Sprightliness and Perserverence

Fips was voraciously cuddly last night, nudging my face and crawling over my head. He eventually settled down on a pillow.

This morning both dogs were on the perky side, and Fips showed none of his more usual morning creakiness and stumbles. It was overcast and damp but otherwise dry, and so after noon I decided to take them down to Alderpark for an end of year pad-about.

When we got there, Fips was back in creak-n-poke mode, but once we got onto the trail he gradually picked up his pace, building up to a run on the down slopes. Down by the second bridge I felt a few droplets and wondered if maybe we shouldn't turn back, but I forged on.

At the half way mark, Fips charged across the bridge, as some more drops fell. But now it made no difference and so we were locked into doing the full circuit.

Fips was doing pretty well, outpacing Rosco who was lagging behind. But after the rise in the trail, past the half way mark, Fips began to tire. He picked up his pace on the down slope. Again on the flat, he slowed down to a steady but otherwise unvivacious walk. Once we got to the creek and the lower parking lot, Fips was just plain dogged. Now it was Rosco who trotted up the hill as Fips came along slowly and I squealed encourgement.

We now know Fips' comfortable and outer limits; but we made it, once again! ending the year with perduring sprightliness and steady perserverence.

.

Geronto-Champ

It was at last dry today and so we thought it would be a good time to make a mail run into "the Homeland". But when we got to the border there was a long, very slow line of cars and trucks inching along. I hadn't reacted quickly enough and almost immediately got locked into the line, where I idled and inched for almost 1o minutes before coming to a place in the road where I could U turn back. Who knows what security frenzy had gripped the other side, but Screw This. I doubled back a block and then headed east to Alder Mountin

This would be our sixth AlderWalk and each time (except for two pad-abouts around the entrance) we have ventured further down the trail. My concern has been how much "up" the trial the back would be and whether the Fipster could make it. The sign at the beginning said "4km" -- How far along would we make it today?

Fips started out pokey, as Rosco trotted impatiently ahead. But after a while Fips built up steam and flew down to Bridge Two...

Where there was a waterfall that interested me,

and a short ways on something very interesting to both pups

Fips was doing pretty well, but I began to notice that his right hind leg was increasingly wobbly and he ran with a bias as his spine arc'd to left. Eventually he stumbled into the ditch. I lifted him out and held him as I massaged his hips with my thumbs. This seemed to make him feel better and he took off again, somewhat straighter than before.

At 2.4 miles AlderMountin is a respectable hike. More wooded, it is not as wild and rocky as RedwoodMountin where Fips and I would climb up stoney ravines in the rain, many years agoI though back to those young pup days. Fips was so intrepid then -- alert, "tight" and full of sure footed bounce. AlderMountin is more genteel -- a softer trek for an older Fips. "Just like mountin, eh, guys?" I said

We made it down to the bottom, which wasn't that much farther -- two bridges more -- than where we had got before. But here, shaded by thickets of branches and sheltered by the encircling bluffs it was cooler and snow still lay on the ground

I kept an eye on Fips. He was doing pretty well and as the path corrected its slant and evened out, Fips seems to do a little better, picking up steam again and chasing over Bridge Four. No ... he is not a gymnastic puppy. His leg hurts, his vision is clouded, his breath shorts, but he is still intrepid... as much if not more so even than before.

After the last bridge, the trail rose up again. Fips doggedly and steadily made it to the top. But then as we headed back down, Fips began to visibly tire. I stopped to encourage him and to give him little hip massages as we went.

Fips had gamely sampered along, stopping and turning to sniff -- and sometimes "precision sniff" something invisibly fascinating. But now his scampers became fewer and he was slowing down. Still he persisted.

Back down at Level Zero we came on to more snow, which both doggies padded through, until we came to the lower level parking lot next to the creek.

By the time we got to the creekside pic nic area, Fips was visibly tired. At one point, just before the parking lot, he lost his bearing and got entangled in some twigs.

From out first exploration into this park, I knew we were close to the upper level entrance. I thought it best to head up the smooth road back to the truck, but Fips instead wanted to go up via the parallel trail. But then he started lagging.

So we headed returned to the road. It was slow going... step by step but Fips never faltered, as Rosco chased ahead, stopping every now and then to impatiently look back. A grounds-keeper was picking getting into his cart across the road. Fips spotted him, and walked on over slowly to say hello. Even now, Fips keeps his social graces. A little ways on and we reached to crest.

We made it!! The full Alder Loop. I am so proud of Fips. He is such a champ. "You're such a champ, Fips, such a champ! ...and Rosco Too" I said as I patted l'il bro on his head. Does Fips understand? Is he proud he made it? If he is proud that would mean he is also conscious of his failing strengths ... not as a present moment experienced but as a condition . I have no doubt that Fips feels joy-in-strength -- the exhiliration of the moment lived. But that pride which flows from an awareness of overcoming requires objectification and comparison. I don't doubt that Fips, who definitely understands otherness, might have a sense of overcoming others -- that is what tuggies are all about. But overcoming self is a complex and paradoxical abstraction which requires a sense of delimited or diminishing self. I am not so sure I want Fips to be proud of that, but I am.

We returned to the border. There were only a few cars in queue, as a long white car with a blue flag followed by an SUV with tinted windows sped across the highway. We crossed into the "Homeland" where I picked up my mail.

.

First Snow

We had our first snow. It began on Friday evening with light sugar-like grains. It was silent and still at night and in the morning we awoke to a fuzz of snow on the ground.

The doggies were not so sure about going out. But eventually they made the jump and chased about in this soft, cold substance. [Stay tuned for movie]

All Saturday and into Sunday, the snow kept falling until a thick snow pillow lay on the land, and it was chillingly cold.


Except for the briefest of pauses, the doggies preferred to stay inside.

Although Rosco ventured a little further.

While Fips wondered ....if and .... when....

.

A Curious & Appreciative Audience

The other day I was practicing the "Twanger" -- the thing that passes for a piano around here -- when I looked down and saw Fipsie looking up at me with that inquiring look that ask, "How do you do that?"

"Yes Fipsie...music..." I said, as Fips moved closer and poked his nose to where the sound was coming from.

I played some Hanon as Fips continued to listen with a sort of tranquil intensity.

It has been too long without a piano. In the early days it was Rudy mostly who would curl up next to me on the bench as I played; on rare occasion Hobbs. I don't think Fips was all that interested in the piano-sounds until we moved to Middletown, where on one fascinating evening I showed him how he too could make these sonorous noises.

These days, when I start to play, Fips will usually come over, sit on his haunchies and stare up at me. Sometimes he will poke close toward the piano as if examining or analyzing the sounds coming from the box. He knows that I make the sounds, but he distinguishes where the sounds themselves come from. Almost alwas, he will eventually curl up nearby allowing himself to be lulled by the music.

Lord only knows what depth and complexity of tones he hears but at least someone appreciates my playing !

.

Blinking in the Landscape of Smells

Quickly enough, Roski has figured out that the blinkie allows him greater leeway to roam. While Fips appears to prefers the security of being leashed, Rosco patiently lets me attach this new object to his collar knowing that it means he can impatiently chase off into the dark.

Rosco truly loves the farm. One can only the imagine the landscape of smells -- intriguing and delightful -- that it presents to him. While he always enjoyed our cool night walks, the farm has brought out in him a new briskness of spirit.

So tonight, while Fips rests in bed, he puts nose to door and, once the blinkie is fastened, hops out into the freezing night air. He starts down the path, looks back to make sure we are all alright with this and then races down toward the warren of corrals.

I catch up with him and for a ways we walk side by side, but when he wants to explore into a corral or down into some gulley I stay put and let him follow his nose whither wherever.

Eventually "wherever" takes him under the fence into a corral where there is a huge pile of manure. Bon bon time. The blinkie disappears behind the pile as Rosco chomps. After one or two gobbles, I call him back. Left to his own devices he'd gulp down the whole pile.

Okay Roski, komm now

. . . .

Rosssskii, komm!

. . . .

Rosco!

. . . .

The litte coot. He knows something is stopping me from reaching him, else I would have been on top of him by now; and taking advantage of my embarrassment he chomps away.

Rosssssscoh!!

. . . .

Damn little beast. There's no alternative. I get down on all fours, crawl under the fence, reach for his collar and drag him away from his pile of delights.

Well the going was good while the going was good. Rosco cheerfully comes along before chasing back up the road toward the cabin as I follow the blinkie home

.

Blinkies

Fips was ferociously snuggly this morning. At about 4 am he moved from my thigh area and restlessly began poking and hugging my side. Then he climbed on to the pillow and nudged my face. Eventually, he snuggled into my arm pit, resting his head on my shoulder and then on my chest.

Meanwhile, Rosco go the notion too. What was it, doggie-pathy? At any rate he moved up from my left leg and snuggled into my left side under my arm. So there I lay with left and right arms draped around warm fuzzy bodies hugging into me and Fips’ chin resting on my chest.

I derived as much enfolding comfort from the doggies as they did from me, and the three of us snoozed in late snuggling in animal warmth.

When we got up it was a crisp, bright late Fall day. The doggies could sense that the rains had stopped and by 11.oo o'clock were wrestless and champing to go out.

Once outside, Rosco headed down the side of the barn, but Fipsie started his hemming and hawing routine in the courtyard. Eventually he made up his mind, brought up the rear and then began to run along the raised riding circuit before heading back down toward the house.

A couple of hours later, I got ready to take the truck to the garage to have its misbehaving tire fixed yet again. The dogs were alert to the prospects and started their "out-dance," to-ing and fro-ing around the house. I lifted them into the truck. Rosco climbed up onto the doggie lounger and Fips lifted himself to look out the window.

After the tire was put onto a new wheel, I headed over to the township's large playing fields. It was still bright and clear and I thought the dogs would like padding about on smooth grass. But when we got there, I noticed an "Animal Protection" vehicle parked in the lot. "Protection, my ass," I thought. Here, as much as anywhere, the State's offer of "protection" means nothing but trouble. The dogs had been eager to put paw to ground, but I turned around and drove down to AlderMountin instead.

Once there, Rosco chased over to the trail we had walked the other day. Fips followed in pokey fashion. Once on the trail, Fips picked up steam, following after me as I followed Rosco in the lead. Once again, at a bend in the trail, Fips lost his bearings. I looked back and saw him staring off to the side, so I stepped into his line of vision and called after him. Fips turned toward my voice and scampered toward me. I petted him as he ran by and watched him as he ran ahead.

All of a sudden, Fips veered off the trail and started running down a slope into the ravine, as I yelled after him to stop. But he kept on going, jumping over a fallen branch before himself falling into a depression and crashing into a jumble of twigs and dead leaves. Fortunately the slope at this point was not steep and Fips had a more or less gentle crash landing. He seemed dazed, as if wondering why this had happened. I picked him up and placed back on the road, where he continued walking quite normally.

We followed the path longer than the previous outing. It did decline, but I calculated that it might not be too much of a trudge up for Fips. It wasn't. Rosco wanted to forge on, and if it were just him I would have but, at this point, we'll have to explore the trail bit by bit.

When we returned home, I found to red-light blinkies taped to the front door. I have been meaning to follow up on the landlady's suggestion to get a blinker or flashing collar so I could see the pals in the dark, but I hadn't gotten around to it. So tonight, the dogs' got their blinkies hooked onto their collars.

They really do work... as dark fuzzies got lost in murky shadows of green and black and brown, a little blinking red light can be seen bouncing here and there in the dark. The doggies sniff edhere and there around the barn as off in the shadows by the fence under the soft glow of a full moon a mama-cow licked her calf.
.

AlderMountin

On Not-Thanksgiving-in-Canada I decided to take the pups to the local regional park down by the border. Fips seemed interested in going out and Rosco was eager. But they haven't been all that interested in poking around the horse-farm, so I figured they wanted to go somewhere.

I had taken them to this park before. Although Fips had been unenthusiastic, I thought he might perhaps react better if we explored some other trail. And so, instead of heading across a small field and up a hill, we headed off down through a wooded trail.

Rosci knows his business and led the way -- or better said, chased off on his own to sniff the trail's edge. Fips overtook him and then lagged behind. When I turned back, he seemed lost in thought or suddenly just lost.


I called after him --- Fiiiiipsie! -- and with a skip, turn and jump,

he chased after my voice, regaining his "location"

but also proving, once again, that he is not to be written off.

And so the three of us proceeded at our related paces, along the curves through the trees and the mossy underbrush. Rosco is a sniffer, his nose all but fastened to an invisible track on the ground. Fips likes to run. He will suddenly stop, as if detained by a smell; but then he will pick up again and sprint on forward. To be sure, his sprints are short and he also stops to regain his breath, but there is no question that he enjoys running and that he was enjoying himself today.

After a ways the trail began a slow descent, through a steep ravine on either side. Fips was all eager to chase on down, but I felt it was better to turn back. From what I've gathered of the park topography, the descent would go on for a ways and would require a tiring trudge back up, which Fips would doggedly brave but not enjoy.

At just this moment, he scampered too close to the trail edge, lost his footing and hovered a little too close for comfort next to a perilous drop.

I ran toward him and gently turned him around. "I think we go back-now" I said. Fips was still intent on going the other way, but I prevailed upon to change his direction. Rosco turned around and gave me an "aren't you coming" look. "No Rosci, komm." I don't know anyone who has more cheerfulness-in-disappointment than Rosco, but he turned around and followed back with the other two of us.

"Hey guys," I said, "it's just like Mountin isn't it? Only it's flat." "Mountin" Did Fipsie hear me? I think he did and, if so, I pretty sure it evoked a registered memory - of moist, mossy, humus scented trails under dripping trees with wet bark. He always liked Mountin and I'm sure he appreciated that it had gotten flat, even if he had wanted to do a scamper-down.

On our way back, Rosco once again takes the lead...

... and then slows down to a leisurely amble.

Lurking, Fips suddenly dashes out from behind and, chasing in a wide arc through the adjacent field, triumphantly overtakes his little brother.

After some joint sniffing at the gate, Rosco once again leads the way toward the truck... and home now.

.

Fading & Holding

Fips is slowly going. Sometimes he is remarkably chipper and seemingly in control of his faculties, but the more persistent undercurrent is a gradual shutting down. To add uncertainty, what seems to be playfulness may in fact be a sign of senility.

Earlier this year, in Middletown, Fips started a habit of running along the back fence when we arrived home. He’d run down to apartment at the end and then run back down to the left, each time by-passing our gate. Eventually I’d either grab him or (more usually) give a sharp shout by the gate, at which point he’d turn inside.

What made it difficult to assess was that the chip-patch at the far end off to the right had smells that did interest both dogs, who would sniff around and piss there. There was also a definite sense that Fips was playing domi-games (and getting a kick out of it).

About two weeks ago, Fips started running around in one of the shallow fields around here. I had the definite sense that he had lost his orientation and was panicking. But moments later, he recovered and ran quite purposely in the other direction, seeing all obstacles and manoeuvering all changes in the lay of the land while heading toward the upper gate and the road... which is his new “established circuit.”

This past Saturday, during a night walk, he stumbled out into the neighbour’s field and started running back and forth. I called at him and shined my light into his face. He stopped, stared back impassively and then started to run away. I was quite panicked because if I lost sight of him in that vast and dark field, he would be gone forever -- he lost and him lost to me. Splashing in gushy puddles, I crawled under the fence and grabbed. He began to run helter-skelter again. I grabbed him more violently and all but threw him back under the fence. (Then I petted him, of course).

Was the dream last July a harbinger of this place here? The rolling fields, the shallow puddles of water, a Fips running and looking for me, the adjacent barn with its open bay doors and all the jagged jumble of wood and farm machinery, mountains rising in the distance, is certainly similar to the setting of the dream.

Inside, Fips just seems to loose orientation. He will stop and stare for a long time into a wall or corner. On the other hand, he seems to know where I am, follows to places with specificity and is not bumping into walls and things.

I took him to the Blaine vet yesterday. Fips got out of the car and pretty much followed me to the front door through the rain. Once inside, he walked a little further on and piddled on the floor. His latest “habit” is to make sure he piddles inside.

Dr. Jack said that he did not have cataracts but was developing scelerosis. A gradual occulsion within the eyeball, although he still saw and reacted to light. He said there was nothing that could be done about this.

As for the stop-and-stare, Jack agreed it could also be doggie-mentia, which was also the assessment of the emergency vet in Santa Rosa who said that Fips may have suffered mini-strokes which impact his brain-functions so as to produce intermittent lapses.

Two days ago, I lifted the dogs into the truck to go to the athletic field. All of a sudden Fips started a strong trembling, turning around and trying to get out. Was he blind and freaked? My sense was that his vision was no worse than it had been moments before and that something had “tripped” inside his mind causing him to panick at nothing. So I grabbed him and held him very firmly and close, and he eventually calmed down.

I am giving him his vitamins and pedialite, but otherwise there is little one can do.

Nor do I think that there is anything that can be done about his incresingly weak hind legs. At times, Fips will loose it, and just sway out in back. At times his walk is pretty stiff. But... his forward propulsion is basically good, and at times astonshingly vigorous. Whether they call it a “back problem” or a neurological problem, the consensus among the vets has been that, at this point, there is nothing that can be done and that when there is some kind of operation to be done he will be far too old. The stumbling doesn’t seem to bother him; at least I don’t get any helpless “what’s wrong?” looks. The important thing is that he is not in any evident pain and is still basically ambulatory.

And so... it is clear that Fips is gradually shutting down, although it is not always clear how fast or how far along he is. Conceivably, he could adapt to whatever finally fails and live on for a further year or two -- although I doubt he will or will want to persist that long. Of course, at times it is distressing, but the broader picture is that it is blessedly natural. Slow degeneration seems to me (at least at this point) to be better than some sudden onset disease. I think it would be most blessed if he just went in his sleep at some God-appointed moment. If not, it will be up to meet to determine when the time has come.

Most important of all, Fips knows. He wants closeness and contact. In bed, he will hug into me, snuggling into my arm pit, pressing his body into the cavity of my abdomen, or lying cheek to cheek. I don't get a sense urgency or desperation, but rather a need for affirming closeness.

I don’t know exactly how much he hears or (now) sees. But I know he feels, and so I hug him back and caress him and give him doggie massages. And this, after all, is how it began many years ago when I fell to the floor and took him into my arms and heart.

I remember the first time I gave him a doggie-massach in my office. He must have been about six months and was showing signs of tensing up. At first he was suspicious, but he soon got the sense and pleasure of it.

Fips still gives me kissie poohs. The other day, as on many occasions, he came up to my face as I lay on the bed and poked and licked. At times he will turn to give me a kissie pooh after or while I am stroking him. But I think that the more primal and longer standing sign of affection -- both needing and giving -- is the huggie pooh.

I know that the one thing he will always understand and from which he will always take pleasure and solace, is petting, doggie-masach and huggie poohs. That is good, because when the time comes, he might not see or hear anything, but he will feel and know that I am hugging him, in my arms.... at the last.

.

The Sniffing Circuit

Today the clouds cleared and in the early afternoon I took the pups for a poke and sniff on what had been the farm's riding circuit.


From my perspective, it was a golden Fall day....


Rosco will have to tell you what impressed him....



Poor Fipsie's arthitis was acting up today, but he did kick up a trot toward the second half of the circuit.


Where we came upon three glistening trees....



Before returning zu haus..

.

A Beautiful Overcast Day

Once the rain (heavy drizzle) stopped, it was time for a ground-about.

Gloom has its own kind of majesty

I got the impression that Fips was not particularly amused.....

...although Rosco was too in the clover to care.

Fips insisted on walking out to the road, which we did....

Before returning through the front gate.

.

L'il Rosco Falls through a Roof

One advantage (among several) of living on a horse-farm is that a free-form walk is just outside the door. No need for leashes or drives to anywhere. And so the past two days have been studded with walklets which the doggies have used to explore the grounds and get their soundings of the place.

Late last night, before bed, I decided to take the dogs for another mini-out. It was cool and moonlit. As Fips sniffed around the planters Rosco followed a scent onto a platform by the side of our cottage. There is a drop in ground level toward the rear so that, at the backside of the house, the platform is actually the roof over some sort of stable-like shed. I watched as Rosco sniffed back and forth, his fur cast in a bluish moon glow.

I was just about to call Rosco back to the road level when all of a sudden, amidsts a clang of looose corrugated metal sheetings, Rosco dropped through what had been the roof onto the grassy gulley below. Oh Christ....

As I rushed over, Rosco scampered up from the gulley and ran onto the roadway. I was instantly relieved to see that he could run. And just then his hind legs gave way and he collapsed onto his butt.

Instant visions of veterinary nightmares.

I rushed over to him, knealt down and --- somehow, I don't recall exactly how -- I held his neck while I pulled out his hind quarters as if he were an accordion. I had no idea and no thought as to what I was doing. I just did it; and somehow it seemed to work... he recovered control over his legs and trotted over to the doorway, with a very attentive and very concerned me assesssing his every move.

One of the disadvantages of moving is that one doesn't bring along essentials like methocarbamol ... a muscle relaxant Rosco was given a couple of years ago when he strained his shoulder. So for want of a drug, I gently lifted him onto the bed and just as gently stroked his spine and massaged his hips and thighs. There was a little quivering in his haunchie but it gradually dissipated.

On the morrow... so far so good... Rosco has been trotting about normally all day. Still I am going to have to keep an eye on him. A country horse-ranch is a lot of fun.. but there are hidden dangers neither dog nor human are aware of.
.