Seasons Change

 

We have had heartache over the past couple of years.  The original four-pack of Molly, George, Chase and Charlie will forever hold a special place in our hearts.  Abby has gained beautiful silver streaks on her face and she is the new, self-appointed leader of a four-pack that deserves new posts.

Memories of Molly: A Haiku

Soft silver-tinged ears
Wide paw lifting to my knee
Molly says hello.

A Cemetery Visit

There are only so many routes to the Englishman’s workplace and the road from the interstate through Sharon, Georgia is the most direct.  Railroad tracks that are still in use follow the road and Sharon boasts a tiny post office, stately homes from years gone by and the oldest Catholic Church in Georgia.  A small sign points the way to the original church site and the remaining cemetery dating to the 1700s.

Tucked away from the rural road, I have visited the Locust Grove Cemetery on a few occasions.  It is surrounded by a stone wall and the many headstones are difficult to decipher.  As the Englishman stopped our truck, I jumped out and carefully helped our 16-year old English Cocker Spaniel, Molly, to the ground.  In the past year, her hearing had completely vanished and her vision diminished as well.  She sniffed the air and then followed us into the cemetery. 

Birds chirped overhead in the canopy of trees.  The grounds were difficult to navigate with unexpected low points filled with water from the recent rain earlier in the week.  Autumn leaves still covered the ground, a contrast to the snow drops and daffodils carpeting the ground with blossoms of bright white and lemon yellow.

Molly shuffled through the crisp, brown leaves until she found a dip of rain water.  She pressed down into it, covering her belly and lapped up a mouthful.  The Englishman rushed to the truck to retrieve her bottled water and a towel.  Molly met us at the entrance to the cemetery and the Englishman poured clean water into a Ziploc bag that was improvised into a bowl.  Molly lay on the ground, a paw on either side of the bag and started to drink.  I perched on a small, flat rock and the Englishman stood a few feet away.  Molly abruptly raised her head and moved it upward from side to side. 

“What is she doing?” I asked the Englishman.  He stepped forward and crouched down next to her, lightly touching her back.  “Are you finished, Molly?” he asked.  Molly’s head lowered once again to her water bowl.  The Englishman stroked the top of Molly’s head.  She stopped drinking, raised her head and moved it upward from side to side.

As we drove away, Molly on a towel next to me and sun flickering through gaps in the trees, I wondered if someone from long ago was happy to have the chance to pet a dog once more.

Just a Little Loopy

Molly, our fifteen-year-old English Cocker Spaniel had been waking us up for weeks at 3AM, barking until her fur became drenched with perspiration.  We tried leaving her out of her crate, leaving the dog door open, medication…all with no improvement.  I finally suggested a visit to the vet was in order.  Molly was not a fussy dog or a needy one.  The incessant barking was quite out of the ordinary.  A quick exam ruled out our fears that she was in pain from arthritis; however a more troubling diagnosis was given:  Canine Cognitive Dysfunction or Doggie Dementia.  After the vet explained all the early symptoms of the disease and then what to expect in the more advanced stages, the Englishman declared that Molly was “just a little loopy”.

The diagnosis really fit with the symptoms:  sleeping more during the day, less at night, more accidents in the house, barking at nothing and an increase in anxiety.  The vet initially suggested trying a nighttime dose of Benadryl to help her sleep.  We tried it for two nights in a row and it made things worse.  With Chase, a small dose of Benadryl makes him sleepy but with Molly, it made her hyperactive.  I decided to do some online research and found several support groups and websites with suggestions.  There were so many articles to read and so many ideas I became overwhelmed until I stumbled across and article called “Dementia and anxiety in your older dog” on A Path with Paws website.  Everything began to click with me, especially the sentence “Not all dementia has an anxiety component to it and not all anxiety in older dogs is from dementia but the two often go together”.  I realized that we needed to treat the anxiety, first.

Molly had lost all of her hearing over the past couple of years and her eyesight had greatly diminished.  She slept soundly because of this but when she woke up in the dark, she would bark until the Englishman or I came to her aid.  She wasn’t barking in our direction.  She was barking in the spot where she woke.  I could only imagine that it was a great distress to Molly when she woke in the dark and couldn’t see or hear.  We immediately moved her bed into our room, placed a water bowl nearby and added a motion activated nightlight right next to her.  If she woke in the night, there was a light at her level and she could detect our presence with her nose.  I also added lavender essential oil to a timed diffuser for extra comfort.

The improvement was immediate.  Molly no longer barked incessantly and reached such deep levels of sleep, her snoring returned.  The other two dogs, while initially envious of Molly’s new nighttime sleeping arrangement, settled back into their crates with four-inch memory foam mattresses and custom sheets.  As we headed into the New Year and Molly’s upcoming 16^th birthday, we felt it was just fine that our companion was a little loopy.  Aren’t we all?

Packing Peanuts

I placed my empty Stonewall Kitchen box on the floor, careful to close it up so the leftover packing peanuts wouldn’t escape.  I thought that I might be able to reuse the peanuts and the box for Christmas gifts to England.  Over the next few days, as I walked past the box, I always crouched low to close it, puzzled as to why it stubbornly opened on its own several hours later.

And then, one evening as I walked by the box, I caught Molly with her nose buried deep inside.  She was gorging on the packing peanuts.  In fact, it looked like she had been eating them for days as the supply had been depleted by more than half.  I secured the box shut once again, sure that she wouldn’t be able to undo the lid this time.  Molly brought backup in the form of George and with teamwork, they opened the box and began scarfing peanuts with wild abandon.  I removed the box from the house and placed it in the garage.  

When I told the Englishman about the incident over Sunday supper with his oldest son and daughter-in-law, I learned that packing peanuts can be made with biodegradable starch and are safe to eat.  The Englishman demonstrated by retrieving a peanut from the drool-covered box and popped one into his mouth, chewing vigorously.  He declared it quite tasty and mentioned that if we had a zombie apocalypse, he would head to the nearest warehouse to stock up on the edible delights called packing peanuts.   He patted his clever canines on the heads and sat down to finish his dinner.

Ice-capades

I felt like I was in an episode of "Lassie".  Molly and George had returned to the house, barking and herding me into the backyard.  Once they were sure that I would follow, the two English Cocker Spaniels raced ahead to the edge of the pond and looked at me to proudly show their discovery:  it had frozen during the night and there appeared to be small paw prints on the surface.  Dog paw prints.  Their paw prints.

Before I could order them back, Molly and George spread their webbed paws, widened their legs and carefully waddled onto the surface, happy barks echoing across their winter wonderland.

For the remainder of the day, the pair took advantage of the rare ice skating opportunity, undaunted by the slippery cold surface.  By the next afternoon, the ice was gone.

Molly and George, ever the optimists, continued to check the pond's surface, waiting for it to transform once again.  Despite the unusual deposits of snow and ice during the course of the Georgia winter, the pond remained elusively liquid, forever hiding the memories of a moment when two small dogs joyfully took center stage.

The “Howl”elujah Chorus

Nearly every day I am treated to a special a cappella recital by George, Charlie and Molly. George begins with the prelude as a low whine from deep down in the secret, dark places of his body. The whine turns into a wail and as it begins to grow louder, Charlie joins in with perfectly harmonized staccato yips, performed with a unique falsetto. As the wail becomes a howl flowing from George’s lungs and increasing in volume, Molly adds another level of low moans in a lovely alto voice. The trio continues for a brief moment until the finale. Molly and Charlie abruptly end their serenades while George finishes the masterpiece with a quivering cry quickly descending into silence. Once the canine cantata is complete, the dogs resume their normal activities of eating, drinking and sleeping…unless a special encore is required.

All Paws on the Poop Deck

It was a hot summer and it rained frequently. For the first time in years, Georgia was not experiencing a drought. The grass and weeds were healthy, green and tall. Very tall. Tall grass was not a problem for Chase. He trampled it, rolled on it and used it as camouflage to remain invisible as he stalked birds. The height of the grass proved daunting for Charlie, George and Molly who had considerably shorter legs. None wished to venture into the backyard jungle to do their daily doggy business.

The three vertically challenged canines solved their dilemma simply by lifting a leg to my potted plants on the back deck. Even Molly, the sole female of the bunch, lifted her leg in solidarity. Determined to end this rotten behavior, I armed myself with a bottle of non-environmentally friendly bleach and a hose. I blasted all traces of residue away from the upper deck as the three dogs scrambled out of the reach of the spray to the lower deck. I approached the railing and peered below. To my dismay, that area had been utilized as the “poop deck”. I could feel my blood boil as I raised the hose and blasted the lower deck clean. The dogs jumped into the grassy jungle for safety and I continued on my mission for cleanliness. They scurried to the back stairs and were now peering down at me from above.

I stomped up the stairs and led all three as far into the yard as possible where I ordered them to go to the bathroom. I was fully aware of the ridiculous scene and prayed that the neighbors weren’t watching. As I surveyed the yard, I spied the small green dog pool discarded beneath a tree. I gingerly gave it a tug and shrieked as a brilliant blue and green salamander slithered into the undergrowth. I looked around for my pack to rescue me but they were back on the poop deck. I dragged the pool to the lower deck and filled it with water. It was large enough to prevent any additional squatting in that area and provided a great summer activity for sixteen hot paws. Molly, George and Charlie pushed their way into the pool and splashed around in the cool water while Chase continued to roll through the weeds.

Still unconvinced, I hoped for the best and prepared for the worst. I placed the hose within my reach and decided I would blast away any future bad behavior. Completely pooped, I retreated into the house with my dog entourage and called it a day.

Keep On Rollin'

Most of the dogs in my life enjoy my parents’ pool. A large rectangle of shimmering blue sits beyond a fence in the side yard, tempting hot paws to test the cool waters, a screened-in shady cabana with plenty of padded chaise lounges to be shared and lush shady bushes and flowers line the outer edges in need of exploration by wet noses.

For several years, the pool would remain uncovered during the winter months. As the weather became warm, Chase and Dolly would check the water temperature often by dabbing a paw in the water on the first step. This past winter, my parents opted for a taut blue cover professionally installed by the local pool company. Supposedly it was so tough an elephant could stand on it. We didn’t test that claim but it sure could hold the dogs. Molly, the older English cocker spaniel, was the first to wander onto the springy surface. She was so eager to swim that she settled onto a puddle that had accumulated in the center and attempted a ridiculous dog paddle. She would have to wait a few more months.

Molly was ecstatic when she saw the pool was once again open for dogs. It was hard to keep her out once she was in. Dog-paddling her way around the edges, her black fur looked shiny and luxurious and her long ears floated gracefully on the surface. When she took a break from swimming, it was merely to race along the perimeter of the pool barking with happiness. She used the heat from the cement to dry her fur as she rolled and rolled and found unused dry cement to continue her mission. Rolling, rolling, rolling….SPLASH! Molly emerged sputtering from beneath the water where she had fallen. She paddled to the steps and continued her quest for dry fur. In the process, she rolled back into the pool once more. Fool me once and maybe fool me twice but the rolling and falling into the pool continued. Molly even took to prancing along the pool’s edge and then, oops! She would “slip” and plunge into the water.

Was this the accidental discovery of pure summer bliss or a very clumsy older dog? I find the choice difficult however, I do agree with the words of American author Ambrose Bierce, “the most affectionate creature in the world is a wet dog.” A perfect description for this little water –logged water dog!

Cookie Monsters

My mother planned a cookie baking session with her friend and three children on the same weekend that I was coming to visit with my four-pack. The dogs were thrilled to have three pint-sized humans to play with and eagerly showcased their favorite toys. After a quick lunch of sloppy-Joes, the cookie making production began. Although it was a beautiful day outside, none of the dogs wanted to leave the mouth watering smells that wafted through the house. In fact, they preferred to hang out in the kitchen, amidst the entire cookie baking activities.

The first cookies planned were a kid-friendly chocolate chip cookie made according to the original Nestle Tollhouse recipe on the back of the chocolate chip bag. The two older boys helped measure ingredients in between playing Nintendo games on handheld devices. The youngest child, a tiny blonde girl, kicked off her Sponge Bob flip flops and climbed a chair she had pushed against the butcher block island. Armed with a cookie scoop, the five year old carefully measured the dough and dropped each cookie ball onto a metal sheet. She paused momentarily, face scrunched in concentration, as she counted the dollops on the tray. Her right arm, with the scoop clutched tightly in her tiny fist, dangled below and Chase was ready with his tongue to lick the dough clinging to its sides. I smiled at the Norman Rockwell moment but quickly rushed in and grabbed the scoop, admonished my dog and washed the drool covered gadget in the sink.

Mom pulled trays of cookies from the oven and held them for the boys who used spatulas to remove the treats onto cooling racks placed on the kitchen table. Once the last cookie was removed from the oven, my grandmother began to make her delicious “S” cookies. This was an old shortbread-like recipe that was mixed by hand. The cookie was formed into an S shape before baking in the oven. After baking, a generous dusting of powdered sugar coated each cookie.

Mom, her friend and I took a break in the living room until Grandma began yelling for help. Mom ran into the kitchen and discovered that George had climbed up onto a chair next to the table and retrieved two cookies! He and Molly were on the tile floor enjoying their pilfered cookies. All dogs were banished outside along with the children who ran them ragged. Tennis ball throwing and front yard races to determine who was the fastest runner…boys or dachshunds? The dogs and children frolicked until it was time to leave. I wasn’t sure who was more tired but I smiled as I surveyed all of the cookie monsters napping in the living room, paws twitching slightly, and wondered if they were dreaming of cookies.