My Dog Lives

The first dog I ever remember was a Chihuahua named Charlie Brown. He was my parents dog and was the "first child" of Josephine and Carl. I don't remember much about him other than he was a little cantankerous by the time I came along and he had "dropsy". This was a heart condition of sorts that cause him to faint, lay on the floor breathing shallowly, and hoping up to lay on the couch for a long nap. It basically terrified me.

There are numerous photos of Charlie Brown lying at the foot of my crib watching over me despite my insertion into his life. My Mother and Dad sat together on the couch crying when we had to put him to sleep at 22. It wasn't until much later in life that I realized how significant he was to the two of them and how much of life they shared with him. He was a companion to my mother when my Dad was away at school. He was Dad's caretaker when he was sick. And he was the sentry that watched reluctantly over a newborn.

Chip was the next one in line, a stray that wandered up to our house on Carta Rd. He was a wire hair terrier with who knows what else in him. He and a neighbors dog named Cinnamon meandered about the neighborhood most days and settled respectively at our house and the Griffin's house at night. It seemed in those days we didn't worry as much about strays and we fed whoever wandered up. Seems as long as they didn't damage anything or anyone, they were welcomed.

Chip was my best friend. He was always up for a a game of Bonanza and wandered the Ponderosa of the back yard when I decided the fence horse was where the afternoon playtime was. He gladly laid down next to me to hear my complaints about my Dad being a "male chauvinist pig" one night (yes there's a tale about that one. It was the 70's after all and I was Woman Hear me Roar). He splayed himself out for the regular Doctor's appointments I made for him with my plastic stethoscope and little blue plastic bag. It was probably the little candy pills he liked. He was a sport. I held him the night before he died and knew he was my first love and best friend.

There were several dogs in between that were part of our lives but I was growing up and didn't have the energy or time to spend with them. Olivia was a shepherd mutt who was named after Olivia Newton John. She was the crush at the time and about the time the real Olivia got married, the dog Olivia (Livvie) ran away. Sparky was in there somewhere. He was the dog around when I was in college. More for Mom's company than any. Finally, Smokey was the last. He too took off in a thunderstorm I think.

Summitt the wonder pup was the best of the bunch. As I've written before, she was my soul mate and likely always will be. She was the first dog that was mine all mine and we forged a bond in the snows of upper East Tennessee when she was 6 weeks old and her peeps of discomfort could be heard out my bedroom window during a snowstorm. My mother got her for me over Thanksgiving one year after I rented a house. I carried her in a pouch pocket for about a month. She chewed the hell out of my furniture and wasn't the most welcoming dog. But she stuck with me through sickness and health and hurt. She lies under an apple tree in Washington. And I miss her still.

I've had cats too. They are fine but the dog lover in me enjoys the companionship. It is something to be with a creature who cares not a wit about what you do or who you love or how you worry. Yes they want food shelter and water. They also teach me how to live in a world with too little forgiveness and too much selfishness. In part because they forgive and seem to understand that we humans are pack animals displaced.

Lewis is currently piled on the couch on my Grandmothers quilt. It seems the family is together again.

Lewis and Life

Lewis has heart worms. Lyndsey has encouraged me to blog about this since I cant really blog about my patients. HIPPA and all.

So I am going to try. I am an overprotective pet owner and he is fabulous. A dire situation even if he gets a hangnail. More on that later on perhaps. So I will start this endeavor with some info and background.

Heart worm disease

Heartworm disease is a serious and potentially fatal condition caused by parasitic worms living in the arteries of the lungs and occasionally in the right side of the heart of dogs, cats and other species of mammals, including wolves, foxes, ferrets, sea lions and (in rare instances) humans. Heartworms are classified as nematodes (roundworms) and are filarids, one of many species of roundworms. Dogs and cats of any age or breed are susceptible to heart worms.

http://www.heartwormsociety.org

If its bad enough to have its own society, it's bad.

Let me begin by stating that this is very treatable. Expensive but treatable. Often there are symptoms other than a cough. A blood test and xray are needed to help determine treatment. ($225)

At the moment he is tracking a squirrel or some other tree dweller. He played at the dog park last night and in true herder fashion undercut a Labradoodle and set him on his butt. (he went to check on him too. still...) He is eating fine.

We adopted Lewis knowing he had tested positive in the past. He was a stray and apparently his owner decided someone would take pity on him if he tied him to a pole. So his adoptive mom took him. She tested him and re tested ... He was positive. She treated him with doxycycline,an antibiotic and Heartgard. From all I can tell this is a way to treat the worms but not a way to get rid of them. So we can't fault her really. She told us he was negative when we got him. Not so sure I can't fault her for that.

At his routine visit this year, he had blood drawn and all the usuals. And he was positive. The vet told me its unlikely he'd be positive for as long as he was and then turn up negative. He was kinder than I am.

We did a chest X-ray. And I am happy to say Lewis has lovely innards. A slightly enlarged right side heart, good arteries, an his lungs are clear. One descending somethin somethin artery is enlarged which is the likely spot of infection. I also learns air "pictures" black so his lungs are indeed clear.

I bought the prescribed antibiotics, again doxycycline ($63.23) and he'll do those for about 15 days. The next step is to do three shots. The drug that you treat with is called Immiticide. It’s an injectable, arsenic-based product. The dog is given two or three injections that will kill the adult heartworms in the blood vessels of the heart.

And the we keep him calm for 6-8 weeks.

That's when the fun begins.

My hope is this will be more than a "poor pitiful us" blog. We will learn I am sure.



Sent from my iPhone

At the moment I am sitting in my back porch looking at the earliest of fall leaves on my trees. This is my first fall at this house that Lyndsey and I share. I am so very happy to be here. It is comfortable and a place we can call home together. Home is a good place. I am listening to a Knoxville radio station with Bob Kesling who took over for John Ward a few years a go. I miss John Ward, gravel voiced and all. He is retired and doing Tennessee gas commercials. Which made Sam and I laugh alot. It is days like today that I miss them the most...them being Mom Dad and Dot and Sam. Tailgating on the river with brownies from the little bakery on Jacksboro Pike. Can't think of the name now but Dot made sure that we had them. Sam and I headed to Hardee's for either chicken bisquits or roast beef sandwiches...depending on the game time. As a kid it was 1:00pm period. "TV just ruined it!" they always proclaimed afterwards. It s a rain delay per the radio. So we wait for kick off. At one time I remember sitting in pouring rain but I think that was before the metal seats! So many memories in that place and time. For which I am grateful and loved even now on this back porch on a day that is football time in Tennessee.

Throwing Shoes

She was 11.

Tears streaming down her face, she sat in her seat on the bus.

Things had gotten a little hairy getting on the bus leaving camp that day. And when you are small, life gets a little challenging. Shoes got tossed and she was hit in the head.

The head counselor came and got me. I seem to be the one to go to when the crying starts. Not sure why but I do.

I asked what happened and made sure there was no real harm....like blood or a knot. All was well on the outside any way.

She asked me to sit with her. So I did. We sat in silence for a good bit. Because she was 11 and I might as well make a new friend, I asked her what she did, who was her family.

She did art and soccer and lived with her mom and 4 yr old sister. She liked to wrestle with her sometimes. Her dad had died in the last year.

I know that hurts.

It being summer and all, I asked what she was doing this year. Camping with Nana in a really, really, really hard bed had already happened. This week was grief camp...that was where we were when the shoe thing happened. And next week she was going to Alaska.

"We are flying to Las Vegas"

"Gonna play the slots?"
"Nooooo silly....I am too young to do that! But then we're gonna fly to Washington and then get on a boat and then we're gonna horseback ride in Alaska and ride bikes and...."
"Wow....I think I want YOUR life!"
"Do YOU wanna get hit by a shoe?"

: )

Bah Humbug...Sorta

If anyone has been around me lately or near me during Christmases past, you know I am not thrilled with the holidays. For me, it is too much grief, too much missing. It is for me the worst of “orphaned holidays”.

Growing up Christmas WAS fun. We did the cookies for Santa thing (only it was cheese and crackers cause Santa had high cholesterol). We read the Christmas story. Decorated the tree. I was sent back and forth from my house to my god parents house with coded messages usually innocent enough but laden with sexual innuendo (it really was funny looking back on it!) and we spent the day with my grandmother and cousins…some of whom I didn’t see often.

This year is my first year with all of the family deceased. There has usually been ONE phone call to make at least. But this year, not so much.

So I am working Christmas eve and Christmas Day. I figure I can work and sleep and then it will be over! One can call me in denial or whatever. It is my choice and may keep me sane!

With all of that in mind, I did realize today, it isn’t ALL humbug. The following is a list I can live with:

1)I believe that Santa’s reindeer were on my roof that Christmas Eve when I was 5.

2)I think Handel’s Messiah is one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written.

3)I like hot cider.

4)I stand and sing the “loo loo loo loo loo” part of the Charlie Brown Christmas show

5)Luke’s birth narrative warms my heart.

6)I love Christmas lights.

7)I love my stockings

8)Everyone seems happier

9)I can wear my Santa hat…if I can find it

10)I re read a Christmas Carol this year…..

11)I think it is cool that my parents were creative enough to have “Santa” call me every Christmas eve at 6:00pm. It’s even cooler that I never figured out who it was until I was a teenager.

12)I am intentionally making things quieter each year.

13)I say “Santy Claus” sometimes….I am from East Tennysee you know.


All will be well and all manner of things will be well.

Sec C Row 32 Seats 1,2,3,4

Sec C Row 32 Seats 1,2,3,4

These were the seats where I was raised. The are located in Neyland Stadium in Knoxville TN. If you believe the family stories, I was practically born there… in the rain in October 1966 as Joe Namath played for Alabama.

It was there that I sat and listened to stories of games played in Knoxville, Athens, Birmingham, “on the Plain”, Tuscaloosa, and Gainesville. Stories of games played in Emory VA, Jefferson City, TN and Bluefield, WVa. We talked football. And along with the sport, I learned the geography of my family and my faith.

Saturdays in Knoxville were spent in the ritual of getting ready for the game. When I was 5 or 6 I got to go to one game a year. It was usually Alabama because that was my “birthday game”. As I got older and that rivalry got more one sided, I usually chose the Georgia game. Our seats were alongside the visitor section. I learned all the school cheers, not just Rocky Top. I learned that “damn” was a cuss word and I was not to use it at home (thanks Hotty Toddy) and I never much liked cowbell (Mississippi State). I memorized the rules and the game program. I wondered about places like “The Plains” and Commonwealth Stadium. I got to go to Birmingham and understood why the Iron Bowl was played. I listened to "Lordy Hershel! RUN!!!" more than I care to remember.

This last Saturday, I had the privilege to go to Sanford Stadium with my friend Blair, also a child of the SEC south. It was a pilgrimage. With the ones who taught me the game long gone, I went alone to see a friend. I carried with me the memories, legends, and excitement of two men who I hope somewhere could watch me and see who I had become. That fact alone was enough for the weekend to serve its purpose. I touched the hedges, imagined a trip home in 1960 something that my father and Sam called “harrowing” as they were bumped “all the way down the highway”…the only time I recall my father wanting to fight someone, a feat hard to believe for his easy going temperament.

I wore red and black on Saturday, with orange socks. I wanted to experience Athens as a Georgia fan. As one welcomed home and into the fold. I am frequently asked why it is that I can sit and watch a game and enjoy it no matter who is playing.
It is because of those Saturdays in Sec C. I would cheer for Tennessee then. Still do most days. Sam and I shook our heads in dismay in those days…for the good and the ugly. I heard other fight songs and watched other mascots. I secretly hoped Vanderbilt would win most games.

Maybe it was in the section where I learned and saw differences. Subtle, obvious, and in between. It was in those seats that I learned some people win a lot and some people can’t win for losing. And that isn’t always fair.

And it was in those seats that I sat with my family, learned the rules of the game, and traded stories and knew I was loved.

Today is September 11.

Nine years ago I came out of a windowless training room with 7 co workers and the world had changed. We emerged to see small television screens fuzzy with images of ash, smoke, and fire. A coworker worried that her husband would be unable to return from his business trip. I worried that a cousin in New York was safe. Both were safe and sound though shaken for obvious reasons. I also gave thanks for my mother’s death three months prior as I knew she would be frightened in ways I would not want to see.

I have seen signs and facebook statuses that tell me to “never forget”. That will not be a problem. I don’t forget what I have experienced. A lot has happened in these nine years since. America has been at constant war, both at home and abroad. I have friends whose family members have served in Iraq and Afghanistan. I have cared for them, their children, and their families in many ways. Through prayer, presence, and phone calls. It is the least I can do for them.

Closer to home this week has seen calls for burning of sacred texts. I haven’t read a Qur’an. I will buy one today. I will read it and hopefully talk to a Muslim friend who can help me understand it. I will compare it to my sacred text, the Bible. These are streams of faith that run into rivers of holy waters. I am baptized in those waters created by a God who is seen and heard in many ways for longer than any of us have known.

The God I serve is called many names. Even Allah.

The God I serve calls me to love my enemies. I am not even sure they are my enemies. I disagree with them for certain. Ideologically, theologically. We may not even agree on what football teams we like… and in the South that’s important. What I do know is they look like Fred Phelps. They look like Terry Jones. They look a lot like Scott Roeder. Those are the easy ones.

What about the enemy that sits next to you on the couch? The ones you know who loved you on the first day of your life? The ones that taught you to pray for peace? The ones that sit next to you at the office and need to tell you they are hurting because of something they know you support? The ones you care for in body, mind, and spirit who speak ill against “people like that” knowing you are the “that” of which they speak? Can you love them?

Can you forget them?