Nikayla, feel my knee as I bent it. She is a student of physical therapy and is well schooled on kinesiology and the way knees are supposed to work. Mine clicked and ground and popped as I flexed and extended the joint. I didn't have to look at Nikayla's face to know it wasn't a good thing. I have stopped using the stairs in favor of the elevator because it is getting too painful. Nik said that my patella, or knee cap, is not in the patellar groove where it is supposed to be...on either knee. When I jokingly said that I expect to have double knee replacements before I am 50, she didn't disagree and my joke suddenly wasn't funny. When the clicking and popping of my knees lessened when I sat down and flexed the joint, it became painfully clear that a lot of the problem is the weight my knees are asked to support.
In 1995, my mother was diagnosed with emphysema. She was told to quit smoking or she would die. She quit and she is still here 15 years later. In 2002, my father was diagnosed with pretty severe coronary artery disease. He was told that they would not do open heart surgery to correct the problem as long as he refused to quit smoking because they felt he did not stand a meaningful chance of recovery as long as he was smoking. Dad still refused and he died in 2003. Recently, my oldest brother, Roy, died of a heart attack at age 55. He had high cholesterol and high blood pressure and, surely, his doctors told him to quit smoking. He didn't. I don't know if that would have made a difference, but there may be a chance he would still be here if he could have given up that vice.
So here is the deal. I don't want to die young and I don't want to have my knees replaced. I don't want to live in a wheelchair because my knees can't handle my weight. I don't want to be incapacitated and unable to walk my dogs. So, it is time to lose some weight. My goal is 75 pounds, which would get me down to a respectable 145.
Normally, I am very private about my efforts to lose weight. I hate being open about it because I feel like everyone is looking at me, watching my failure time after time after time. I feel like everyone is pointing and laughing and saying, "Look at the fat girl." I pride myself in completing tasks and being successful in things that I do. Weight loss has been the greatest struggle and most tremendous failure of my life. So, I have decided that it is time to get people involved. Maybe I need the pressure of being watched by people that care. Maybe I need the pressure of being questioned about how much I have lost or gained. Maybe I just need to be in a position to prove myself to others. So consider this your official invitation to look at the fat girl. Watch me get thinner before your very eyes. I know I can do this. Food is my vice and I know the biggest obstacles that I face will be mental and emotional ones, not physical ones. But if I don't do this NOW, I will soon be faced with physical obstacles as well. I have to help my knees before it is too late. The warning signs are there and I need to follow my mom's example and listen to them.
So today begins a journey. Today is the first day of what I know will be the longest, most difficult year of my personal life but it has to be done. Fasten your seatbelt...
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Final Wishes Revisited
Today is November 11, 2011...11/11/11. I am updating this post.
On a previous post, not too long ago on this very blog, I spoke of my final wishes. It was sort of a tongue-in-cheek look at things, although I meant what I said about scattering part of my ashes at Wrigley Field. But, in light of the recent and completely unexpected death of my brother Roy at the young age of 55, I would like to, in all seriousness, revisit this issue. The questions of: "What did Roy want?" haunt all of us now in retrospect and I am not willing to let this fall on my loved ones if something happens to me. So sit back, fasten your seatbelt and listen up. So you have no questions, this is what I want...
1. The cats, by and large, can go to no-kill rescues. I do NOT want them shipped off to the humane society where a majority of them will be euthanized. That is not what I have worked all this time for and I swear that I will haunt anyone who makes the decision to send them there. Don't test me.
2. Alecs - Please find him a home where he will be loved and cared for. He is an old guy and I am the only one he has ever known. He needs special care. Please try to keep him in the family. Nikayla?
3. Sarge - She is my baby and will not do well at a rescue. Please find her a home, preferably within the family, but at least somewhere where she is the only cat and will get lots of attention.
4. Chance - He is a special boy who only loves me. He will need an understanding place where he is shown patience and lots and lots of love. Again, family is ideal. Chance has a benign growth on the right side of his neck. It's nothing, but it has to be drained once in awhile. Just stick it with a needle.
5. Libby - She fancies herself feral but she isn't. She just can't be picked up. Please find her a home where she can live indoors in peace where her family doesn't care that she doesn't cuddle.
6. Spirit - Please call Barb Ulrich (her number is in my phone) and ask her to help with Spirit. Spirit has seizures and it is critical that she have her Phenobarbitol on time. Dr. Gerber calls the prescrition in to Wilz Drug. She gets 1/2 tablet twice a day around 8am and 8pm.
7. My dogs: FIRST AND FOREMOST, YOU MUST NOT MIX THE DOGS!!! WRIGLEY, HARRY & DAWSON ARE OK TOGETHER. BARNEY, CHARLIE, TUCKER AND GRETCHEN ARE OK TOGETHER. DO NOT MIX THEM ANY OTHER WAY OR THERE WILL BE A FIGHT TO THE DEATH.
Please get Barb Ulrich involved in rehoming the dogs. She is a busy lady but she is the BEST. She will help in any way she can, especially with the beagle.
Please, please, please do not separate Wrigley, Harry and Dawson. They were born together and raised together and they need to stay together. It is a tall order but it is essential to their survival. They don't know how to function without each other. Again, DO NOT take them to the humane society or I swear to God I will haunt you...and it won't be pleasant. Make sure that whomever takes them knows not to feed them together in an enclosed space. There has to be a minimum of 8 feet between Dawson and Harry or they will fight. Set Dawson's bowl down first, then Wrigley and then Harry's. Harry may not eat unless you sing, "Harry Baby" to the tune of "Sherry Baby" gently to him first.
Wrigley taught herself to fetch. When she jumps on you, she is just trying to give you the ball so her brothers can't get it. Be patient with that.
Dawson loves to swim and fetch his tennis ball in the water. He doesn't care much about it on land.
Harry has had both of his rear Anterior Cruciate Ligaments replaced and will probably have arthritis at some point in his life. Please be gentle with him and if there is any indication that something is wrong, please call Dr. David Gerber at 920-623-3366. He will know what to do.
Tucker - Call Jaime and see if she can take him back. Otherwise, please find him a good home with someone who has a lot of energy and plenty of tennis balls. He would do very well with another dog. He loves to swim and chase his tennis ball in the water. Tucker takes one tablet of Glycoflex II daily for joint support.
Barney - Barney needs to be an indoor dog and would do well being the only dog in the house. However, he could easily live with Charlie, Gretchen and/or Tucker. Barney had a rough life until I got him and doesn't have a lot of manners. He requires a lot of love and patience.
Charlie - The sweetest dog on the planet. Please find her a good, loving home with someone who understands beagles. And please ask them not to change her name. I finally got her to respond to it.
Gretchen - Robbie? She loves Uncle Robbie. If he can't take her, please find her a good home with a woman, preferably an older one. She is a cuddler and a very devoted dog once she gets to know you. The less commotion in her life, the better. KEEP GRETCHEN AWAY FROM CHILDREN. She needs quiet.
Now, let's talk about my funeral.
1. I want to be cremated. If people want to see me first and say goodbye, I am ok with that. Just have me embalmed and displayed in a rental casket and then sent off for cremation.
2. I will have a life insurance policy through my employer beginning in January 2012. Nikayla, I will make you the primary beneficiary. Please use it to pay for my funeral and to help rehome the animals. If there is anything left, use it for whatever you need.
3. My obituary only needs to go in the Portage paper. No one else really knows me so don't spend the money. Please mention my work as an animal rescuer as a life accomplishment. It means a lot to me. Other information you may need for an obituary:
1989 graduate of Pardeeville High School
1993 graduate of University of Wisconsin - Platteville with a BA in Criminal Justice, Minor in Psychology
Emergency Medical Technician - Intermediate for 16 years. I worked (at various times throughout my career) in Pardeeville, Portage, Wisconsin Dells and Milwaukee.
Animal rescuer, particularly special needs and feral cats. I love all animals.
I would love it if you would mention my dogs, Wrigley, Harry, Dawson, Barney, Charlie, Tucker and Gretchen and my cats Alecs, Maggie, Sarge, Jackson, Joey, Chance, Libby, Nemo, Dory, Alice, Maverick, Isabel, Pipsy, Caesar, Niko, and Jupiter by name in my obituary. They are my children, just like anyone else's human children are theirs.
I was preceded in death by my cats Coley, Tucker, Ozzie, Riley, Emma, Maxie, Lottie, Bob, Mister, Goldie, Clint, and Murphy and my dogs, Sandy & Ben.
Now, as far as who gets what: I don't have very many tangible items but there are a few things I hold near and dear.
My Cubs hats and softball glove - Nikayla
My family history information and research - Adam
My Fenton shoe collection - Robbie
My car (if it is worth anything) - Robbie
My teddy bear that I got when I was 3 - Nikayla
I will add things as I think of them.
Finally, when all is said and done, I want my ashes to be mixed with those of my animals and then mixed into a litter box. It seems most appropriate. When the cats are done with me, just scoop out the poop and send me off with it. I am completely serious about that. I don't want anyone to be burdened with an urn full of Aunt Heidi sitting in their living room. I want to be free. Please refer to my previous blog post titled "Final Wishes."
I think I have everything covered. If not, I will update this post as things come to mind. Hopefully it won't be too late...you never know... (Updated 11/11/11)
Ok, I thought of something else. Please do not allow either of my sisters to speak at my funeral. They were not nice to me during my life and attached conditions to their love. No matter how hard I tried, I never met those conditions. My funeral will not be a stage for them to pretend to have loved me and portray themselves as good people. It will not be a way for Gabby to make herself the center of attention, portraying herself as the loving, grieving sister so everyone will flock around her. (EYE ROLL!) They treated me like crap because they could not accept me for who I am. If they couldn't accept me in life, they should not have the opportunity to accept me in death. The thought of either of them standing up in front of a group of people who DID love me unconditionally and saying things that make it appear as if we were even remotely friends makes me gag. I would be perfectly happy if Gabby was her usual selfish self and boycotted my funeral. Goodbye and good riddens. If Thairn wants to attend to support Nikayla, that's fine. But she can stay in her seat and keep her mouth shut. Amen.
Oh, and regarding organ donation: If they can use it, give it to them. There are people out there like Lisa who have young children and are waiting for an organ to save their lives. If I can help them, please let me. I have spent my whole life helping people and now, because of Lisa, I know what it is like to be on the waiting side of things. My blood type is B+.
On a previous post, not too long ago on this very blog, I spoke of my final wishes. It was sort of a tongue-in-cheek look at things, although I meant what I said about scattering part of my ashes at Wrigley Field. But, in light of the recent and completely unexpected death of my brother Roy at the young age of 55, I would like to, in all seriousness, revisit this issue. The questions of: "What did Roy want?" haunt all of us now in retrospect and I am not willing to let this fall on my loved ones if something happens to me. So sit back, fasten your seatbelt and listen up. So you have no questions, this is what I want...
1. The cats, by and large, can go to no-kill rescues. I do NOT want them shipped off to the humane society where a majority of them will be euthanized. That is not what I have worked all this time for and I swear that I will haunt anyone who makes the decision to send them there. Don't test me.
2. Alecs - Please find him a home where he will be loved and cared for. He is an old guy and I am the only one he has ever known. He needs special care. Please try to keep him in the family. Nikayla?
3. Sarge - She is my baby and will not do well at a rescue. Please find her a home, preferably within the family, but at least somewhere where she is the only cat and will get lots of attention.
4. Chance - He is a special boy who only loves me. He will need an understanding place where he is shown patience and lots and lots of love. Again, family is ideal. Chance has a benign growth on the right side of his neck. It's nothing, but it has to be drained once in awhile. Just stick it with a needle.
5. Libby - She fancies herself feral but she isn't. She just can't be picked up. Please find her a home where she can live indoors in peace where her family doesn't care that she doesn't cuddle.
6. Spirit - Please call Barb Ulrich (her number is in my phone) and ask her to help with Spirit. Spirit has seizures and it is critical that she have her Phenobarbitol on time. Dr. Gerber calls the prescrition in to Wilz Drug. She gets 1/2 tablet twice a day around 8am and 8pm.
7. My dogs: FIRST AND FOREMOST, YOU MUST NOT MIX THE DOGS!!! WRIGLEY, HARRY & DAWSON ARE OK TOGETHER. BARNEY, CHARLIE, TUCKER AND GRETCHEN ARE OK TOGETHER. DO NOT MIX THEM ANY OTHER WAY OR THERE WILL BE A FIGHT TO THE DEATH.
Please get Barb Ulrich involved in rehoming the dogs. She is a busy lady but she is the BEST. She will help in any way she can, especially with the beagle.
Please, please, please do not separate Wrigley, Harry and Dawson. They were born together and raised together and they need to stay together. It is a tall order but it is essential to their survival. They don't know how to function without each other. Again, DO NOT take them to the humane society or I swear to God I will haunt you...and it won't be pleasant. Make sure that whomever takes them knows not to feed them together in an enclosed space. There has to be a minimum of 8 feet between Dawson and Harry or they will fight. Set Dawson's bowl down first, then Wrigley and then Harry's. Harry may not eat unless you sing, "Harry Baby" to the tune of "Sherry Baby" gently to him first.
Wrigley taught herself to fetch. When she jumps on you, she is just trying to give you the ball so her brothers can't get it. Be patient with that.
Dawson loves to swim and fetch his tennis ball in the water. He doesn't care much about it on land.
Harry has had both of his rear Anterior Cruciate Ligaments replaced and will probably have arthritis at some point in his life. Please be gentle with him and if there is any indication that something is wrong, please call Dr. David Gerber at 920-623-3366. He will know what to do.
Tucker - Call Jaime and see if she can take him back. Otherwise, please find him a good home with someone who has a lot of energy and plenty of tennis balls. He would do very well with another dog. He loves to swim and chase his tennis ball in the water. Tucker takes one tablet of Glycoflex II daily for joint support.
Barney - Barney needs to be an indoor dog and would do well being the only dog in the house. However, he could easily live with Charlie, Gretchen and/or Tucker. Barney had a rough life until I got him and doesn't have a lot of manners. He requires a lot of love and patience.
Charlie - The sweetest dog on the planet. Please find her a good, loving home with someone who understands beagles. And please ask them not to change her name. I finally got her to respond to it.
Gretchen - Robbie? She loves Uncle Robbie. If he can't take her, please find her a good home with a woman, preferably an older one. She is a cuddler and a very devoted dog once she gets to know you. The less commotion in her life, the better. KEEP GRETCHEN AWAY FROM CHILDREN. She needs quiet.
Now, let's talk about my funeral.
1. I want to be cremated. If people want to see me first and say goodbye, I am ok with that. Just have me embalmed and displayed in a rental casket and then sent off for cremation.
2. I will have a life insurance policy through my employer beginning in January 2012. Nikayla, I will make you the primary beneficiary. Please use it to pay for my funeral and to help rehome the animals. If there is anything left, use it for whatever you need.
3. My obituary only needs to go in the Portage paper. No one else really knows me so don't spend the money. Please mention my work as an animal rescuer as a life accomplishment. It means a lot to me. Other information you may need for an obituary:
1989 graduate of Pardeeville High School
1993 graduate of University of Wisconsin - Platteville with a BA in Criminal Justice, Minor in Psychology
Emergency Medical Technician - Intermediate for 16 years. I worked (at various times throughout my career) in Pardeeville, Portage, Wisconsin Dells and Milwaukee.
Animal rescuer, particularly special needs and feral cats. I love all animals.
I would love it if you would mention my dogs, Wrigley, Harry, Dawson, Barney, Charlie, Tucker and Gretchen and my cats Alecs, Maggie, Sarge, Jackson, Joey, Chance, Libby, Nemo, Dory, Alice, Maverick, Isabel, Pipsy, Caesar, Niko, and Jupiter by name in my obituary. They are my children, just like anyone else's human children are theirs.
I was preceded in death by my cats Coley, Tucker, Ozzie, Riley, Emma, Maxie, Lottie, Bob, Mister, Goldie, Clint, and Murphy and my dogs, Sandy & Ben.
Now, as far as who gets what: I don't have very many tangible items but there are a few things I hold near and dear.
My Cubs hats and softball glove - Nikayla
My family history information and research - Adam
My Fenton shoe collection - Robbie
My car (if it is worth anything) - Robbie
My teddy bear that I got when I was 3 - Nikayla
I will add things as I think of them.
Finally, when all is said and done, I want my ashes to be mixed with those of my animals and then mixed into a litter box. It seems most appropriate. When the cats are done with me, just scoop out the poop and send me off with it. I am completely serious about that. I don't want anyone to be burdened with an urn full of Aunt Heidi sitting in their living room. I want to be free. Please refer to my previous blog post titled "Final Wishes."
I think I have everything covered. If not, I will update this post as things come to mind. Hopefully it won't be too late...you never know... (Updated 11/11/11)
Ok, I thought of something else. Please do not allow either of my sisters to speak at my funeral. They were not nice to me during my life and attached conditions to their love. No matter how hard I tried, I never met those conditions. My funeral will not be a stage for them to pretend to have loved me and portray themselves as good people. It will not be a way for Gabby to make herself the center of attention, portraying herself as the loving, grieving sister so everyone will flock around her. (EYE ROLL!) They treated me like crap because they could not accept me for who I am. If they couldn't accept me in life, they should not have the opportunity to accept me in death. The thought of either of them standing up in front of a group of people who DID love me unconditionally and saying things that make it appear as if we were even remotely friends makes me gag. I would be perfectly happy if Gabby was her usual selfish self and boycotted my funeral. Goodbye and good riddens. If Thairn wants to attend to support Nikayla, that's fine. But she can stay in her seat and keep her mouth shut. Amen.
Oh, and regarding organ donation: If they can use it, give it to them. There are people out there like Lisa who have young children and are waiting for an organ to save their lives. If I can help them, please let me. I have spent my whole life helping people and now, because of Lisa, I know what it is like to be on the waiting side of things. My blood type is B+.
The Death of My Brother, Roy William Shields
On October 31, the world as I know it ceased to rotate. Everything and everyone came to a screeching halt. Time stood still as I listened to my niece Jaime sob uncontrollably on the phone. "Have you heard from Kathy?" she asked. "No," I replied, "What's wrong? What is going on?" In an instant, I knew, before the words could come out of Jaime's mouth that something terrible had happened to her father, my brother, Roy. "Dad's dead," she said, "Is it true?" I had not heard anything and the assumption on everyone's part is that the first person Kathy would have called would have been my mother. "Let's not jump the gun here," I replied, "Stay calm and let me make a phone call. We don't know anything yet."
With Jaime on my cell phone, I walked back into my mother's apartment and dialed Kathy's number on the landline. "Kathy," I said, "It's Heidi...it is true?" Based on Kathy's voice, I knew the answer to that question before she said, "Yes." I don't recall the rest of the conversation. I knew I now had to do the hardest thing I have ever done and will probably ever have to do. I had to tell my mother that she had just lost her son...the son who visited us only 9 days earlier. I fell to my knees. My mother had heard me say "Kathy" and knew something was very, very wrong. "What is wrong?" she asked, "What happened to Roy?" The words caught in my throat as I delivered the news that would change all of our lives forever. Mom began to cry and hyperventilate, repeatedly saying, "No, it can't be."
My attention turned to making phone calls. People had to be told and something in my brain kicked into high gear and a sort of business mode that would prevent me from feeling the horrible emptiness that had just taken over my heart and soul. I think it is the EMT in me that allows me to do this. I called my sister Thairn first. She didn't answer. I knew Nikayla was in town so I called her. "Nik, I need your mom. Get your mom! I need to talk to your mom!" Nikayla, of course, asked what was wrong. Shocked, she said, "I will get her. We'll be right there." I regret telling Nikayla this way because it forced her to have to deliver the news to her own mother, as I had just done to mine. I'm sorry, Nik. I wish I had handled that better and taken that burden off your shoulders.
The next person I called was my best friend, Lisa. I was losing the ability to think clearly and I knew Lisa would be level-headed. She arrived at mom's apartment within minutes and didn't leave my side for the duration of this horrible day.
Lisa helped me make phone calls. She called my sister Gabby, which was very brave on Lisa's part. As expected, Gabby was quite rude to Lisa and in-not-so-many-words accused her of lying. (I have known Lisa for many years and I assure you she does not tell people their family member has died for fun.) Then she called Rodney, her old friend from high school.
I called Robbie and Ron and got no answers. So I kept trying. Finally I was able to reach Ron and asked him to call Raymond in Florida. Robbie saw that I had called his cell phone and called me back. Thairn left to pick Robbie up.
I began running down the list of nieces and nephews. Gabby would call April and Donny. I called Rachel and Adam. Ron would call Jake. Everyone else lives with their parents and probably already knew.
In the midst of all of this, my sister Gabby called back. Her agenda? Not to check on mom. Not to ask what happened to Roy. Not to cry with us and share in the shock. Her agenda was to bitch about the fact that Lisa and not mom had called her with the news. So let's get this straight...I just told Mom that her son, her oldest boy who she just saw 9 days earlier, had had a heart attack and was gone, and her first thoughts were supposed to be of Gabby. Mom was not doing well with the news and wasn't even able to speak, let alone pick up the phone and start making calls. But, as usual, the selfishness of my oldest sister shined right through. Thairn fielded the phone call, began to cry, and hung up on the dumb bitch in Washington. Yes, Gabby, that is what we all needed at that point in time. My God you are unbelievable. Selfish...egotistical...psychotic...self-absorbed and unbelievable.
I spoke to Kathy several times that day, worried about the fact that she was alone. They had just moved to Georgia and she knew no one. Her son was not due to arrive until the next morning. I can honestly say that I have never heard someone so upset in my life. The shock was overwhelming her and I was powerless to try to help.
I know that everyone copes with things differently and I know that everyone mourns in different ways. My coping mechanism is to take care of things. I WANT to be the one to make the funeral plans and all the phone calls. It is my way of feeling like I am doing something useful to try to help a helpless situation. Does that make any sense? So Lisa and I headed to the funeral home to at least get an obituary in the paper. Many people loved my brother and would need to know we had lost him. They would want to know.
The next entire week is somewhat of a blur and I still find it hard to believe that the world stopped turning over a week ago already. Roy died on a Sunday. His body arrived at the airport in Milwaukee on Tuesday. Jaime, Roy Michael and I were there to meet him. I almost wish I hadn't gone. You see, my brother wasn't traveling. He wasn't a passenger. He was freight. Marty from the funeral home warned us that he would not be in a casket, but in a reinforced cardboard box. I was willing and able to accept that. However, what he didn't warn us about, was the shipping label on the box. In large letters it read, "Human Remains of Roy William Shields." Human remains??? Human remains are what they find in the woods five years after someone is murdered. Human remains are what they hauled out of Jeffrey Dahmer's apartment in 1989. THOSE are human remains. This is my brother! This is Jaime and Roy Michaels's father! I wanted to scream. It all suddenly became real. That part of my brain that was still convinced that this was a terrible mistake, a horrible and sick Halloween joke, was beginning to come to reality. If the label said Roy was in that box, he must be in that box. But still, I had not actually seen him. It still could be the wrong man.
The next day we needed to finalize the plans for the funeral and meet with Pastor Boeck. Jaime, Roy Michael, Mom and I met at the funeral home. Jaime and Roy had requested to see their dad and the gracious people at the funeral home told them to take their time. I was hesitant, but I wanted to glance into the room. I needed to know if it was really him. I opened the door slowly. There, at the front of the room, covered in surgical drapes, was my oldest brother. There was the man who took me fishing when I was a kid. There was the man who took me to Horicon Marsh when I was little to watch the thousands of geese come and go. There was the man who used to let me beat him at Blackjack so I would have laundry money for college. There was the man who was a tremendous part of my life and my memories and he was lifeless. It really was Roy. He really was dead.
The funeral was on Saturday, November 6, the day after Rodney's 41st birthday. I keep reliving that day and the funeral, hoping we did everything right. I think Roy would have been proud. The pastor did a wonderful job and all of us (Roy's siblings) spoke or dedicated a song to Roy. It ended with military honors and bagpipes. And when all was said and done, I approached the casket one more time. I kissed it gently, rested my hand upon it and said goodbye to my brother for the last time as my tears fell.
Roy, thank you for being the big brother that every little girl dreams of. You were my mentor, my protector, my biggest fan, my hero and my friend. I will always hold you very near to my heart and I will think of you every day. I vowed to you that I will take care of and watch over Jaime and Roy Michael and I will keep that promise. I will always be there for them like you were for me. I love you and I miss you. But I know I will see you again someday. Keep dancing...
With Jaime on my cell phone, I walked back into my mother's apartment and dialed Kathy's number on the landline. "Kathy," I said, "It's Heidi...it is true?" Based on Kathy's voice, I knew the answer to that question before she said, "Yes." I don't recall the rest of the conversation. I knew I now had to do the hardest thing I have ever done and will probably ever have to do. I had to tell my mother that she had just lost her son...the son who visited us only 9 days earlier. I fell to my knees. My mother had heard me say "Kathy" and knew something was very, very wrong. "What is wrong?" she asked, "What happened to Roy?" The words caught in my throat as I delivered the news that would change all of our lives forever. Mom began to cry and hyperventilate, repeatedly saying, "No, it can't be."
My attention turned to making phone calls. People had to be told and something in my brain kicked into high gear and a sort of business mode that would prevent me from feeling the horrible emptiness that had just taken over my heart and soul. I think it is the EMT in me that allows me to do this. I called my sister Thairn first. She didn't answer. I knew Nikayla was in town so I called her. "Nik, I need your mom. Get your mom! I need to talk to your mom!" Nikayla, of course, asked what was wrong. Shocked, she said, "I will get her. We'll be right there." I regret telling Nikayla this way because it forced her to have to deliver the news to her own mother, as I had just done to mine. I'm sorry, Nik. I wish I had handled that better and taken that burden off your shoulders.
The next person I called was my best friend, Lisa. I was losing the ability to think clearly and I knew Lisa would be level-headed. She arrived at mom's apartment within minutes and didn't leave my side for the duration of this horrible day.
Lisa helped me make phone calls. She called my sister Gabby, which was very brave on Lisa's part. As expected, Gabby was quite rude to Lisa and in-not-so-many-words accused her of lying. (I have known Lisa for many years and I assure you she does not tell people their family member has died for fun.) Then she called Rodney, her old friend from high school.
I called Robbie and Ron and got no answers. So I kept trying. Finally I was able to reach Ron and asked him to call Raymond in Florida. Robbie saw that I had called his cell phone and called me back. Thairn left to pick Robbie up.
I began running down the list of nieces and nephews. Gabby would call April and Donny. I called Rachel and Adam. Ron would call Jake. Everyone else lives with their parents and probably already knew.
In the midst of all of this, my sister Gabby called back. Her agenda? Not to check on mom. Not to ask what happened to Roy. Not to cry with us and share in the shock. Her agenda was to bitch about the fact that Lisa and not mom had called her with the news. So let's get this straight...I just told Mom that her son, her oldest boy who she just saw 9 days earlier, had had a heart attack and was gone, and her first thoughts were supposed to be of Gabby. Mom was not doing well with the news and wasn't even able to speak, let alone pick up the phone and start making calls. But, as usual, the selfishness of my oldest sister shined right through. Thairn fielded the phone call, began to cry, and hung up on the dumb bitch in Washington. Yes, Gabby, that is what we all needed at that point in time. My God you are unbelievable. Selfish...egotistical...psychotic...self-absorbed and unbelievable.
I spoke to Kathy several times that day, worried about the fact that she was alone. They had just moved to Georgia and she knew no one. Her son was not due to arrive until the next morning. I can honestly say that I have never heard someone so upset in my life. The shock was overwhelming her and I was powerless to try to help.
I know that everyone copes with things differently and I know that everyone mourns in different ways. My coping mechanism is to take care of things. I WANT to be the one to make the funeral plans and all the phone calls. It is my way of feeling like I am doing something useful to try to help a helpless situation. Does that make any sense? So Lisa and I headed to the funeral home to at least get an obituary in the paper. Many people loved my brother and would need to know we had lost him. They would want to know.
The next entire week is somewhat of a blur and I still find it hard to believe that the world stopped turning over a week ago already. Roy died on a Sunday. His body arrived at the airport in Milwaukee on Tuesday. Jaime, Roy Michael and I were there to meet him. I almost wish I hadn't gone. You see, my brother wasn't traveling. He wasn't a passenger. He was freight. Marty from the funeral home warned us that he would not be in a casket, but in a reinforced cardboard box. I was willing and able to accept that. However, what he didn't warn us about, was the shipping label on the box. In large letters it read, "Human Remains of Roy William Shields." Human remains??? Human remains are what they find in the woods five years after someone is murdered. Human remains are what they hauled out of Jeffrey Dahmer's apartment in 1989. THOSE are human remains. This is my brother! This is Jaime and Roy Michaels's father! I wanted to scream. It all suddenly became real. That part of my brain that was still convinced that this was a terrible mistake, a horrible and sick Halloween joke, was beginning to come to reality. If the label said Roy was in that box, he must be in that box. But still, I had not actually seen him. It still could be the wrong man.
The next day we needed to finalize the plans for the funeral and meet with Pastor Boeck. Jaime, Roy Michael, Mom and I met at the funeral home. Jaime and Roy had requested to see their dad and the gracious people at the funeral home told them to take their time. I was hesitant, but I wanted to glance into the room. I needed to know if it was really him. I opened the door slowly. There, at the front of the room, covered in surgical drapes, was my oldest brother. There was the man who took me fishing when I was a kid. There was the man who took me to Horicon Marsh when I was little to watch the thousands of geese come and go. There was the man who used to let me beat him at Blackjack so I would have laundry money for college. There was the man who was a tremendous part of my life and my memories and he was lifeless. It really was Roy. He really was dead.
The funeral was on Saturday, November 6, the day after Rodney's 41st birthday. I keep reliving that day and the funeral, hoping we did everything right. I think Roy would have been proud. The pastor did a wonderful job and all of us (Roy's siblings) spoke or dedicated a song to Roy. It ended with military honors and bagpipes. And when all was said and done, I approached the casket one more time. I kissed it gently, rested my hand upon it and said goodbye to my brother for the last time as my tears fell.
Roy, thank you for being the big brother that every little girl dreams of. You were my mentor, my protector, my biggest fan, my hero and my friend. I will always hold you very near to my heart and I will think of you every day. I vowed to you that I will take care of and watch over Jaime and Roy Michael and I will keep that promise. I will always be there for them like you were for me. I love you and I miss you. But I know I will see you again someday. Keep dancing...
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
"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.
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.
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.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
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...
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...
Friday, October 1, 2010
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.
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