tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79975705131908976402024-03-18T21:21:23.294-07:00Opus DogiFIROSKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096170087139206969noreply@blogger.comBlogger126125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-76837007878753204042023-03-09T08:52:00.002-08:002023-03-31T06:34:25.071-07:00Test<p> just test to confirm</p><p><br /></p><p>more confirm</p><p><br /></p>FIROSKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06096170087139206969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-14086031401313621482010-08-15T23:29:00.000-07:002010-08-18T10:03:42.106-07:00Epilogue For Rosco<blockquote> </blockquote><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yqJcW_MKKbCNw_sxj6gtxmPbIRPNNKILMRbFWHUJfRqqmzXilPkxuDonDNyg0P79RscUWP6vMAmLf8OtuHOVOOl4Pzx99WMuI6norvmFcVfQ8pNSR8gpB6yg5CP4zHBgNLzvXLW3Hq0/s1600/RoscoCameo2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 321px; height: 314px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yqJcW_MKKbCNw_sxj6gtxmPbIRPNNKILMRbFWHUJfRqqmzXilPkxuDonDNyg0P79RscUWP6vMAmLf8OtuHOVOOl4Pzx99WMuI6norvmFcVfQ8pNSR8gpB6yg5CP4zHBgNLzvXLW3Hq0/s400/RoscoCameo2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506508333726662914" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">After Fips died, I closed my heart to Rosco. My hand too. I did not want the feel of his bristly short fur rubbing away the tactile memory of Fips' wiry, fine hair. He was, I remarked, merely the base counterpoint to Fips' melody. At the same time, Rosco showed no interest in cuddling the way Fips had done. In fact, except for once later on, he stopped kissing. Rosco was not Fips; his presence pointed to an absence and, in my grief, I even wondered if I shouldn't put him down.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Rosco himself seemed indifferent to the change in our lives. A week after Fips' death, Jack's assistant, Dustin, asked how Rosco was doing. I replied that he seemed a little more subdued perhaps but otherwise did not seem to care one way or the other.<br /><br />I was completely mistaken and I wonder how I could have thought such a thing. Looking back at pictures, it is very clear that Rosco adored Fips and looked to him, first and foremost, on all scores.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPr2j4A_1dE2uQ1NYAnQUiGKw8g7l293-yyIxhN-1Ntkf1QzzFKamQ6T884gZ-N3NXmyvIXjEkv7KPm2u6I0PYjAST6o7k6eXOXlZYS37ost5SpX6DTzoJq5AfBUeUnjkOE1aQEmereh0/s1600/fips&roscoMnt.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 254px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPr2j4A_1dE2uQ1NYAnQUiGKw8g7l293-yyIxhN-1Ntkf1QzzFKamQ6T884gZ-N3NXmyvIXjEkv7KPm2u6I0PYjAST6o7k6eXOXlZYS37ost5SpX6DTzoJq5AfBUeUnjkOE1aQEmereh0/s320/fips&roscoMnt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506453810926609394" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Rosquito & Fips at Mountin</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It is incontestably true that many times Rosco tried to muscle his way into Fips' bowl and that Fips would let him do it until I rectified the situation. But the muscling was owed to the fact that Rosci was appetite driven. Going for the chow had nothing to do with his love and looking up to his brother. I think it is we humans who confuse things.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXVxlY_xYqhJlp2DwaCU6BPemN03oO8O_KGF435yUnI29n5BASj3gYA_G2ApYs-pzVxTV7tBKdBBUi9k_TN4wEx90KnInfPuax0jILQgZkWX53S_aeIAs0NKzC7ybItakoP4_whfsWNgk/s1600/DuoDoggies(Oak).jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 285px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXVxlY_xYqhJlp2DwaCU6BPemN03oO8O_KGF435yUnI29n5BASj3gYA_G2ApYs-pzVxTV7tBKdBBUi9k_TN4wEx90KnInfPuax0jILQgZkWX53S_aeIAs0NKzC7ybItakoP4_whfsWNgk/s400/DuoDoggies(Oak).jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506451914467226914" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The two dogs were constant companions and in many ways were simply one. Even their different accomodations -- Fips at chest, Rosco at feet; Rosco on doggie lounger, Fips on seat -- were reflections of their essential unity. The way "we" do things.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_jiILQ1qOkPnbBOz1EYcDqB99oQr3bki0t5RQAriJor2KVMVVqLscrfPYDv1pItFXoi_UWA9lzA8W_tLkNnuWExu7_O0on5HstS7lAjja769ocK2d1gF1k4qmxMkpw6xWIPyFN0ggVso/s1600/Fips+%26+RoscoHild%25.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_jiILQ1qOkPnbBOz1EYcDqB99oQr3bki0t5RQAriJor2KVMVVqLscrfPYDv1pItFXoi_UWA9lzA8W_tLkNnuWExu7_O0on5HstS7lAjja769ocK2d1gF1k4qmxMkpw6xWIPyFN0ggVso/s400/Fips+%26+RoscoHild%25.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506456414042372098" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">On Hilderbrand </span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">It is not possible that Rosco remained unaffected by Fips' passing. I recognized this in spite of myself when I told Dustin that whereas Rosco had previously taken his cue from Fips he was now looking more towards me. Looking to me with attending hope was the salient feature of Rosco's last days.<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipu9qZSDvcO2rkOjauhyrQZg7MHWvM7uDqep1WdJbBU2da2gL5kFwwTCJTkxGuGu8JfH6BrIMELefNs1s5AZeV55I7P3eOYX5f6n-G9yBJrD1EquzcjZps8xLLREHWFv7_fxPn35lnvaQ/s1600/RoscoUpLook.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 227px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipu9qZSDvcO2rkOjauhyrQZg7MHWvM7uDqep1WdJbBU2da2gL5kFwwTCJTkxGuGu8JfH6BrIMELefNs1s5AZeV55I7P3eOYX5f6n-G9yBJrD1EquzcjZps8xLLREHWFv7_fxPn35lnvaQ/s400/RoscoUpLook.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506459908743358402" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The good thing is that while dogs may sense our moods they at least don't hear our thoughts. Whatever my feelings, I treated Rosco no differently than before and, after the first several days, we resumed our adjusted routine. I had long expected that with Fips gone Rosco could come into his own. I did look forward to that development and calculated that if Rosco was not yet 14 we might have another year or possibly two. “It’s just you and me now, pal,” I said to him.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Alas, what with tax preparation overdue work, border crossings, a trip south and, finally, house hunting and relocation, it was not the most relaxed of times. Much as I would have preferred otherwise, there was scant occasion for long walks and exploratory sniff-abouts. Nevertheless, we worked out a fairly consistent schedule of work in the morning and gym in the early afternoon followed by padding around in Aldergrove park and, from time to time, "Alder-Mountin". There was also always the farm where Rosco could meander about looking for things to chew on.... and for me to chase him away from.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Rosco never had as much stamina as Fips. Except for one occasion very early in his life, when he chased a greyhound all around Chavez Park, Rosco's walk was essentially "dogged".<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5pI06JgzrGYC07fzZmt96kg2B0LnWcXdxi0XRb1tI69Emc0FpJ-QOOhLeRf654cg91JIX_PcbdyMUklzQ8o1pFhZjSpQTAJdMJ9D9squUxCQDyD3bl17fVQRJT7-1kxub2TJVhqlnQiA/s1600/Rosco7%25.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5pI06JgzrGYC07fzZmt96kg2B0LnWcXdxi0XRb1tI69Emc0FpJ-QOOhLeRf654cg91JIX_PcbdyMUklzQ8o1pFhZjSpQTAJdMJ9D9squUxCQDyD3bl17fVQRJT7-1kxub2TJVhqlnQiA/s400/Rosco7%25.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506455887966148242" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Rosco Padding on Hilderbrand</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Even so, in January, he was outpacing Fips and seemed quite agile in his determined trot. Fips was slowing down and shortening our walks and, when he died, my thought was that now I could take Rosco for some longer, brisk hikes and work off some of his extra weight.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">So it was that in early March, I took Rosci out for a "long circuit" at Alderpark. To my disappointment he was not all that enthusiastic. He followed bravely enough, but his heart was not in it. We may have done one or two more long circuits, but Rosco soon signaled his preference for the smaller circle and over the next two months he progressively circumscribed his walk. By June, he was content just sniffing and poking about the hedges around the first soccer field.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I only half noticed that he was tiring out. Rosco had always been a dedicated sniffer and sometimes his directional preference was simply an olfactory choice. Instead of focusing on his stamina, I was more bemused by the fact that, with Fips gone, Rosco was very definitely taking charge of the direction of our walk. As Fips had done before, Rosco now would dead stop and look up at me with that flat-line look which said "not that way". And so we would go whichever way he approved, man following dog.<br /><br />Just around the middle of June, his walk appeared a little discomfitted and shortly after that he began having intermittent diarrhea. Rosco had long since been susceptible to stomach problems and so I was not overly concerned.<br /><br />On 30 June we went to Lynden. It was a pleasantly warm day and, as Rosco always liked to sniff the trees along Front Street, I decided to walk him for as long as he wanted. He did pretty well under the shaded canopy but, quite normally, dogged down a bit when we moved into the overhead sun.<br /><br />Then suddenly, while crossing a street, Rosco went into convulsions and coughed up clear foamy fluid. I stood there watching him as if detatched in a dream. A young man had just driven up to the crosswalk with his terrier in the car and talking out of his window, said "cool dog". "Thanks," I replied, "I think he's dying."<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It seemed to me that Rosco was having a seizure, like Fips, and, if so, there was nothing to do while it lasted. Once Rosco straightened up, I hurried him back to the truck and drove to the Birch Bay clinic in Blaine.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">All tests -- $300.00 worth -- came out negative. Absent further X-rays and tests showing up some sort of cancer, Jack diagnosed the matter as irritable bowel syndrome. Jack administered, fluids, cortisone and flagyl. For the moment there was nothing to do but wait.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Rosco's bowel movement improved sporadically, somewhat. Five days later (4 July) on the untrustworthy advice of a meddlesome person, I ran Rosco to the Apex Clinic in Langley and insisted that he be treated for tape worm. The vet acquiesced without more and the miserable result was that Rosco spent the next two days unnecessarily vomitting up food mixed in with gastric fluid.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Meanwhile, the time had come to bury Fips. I simply could not put it off any longer especially if I was going to have to look for new quarters. Dustin offered to board Rosco but I could not subject her to cleaning up his ongoing diarrhea. Rosco at least appeared to have stabilised enough for us to take the trip to Sonoma.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We made it in 21 hours; me exhausted but Rosco in bored comfort. Although one of his deposits on arrival was firm, his diarrhea persisted and that first night at Rosie's I put him down on some mats next to my bed and made sure he could venture nowhere else. He would have none of it. Once the lights were out he made it known that he wanted up, and so, spent the rest of the night curled up next to me with his head on my pillow. Sweetheart.<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqdvGdl2QDIICrCS-JRGQJhLrVEYPB03Idhhan1J8CH9jHQ8lPpK8VRBGNBL_zALnRS6ERIbuHI0SxIKNgNfoG89RG66qCegXJLa8RvUzJX9gR0URJpq2-0ppvHzVhRAoBdO9oCePcD38/s1600/AttendShroud.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqdvGdl2QDIICrCS-JRGQJhLrVEYPB03Idhhan1J8CH9jHQ8lPpK8VRBGNBL_zALnRS6ERIbuHI0SxIKNgNfoG89RG66qCegXJLa8RvUzJX9gR0URJpq2-0ppvHzVhRAoBdO9oCePcD38/s400/AttendShroud.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506451468107857346" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">How much do dogs know? Michael has always said, "More than we think." It is anyone's guess if Rosco smelled Fips in the cooler through the trunk. But there can't be any question that he knew Fips was present while Don and I wrapped him in his shroud. I doubt Rosco grasped the concept of what <span style="font-style: italic;">we</span> call "burial" but it seems evident he understood <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> we were burying Fips.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9uUHfJOyQMGYoVrpJBKGhjLJ4MRZTq7nPmaKKvL97BuaXwKinm08gpsalUMTJHXyRYx_awBeI2dQTRPwTFcg2vhlPfMtz5uYVuO3vtj1aqCT7iM-Fkf8uZkLUIqXmao3GkRZD52mtT2s/s1600/WatchBurial.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9uUHfJOyQMGYoVrpJBKGhjLJ4MRZTq7nPmaKKvL97BuaXwKinm08gpsalUMTJHXyRYx_awBeI2dQTRPwTFcg2vhlPfMtz5uYVuO3vtj1aqCT7iM-Fkf8uZkLUIqXmao3GkRZD52mtT2s/s400/WatchBurial.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506491266397079906" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Rosco had always been a champ about travelling. During the trip down, he basically sacked out until we got to Rosie's. Once arrived, he actively, and one might even say, energetically, explored her garden. Still, Rosco did not look good. The diarrhea, the induced vomitting, the travel and the heat had all worked to sap his strength. On Saturday (9 July) Don and I ran him over to Middletown vet where he was pronounced dehydrated. Tests for heartworm were negative and Rosco was given subcutaeous fluids and more drugs to control his intestinal problem. The vet suspected pancreatitis, and emphatically recommended an Rx diet. Of course, Rosco would have none of it and all but spat the food. At the same time, his poop solidified.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjahYcptXWByKdF98EaNEfBvhB3E5xY2V-qOF6d2OqMyCEaml8bgat8ffIu_9Rv_V9wxQDvrN02sMoQSVYl4PSd628dBoDT-bdtCMNe0qSzEbst_yturBDuGtEzhLLLJ7HcIiv12dCQ51o/s1600/InJeep.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjahYcptXWByKdF98EaNEfBvhB3E5xY2V-qOF6d2OqMyCEaml8bgat8ffIu_9Rv_V9wxQDvrN02sMoQSVYl4PSd628dBoDT-bdtCMNe0qSzEbst_yturBDuGtEzhLLLJ7HcIiv12dCQ51o/s400/InJeep.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506451321454629170" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The trip back was hot, despite the air-conditioning and that, combined with spitting out his prescription food and not digesting the boiled chicken I began to give him, left Rosco skinnier and once again dehydrated. On 14 July I ran him to the Jack's for another hydration. A few days later I took him to the Apex Clinic in Langley to get medication for the mucous in his left eye. For quite some time, Rosco has been susceptible to getting a little mucous in his left eye but the trip and his general condition now made it worse. Dr. Rana said, in so many words, that Rosco was wasting away, but he sold me some neomycin salve to administer as a palliative. Several days later, I administered another hydration with the kit Jack had provided.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We were now on the see-saw of symptoms and the roller coaster of recuperation and set-back. It was often hard to tell exactly how bad off Rosco might be. He had been overweight for several years and, at times he now looked slimmer and better. Other times he looked mis-shapen and weak. But not so weak that he couldn't but up a fight to the finish against any pill. On our return from down south, I tried to give him the flagyl pills the Middletown vet had prescribed, but he was so determined I eventually gave up. It seemed to me it caused him more debilitating stress and grief than it was worth. At least Jack didn't seem to think it was that critical. Being Rosco, he was always up for food; but, even here, he was fickle, turning away from chow or snax he had previously liked. Once I gave up on the prescription mush, I changed his diet three times, from boiled chicken to kibble (which he basically refused) and finally back to Pedigree which he liked and ate till the end. Through all these permutations, the whole thing began to have the air of an unravelling.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The second half of July was a harried and stressful in any case. Most of my free time was given over to looking for new lodgings, mostly across the border. Poor Rosco spent most of his time on the doggie lounger, often in warm weather. I don't think this did him much good, but at the same time his condition did stabilise somewhat. He had recovered from his dehydration, he vomitted very little, and although his diarrhea was persistent he had worked out his own way of dealing with it. Most of the day he sat quietly on the bed, asking for "outs" once in a while to go pee, reserving his serious pooping for the night.<br /><br />One of the most lovable things about Rosco was his unmistakable social sense and sensibility. When we returned to Middletown in 2004, I noticed that he had developed a need to pee once or twice a night. What was striking was that he made a decided and determined effort to do so away from wherever the common area was. I had moved the bed downstairs because I didn't want Rosco hurting his back by humping down the stairs to go out to the back garden. However, once downstairs, Rosco would seek to climb upstairs to go pee there. I praised and petted him for his good intentions and, blocking the stairs, showed him that even if it was on the same floor, he could and should pee in the back porch area.<br /><br />During our trip to Vancouver in 2009, Rosco would wake me up when he needed to pee at night. He would do this by walking back and forth on the tarps making as much padding and shuffling noise as he could until I eventually woke up and took him out. Now, at home on the farm, he would rattle the step-up board I had placed by the door. Much as I hated being woken up, I could not but love him for his consideration.<br /><br />Still, I needed my sleep and no longer gave a damn if Rosco let loose all over the farm. So now I left the door open and about twice a night Rosci would go out and roam around looking for the right place to poop or dribble. Despite the diarrhea, Rosco appeared to stabilise. He certainly had enough spirit to persist in his consciously mischievous attempts to poke about the Forbidden Barn.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbHTr6e4W1XYjJaThiWA6IoTusGq1s7TFEIaBNQTqhQR02Id3iD2flrtg9BtDXiWqkxoS_2gefh-bsBslAh0wOgYHKOwMXUbP5u6eQ9Ivbr38193LEumIHZi-NXeVfywYI97XJhe4csPI/s1600/OutOFBarn.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbHTr6e4W1XYjJaThiWA6IoTusGq1s7TFEIaBNQTqhQR02Id3iD2flrtg9BtDXiWqkxoS_2gefh-bsBslAh0wOgYHKOwMXUbP5u6eQ9Ivbr38193LEumIHZi-NXeVfywYI97XJhe4csPI/s400/OutOFBarn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506450953984576290" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">At the same time, he was definitely getting more lethargic. On our last outing in Alderpark, he did not want to venture very far and was more interested in chewing dirt and then sniffing the air in the gentle rays of the setting sun.<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZk6-uZjGL6bBppaBdnwCNJJ5BLlZQkcvzXGeyacOhIsKSF9n2eZtepbHEc7OEJYnUUr6HYDtCGGQenjRB0fPXr6UMZfpDeJOgnegbasEMyen9f7LXKuSuSU0xOi4s2La5WKQ5S1XJQVA/s1600/AtAlderPark.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZk6-uZjGL6bBppaBdnwCNJJ5BLlZQkcvzXGeyacOhIsKSF9n2eZtepbHEc7OEJYnUUr6HYDtCGGQenjRB0fPXr6UMZfpDeJOgnegbasEMyen9f7LXKuSuSU0xOi4s2La5WKQ5S1XJQVA/s400/AtAlderPark.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506451195917237586" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">But the following day back in Blaine, he ambled about rather normally and -- joy of joys -- he deposited a solid poop right at the entrance of the pizza parlor where I had gone for a sunset pizza and salad.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59fkVVSJNeL6a5V0QZ2EQfT0vZJ4GHapQ1U4Ce5Gmx35lByeLcSeTU4Yix9sd3TAf8XJ3m6FGhmXcxbgswUSXDvQAUtko_yQ_Sp_dE22dip6OwpEXRR1LNdr08mkBEueJ2DrTq0DKGto/s1600/AtBlaine.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59fkVVSJNeL6a5V0QZ2EQfT0vZJ4GHapQ1U4Ce5Gmx35lByeLcSeTU4Yix9sd3TAf8XJ3m6FGhmXcxbgswUSXDvQAUtko_yQ_Sp_dE22dip6OwpEXRR1LNdr08mkBEueJ2DrTq0DKGto/s400/AtBlaine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506450347347219250" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">A day or so later, he again had a fair amount of energy during our last walk at <span style="font-style: italic;">Alder-Mountin</span>, even if his walk showed signs of an enfeebled lightness of step. His routine at home, remained much the same: perambulating and, no doubt, pooping at night, napping, lying in the sun or keeping an eye out on me during the day.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Ec1d8N1y4E-yvViXFgvnKL4U-XvfueIRQPpsa-Z8ZMY-lILIWiqQ2bVTJzNSrkLgEpCwLoQ2OxTA8GbCHYpFQZ2HZimT1KYTAfB5oNOqVNB2tTBkkDD7MdFEDlDsA4ONjlmKMrJYkkM/s1600/Sit&Look.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Ec1d8N1y4E-yvViXFgvnKL4U-XvfueIRQPpsa-Z8ZMY-lILIWiqQ2bVTJzNSrkLgEpCwLoQ2OxTA8GbCHYpFQZ2HZimT1KYTAfB5oNOqVNB2tTBkkDD7MdFEDlDsA4ONjlmKMrJYkkM/s400/Sit&Look.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506450618011472866" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">In fact, the move out of Canada and to Bellingham was probably more stressful for me than for Rosco. But because Rosco was always prone to intense separation anxiety, throughout it all, I kept him at my side and repeatedly reached down to pat him on the head. For his part, Rosci, with his "Buddhist" air, acceptingly went along with whatever it was time to do. And more than just acceptance. Rosco's "doggedness" includes making a brave effort. Up until his next to last day, Rosco would make ready to jump up into the truck. Squealing his praises, I would always let him make the initial flex before helping him up the rest of the way.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgstYHlT8nmEo4AUtaSm3I-ZplqZkpO1RWnNRiUtZ923hDL2Q6Gtben5WpgjT2Ea4briJVKJMkhp8o1_s7JH8n3jScuE1HWOIemZfDZ6vitVdT8HmLQq2Xy1A6p_TLUV4wqixrtS8feCjw/s1600/22OnWayLynden.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgstYHlT8nmEo4AUtaSm3I-ZplqZkpO1RWnNRiUtZ923hDL2Q6Gtben5WpgjT2Ea4briJVKJMkhp8o1_s7JH8n3jScuE1HWOIemZfDZ6vitVdT8HmLQq2Xy1A6p_TLUV4wqixrtS8feCjw/s400/22OnWayLynden.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506450153643976754" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">But as of last Tuesday (3 August) it was evident, once again, that quite apart from whatever progress and regress was going on with his intestines, he was slowing down. The two previous days had been given over to the usual hectic business of moving. Once we were at least parked in the new digs, I felt I had to take him out somewhere. He liked Lynden's tree lined street and so I ran him up for a sniff and poop. His idea of an "outing" was now to sit on the cool grass and sniff the air. So we sat.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimaaKKUh8sCu41B4pOvqOPZY1R_HvVomBSe4VVpWQ7Q2iEA682nka8I2gW0oNgZnhyphenhyphenWWRF65SYJYVn_KOcJt5lhYFdR5I0SyfudMAm7O1fIPuq5SBxZ9ddHeV-I8XChxjfcfCuBH0XPxs/s1600/31AtLynden.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimaaKKUh8sCu41B4pOvqOPZY1R_HvVomBSe4VVpWQ7Q2iEA682nka8I2gW0oNgZnhyphenhyphenWWRF65SYJYVn_KOcJt5lhYFdR5I0SyfudMAm7O1fIPuq5SBxZ9ddHeV-I8XChxjfcfCuBH0XPxs/s400/31AtLynden.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506450045863832866" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">And as we sat, I looked at how emaciated he had become. It was now unmistakable. He was wasting away. His arms were no longer <span style="font-style: italic;">muskli</span> and his <span style="font-style: italic;">haunchies</span> were boney. His collar hung two inches loose around his neck. His spine was a sharp ridge while his stomach was flabby and bloated. My mind summoned up the distilled sense of 14 years. I thought to myself how it had been a long run and I cried. "Tomorrow."<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">But the little coot rallied. After an hour he picked himself up and went on a slow but steady sniff about. I did some googling and discovered that Cornwall Park was but a mile down the road from the apartment. So, the next afternoon, I took him to the park.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0pnavYcstqqADZNqsQ-kctRrUo7VHy8GShJ3OShO-RqcrSEttHiw4qO4g-uKoXo4DZP5JVUmGaj0qTpS80vqBMWRckW7Jtc6q-7ZQiXk4keRIPId1uzfu-j9gciB52b1UOUuVvMSZRjU/s1600/44Cornwall1B.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0pnavYcstqqADZNqsQ-kctRrUo7VHy8GShJ3OShO-RqcrSEttHiw4qO4g-uKoXo4DZP5JVUmGaj0qTpS80vqBMWRckW7Jtc6q-7ZQiXk4keRIPId1uzfu-j9gciB52b1UOUuVvMSZRjU/s400/44Cornwall1B.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506448887617513442" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">He was no speed-king and he eventually just sat in the grass. But he had sniffed about and did not seem to be unhappy.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs32NEnqasu16tT8IaV8k0YSNnquJNeMWdXBKPQ4MOZqyO1XPnQeXMPJ3MFeGQeNcczQszQOIaaV5lSRZ8iobsZXAt1o__krX0tDxsQBme7x5JsRMxvYSsxhWnNiDS-77PhvsoxKzbSAc/s1600/SniffCornwall.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs32NEnqasu16tT8IaV8k0YSNnquJNeMWdXBKPQ4MOZqyO1XPnQeXMPJ3MFeGQeNcczQszQOIaaV5lSRZ8iobsZXAt1o__krX0tDxsQBme7x5JsRMxvYSsxhWnNiDS-77PhvsoxKzbSAc/s400/SniffCornwall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506449183422520930" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">But both eyes now were getting pussy. So the following day, I took him up to Blaine for another check up. Rosco followed me into the clinic and then immediately turned tail to head back out. We all laughed. "He can't be that bad if he is that spunky." Jack gave him a cortisone shot and some drops for his eyes. We discussed Rosco's condition. Jack thought that the diarrhea would go away gradually over time and that Rosco could be stabilised and habilitated with monthly cortisone shots. If that were the case, he would teach me how to administer the shots myself so I could save some money. "You can't keep them alive forever, but I've seen them last a long time that way." He asked me to keep a log and email him the entries.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">For my part I had by now accepted living with Rosco's bowel condition. I placed tarps all over the apartment and on what was to be the Poop Porch. Rosco was a real champ. We worked out a routine where I would take him out very first thing in the morning, at which time he explored the bushes around the apartments and either firm pooped or dribbled. Thereafter, he held it in or porched pooped until we went out again in the afternoon. His busy time was at night.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Rosco was a champ in another way as well. I had expected him to get all confused and disoriented by the move. Not in the least. He immediately got his new bearings: left from the apartment and down the hall to the elevator, down two floors (listening) and right to the building entrance. Rosco's mental alertness indicated to me that he had not reached that point of pained indifference but that he still had <span style="font-style: italic;">esprit</span> in his little body .<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Although his decreased stamina was evident, I also took note of his gait. His bouncy trot down the hallway with his head up indicated that he was not in arthritic or other pain. So who cared if he had "irritable bowel syndrome" and what did it matter if, at 14, he slept a lot and was "slow"? So long as he was alert and perky during our morning and afternoon walks, so long as he wagged his tail for other doggies, so long as he did his happy dance for food and for so long as he liked going for rides and enjoyed sniffing bushes and the air, he had a life worth holding on to.<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Ec1d8N1y4E-yvViXFgvnKL4U-XvfueIRQPpsa-Z8ZMY-lILIWiqQ2bVTJzNSrkLgEpCwLoQ2OxTA8GbCHYpFQZ2HZimT1KYTAfB5oNOqVNB2tTBkkDD7MdFEDlDsA4ONjlmKMrJYkkM/s1600/Sit&Look.jpg"><br /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkUO8MyvwVKASoq2MxVveO1fWyhAS4pHJgcFwZYfat3WFymEdkREvPd0pAiRiIFnlulJIrxZop8u6IfJ7vvc1zSgiBa8-tYek9aDMATHc8vUZgbPs6KHNaIzgW5gSivZWebG6Tkrdg44U/s1600/Cornwall8-4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkUO8MyvwVKASoq2MxVveO1fWyhAS4pHJgcFwZYfat3WFymEdkREvPd0pAiRiIFnlulJIrxZop8u6IfJ7vvc1zSgiBa8-tYek9aDMATHc8vUZgbPs6KHNaIzgW5gSivZWebG6Tkrdg44U/s400/Cornwall8-4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506495848372588786" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">It was not to be. With each outing, Rosco walked less and less. On our subsequent outing to Cornwall park, he just wanted to find a place to poop and then sit in the grass 20 or so yards from the truck. On our next to last sitting, he did not bother to wag tail when another dog came up to sniff. "What must that dog smell?" I wondered.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6sbwkAC8pCcZiVg5syZxXmNEq9_d0g0VPZEPhz6am1TIdLmy2mPrsdvvmv-wIgHB6gke0LkHNC2f-mJdQrG7j22ACvqngfTn077XnbCev-qOm9zHFwCFvJ9eZ6giLlpx0hkJbkHwz9JQ/s1600/PeepingCornwall.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6sbwkAC8pCcZiVg5syZxXmNEq9_d0g0VPZEPhz6am1TIdLmy2mPrsdvvmv-wIgHB6gke0LkHNC2f-mJdQrG7j22ACvqngfTn077XnbCev-qOm9zHFwCFvJ9eZ6giLlpx0hkJbkHwz9JQ/s400/PeepingCornwall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506492904706375714" border="0" /></a>8/5</div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">With each passing day of the week, Rosco had less energy. This did not mean that he wasn't "up" for an outing. On the contrary, was eager to go out. He just couldn't last at it.<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTjzZMpH2sAFiozZbZM5Rm4XZMtWY3Ohf_7Wqrom3gcgwLpyLRofnEJR-KRidY5j62DtocCikecicSAB37dW1Qee0PasdpeNMIbKgmc8JiItjArdZYel_nT-ALnbjSd3SS9N1F7azgpY/s1600/OnMattLastDays.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTjzZMpH2sAFiozZbZM5Rm4XZMtWY3Ohf_7Wqrom3gcgwLpyLRofnEJR-KRidY5j62DtocCikecicSAB37dW1Qee0PasdpeNMIbKgmc8JiItjArdZYel_nT-ALnbjSd3SS9N1F7azgpY/s400/OnMattLastDays.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506449358529051378" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Now, even walks even around the apartment parking lot and grounds were becoming circumscribed. On Friday he hesistated walking to the elevator and, on reaching the front door, again sat down on the matt before slowly walking to the divider where he struggled up over the curb to sniff the bushes.<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59fkVVSJNeL6a5V0QZ2EQfT0vZJ4GHapQ1U4Ce5Gmx35lByeLcSeTU4Yix9sd3TAf8XJ3m6FGhmXcxbgswUSXDvQAUtko_yQ_Sp_dE22dip6OwpEXRR1LNdr08mkBEueJ2DrTq0DKGto/s1600/AtBlaine.jpg"><br /></a><div style="text-align: justify;">Thursday-Friday night he murmurred quietly most of the night. On Friday-Saturday he did not, but on Saturday morning his stomach was bloated and he he was lying in a weirdly crooked position. His walk to the elevator and downstairs gave signs of both disorientation and discomfort. I wrote to Jack:<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><blockquote>I think it's time to put Rosco down. Unless I am overlooking something, I'm forgetting the forest for the trees. Whether he manages two firm poops versus three runny ones, the unmistakable trajectory is down. Of concern to me is the degree to which he has physically slowed down. I suspect his heart is failing. What has confused things is the vomitting. In the past two/three days he has stopped vomitting but this morning was tyring to hack up some foamy phlegm by itself. We could try digitalis, but absent tests it would be on a hit and miss basis. Lastly, his discomfort level seems to have increased. He no longer manages an even perky little trot (as he did until the day before yesterday). The sad thing is that he is alert, inquisitive, still remembers which way to go, still figures out that he is to pee and poop on the porch... and still wants to be with me. Mentally he's very present, it's the other systems that are failing him.</blockquote>The whole business of dealing with his stomach ailment shifted the focus so that Rosco's lethargy or awkward slowness in walking seemed more connected to his intestinal problems. In addition none of the vets said anything about his heart except that it had a not surprising murmur. But over the last week, taking the long view, it seemed to me that, in fact, his heart was failing.<br /><br />Yes, he was still little Rosco. He was still sentient and expectant. His mind was alert. He understood, knew his left from his right, could follow my directions. He was in discomfort, particularly at night; but he was not quite asking me to put and end to it. It was more like he was just going to tolerate it while (I am sure) hoping I could do something about it. More and more it seemed to me I was hoping too much and that it was just a matter of time before he crossed the line into indifference or doggie despair.<br /><br />And so the deed was done.<br /><br />Still, I am haunted by the thought that I might have missed something really simple that would have made all the difference in outcomes. Throughout the entire period and particularly in July, my attention was harried by a plague of focuses. For each project there was a myriad of details to take care of. If only we had been <span style="font-style: italic;">left alone</span> I could have focused more on Rosco alone. Vets are no better than the shortness of leash they are kept on. Perhaps, unharried, I might have been able to ask more pertinent questions and come up with better solutions. It was never a question of throwing money I did not have on useless tests which would do no more than reveal the existence of the incurable. But it was a question of having the psychological “space” for facts and impressions to fall into that place that points to something overlooked. If only there had been some stability and calm, perhaps that would have helped Rosco recuperate.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And I just feel awful that, after a protracted decline, his end was so rushed. In all events, I had wanted it to be cooler and calmer. Instead it was hot and harried. I did not have time to "be" with Rosco, to take him to Blaine for a last pad-about or to explain things to him.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />The alternative was to wait until Monday and that, given Rosco's deteriorating condition, ran the risk of exposing him to 48 hours of certain discomfort and probably pain. Would he bounce back yet again? Already yesterday afternoon, outside the Lynden Post Office, he showed no interest in going further than the patch of shaded grass in front of the truck, which was less even than his last walk at Cornwall Park. Admittedly it was warm and he would have done better in cooler weather; but now, on this his final morning, it was hardly warm and even so he was reluctant to walk and had diffculty doing so. He was still atuned to my doings, still capable of deciding to pee on the porch, still (albeit a little half heartedly) interested in food and still - I hope and do hope -- sensible of my love; but just as evidently his heart was failing. The time had simply come.<br /><br />Was there really no alternative time? I could have paid for a special office visit later Saturday or even Sunday. Although I preferred to avoid that additional expense, when I called Dustin back moments after speaking to Jack, I was willing to do precisely that and we talked about doing it later in the day or, if need be, on Sunday. But then Dustin said to just come on up. "But Jack said he had to leave by noon and I can't make it by then." "Oh don't pay attention to him; he'll be here." There wasn’t time to ponder. The die was cast.<br /><br />I am annoyed at Jack for not answering my email sooner and for not cooling his heels. How much better had he given us five minutes upon arrival instead of saying that he had to do it quickly on account of his appointment. It's really impossible to blame him, but I still wish he had been more generous with his time.<br /><br />Rosco was slow walking to the truck, but I did not rush him. I pretended it was just an outing as I lifted him onto the front seat. I noticed that he did not try to climb up to the doggie lounger. Evidently he decided that to do so would cause him discomfort and that he would be more comfy and content to sit on the seat.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinS_l3aWDpTUpcSkQHvtAepu3LESjzAXS9DeTe-Gj_tqcQQNQad4OxMwDQG8OJxvrdtuObN0IcSrKUMCHDj5i1_cc4XIQkCZygFAIwKuNC_a3MjajGm-jZFOJWy-x8cnh_reFcIaWg_lM/s1600/WalkToTruck.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinS_l3aWDpTUpcSkQHvtAepu3LESjzAXS9DeTe-Gj_tqcQQNQad4OxMwDQG8OJxvrdtuObN0IcSrKUMCHDj5i1_cc4XIQkCZygFAIwKuNC_a3MjajGm-jZFOJWy-x8cnh_reFcIaWg_lM/s400/WalkToTruck.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506488957503264130" border="0" /></a><br />Now, at 11.30, it was already getting hot and I opened the fly windows. I drove fast, in part to get to Blaine, but also to create as much wind for the dog. Fortunately the air itself was not yet hot, so that Rosco was buffetted by a temperate breeze. He was not panting, as he had been yesterday, and did not seem to be in pain. He was just weak and probably guarding his energy reserves.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP0vn75hgrXrHhVtj94ShbyZzwuu0h2tr6uz9SAAi-GLNCi7obCWQfsom7m3H1fPdLOxpBLy_0ZdnDPVe3jKKSwm520iz3CITZz5BnS_DaXPoVi27e7YTZv0Q6wB7TiZz1H9eXGOlxdcw/s1600/OnWayToBlaine.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 289px; height: 386px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP0vn75hgrXrHhVtj94ShbyZzwuu0h2tr6uz9SAAi-GLNCi7obCWQfsom7m3H1fPdLOxpBLy_0ZdnDPVe3jKKSwm520iz3CITZz5BnS_DaXPoVi27e7YTZv0Q6wB7TiZz1H9eXGOlxdcw/s400/OnWayToBlaine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506487027320873282" border="0" /></a> Despite my own impatience, I used the time to gently stroke him, pat him and rest my right arm along his back. He did not seem to mind. Fortunately too, half of the drive was through empty back farm roads, so that the air, the steady speed and my strokes synchronized in a more or less soothing fashion.<br /><br />As we got to the parking lot, Rosco half sat up and lifted his head. He knew that we had arrived at a place and, I know, he also sniffed the sea air... the sea air that he has always loved and that would start him chortling as we approached point Isabel.<br /><br />It was then, that a few precious minutes would have best. I walked to the door and Jack said to hurry and bring Rosco in. I asked him if he was going to give a pre anesthetic and Jack said that there would not be time for that. I said in that case it would probably be better just to do it in the truck. Jack agreed and rushed out with needle in hand saying we had to do it quick, as we gave Rosci a rough n' tumble turn to his side. At first Rosco resisted, more on account of the brusqueness than anything else, but then he subdued himself.<br /><br />Jack was in so much of a rush that the syringe chamber popped away from the needle at the first press, splurting the killer juice all over the place. Jack had to rush into the clinic to get another load. At least, this gave me some time to caress Rosco a bit. He was physically acquiescent so that the caressing was more a question of psychological assurance.<br /><br />Jack returned and drove the rest of the fluid straight into Rosco's heart. Rosco neither winced, nor moaned nor moved. It seems to have been pretty painless. Jack was then off saying it would take about five to ten minutes. Dustin gave me a look and I gave her a nod. She left us alone.<br /><br />[video]<br /><br />As Rosco's heart beat softer and more slowly I caressed his body and murmured to him. He seemed to accept it, as his breathing gradually disappeared. As I momentarily turned away, he opened his mouth for a last ever so faint sigh.<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwppa2yTm3R64fCSm4H8jD3Ac5Pv8QBMQBD14NE-YPb1cqpstrPEY5sOE2Km1UOfU23sUHO2vWjq_jkTdriO-AwXzknGmJ-8Bg2tv2AWPkW5QVHY14BTBdBNLO_TGgXbOsazrZqy6dXPw/s1600/Breath.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwppa2yTm3R64fCSm4H8jD3Ac5Pv8QBMQBD14NE-YPb1cqpstrPEY5sOE2Km1UOfU23sUHO2vWjq_jkTdriO-AwXzknGmJ-8Bg2tv2AWPkW5QVHY14BTBdBNLO_TGgXbOsazrZqy6dXPw/s400/Breath.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506448459201556194" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">His passing was so quiet. In a way, it was lovely; but at the same time I feel terrible that I did not have time to explain, to be with him and not to have panicked him with brusque handling. I'll never know, as I do with Fips, but I just hope that somehow he knew and understood that I was ending a long togetherness out of love for him.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRFeV9uuKex7cDgCB1JCWDltrZrAx36d9BsKjWv37JoFUdykLWxxYwYFovFKF9bOdiWQwJWWL40Gjj4dhn2dBRpOJGmmlFXR8BRYFQmuGF3yIKB2Uchh7RqBVaU1et2RbhFEIjkYFL9EA/s1600/LaidOut.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRFeV9uuKex7cDgCB1JCWDltrZrAx36d9BsKjWv37JoFUdykLWxxYwYFovFKF9bOdiWQwJWWL40Gjj4dhn2dBRpOJGmmlFXR8BRYFQmuGF3yIKB2Uchh7RqBVaU1et2RbhFEIjkYFL9EA/s400/LaidOut.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506448300651012386" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Little Rosco, little Rosci -- I ened up loving him more than I thought. No, he was not Fips. Fips was complicated and Rosco was simple. But his simplicity distilled into a clearer sweetness. He looked up to me in a more purely expectant way than Fips who looked up to me with a stance and a question in his eyes that was always taking measure. Rosco just looked for the what of I whatever I was going to do in the hope of fulfillment.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Oh, to be sure, Rosco pursued his own agenda. He was not a sponge. What most comes to mind when I think of Rosco is his padding down Hildrebrand, his swimming down the creek to go screw Katie and his rompin in the lupins. For Rosco, at least, the Hilderbrand years were the best ones.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxFHvjfbd9rgRNTHLe23dBaZFj1_YnyCfnhd72PM21Vc8u-FrO22NCZ4HI1Da7ex2BePbCQy4loGZ_XWpDNrA_j3g6U0eXGd-aVmm2YejixvQLB0gttcUGXRyTJua2YWmvCUP741TwZY/s1600/Picture+clipping+4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 269px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxFHvjfbd9rgRNTHLe23dBaZFj1_YnyCfnhd72PM21Vc8u-FrO22NCZ4HI1Da7ex2BePbCQy4loGZ_XWpDNrA_j3g6U0eXGd-aVmm2YejixvQLB0gttcUGXRyTJua2YWmvCUP741TwZY/s400/Picture+clipping+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506480365033139938" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Rompin Rosco</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Years ago, at Hildrebrand, I turned from the kitchen counter and burst into laughter as I beheld this doggie looking up at me with trembling expectation. I felt for him and thought him an adorable bundle of fuzzy appetites which he was. But to say he was driven by appetites is not to say that he was selfish. I see now, on the contrary, that desire was the drive through which he became social, shaping himself around Fips and sharpening his attention on me. The baseline follows the melody. Perhaps more than Fips and certainly more than me, his being was “us”.<br /></div><br />And so... his passing brings an end to <span style="font-style: italic;">us</span>.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">oOo<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Today, I took out the special flooring in the cars and put away all the canine accoutrements -- the dual sets of leashes, chow tins, bowls, water jugs, spray bottles, combs and clippers, vitamins and meds.<br /></div><br />No more doggies; no more doggies; no more little doggies.<br /><br />.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHySi9bIVZKWoWsARszJ8VmouW-8UJIv6IRv069V9o6Y7G0AGewIdZDNnZ0MZHWrgKK3eT2p1CPKTOy1_tK50Mf3VRzmi5cItyLphb-jHzpvaVzz129P0l6ZZ_xrBZB0YaTlN_oMXpVY/s1600/LaidOut.jpg"><br /></a>Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-25281445245657855782010-07-08T11:02:00.000-07:002010-08-20T12:04:53.324-07:00Fuzzy Farewell<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfvoS422WAyU-zZOZL1HIC62eIyM8cOZ4Ekc7Azb_D46BvK-LcqSWRXZIdbHxBSb00IeEDYjpyPw5ATOQEGTWaT7ZPSIlPaxubEEICyYm0N2-KMQ06dB6FKrAJ2s4EhyvohsdVNrhzeVg/s1600/071HoleRote.jpg"></a><blockquote><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfvoS422WAyU-zZOZL1HIC62eIyM8cOZ4Ekc7Azb_D46BvK-LcqSWRXZIdbHxBSb00IeEDYjpyPw5ATOQEGTWaT7ZPSIlPaxubEEICyYm0N2-KMQ06dB6FKrAJ2s4EhyvohsdVNrhzeVg/s1600/071HoleRote.jpg"><br /></a> </blockquote><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1sGZh2TD5GyADUUtetXJuPf80gCOjYI60-EwcF8ZANBYfBczComKavDIAa8qNwke69KAZNcgh9DMpCsjMzavyG5G8UuV7rnEOWXlaaFfaYDIjhIr3hBy5CQgpkQL-tPGQTi5ra49Psos/s1600/1-Fips'RestingPlace.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1sGZh2TD5GyADUUtetXJuPf80gCOjYI60-EwcF8ZANBYfBczComKavDIAa8qNwke69KAZNcgh9DMpCsjMzavyG5G8UuV7rnEOWXlaaFfaYDIjhIr3hBy5CQgpkQL-tPGQTi5ra49Psos/s400/1-Fips'RestingPlace.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507184859680973826" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMHUNGaDcBRVs1K-LY2fWv_q-gvoXayp7v5-wo4cYt5RPHZajAmIKGXzffztB8JhYJcjrDmXMzojgO9WM10txHxdU9UZCxz6g9tF-yGXwg3OHNDkSVwCPadOW4whCwC0wBqPzt6Ne7xbg/s1600/2-IntheGround.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMHUNGaDcBRVs1K-LY2fWv_q-gvoXayp7v5-wo4cYt5RPHZajAmIKGXzffztB8JhYJcjrDmXMzojgO9WM10txHxdU9UZCxz6g9tF-yGXwg3OHNDkSVwCPadOW4whCwC0wBqPzt6Ne7xbg/s400/2-IntheGround.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507184732908374178" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLhI-OylZZtZIO7U4HFSomq7sUL1NN27kYKzAFqMG04RDNGbyyMLbzfI6pFxwMZEMrJ0i7tvrxyX3wqYYmkVbmOovTNol1ny9dcgHxErrORxJUNrY25GopS3MyC-ARw5O9rUeSNv0520/s1600/3-Fipsie'sCorpse1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLhI-OylZZtZIO7U4HFSomq7sUL1NN27kYKzAFqMG04RDNGbyyMLbzfI6pFxwMZEMrJ0i7tvrxyX3wqYYmkVbmOovTNol1ny9dcgHxErrORxJUNrY25GopS3MyC-ARw5O9rUeSNv0520/s400/3-Fipsie'sCorpse1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507190024969741266" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_f4ZyXaDOt_lHBCBf3eDJqdLeUnn3kYb_nGc5wdOa7laqBJKXh507Ayt3e49-Gqp88j1aJe96ovZNAt5IEj9iHYUJDP08AyuXnzC9AGBl1jd8RO_t19yAt0Bx_Xn1ywgpJri5kiH2ZUY/s1600/0025Rosco&Shroud.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_f4ZyXaDOt_lHBCBf3eDJqdLeUnn3kYb_nGc5wdOa7laqBJKXh507Ayt3e49-Gqp88j1aJe96ovZNAt5IEj9iHYUJDP08AyuXnzC9AGBl1jd8RO_t19yAt0Bx_Xn1ywgpJri5kiH2ZUY/s400/0025Rosco&Shroud.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507189643023983010" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifb7fluXYuW5CksDQz-W1cGBbK_2sRxbXqdrm0O7vkCtqmqL-nzBcvPqorllVtqFrRnHyqNjmPcV6AZ1UQh3mhp49YlAW179YcStJoTdT2iyogwAXiP8XvhOOf6uC8tSQ48nKj_mwEKEE/s1600/4-FipsieCorpse2.jpg"><img style="display: block; 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margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfvoS422WAyU-zZOZL1HIC62eIyM8cOZ4Ekc7Azb_D46BvK-LcqSWRXZIdbHxBSb00IeEDYjpyPw5ATOQEGTWaT7ZPSIlPaxubEEICyYm0N2-KMQ06dB6FKrAJ2s4EhyvohsdVNrhzeVg/s400/071HoleRote.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507192947581869250" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFsHl9zDSLQJYpu2TZsFImENu4gNJxg01io0wheoR_7HAGJ7n5Pa8Lkkj7_VQf9O8F5m7STbh4Ma02Q8QWNf3MOKFWhQWL0jeWj2acsEPCmS12Rjt9rgaBL1qU4lfBlVvbkKyUPSFU0mI/s1600/071Hole.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSna5twOg_TG4V84RM8iFexGtZEzAo8NwHbDvtWFkaKzqXbRlOlbslT_mTKeWQc8XuLcDIenKNJ_cpaMkg9bvNQlpGIszx8wEGT3LeFMvsUi4OMczdM-vJ2PFKVv91O2Xwu4c4KseBQXI/s1600/10-Ruff&RoscoWatch.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSna5twOg_TG4V84RM8iFexGtZEzAo8NwHbDvtWFkaKzqXbRlOlbslT_mTKeWQc8XuLcDIenKNJ_cpaMkg9bvNQlpGIszx8wEGT3LeFMvsUi4OMczdM-vJ2PFKVv91O2Xwu4c4KseBQXI/s400/10-Ruff&RoscoWatch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507184002627347698" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4wRu8xvRXG8s4Kj0G3boZquPeqTpD9qISIp2pt78wEn9oIj30jWD5D8-mZ4ctNCcxzTJ_hQb8nYwEWCnEI7tLejV8r-6It4j2GrBOx5eRv2jy_6yDcjW-TK_3RBYZYBWgAbRrtDJK8I/s1600/042Hole.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy2wxuPhQd5ketAcoFBl5GjOfLCEjV68UbuClerVfXfUwyWSIyZEIA3MIK1RGizXEFkfqfBjNb995F063sQXBWsX4q2CBsiah9hWKSV70GMgvRao9VA39oQvIklqeKod_t9oV5JYyUY_8/s1600/076InGroundHoriz.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy2wxuPhQd5ketAcoFBl5GjOfLCEjV68UbuClerVfXfUwyWSIyZEIA3MIK1RGizXEFkfqfBjNb995F063sQXBWsX4q2CBsiah9hWKSV70GMgvRao9VA39oQvIklqeKod_t9oV5JYyUY_8/s400/076InGroundHoriz.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507191404162258306" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWbWQbajyEm0l3iOaRVCN3z5vWHbpYqFgHAGUNS5pHJ_4jQv6bNjXbwz1gsfxtYElVUSN5_hexuxnv8wqs8leno5q6wMgnZeOiFIEz4_ddocmnxbXFEspWSnfY-aSy8kr309sCP9TOO54/s1600/9-ARoseForFips.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWbWQbajyEm0l3iOaRVCN3z5vWHbpYqFgHAGUNS5pHJ_4jQv6bNjXbwz1gsfxtYElVUSN5_hexuxnv8wqs8leno5q6wMgnZeOiFIEz4_ddocmnxbXFEspWSnfY-aSy8kr309sCP9TOO54/s400/9-ARoseForFips.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507184189481042114" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6bWbe-h5QI4ux20bjHUyIQb7_M5COFOgcP-4YwVE8Yl0wr7QF-Bsq4ejPUIjMBZWUygf-8XZnTHbA6d6005P-vbQV4MYgjTDGui8K97MVnkv-PLroLRkcgsq7bq85fni7rospf5LTwbY/s1600/079CoverDirt.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6bWbe-h5QI4ux20bjHUyIQb7_M5COFOgcP-4YwVE8Yl0wr7QF-Bsq4ejPUIjMBZWUygf-8XZnTHbA6d6005P-vbQV4MYgjTDGui8K97MVnkv-PLroLRkcgsq7bq85fni7rospf5LTwbY/s400/079CoverDirt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507191326166194018" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9x8VnOdaR0jojB5tBcDM4Kr2fymsx-8h_xZ31d5wu6y3PdrjkZFEM6cZy6gR8teYWcvjGe-irF8kqHWHelqF8wA90MpyK03CyvIz_RxiiXitRM_lIG9UikNE6przSCczgVyqHPE3Tda0/s1600/11-GraveStone.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9x8VnOdaR0jojB5tBcDM4Kr2fymsx-8h_xZ31d5wu6y3PdrjkZFEM6cZy6gR8teYWcvjGe-irF8kqHWHelqF8wA90MpyK03CyvIz_RxiiXitRM_lIG9UikNE6przSCczgVyqHPE3Tda0/s400/11-GraveStone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507183685571457410" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Today, Fips was buried in silence.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The following afteroon, when no one was around, I went and stood over my pal's grave. After a few moments, I said to him that I was grateful he came into my life.....<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Why is it we face imponderables with a cliché?<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">NO!</span> To say that I am grateful you came into my life doesn’t state the truth of the matter. You <span style="font-style: italic;">shaped</span> my life, you <span style="font-style: italic;">shaped</span> my life with your frumpiness, your quizzical humor and ultimately your love.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">You have a beautiful resting place as befits a beautiful, beautiful dog.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">You do not go under to the earth. You rise up through my heart to the sky forever.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I fell to the ground over his grave and sobbed</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Oh Mr. Fips. Bye bye my dear sweet doggie.<br /><br />.<br /></div>Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-40873640092905678792010-02-23T16:44:00.001-08:002010-03-02T12:40:42.059-08:00<div style="text-align: justify;"><blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><span> <br /></span></div></blockquote><br />The blood work came out negative. There was nothing wrong with Little Fips, except his seizures could not be controlled. Now we knew what we had understood before.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">~0O0~</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I carried him down the hallway on his stretcher to the truck where I laid him out on the front seat, and made him comfortable, <a href="http://wcg-footsandfotos.blogspot.com/2010/02/fuzzyfarewell-1.html">breathing but lifeless</a><a href="http://wcg%20footsandfotos.blogspot.com/2010/02/fuzzyfarewell-1.html">.</a><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I sat down next to him and stroked his smooth fuzzy body, patting his haunchies, as his chest undulated with even breaths ...and as I stroked his beautiful head.<br /><br />I spoke to him softly through the torpor and <a href="http://wcg-footsandfotos.blogspot.com/2010/02/fuzzyfarewell-2.html">told him</a> he was the "<span style="font-style: italic;">Best Little Doggie in the Whole Wide World</span>"<br /><br />Then, with throaty-murmurs, Fips began to quiver and suddenly <a href="http://wcg-footsandfotos.blogspot.com/2010/02/fuzzyfarewell-3.html">lifted himself up</a> ...<br /><br />... and turned his head to give me one last kiss. As I bent down to kiss his nose, I looked into his eyes and next I knew his head fell back and he slid away from my arm.<br /><br />The murmuring stopped and Fips lay down <a href="http://wcg-footsandfotos.blogspot.com/2010/02/fuzzyfarewell-4.html">staring into his darkness</a>.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">~oOo~</span><br /></div><br />The elixir was pressed into his body. Fips let out a low whine -- as if in protest -- and then it was silent.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6CHaUe1_L8ZaeQMv9MH1ebzte-Uu72jXuGFkZmL6VaF7Sg3Of_Arn8rdgmp8ZicsDxGjG5G3mTxoTefoEcSkEuoc6Z6RUrygac_myXJ5KWGxXM7Syj9h8ccXf_JocYfhtkqq2XCOqKuw/s1600-h/DSCF1948(%25).jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6CHaUe1_L8ZaeQMv9MH1ebzte-Uu72jXuGFkZmL6VaF7Sg3Of_Arn8rdgmp8ZicsDxGjG5G3mTxoTefoEcSkEuoc6Z6RUrygac_myXJ5KWGxXM7Syj9h8ccXf_JocYfhtkqq2XCOqKuw/s400/DSCF1948(%25).jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444115945661981778" border="0" /></a><a href="http://opusdogi.blogspot.com/1994/07/fuzzy-thing-happened-one-saturday.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">There Once Happened a Fuzzy Thing...</span></a><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">[<a href="http://wcg-footsandfotos.blogspot.com/2010/02/once-fuzzy-thing.html">∞</a>]<br /></div>.<br /><br /></div>Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-17588043643659159842010-02-22T18:25:00.000-08:002010-03-02T12:06:40.914-08:00.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtamWdwVl7msZGy6MRYpW_KDp4pyHEz0vCdSAiz0tDPTthurTFyk_GfU-WHWeb46kGct5fmFnqfYPFR_I-hUq2MipUePugHsmcyoUtYHEtrnaA8pRl8JpwgXYajPp0pflPufVgGMhH7c/s1600-h/DSCF1935.JPG"><br /></a> [<a href="http://opusdogi.blogspot.com/2010/02/of-quick-effluvia.html">«</a>]<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP7N90zJmmP9ZktdrT0-IdcOb6cy3xpkjN_qDFQdxWrkJFT2-VBqFemBuOb6yEIidVZkWNTzrMJWSR7_NyD21OwrDpenWyptL0dPb2XQcZuN0m5Xp9ZsFL0RjAP1x9WptVfkWtslnMDvc/s1600-h/DSCF1909.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP7N90zJmmP9ZktdrT0-IdcOb6cy3xpkjN_qDFQdxWrkJFT2-VBqFemBuOb6yEIidVZkWNTzrMJWSR7_NyD21OwrDpenWyptL0dPb2XQcZuN0m5Xp9ZsFL0RjAP1x9WptVfkWtslnMDvc/s400/DSCF1909.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441631677422886674" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGW0r_b6n6cj66c69DjYtuA_8vvvu9dAjRQyhXAKQt44ilU-tX8hBVSyO8Ft-BOOLSFraVrI0HuT37a-K2LHuox6SNCyd0usEkpFsmKQBOmI9PkJrfri2mhovGxNhxHELk1vRZXhW3yn8/s1600-h/DSCF1918.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGW0r_b6n6cj66c69DjYtuA_8vvvu9dAjRQyhXAKQt44ilU-tX8hBVSyO8Ft-BOOLSFraVrI0HuT37a-K2LHuox6SNCyd0usEkpFsmKQBOmI9PkJrfri2mhovGxNhxHELk1vRZXhW3yn8/s400/DSCF1918.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441631564208432162" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitjISpp512aSptakFLTqcWRx0OPsj2LwpPCrff__zUwNZL6-jZxW4oM7BmxU4gG1k-an2ijAoyF5lmfph81OAUFd55WwliTeohWWUSRBhdcDeojFrW-yqro0YCo-g8WLN2RN682VS79zI/s1600-h/DSCF1921.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitjISpp512aSptakFLTqcWRx0OPsj2LwpPCrff__zUwNZL6-jZxW4oM7BmxU4gG1k-an2ijAoyF5lmfph81OAUFd55WwliTeohWWUSRBhdcDeojFrW-yqro0YCo-g8WLN2RN682VS79zI/s400/DSCF1921.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441631440782554818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVN4SAIwktszsOQECpeGmdFpmhYLtkbxr2XjPd9Q46iLwWdox2HpaInt6OfQt9_oRs2yM6UimydFStHBrQiptfK3DIgcm2I911_lQ-Nz_CNbnToyfeBi3pFq3eb3sb6Igh9qUmGMQyFyg/s1600-h/DSCF1899.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVN4SAIwktszsOQECpeGmdFpmhYLtkbxr2XjPd9Q46iLwWdox2HpaInt6OfQt9_oRs2yM6UimydFStHBrQiptfK3DIgcm2I911_lQ-Nz_CNbnToyfeBi3pFq3eb3sb6Igh9qUmGMQyFyg/s400/DSCF1899.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441631305686794130" border="0" /></a> [<a href="http://wcg-footsandfotos.blogspot.com/2010/02/lil-pupster-on-pillow.html">94</a>]<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Xd-N8XbgHlTUhAkIW5jXkWsLesITnyS5sQQnwleBaM8vjlbVCxGG7QZsp1byQovcHfxbhbJG3BkLPZBY2f9g94wEyFTZDxGI9R8_rTHc84i-LIjlHXSzhnheiwXqrEge9NYEaEuGBm0/s1600-h/DSCF1928.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Xd-N8XbgHlTUhAkIW5jXkWsLesITnyS5sQQnwleBaM8vjlbVCxGG7QZsp1byQovcHfxbhbJG3BkLPZBY2f9g94wEyFTZDxGI9R8_rTHc84i-LIjlHXSzhnheiwXqrEge9NYEaEuGBm0/s400/DSCF1928.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441631210792802610" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit4C_iVZhmHEcQR5Dj3F40MGCwlOO3sBLIqzwQIYbq9eUtvYWyBstgE5esKpa_qB-mJPFdEW6rbbVc5clHELaOmaaCY9qxBw35KzJlQomHxWvpgUUBQftI9TtFA9Z0zJtJOwDGjkbBG9g/s1600-h/DSCF1936.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit4C_iVZhmHEcQR5Dj3F40MGCwlOO3sBLIqzwQIYbq9eUtvYWyBstgE5esKpa_qB-mJPFdEW6rbbVc5clHELaOmaaCY9qxBw35KzJlQomHxWvpgUUBQftI9TtFA9Z0zJtJOwDGjkbBG9g/s400/DSCF1936.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441631114778669426" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtamWdwVl7msZGy6MRYpW_KDp4pyHEz0vCdSAiz0tDPTthurTFyk_GfU-WHWeb46kGct5fmFnqfYPFR_I-hUq2MipUePugHsmcyoUtYHEtrnaA8pRl8JpwgXYajPp0pflPufVgGMhH7c/s1600-h/DSCF1935.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtamWdwVl7msZGy6MRYpW_KDp4pyHEz0vCdSAiz0tDPTthurTFyk_GfU-WHWeb46kGct5fmFnqfYPFR_I-hUq2MipUePugHsmcyoUtYHEtrnaA8pRl8JpwgXYajPp0pflPufVgGMhH7c/s400/DSCF1935.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441632386873978402" border="0" /></a>[<a href="http://opusdogi.blogspot.com/2010/02/finfips.html">†</a>]<br /></div>.Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-32787998008250642502010-02-22T01:30:00.000-08:002010-03-01T10:45:05.875-08:00Of Quick Effluvia<div style="text-align: justify;"><blockquote> </blockquote><br />It was a rough night. Fips had a seizure at eleven and another at three-thirty. I held him tight and stroked his head, which seemed to help. I gave him added medicine-meat which he devoured as if starved, and this allowed us both to get some rest with his chin resting on my chest or shoulder.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">With but little murmurs, he was pretty quiescent in the morning as I deliberately packed everything I had laid out for the trip to Blaine. The border agent, a nice woman, handed my passport back in an awkward flat-handed way. She had placed a little cookie-bone on top.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I have loved this rolling country road through thick woods and undulating fields of green since I got here. It was a beautiful morning to go.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-oOo-<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">On being lifted out of the truck, Fips couldn't make it and stumbled over his front paws. So I carried him to his hospital kennel where he curled up quietly on a fresh towel and one of my flannel shirts.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">There is understanding and there is knowing; and so as we awaited the results of his blood work, I went for a drive.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">On my return Fips was snoozing quietly. I walked over to his cage and with a "<span style="font-style: italic;">Hello Little Fipsie</span>" began to stroke his fuzzy body. Suddenly, he began to shake and to emit throaty pain murmurs. I looked at Dr. Jack. "What did I do?" "It's an adrenalin rush," Jack explained, "He's happy to see you but it triggers an overload in his brain."<br /></div><br /><blockquote><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;">Say what the use... If quick effluvia darting through the brain;<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;">to die of a rose in aromatic pain? ...<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">How would we wish that Heaven had left him still...</span><br /></div></blockquote>.Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-77222802664021954292010-02-21T19:54:00.000-08:002010-02-21T20:04:04.067-08:00Grand Ol' Moxy<div style="text-align: justify;"><blockquote> </blockquote><br />Fips is such a champ. He's been on and off pain all day depending on how well the meds work or perhaps not depending on the meds at all. Most of the afternoon he was quiet and seemed comfortable enough.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">A little after four, he wanted to go out and began to make murmur noises (that sounded like pain noises) to that effect. He began to drag himself to the door. It was obvious that he need to pee or poop <span style="font-style: italic;">and he wanted to go outside to do it</span> like a dignified dog.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I stabilized him by holding his tail and walked him to the door. He was determined to step up onto the platform and over the door jam on his own (tail-held) steam. I squealed encouragement and praise and even more so when on the outside ramp he crashed landed on his chin.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">He then wanted to walk all over the front yard... so, holding onto his tail, I followed him and was amazed at how well, in a matter of one day, he has been able to coordinate his forward motion with my lateral stabilising. He had very few forward stumbles or backside keel-overs.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">After a while my own back started to ache, so I left him under a seat on the grass and ran back to the house for one my long terry cloth towel scarves. This enabled me to support his abdomen without breaking my back.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">So equipped, following the loops of his scents, he walked all over the front green and down the slope where he pooped. He walked back up half way and then I carried him up the driveway level the rest of the way. He then made it triumphantly back to the house up the step ramp and over the door hump. <br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Once inside I left off and his backside slid back down. <br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">It's sad. This is the little doggie that walked 10 miles with Michael to the Golden Gate Bridge, and back; and it is now something that he has a few minutes slow stepping in the fresh air. But his <span style="font-style: italic;">doxy moxy</span> is just as grand now as it ever was.<br /></div><br />.Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-63700113958329030512010-02-19T20:12:00.000-08:002010-02-21T20:18:10.889-08:00Stumbling On<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />Fips' stumbling is getting worse. His gait is very stiff on the rear right and that same leg often just gives out from under him, causing him to slide down onto his butt, as if keeling over on the right rear side. Once down it is difficult for him to stand up again, although eventually he still manages.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">This has been building up, but since the seizure it is radically worse. On the Alderpark trail walks, in December or January, I was able to "massage out" his hips and this would cause the curving back and the bias to the right to correct itself. <br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">In the morning he would be stiff, and stumble a bit but as the day wore on he would get better.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The walk before the last one at the athletic field, which was either Sunday or Monday, he was quite okay. Stiff in the rear with a very slight right bias but otherwise pretty good. His hesitation and reluctance had more to do with blindness than with lameness. <br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Immediately after the seizure he was collapsing on his rear a lot. But once home, that night, he was walking around and around in a circle. Stiffly but walking.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">However since then it has gotten worse... and it seems to get progressively worse. Even if he can manage to walk stiffly and straight, the slightest turn causes him to collapse. He is not dragging his leg, it just doesn't hold him up.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">So I took him to Dr. Jack who looked at the December X-rays. Jack says L2, L4 disks have growth and this is the disk through which the nerve trunk line to the rear leg runs. He gave him a shot a cortisone and said to put him back on the previcox and that he would be up and running again. Come Monday when we do the blood test, he wants to put him on steroids.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm getting different diagnoses here. Back in December, Rana said he had no significant spurs on his vertebrae and that I could take him off previcox. Two doctors down in California said that if hadn't developed back problems by this age, he was basically free and clear. Could the phenobarbitol interfere with his brain control of the hind leg?<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">As for the eyes. Jack said he does react to light (the lens closes) but that he is effectively blind. He doesn't think the carnosine will work for this type of "cataract"<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-oOo-<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">This degeneration is pathetic to watch. Fips does seem confused or at a loss and does struggle with his failing gait. Sometimes he just gives up and curls up on the floor where he is... for a pseudo "nap" before lifting himself up and then stiffly walking about and stumbling. He doesn't see things (like his bowl) and so he walks into it and then falls over it. He walks himself into corners and then just stares. None of this strikes me as happy.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I watched him very closely during our walk down mainstreet in Blaine before taking him to the vet. He actually managed better on the street than in the house or around this farm. In fact he managed OK on the gravel. He stumbled but was actually able to lift himself up. He also crossed the street slowly but without collapsing as cars patiently waited.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Most important, he was interested in smelling the bushes and posts and this much he seemed to enjoy, albeit in a quiet elder way.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">He still has appetite and although he eats slowly he clearly wants and to still enjoys food (especially meat and mush). <br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Coming back home this afternoon, he did bounce over and down the door ledge and took a challenge poke at Rosco. (Jack said he would do this). <br /></div><br />He enjoys cuddling with me along my side.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">With Fips the stumbles don't just produce perplexity. I have a clear sense that he is disappointed and perhaps even humiliated. It is also clear that he is in at least SOME discomfort but not so much that he doesn't want to walk at all. But although he may be frustrated, he has not given up. <br /></div><br />He also knows that I am trying to do something about the eyes.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">It's pointless to prognosticate, since time will tell shortly enough. What matters is that he not suffer pain, humiliation or demoralization and that he still have moments of enjoyment in life.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">My job is to care for him and watch and be patient. I get exasperated when he stumbles into a bowl and sets of a big CLANG. But I take a deep breath, walk over, lift him up and stroke him. I should try to crank up some "cheerfulness" from within me to impart to him. Patience and stroking is fine and good, but it is also sorrowful, and I think I need to find a way to inject some emotional happiness into him, if I can.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">There will be time enough in the future to think back to brighter puppier days. <br /></div><br />.Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-30578329824308892522010-02-17T21:18:00.000-08:002010-02-21T20:37:05.599-08:00Fips Shortcircuits<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"> <br /></div></blockquote>Fips had a seizure today, on the way back from the gym, just as I turned the corner down 64th Street. At first, I thought he had lost his balance on account of the turn, but I quickly noticed he was seizing up all over. I turned into the first driveway I could and just held him tight as he shook, flailed and trembled.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Once the seizure was over I drove to Dr. Rana's up in Langley. I'm amazed at how less than hysterical I was. Fips sat in the chair panting hard and half-pooping.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Rana wasn't there, only the "other" vet, who is in fact no more than an assistant wearing "Rana DVM"'s coat. The "vet" checked Fips out, and the important point is that all his vital signs were basically the same as they have been, except that Fips <span style="font-style: italic;">gained</span> two pounds! The "vet" decided Fips had had a seizure, for which he recommended Phenobarbitol. I mentioned the September incident and the possibility of doing blood work, to which the "vet" said that "seizures have nothing to do with the blood; they're in the brain."<br /><br />At this point I realized that this visit was almost pointless, a conclusion which was underscored by the "vet's" recommendation I have Fips's teeth cleaned (for a "discounted" price of $450.00) And at <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> point I asked for the x-rays, took the meds and left, figuring I got basically what was needed for now.<br /><br />Back home Fips was restless and walked around and around in a circle, but otherwise seemed okay. I decided to call Dr. Jack in the morning.<br /><br /></div>.Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-38511674308788667972010-01-11T22:30:00.001-08:002010-01-11T22:49:34.112-08:00Getting Wet to Prove It's Dry.<blockquote> </blockquote><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">It would be an understatement to say that the dogs do not like the rain. How many times have they rushed to the door only to be stopped dead in their tracks by The Disappointment. All things considered, BC hasn't been <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> wet, but there have been disappointments.... and restlessness. <br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Tonight Rosco was wanting to go out, and was sitting by the door making his sentiments known. I opened the door and out he char'..... / stopped and turned on a dime. I shut the door in his snout but, as he just huddled in the doorway, I let him back in.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">It wasn't really raining --- more like a thick but slow drizzle. So I stepped outside myself and stood several paces away from the doorway, as two doggie faces peered at me from inside. <br /><br />I stood.<br /><br />They peered.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I've tried this a few times before, and I knew from experience that I would have to stand there until my example proved the point.<br /></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It's ok, doggies, c'mon ,<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;">I said, as I stood there amid the droplets in my flip flops and tee shirt, wondering how long it would take to really really prove the case to canine satisfaction.<br /></div><br />Fips was the first to slowly climb over the door step and hop on out. Rosco, who apparently has a higher threshold of proof -- <span style="font-style: italic;">beyond a reasonable doggie doubt </span>-- took note of his brother and then again of me. At last he cautiously followed suit and hopped on out. <br /><br />I stood there is the rain and watched as the doggies did what they wanted to do before trotting back inside.<br /><br />Sometimes the leader has to get wet.<br /><br />.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><br /></div>Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-79860561704907769622010-01-05T21:22:00.000-08:002010-01-16T00:02:26.114-08:00Modes<blockquote> </blockquote><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">After an early rise, I returned to bed for a mid morning snooze. Fips crawled in after me and snuggled into my side, resting his snout on my left shoulder and placing his right paw over my bicep, as I petted his head and draped my right arm over his haunchies. And there we lay for quite a while, in Cuddle Mode, the smooth and the fuzzy in their presence.<br /><br />My mind always wants to know<span style="font-style: italic;">, what is he thinking? </span>But what am <span style="font-style: italic;">I </span>thinking? About this? Not much of anything because there isn't anything really to think about. I simply am pleased to feel the warm, and gently heaving presence of his fuzzy-wuzziness and there is no reason to think he is not other than pleased at having my fleshly warmth envelope him. And so, we shared our contements.<br /><br />It had stopped raining and so at mid afternoon I drove over to the athletic field. As usual no one was there. The air was chill and brisk with a hint of damp and a slight breeze. I walked over to the area which has been cleared of trees and which now lay covered with wet chips and mulch. Rosco forged on up the trail while Fips engaged in some slow poking and precision sniffing. I rolled my eyes, and guessed it was going to be another one of <span style="font-style: italic;">those</span> walks.<br /><br />Then all of a sudden Fips picked up a trot and from a trot to a canter. From time to time he'd come to an abrupt stop, not to rest, but to sniff something before giving a little up and trotting on forward. He was clearly in Friskie-Mode. At one point, I turned around and caught him balancing himself on the cement base of something, like a fuzzy statue on its pedestal. He then hopped off and charged at me, his ears flapping like wings.<br /><br />After that, he went full bore, running around and across the field, with virtually no stopping either for sniffs or breaths. Rosco would fall back and catch up, and every once and a while the two brothers would run alongside one another. But the real energy was with Fips and it was amazing to behold.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_eYJ9e_d9Ck&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_eYJ9e_d9Ck&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />.<br /></div>Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-80284593723415860122009-12-31T21:26:00.000-08:002009-12-31T21:57:27.280-08:00Sprightliness and Perserverence<blockquote> </blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;">Fips was voraciously cuddly last night, nudging my face and crawling over my head. He eventually settled down on a pillow.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">When we got there, Fips was back in <span style="font-style: italic;">creak-n-poke</span> 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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We now know Fips' comfortable and outer limits; but we made it, once again! ending the year with perduring sprightliness and steady perserverence.<br /></div><br />.Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-10493462133445813072009-12-17T19:03:00.000-08:002009-12-18T22:18:48.534-08:00Geronto-Champ<blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnaXwkS_2dnrdyWodDIMFo1lnjm5eoA_4hoDFaPlv9VhbgVeqtzKez6XmTNtS8c3yjqUZdwYDrqYf64ZBCSAJzsCmA56P1sqdLbUbQZn6EF61m0qm3XDQbqxYOqZbNAMlEarKojYBfRb4/s1600-h/Alder1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnaXwkS_2dnrdyWodDIMFo1lnjm5eoA_4hoDFaPlv9VhbgVeqtzKez6XmTNtS8c3yjqUZdwYDrqYf64ZBCSAJzsCmA56P1sqdLbUbQZn6EF61m0qm3XDQbqxYOqZbNAMlEarKojYBfRb4/s320/Alder1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416406734052892882" border="0" /></a><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">Alder Mountin</span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWXgiqajIFgsRbQTs18cxE5hDsG7JIBIciQOba24Dutw1kzxYPzPg8dCsMFaECo9PuoU85VGQHFc0yAKaXJKXZO4GW7iIGqw_AtTdFKIsUV0c0vavDA2Vwe2mxPhP9hGJg4N4knYnzwi8/s1600-h/Alder3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWXgiqajIFgsRbQTs18cxE5hDsG7JIBIciQOba24Dutw1kzxYPzPg8dCsMFaECo9PuoU85VGQHFc0yAKaXJKXZO4GW7iIGqw_AtTdFKIsUV0c0vavDA2Vwe2mxPhP9hGJg4N4knYnzwi8/s320/Alder3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416407871332155090" border="0" /></a><br />This would be our sixth <span style="font-style: italic;">AlderWalk </span>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?<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_obf-2tabBbIEuWs84Pu8cnipKYF-733s5te-WHieEMCjNCm0rxKrMIQfwdjAQNjx9BsjQt7caIymD5yrKnUdipd94NfDhKZ27ma60HqpMGJA3WokPe7K1EEI8wmTD7qXGbox5ljt2A/s1600-h/FlyingToBridge2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_obf-2tabBbIEuWs84Pu8cnipKYF-733s5te-WHieEMCjNCm0rxKrMIQfwdjAQNjx9BsjQt7caIymD5yrKnUdipd94NfDhKZ27ma60HqpMGJA3WokPe7K1EEI8wmTD7qXGbox5ljt2A/s320/FlyingToBridge2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416449932887031970" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Fips started out pokey, as Rosco trotted impatiently ahead. But after a while Fips built up steam and flew down to Bridge Two...<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilxVwQaknvDHX-86Qzl7b6ASq-cD9PfqfHr1EcNnzmclu3SkqpSl1ilBZS7_QYXCj8G-aJdBQzI_w05x4NiDr6s3CjUF9k7qu7waVwpD0ijNrE6e0Mfiw6bS4an2dqw-a0iG83KArGvK0/s1600-h/waterfall.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilxVwQaknvDHX-86Qzl7b6ASq-cD9PfqfHr1EcNnzmclu3SkqpSl1ilBZS7_QYXCj8G-aJdBQzI_w05x4NiDr6s3CjUF9k7qu7waVwpD0ijNrE6e0Mfiw6bS4an2dqw-a0iG83KArGvK0/s320/waterfall.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416449702530332818" border="0" /></a><br />Where there was a waterfall that interested me,<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOgNSPZEfIUy4mpVlWgi7g6cFwXeHX9udUdCctSlObQV5z2GzvSpWeDcBnxzlMWoa3FUiuLooOiMZeQQ2Scj_hzZtdcJVe5QkFzzZDMfbA8QYCXrg77vYzjS0xd_2SRvKg746X9SkAXvU/s1600-h/snifinterst.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOgNSPZEfIUy4mpVlWgi7g6cFwXeHX9udUdCctSlObQV5z2GzvSpWeDcBnxzlMWoa3FUiuLooOiMZeQQ2Scj_hzZtdcJVe5QkFzzZDMfbA8QYCXrg77vYzjS0xd_2SRvKg746X9SkAXvU/s320/snifinterst.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416450328321576546" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: right;">and a short ways on something <span style="font-style: italic;">very</span> interesting to both pups<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIhVCHQTEVQ6BzTMdM4vA3qVbC_-oH3Chq9dNjYusVlHD-pDmfeZiaJKPydHQasCKDi8xY4DRxo7Wmro7bnxVWl-zGhATp5PtpPt95rF8s8f-ZXNCYdmd3jEF00QRkqKzS4EkadNDkXzM/s1600-h/stumble.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIhVCHQTEVQ6BzTMdM4vA3qVbC_-oH3Chq9dNjYusVlHD-pDmfeZiaJKPydHQasCKDi8xY4DRxo7Wmro7bnxVWl-zGhATp5PtpPt95rF8s8f-ZXNCYdmd3jEF00QRkqKzS4EkadNDkXzM/s320/stumble.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416451924147216626" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWnI1i0OvghVOG1fwZUF3wAJOBMBodSskvAiOep2nJqakIJRtYj7hNfbgrMzz_dGMRU6hnTVt91cw_KTTgBAEFr_o6hitgA0Tmc8kpZrr5CGVTHNnt_HrrqjqbOLIn7CHF_mBR7c7XIlA/s1600-h/R&FonTrail.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWnI1i0OvghVOG1fwZUF3wAJOBMBodSskvAiOep2nJqakIJRtYj7hNfbgrMzz_dGMRU6hnTVt91cw_KTTgBAEFr_o6hitgA0Tmc8kpZrr5CGVTHNnt_HrrqjqbOLIn7CHF_mBR7c7XIlA/s320/R&FonTrail.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416453315819466242" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">At 2.4 miles <span style="font-style: italic;">AlderMountin </span>is a respectable hike. More wooded, it is not as wild and rocky as <span style="font-style: italic;">RedwoodMountin </span>where Fips and I would climb up stoney ravines in the rain, many years agoI though back to those <a href="http://wcg-footsandfotos.blogspot.com/2009/12/091217-fofipsatredwood.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">young pup</span></a> days. Fips was so intrepid then -- alert, "tight" and full of sure footed bounce. <span style="font-style: italic;">AlderMountin</span> is more genteel -- a softer trek for an older Fips. "Just like <span style="font-style: italic;">mountin</span>, eh, guys?" I said<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVm2nXxc1Bjndy_vLZVGmRd2CTCIPhPia1YCyX7rhqqjYecxWCGg2x5kVvPvhN_ixNzF3nu0m9SB25a7YoCrcPtAyaoMEsBJTlBuBNdDFSu5tqqJECBxehfAQXxWbSPNGpMBl1K1COeqY/s1600-h/Alder5bayou.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVm2nXxc1Bjndy_vLZVGmRd2CTCIPhPia1YCyX7rhqqjYecxWCGg2x5kVvPvhN_ixNzF3nu0m9SB25a7YoCrcPtAyaoMEsBJTlBuBNdDFSu5tqqJECBxehfAQXxWbSPNGpMBl1K1COeqY/s320/Alder5bayou.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416407640373455506" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ5YHHQ-3LZwDzMSgJuc-BrDC_-FybfvbZgDhJ7Z92hKcQjTU8ht0iiEcI6PKX7YKWONM5sD2ygL_5zuy2kJcJOOKddL4oz2RNrgFcnhjem7Ygctdp3XmKKpkq3UXCvXjc8hEADtsQFLs/s1600-h/Alder8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ5YHHQ-3LZwDzMSgJuc-BrDC_-FybfvbZgDhJ7Z92hKcQjTU8ht0iiEcI6PKX7YKWONM5sD2ygL_5zuy2kJcJOOKddL4oz2RNrgFcnhjem7Ygctdp3XmKKpkq3UXCvXjc8hEADtsQFLs/s320/Alder8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416407528564367410" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwVbMh2kiz5IoB9N_65taRaRAtUz7n_3tDVgm1zsPRiXwdYYkCRPPymGNXNFNXEyM9jb3QnXiCfXtUy4ge74rPeFQMxOO41YxWEPAP2xLUcF1X5TQLzF4OiKfL3D6imTM18f5Q3ogqOk/s1600-h/stillflying.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwVbMh2kiz5IoB9N_65taRaRAtUz7n_3tDVgm1zsPRiXwdYYkCRPPymGNXNFNXEyM9jb3QnXiCfXtUy4ge74rPeFQMxOO41YxWEPAP2xLUcF1X5TQLzF4OiKfL3D6imTM18f5Q3ogqOk/s320/stillflying.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416458981034725362" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZfnG9js4S2p_3IO_f3-lOL089RHCB8yHNFQ6zNUj6v5Tt-wS7PUNjPNhCzCoYYnBNU4uDigDucuOaIzG7iHZwJcSs6drZKkb_8DfWNd-VArRkfc8-Tc2wGEw8we4HwSkj447O7ySj-WA/s1600-h/FipsTiring.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZfnG9js4S2p_3IO_f3-lOL089RHCB8yHNFQ6zNUj6v5Tt-wS7PUNjPNhCzCoYYnBNU4uDigDucuOaIzG7iHZwJcSs6drZKkb_8DfWNd-VArRkfc8-Tc2wGEw8we4HwSkj447O7ySj-WA/s320/FipsTiring.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416450630994926450" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEiv5n-pzCBdzwqrm3EHhtdrRrVnWseJwuk3izCMSVm7GSKmvMCbOau14tziGUYg5sGAdbIA5Qpf0TIO2oWQu_drIQzglOOnd5Etsq-HzRApoKA2JZforIAuH08cfNtXNZJ2ABWigxa8/s1600-h/Alder11(fipsno).jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEiv5n-pzCBdzwqrm3EHhtdrRrVnWseJwuk3izCMSVm7GSKmvMCbOau14tziGUYg5sGAdbIA5Qpf0TIO2oWQu_drIQzglOOnd5Etsq-HzRApoKA2JZforIAuH08cfNtXNZJ2ABWigxa8/s320/Alder11(fipsno).jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416407329602329346" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffyTlYzn5y_8ToN9QtE1SIkq2s7NbgCydzoAmpqCsx0xTDDEoZgps04xAuAqCWzLk9Dm31eoAeGlJTn7BqkZGtzyB3SY3ar25LyR_GU733NASUXHFkqrJfi4Gj_hzBu_OYcsVVEmlVZw/s1600-h/RoscoByCreek.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffyTlYzn5y_8ToN9QtE1SIkq2s7NbgCydzoAmpqCsx0xTDDEoZgps04xAuAqCWzLk9Dm31eoAeGlJTn7BqkZGtzyB3SY3ar25LyR_GU733NASUXHFkqrJfi4Gj_hzBu_OYcsVVEmlVZw/s320/RoscoByCreek.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416450956385649122" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVOlTWOkgD16UDwqHcn_YfH1bgLRv3CQzPwVCkeZBA6lMc0YChTTep1EnA6McszDiow9g_rlVXC6GZeGKX8j8wEcyw-BndT5zcV4cmlctiddP0OObXPgj9-f_dNaB2srZkvFoTyMEJWlM/s1600-h/F&Rlot.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVOlTWOkgD16UDwqHcn_YfH1bgLRv3CQzPwVCkeZBA6lMc0YChTTep1EnA6McszDiow9g_rlVXC6GZeGKX8j8wEcyw-BndT5zcV4cmlctiddP0OObXPgj9-f_dNaB2srZkvFoTyMEJWlM/s320/F&Rlot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416407202259733506" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4dqg93afoa2lB-YXnEm3vMuJlTzds0XXMwebjycf8VMwguJy0-CCevfkQw8E8W0YimFf1lsdmohCfxl-LbRmWSdAy5ChvSpt6DHY2oPxwPQKaJ0z4M7Zppn-TBZVyV0hHAsP5EwV_Ww4/s1600-h/FipsRoad.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4dqg93afoa2lB-YXnEm3vMuJlTzds0XXMwebjycf8VMwguJy0-CCevfkQw8E8W0YimFf1lsdmohCfxl-LbRmWSdAy5ChvSpt6DHY2oPxwPQKaJ0z4M7Zppn-TBZVyV0hHAsP5EwV_Ww4/s320/FipsRoad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416407090991548018" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpofbDiBw7O23bV1dqyvSE29q0ZALtEg8TMvfMPUheZvSF7tPvw7zpiHX1uvAXbSLFgklSDWAEyX5WeSxNSxKwEm0_WTaAN0oPJaiis5Q9m2XJdVonAiURNYEPCahDO2JMgWUWR0G3AHI/s1600-h/Dogstruck.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpofbDiBw7O23bV1dqyvSE29q0ZALtEg8TMvfMPUheZvSF7tPvw7zpiHX1uvAXbSLFgklSDWAEyX5WeSxNSxKwEm0_WTaAN0oPJaiis5Q9m2XJdVonAiURNYEPCahDO2JMgWUWR0G3AHI/s320/Dogstruck.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416406918592237634" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">We made it!! </span>The full <span style="font-style: italic;">Alder Loop</span>. I am so proud of Fips. He is such a champ. "You're such a champ, Fips, such a champ! ...and <span style="font-style: italic;">Rosco Too" </span>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 <span style="font-style: italic;">tuggies</span> are all about. But overcoming self is a complex and paradoxical abstraction which requires a sense of delimited or <span style="font-style: italic;">diminishing</span> self. I am not so sure I want Fips to be proud of that, but I am.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />.<br /><br /><br /></div>Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-30064649963583098252009-12-15T20:21:00.000-08:002009-12-15T21:19:38.333-08:00First Snow<blockquote></blockquote><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi62HeEeV3uu6l0B2Kd5kPnB3aGv0zZtMZc0tHe_21sbwdD7eFQT3uW4tjoL-GHmrg3AEWSfKDOMt-Q3846y_PmCvEA4yPqpDnd7jPq2bgyU-VZ6UXIwpSbp3ohLlCH6OxqCEyFGgCPhQ/s1600-h/FirstSnowStable.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi62HeEeV3uu6l0B2Kd5kPnB3aGv0zZtMZc0tHe_21sbwdD7eFQT3uW4tjoL-GHmrg3AEWSfKDOMt-Q3846y_PmCvEA4yPqpDnd7jPq2bgyU-VZ6UXIwpSbp3ohLlCH6OxqCEyFGgCPhQ/s400/FirstSnowStable.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415694481723289730" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrDngy6DTNHHA8yWTvBvJNryeq-IQ639D1TbyynpieUX3xcrVbKvzOYwUbip5_yRHD5_0r29D_ZuKjb6aUBZ4c9ZOTbZDXHYqDReQGUHmzaprqRRQ-L9kFE0-26NWAEOLfN2sEtxtAp4k/s1600-h/NotSoSure.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrDngy6DTNHHA8yWTvBvJNryeq-IQ639D1TbyynpieUX3xcrVbKvzOYwUbip5_yRHD5_0r29D_ZuKjb6aUBZ4c9ZOTbZDXHYqDReQGUHmzaprqRRQ-L9kFE0-26NWAEOLfN2sEtxtAp4k/s320/NotSoSure.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415697966551524946" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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]<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6JQrcsB4AvRlnqGnQdVIM0TrRjeNdBuMt5rCJtqcppU8tQ96vfTFOJEdFJAAKJPByC_h11yYeG8sNl3aKKQe4xik0sXOoYZISklgqbO5UvQnVFi6raTdrItdhvy7MgyYVZKX7xLw4QEI/s1600-h/FipsVenturesOUt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6JQrcsB4AvRlnqGnQdVIM0TrRjeNdBuMt5rCJtqcppU8tQ96vfTFOJEdFJAAKJPByC_h11yYeG8sNl3aKKQe4xik0sXOoYZISklgqbO5UvQnVFi6raTdrItdhvy7MgyYVZKX7xLw4QEI/s320/FipsVenturesOUt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415697114634371506" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">All Saturday and into Sunday, the snow kept falling until a thick snow pillow lay on the land, and it was chillingly cold.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW62VDicbt9_hpsRjDONpqf-0kebXWCnDjxLD4wXZcrxrxpylLMI_CLcxf0Ry3ThRmMhWz-nRAI7a0qWVdahBFTxpZNYqsF6K2qNJhuNQAGbDU3FL_Vb6BS1VdZso_pdkI_Ttf7ZYHo-Y/s1600-h/StablesSnow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW62VDicbt9_hpsRjDONpqf-0kebXWCnDjxLD4wXZcrxrxpylLMI_CLcxf0Ry3ThRmMhWz-nRAI7a0qWVdahBFTxpZNYqsF6K2qNJhuNQAGbDU3FL_Vb6BS1VdZso_pdkI_Ttf7ZYHo-Y/s320/StablesSnow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415696429390348114" border="0" /></a><br />Except for the briefest of pauses, the doggies preferred to stay inside.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-y2lOvZL-aeHDn9SQHa_igpQ4FP5vhk7YDiEZFIr4L6kBRJORuuQbx_fZj5oYbWHXAXp0NsRFRwZi3dW6qfsc5VmciH0LCSiwRuUqwnms3W-sOosshNzWo_rS13J-m7wCbEuZIRSakw/s1600-h/PissInSnow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-y2lOvZL-aeHDn9SQHa_igpQ4FP5vhk7YDiEZFIr4L6kBRJORuuQbx_fZj5oYbWHXAXp0NsRFRwZi3dW6qfsc5VmciH0LCSiwRuUqwnms3W-sOosshNzWo_rS13J-m7wCbEuZIRSakw/s320/PissInSnow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415696844228441010" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Although Rosco ventured a little further.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1XKhRXvTSv-7PpitOTPYz0G00WWJRLpGR764Nme0qG9VkDnisL3pgV-Rw35ham6g-jEp_IifsU5YOLWqaxqwGTPO-eUUwdbQs8Xp_miKSCSwwJGrzZL7Q9aiPbINoHxKjfSJTDKx7W9c/s1600-h/RosciSnow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 227px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1XKhRXvTSv-7PpitOTPYz0G00WWJRLpGR764Nme0qG9VkDnisL3pgV-Rw35ham6g-jEp_IifsU5YOLWqaxqwGTPO-eUUwdbQs8Xp_miKSCSwwJGrzZL7Q9aiPbINoHxKjfSJTDKx7W9c/s320/RosciSnow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415697582914436882" border="0" /></a><br />While Fips wondered ....if and .... when....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJeR7zZ83bjtQHms6H1ccw37TpeqW_GZHfiIjvkg7RnbM_1OFAUF53yiTzGIpOuMIShJhPvTKYIrvs-tia5dhchpZi-jsrb69zajd4ZjENrt6M5zSKblR19cUfr5Ln47rKQKxJK8nfJhU/s1600-h/FipsAtDoor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJeR7zZ83bjtQHms6H1ccw37TpeqW_GZHfiIjvkg7RnbM_1OFAUF53yiTzGIpOuMIShJhPvTKYIrvs-tia5dhchpZi-jsrb69zajd4ZjENrt6M5zSKblR19cUfr5Ln47rKQKxJK8nfJhU/s320/FipsAtDoor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415696049658592866" border="0" /></a>.<br /></div>Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-63772839394610892612009-12-11T22:59:00.000-08:002009-12-20T23:27:30.483-08:00A Curious & Appreciative Audience<blockquote></blockquote><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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?"<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">"<span style="font-style: italic;">Yes Fipsie...music...</span>" I said, as Fips moved closer and poked his nose to where the sound was coming from.<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwHijhXralQhLgtxAUxUIdUM4ZHIggjF8ahmUJyrrgI16ktweMbA_i37M7FK1v5znpm7u70mBn0vqK_zpiNVW_x4v-8-hD4VBo9mn50WigOc7i9n2fk4vzgyTT102p_d3pKfCgnTFAEXc/s1600-h/DSCF1690(@).JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwHijhXralQhLgtxAUxUIdUM4ZHIggjF8ahmUJyrrgI16ktweMbA_i37M7FK1v5znpm7u70mBn0vqK_zpiNVW_x4v-8-hD4VBo9mn50WigOc7i9n2fk4vzgyTT102p_d3pKfCgnTFAEXc/s320/DSCF1690(@).JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417581978169474642" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I played some Hanon as Fips continued to listen with a sort of tranquil intensity. <br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br />Lord only knows what depth and complexity of tones he hears but at least <span style="font-style: italic;">someone</span> appreciates my playing !<br /><br />.Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-81188001360402674232009-12-07T23:42:00.000-08:002009-12-09T09:05:54.205-08:00Blinking in the Landscape of Smells<div style="text-align: justify;"><blockquote></blockquote><br />Quickly enough, Roski has figured out that the <span style="font-style: italic;">blinkie</span> 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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSqdLlsiSR5Dj5BCAjzC1lqw_INXP3BOK2jKobbJ25hZk9tYkteasJgqB80n0BfRdAnYIXwPB-CwHmm2nKPF4DGLv40HfzHvz2EJhLvuhKHSW7Saz0nxVhil3m0RHitQ50RWUsLUkFl5E/s1600-h/091203-rosky2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSqdLlsiSR5Dj5BCAjzC1lqw_INXP3BOK2jKobbJ25hZk9tYkteasJgqB80n0BfRdAnYIXwPB-CwHmm2nKPF4DGLv40HfzHvz2EJhLvuhKHSW7Saz0nxVhil3m0RHitQ50RWUsLUkFl5E/s320/091203-rosky2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413102063085093394" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Okay Roski, komm now</span><br /><br />. . . .<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Rosssskii, komm!</span><br /><br />. . . .<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Rosco!</span><br /><br />. . . .<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >Rosssssscoh!!</span><br /><br />. . . .<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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<br /></div><br />.Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-70098632388112748762009-12-01T23:02:00.000-08:002009-12-02T07:52:44.135-08:00Blinkies<blockquote></blockquote><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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. <br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /><br />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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGhYELRk4O21kk1nd-ABUj2nm_qpacZlMJkV63E9wKgLCLgJ7xvqajG1EOHMsk-mK1bof7WKvX6DHEVrfXowTbpfoLwNvUyfDmchuzDHQ_ZgMpvPBfGi_sTOcg_md_9OE5q2hzeg-Kabk/s1600-h/SunnyMorn.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGhYELRk4O21kk1nd-ABUj2nm_qpacZlMJkV63E9wKgLCLgJ7xvqajG1EOHMsk-mK1bof7WKvX6DHEVrfXowTbpfoLwNvUyfDmchuzDHQ_ZgMpvPBfGi_sTOcg_md_9OE5q2hzeg-Kabk/s320/SunnyMorn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410661980009350578" border="0" /></a>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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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 "<span style="font-style: italic;">out-dance</span>," 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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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 <span style="font-style: italic;">AlderMountin</span> instead.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br />.<br /></div>Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-23890016567073079682009-11-27T22:25:00.000-08:002009-12-01T00:14:19.730-08:00AlderMountin<blockquote></blockquote><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">On <span style="font-style: italic;">Not-Thanksgiving-in-Canada</span> 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.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI-UCIKU3fo-hXEqVqJI59MpTQCxncEiezeJ0i35KE3LdruTve1tyAHUPd5FgMDhJ02AogsL4yPfO0GjwwWFC6B-wRvT7LvMPnVN7mcqOQ-gTZ-5XLu-A_c30ExYjlJ5DOdSvjB_DW7aQ/s1600/Alderpath2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI-UCIKU3fo-hXEqVqJI59MpTQCxncEiezeJ0i35KE3LdruTve1tyAHUPd5FgMDhJ02AogsL4yPfO0GjwwWFC6B-wRvT7LvMPnVN7mcqOQ-gTZ-5XLu-A_c30ExYjlJ5DOdSvjB_DW7aQ/s320/Alderpath2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410152805969365074" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNkjLjwVmItFFI8i1V9ZeR1Vw-FIRxJ_Ro4Sr1RjEhUQT6F8KJ78PXA74W1Qh8rrIYxwr3Vf_qYbCc8onXP3j1IMRYH6EhLCPeYSqy1m9YopLlfnjH003u3FNyYhEElqRpFhXSUu30gA/s1600/2dog1trail1_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNkjLjwVmItFFI8i1V9ZeR1Vw-FIRxJ_Ro4Sr1RjEhUQT6F8KJ78PXA74W1Qh8rrIYxwr3Vf_qYbCc8onXP3j1IMRYH6EhLCPeYSqy1m9YopLlfnjH003u3FNyYhEElqRpFhXSUu30gA/s320/2dog1trail1_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410156326203939090" border="0" /></a>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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNlg9q01Ihw9Oqjyi6OD1eFL2CODQrNuq0llL7Q847RBGWwcZJPbjblBU2BxwxYCPMydWHtLsbJd4Ip1tE-cKCXlvjcBjOOmV4RaZjbgrlKkqphOIwGVanST_kvUO-TZPQeCc-AG3TDR8/s1600/TreeStare+1_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNlg9q01Ihw9Oqjyi6OD1eFL2CODQrNuq0llL7Q847RBGWwcZJPbjblBU2BxwxYCPMydWHtLsbJd4Ip1tE-cKCXlvjcBjOOmV4RaZjbgrlKkqphOIwGVanST_kvUO-TZPQeCc-AG3TDR8/s320/TreeStare+1_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410157233371276642" border="0" /></a><br />I called after him --- <span style="font-style: italic;">Fiiiiipsie! </span> -- and with a skip, turn and jump,<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFu1fuJpn3awdqaFIulX6K4_BKKEQxCos3gYXb6L8kRBBUVi-rhGHJ7dS4t7Lb4Egs2NpUwOqRGLbGWkEJNnt7v57jyEAdThPM-ujkds5b0yDxtEnlPq9DRWctOOy_o1gsrcFQutFbFco/s1600/Picture+2_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 237px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFu1fuJpn3awdqaFIulX6K4_BKKEQxCos3gYXb6L8kRBBUVi-rhGHJ7dS4t7Lb4Egs2NpUwOqRGLbGWkEJNnt7v57jyEAdThPM-ujkds5b0yDxtEnlPq9DRWctOOy_o1gsrcFQutFbFco/s320/Picture+2_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410157808606896658" border="0" /></a>he chased after my voice, regaining his "location"<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhKSit2GB6ZAZGQFkitaIlcvUloaPnF12c117JfAo5iI8Ul9niGL6zDTYGBLbAQfbzvIWfWoyV0VIPZmV6oSrTFqfGXF7bIpcaOzJJ86DXMIfUvNCgxYw8fglE-ibXrZXGbdFgWZHtRM/s1600/Dash+2_0001.Jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhKSit2GB6ZAZGQFkitaIlcvUloaPnF12c117JfAo5iI8Ul9niGL6zDTYGBLbAQfbzvIWfWoyV0VIPZmV6oSrTFqfGXF7bIpcaOzJJ86DXMIfUvNCgxYw8fglE-ibXrZXGbdFgWZHtRM/s320/Dash+2_0001.Jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410158197916883090" border="0" /></a>but also proving, once again, that he is not to be written off.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBBmlCdfkvNhZjYAQBLBx30UpNnW6Limdsp4ZDLrg3NdepaHipwgMuqHp4eQ0iarasx90gtM91co0ZK_ZOhhyIblvCYTXjRoLA8qkjbbMhYaWhJo2OAVVdXAE8pSMZ20DQFxXFE4TkNcA/s1600/Stumble.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBBmlCdfkvNhZjYAQBLBx30UpNnW6Limdsp4ZDLrg3NdepaHipwgMuqHp4eQ0iarasx90gtM91co0ZK_ZOhhyIblvCYTXjRoLA8qkjbbMhYaWhJo2OAVVdXAE8pSMZ20DQFxXFE4TkNcA/s320/Stumble.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410163970381474658" border="0" /></a>I ran toward him and gently turned him around. "I think we go <span style="font-style: italic;">back-now</span>" 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 "<span style="font-style: italic;">aren't you coming</span>" look. "No Rosci, <span style="font-style: italic;">komm</span>." 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.<br /><br />"Hey guys," I said, "it's just like <span style="font-style: italic;">Mountin</span> isn't it? Only it's flat." "<span style="font-style: italic;">Mountin</span>" 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 <span style="font-style: italic;">Mountin</span> and I'm sure he appreciated that it had gotten flat, even if he had wanted to do a <span style="font-style: italic;">scamper-down.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiizNt3N1-0HFn_UvqbtLlXl96fHKKulSH90NwnkJigtRCOWKbi8nQGc5-HzgI54M43-LqUqDvlTuFurkzWZde6W1_1nH3QrVyvZtLN7GboKMPZZ8cFTRFBhyphenhyphenQggmEEfFutr8ZIVSrKmhU/s1600/RositakesLead_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiizNt3N1-0HFn_UvqbtLlXl96fHKKulSH90NwnkJigtRCOWKbi8nQGc5-HzgI54M43-LqUqDvlTuFurkzWZde6W1_1nH3QrVyvZtLN7GboKMPZZ8cFTRFBhyphenhyphenQggmEEfFutr8ZIVSrKmhU/s320/RositakesLead_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410170230666429602" border="0" /></a>On our way back, Rosco once again takes the lead...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyhZjEwYiA5MOcIjnU_e2DmNCfy0cNcnieTWr3ijiwErbyGxNvm2BBtH0wuwR1aGJaqPR5S166QMDEsBh3CPGMxbNMzLSLsBEV3KDqH3ry-aXPWesUe4Zn7vfN0udtgFOx9JS7YJfDHU8/s1600/RosciSlows_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyhZjEwYiA5MOcIjnU_e2DmNCfy0cNcnieTWr3ijiwErbyGxNvm2BBtH0wuwR1aGJaqPR5S166QMDEsBh3CPGMxbNMzLSLsBEV3KDqH3ry-aXPWesUe4Zn7vfN0udtgFOx9JS7YJfDHU8/s320/RosciSlows_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410170628817147186" border="0" /></a>... and then slows down to a leisurely amble.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD39Z2iLjns0bUGOxSTW56WXwKKAsH8vL9QQLS5GPz4Bxd9pG69fJflUhQoZr0B1daNB1LQ7_8sEMzcaKa9YvVICuF1xkbDRuNZS2nN17veG_AFWUi3KZu-zClJbExB7nXFJrjQOdWKf4/s1600/FipsPasses_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD39Z2iLjns0bUGOxSTW56WXwKKAsH8vL9QQLS5GPz4Bxd9pG69fJflUhQoZr0B1daNB1LQ7_8sEMzcaKa9YvVICuF1xkbDRuNZS2nN17veG_AFWUi3KZu-zClJbExB7nXFJrjQOdWKf4/s320/FipsPasses_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410170992713282242" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Lurking, Fips suddenly dashes out from behind and, chasing in a wide arc through the adjacent field, triumphantly overtakes his little brother.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHl6GGY6uc7QblpSdFpdJ879pw1HhEErgm-5Y8kZIP4oHu5mHZ5My_Zt_J_DlColi0lDSzEQAlW7QpX-IjGl47j4MLuBBu_JuI4jvs8i8I1oodp5HEMccz6zDbv3tazZ40toZAJjCn4s/s1600/OutOfGate_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHl6GGY6uc7QblpSdFpdJ879pw1HhEErgm-5Y8kZIP4oHu5mHZ5My_Zt_J_DlColi0lDSzEQAlW7QpX-IjGl47j4MLuBBu_JuI4jvs8i8I1oodp5HEMccz6zDbv3tazZ40toZAJjCn4s/s320/OutOfGate_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410171865697161874" border="0" /></a>After some joint sniffing at the gate, Rosco once again leads the way toward the truck... and <span style="font-style: italic;">home now</span>.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQ3mOAjF2aIIvHIvvG5Ls0bQelDbBJvahV-MBm33jIYUACA8KDZ1aa4_gJ7iHwNXeNUbCoLWkEnVcqvoqbIBrpchdKOlNz7UFMa5T6VyXmX6JpvOty3QnXYBjGkBBuKVeOIEF9QoKBMI/s1600/BackInTruck.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQ3mOAjF2aIIvHIvvG5Ls0bQelDbBJvahV-MBm33jIYUACA8KDZ1aa4_gJ7iHwNXeNUbCoLWkEnVcqvoqbIBrpchdKOlNz7UFMa5T6VyXmX6JpvOty3QnXYBjGkBBuKVeOIEF9QoKBMI/s320/BackInTruck.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410172228058425666" border="0" /></a>.<br /></div></div></div>Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-81049043432573057162009-11-26T10:30:00.000-08:002009-11-26T10:43:41.904-08:00Fading & Holding<blockquote></blockquote><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZyU52VQPY51qNguXGt-d2URz07rJQBY8QU5FniAJuaIFdL-8c6lvDn39YVmRap4a1-Lvj67C1SdZYik9lv3xaQ5IDVGefkf-MTKL3Di3n63AG14VH17IYzYx6uYDJproAPY8NO7nY7K4/s1600/DSCF1636.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 302px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZyU52VQPY51qNguXGt-d2URz07rJQBY8QU5FniAJuaIFdL-8c6lvDn39YVmRap4a1-Lvj67C1SdZYik9lv3xaQ5IDVGefkf-MTKL3Di3n63AG14VH17IYzYx6uYDJproAPY8NO7nY7K4/s320/DSCF1636.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408479885484673682" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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).<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.”<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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).<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I am giving him his vitamins and pedialite, but otherwise there is little one can do.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I remember the first time I gave him a <span style="font-style: italic;">doggie-massach</span> 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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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 <span style="font-style: italic;">huggie pooh.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /><br />.<br /></div>Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-30875036239345671002009-10-20T20:46:00.000-07:002009-10-20T20:55:56.791-07:00The Sniffing Circuit<blockquote></blockquote><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZQJv4gBa6QjCRU5bnRfhXuVZw1YceB2kHdfj8x_jN0JLx6mOWAAXfZ5ptEvQjBtD8LuqazXpCUukxxcIQ8DF9RV99i6x6B53i5BVdHWkbiXj8OgAZI_xuOxYTjPte80h5dUCMnDsWKo/s1600-h/BigTree.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZQJv4gBa6QjCRU5bnRfhXuVZw1YceB2kHdfj8x_jN0JLx6mOWAAXfZ5ptEvQjBtD8LuqazXpCUukxxcIQ8DF9RV99i6x6B53i5BVdHWkbiXj8OgAZI_xuOxYTjPte80h5dUCMnDsWKo/s320/BigTree.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394895353613724994" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxHmR6dJztgvhZCthm9Bbdc0JEKhZYFqQ_QEFIHdIj8hN09ypS6hG1HjFRYtunZ5TqvQBQUNzGVjnpRcr2jYvEIveRa9xus2pFygE7gb03C45JCxq-0JcY-loMftWVsOgeqNc5B8x-ngU/s1600-h/RidingTrail.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxHmR6dJztgvhZCthm9Bbdc0JEKhZYFqQ_QEFIHdIj8hN09ypS6hG1HjFRYtunZ5TqvQBQUNzGVjnpRcr2jYvEIveRa9xus2pFygE7gb03C45JCxq-0JcY-loMftWVsOgeqNc5B8x-ngU/s320/RidingTrail.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394895537785675378" border="0" /></a><br />From my perspective, it was a golden Fall day....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgitQXolyadG-SeB25zgyAt_D2a4fBGefUx46Nqaw2HIdG-uLSlB3sZQbdIN2udxQEYUJL8cWAdBhKx54AWe5q11DtNX-cgogjg_PEjCHxwqcvXClsb7o817pSVsXdHqG8Wfe1Qkg6rzk/s1600-h/RosciSniffing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgitQXolyadG-SeB25zgyAt_D2a4fBGefUx46Nqaw2HIdG-uLSlB3sZQbdIN2udxQEYUJL8cWAdBhKx54AWe5q11DtNX-cgogjg_PEjCHxwqcvXClsb7o817pSVsXdHqG8Wfe1Qkg6rzk/s320/RosciSniffing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394895692501525202" border="0" /></a><br />Rosco will have to tell you what impressed him....<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmaiRg_3gA1bM8P6fTLKwuyK3pwXyxPupO7ScfS1Y5zPsYZVM469TqUrylHSuuzOCk1YqwIVsKF_ggjxBn8NbVT8B22FTt_4Hmww0I3R2YSaU-1tnChfijGtGXxi3ZAjOcySlmFD4m8c/s1600-h/FipsRun.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmaiRg_3gA1bM8P6fTLKwuyK3pwXyxPupO7ScfS1Y5zPsYZVM469TqUrylHSuuzOCk1YqwIVsKF_ggjxBn8NbVT8B22FTt_4Hmww0I3R2YSaU-1tnChfijGtGXxi3ZAjOcySlmFD4m8c/s320/FipsRun.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394895886736956674" border="0" /></a><br />Poor Fipsie's arthitis was acting up today, but he did kick up a trot toward the second half of the circuit.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64Txfs4ToJ58F5QO9APwLwa9C7qOL_t5FXUIFVIn27oyEd6ARIGcjjtjLml1DX9bFGhyxpFDhGY1WkeVX_JEQkUoDJlsvcUzXKM_YQXOxF9PR1fgmKyboDqf6vTwTsGSxaJRkUOy140k/s1600-h/ThreeTrees.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64Txfs4ToJ58F5QO9APwLwa9C7qOL_t5FXUIFVIn27oyEd6ARIGcjjtjLml1DX9bFGhyxpFDhGY1WkeVX_JEQkUoDJlsvcUzXKM_YQXOxF9PR1fgmKyboDqf6vTwTsGSxaJRkUOy140k/s320/ThreeTrees.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394896096378814834" border="0" /></a><br />Where we came upon three glistening trees....<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHWRKRkERMXvAdNaEaF13zDAn2Qx12vRFRaYDTHVlXSsDKC3U5oVcozYzE5nPqzYb9FAeEwH9RN-jYH_SdonMWy3oVy7pVKa1WffIzWnrlv_fEJWlZ_xzfHCTIR9yCAWUBUI3I08bgi7o/s1600-h/ZuHaus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHWRKRkERMXvAdNaEaF13zDAn2Qx12vRFRaYDTHVlXSsDKC3U5oVcozYzE5nPqzYb9FAeEwH9RN-jYH_SdonMWy3oVy7pVKa1WffIzWnrlv_fEJWlZ_xzfHCTIR9yCAWUBUI3I08bgi7o/s320/ZuHaus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394896262971636690" border="0" /></a><br />Before returning <span style="font-style: italic;">zu haus</span>..<br /><br />.Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-41817153086755334602009-10-19T21:13:00.000-07:002009-10-20T21:26:34.214-07:00A Beautiful Overcast Day<blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><br />Once the rain (heavy drizzle) stopped, it was time for a ground-about.<br /><blockquote></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicykr6DE5fg2D3v9Lqbu2NXi1mrfeRPi2dhppVvOiy0mTCLPScVumJGe99SNJcYh4keC7ne-xnJpqkDwaVLZAPqfW305X5WqCwp5Qc3lc75RqSIM_HS0i7e_Wn4LW71E2tPkd0ZAZLFI/s1600-h/Fence&Field.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicykr6DE5fg2D3v9Lqbu2NXi1mrfeRPi2dhppVvOiy0mTCLPScVumJGe99SNJcYh4keC7ne-xnJpqkDwaVLZAPqfW305X5WqCwp5Qc3lc75RqSIM_HS0i7e_Wn4LW71E2tPkd0ZAZLFI/s320/Fence&Field.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394902108887992242" border="0" /></a>Gloom has its own kind of majesty<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUP4A2zvvsatIB6KCZ8Yzbd7EjmPjlMp3f7lPzRZ_jofRpEQpUVFgaX6qNK-vH6aA02a8PuBK48cuy9iFRNpdg57j7NpJqOR6r1pk-XEivPTC4XRJ7nh63e8cAoRfNl8hiuAE1C-XZBiE/s1600-h/Fips&Horse"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUP4A2zvvsatIB6KCZ8Yzbd7EjmPjlMp3f7lPzRZ_jofRpEQpUVFgaX6qNK-vH6aA02a8PuBK48cuy9iFRNpdg57j7NpJqOR6r1pk-XEivPTC4XRJ7nh63e8cAoRfNl8hiuAE1C-XZBiE/s320/Fips&Horse" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394902382718373170" border="0" /></a>I got the impression that Fips was not particularly amused.....<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEJ5LpGl_fs4GVy6Ak8xdo4usuOrMGZg4H0yQrxJ2P6-cQcwVGXKmq2UyoOit6Nn3PRIrYgL9Oh6sxWLn-cyKnNzoyTjQVtiqx1YJi4qPJ3SOo3G_Om1pD-GdpiJOdt2ksKaNAT0-qWo/s1600-h/RoscoInClover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEJ5LpGl_fs4GVy6Ak8xdo4usuOrMGZg4H0yQrxJ2P6-cQcwVGXKmq2UyoOit6Nn3PRIrYgL9Oh6sxWLn-cyKnNzoyTjQVtiqx1YJi4qPJ3SOo3G_Om1pD-GdpiJOdt2ksKaNAT0-qWo/s320/RoscoInClover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394901865129538146" border="0" /></a>...although Rosco was too in the clover to care.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcOtn6niDhYEWwFkQzD0qmax3I3xshx5OFwvnuVVpdFNUnhDSvGYe5Hi4Q-8fFv9Pc-JR2IqYiPJv597s2kluKbK2hgRLWzlie1YoRNW3MA9VRWwPDXTjEsKVjyhh3HeEn6Oo1xiMFoco/s1600-h/CorralVIew.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcOtn6niDhYEWwFkQzD0qmax3I3xshx5OFwvnuVVpdFNUnhDSvGYe5Hi4Q-8fFv9Pc-JR2IqYiPJv597s2kluKbK2hgRLWzlie1YoRNW3MA9VRWwPDXTjEsKVjyhh3HeEn6Oo1xiMFoco/s320/CorralVIew.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394901720691108402" border="0" /></a><br />Fips insisted on walking out to the road, which we did....<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-usOzP30-U-jUEHJvBRLAUN5X3dXiz82FPWbjFqou_lsEifSUXOuVL6-dEBzkDoO0LKJvDZuXBtDdWcqKi1Lqm3uOEct7KlR5zU_uyzmQ0KxUncQ3qTEFV9XEeXaaybNuXRAn1tP0iRc/s1600-h/Entrance.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-usOzP30-U-jUEHJvBRLAUN5X3dXiz82FPWbjFqou_lsEifSUXOuVL6-dEBzkDoO0LKJvDZuXBtDdWcqKi1Lqm3uOEct7KlR5zU_uyzmQ0KxUncQ3qTEFV9XEeXaaybNuXRAn1tP0iRc/s320/Entrance.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394904274869075202" border="0" /></a>Before returning through the front gate.<br /><br />.<br /></div>Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-71336955206984080592009-10-13T20:04:00.000-07:002009-10-20T20:46:10.293-07:00L'il Rosco Falls through a Roof<div style="text-align: justify;"><blockquote></blockquote><br />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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Late last night, before bed, I decided to take the dogs for another <span style="font-style: italic;">mini-out. </span>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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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....<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqduuNAa-7E_rg8mkbEkTZXtNwGdGxqQW-d8UPPpqE3ocgSVUCnJZ-wOx4xjhyCQv7fFv6tYdMSSdKYrBdsGRl7xcgp7d4ILsIKnDoku7ddJqKY8aSEpdnpUzgOEYU5dS6h7XCwyQmUk/s1600-h/HoleInRoof.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqduuNAa-7E_rg8mkbEkTZXtNwGdGxqQW-d8UPPpqE3ocgSVUCnJZ-wOx4xjhyCQv7fFv6tYdMSSdKYrBdsGRl7xcgp7d4ILsIKnDoku7ddJqKY8aSEpdnpUzgOEYU5dS6h7XCwyQmUk/s320/HoleInRoof.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394894242495942354" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Instant visions of veterinary nightmares.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br />.<br /></div>Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-65970087414850659682009-10-10T21:06:00.000-07:002009-10-10T22:01:07.875-07:00<blockquote></blockquote><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYMuX1etOoPfPSoGDH3ZWvcyXjk6U1IgI1d-NmdrzA9PlX-nUeizCIg_1QmvCEQ2U-esOfpiqaQAp3p3t1rcr-PjFfVhUnu6_oOG_IWLjPtn2hfuFiOLCCQ_kJC-Sge7Cg2vWdhm-WWM/s1600-h/neighbarn.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYMuX1etOoPfPSoGDH3ZWvcyXjk6U1IgI1d-NmdrzA9PlX-nUeizCIg_1QmvCEQ2U-esOfpiqaQAp3p3t1rcr-PjFfVhUnu6_oOG_IWLjPtn2hfuFiOLCCQ_kJC-Sge7Cg2vWdhm-WWM/s320/neighbarn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391198676399448226" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">With a minimum of wrong turns (one), we soon found and got to our new destination, where our co-tenant opened the gate to let us through. I cut the engine and put paws to ground, where the dogs got down to business.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOhhUrYzwm9lHXEm3EoSVqfEXZwX3LIY5N5uvCU408jZ1i0gctyO_aaaeks50jogfZoQPJogTKArUgbtds4v2r0dh-877gSaG6RPRw9RyzoyJuVHyKJBy2xyXMWwTEYAlljDyxh0W_yD4/s1600-h/jackson2Fips.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOhhUrYzwm9lHXEm3EoSVqfEXZwX3LIY5N5uvCU408jZ1i0gctyO_aaaeks50jogfZoQPJogTKArUgbtds4v2r0dh-877gSaG6RPRw9RyzoyJuVHyKJBy2xyXMWwTEYAlljDyxh0W_yD4/s320/jackson2Fips.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391190247005561138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Jackson meets Fips<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJE5ajpcPsEEXyYLpYGjMsgzsbOmZuHeSyGEoPBm3YS2vx7c7R3LvW8AdTWKFM-tqPcC3tQMS0BF95YYu1tLiUyGaBc9yE9MWmjZg0zyUA9hGLQAG3MvX80xwOFXbPFYLKViHV46HlPrQ/s1600-h/RoscoMeetJack.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJE5ajpcPsEEXyYLpYGjMsgzsbOmZuHeSyGEoPBm3YS2vx7c7R3LvW8AdTWKFM-tqPcC3tQMS0BF95YYu1tLiUyGaBc9yE9MWmjZg0zyUA9hGLQAG3MvX80xwOFXbPFYLKViHV46HlPrQ/s320/RoscoMeetJack.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391190663960809922" border="0" /></a>Rosco Meets Jackson<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHAyDxkeFl-c2E-Yccw0e5Ybg5vprH2iIifvSu8dI0VDTVIxE8bo7EqitqvKqp9p6-Re-_WQzxJuXK0axLyStepuwsIYaaD-oSWHlwguUlxrshgfE3K-NvjI6iDYAifQ-gP1qknx3bscw/s1600-h/fipmeettash.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHAyDxkeFl-c2E-Yccw0e5Ybg5vprH2iIifvSu8dI0VDTVIxE8bo7EqitqvKqp9p6-Re-_WQzxJuXK0axLyStepuwsIYaaD-oSWHlwguUlxrshgfE3K-NvjI6iDYAifQ-gP1qknx3bscw/s320/fipmeettash.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391190969930951794" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Fips greets Tasha<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">And so we all headed for a walk around the grounds, on soft, moist and gently undulating tree-lined paths. Everything here says "earth" and the terriers -- all three of them -- love it.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJb7GodfCi4O11PAn5YU0Q1vaPVMTYonlUTBNdxoUv8eh6A7UaCAjyehOek-RcrmZjCzAm4pwWmVFFRkqkP1BlGOBDKji6n_JBulfsvrU4vC_0fp4Bxm-Hh1pxIyGzdlZWmCDT4_At8s/s1600-h/glouces1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJb7GodfCi4O11PAn5YU0Q1vaPVMTYonlUTBNdxoUv8eh6A7UaCAjyehOek-RcrmZjCzAm4pwWmVFFRkqkP1BlGOBDKji6n_JBulfsvrU4vC_0fp4Bxm-Hh1pxIyGzdlZWmCDT4_At8s/s320/glouces1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391191412619586370" border="0" /></a><br />Jackson, who is a two-year old dachshund-terrier mix, runs around proving that his exuberance knoweth no end. I remark that Jackson will do Rosco some good in the weight control department. Fips, at the other end of the cycle, limps along... but his nose is as good (and certainly more seasoned) than any puppy's.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_kdgfa9vp5dK0Y07vfthm75KLBb34TjrsSBgidPCFOHLzsUvdwzn6nSCL3kAIZh-jYNP-whJLtvaZKx71XmpbG-SPVH3UtXWGD5P9pqbCnJm70fjlnv33KuexQBSoyWjqHHp2UFwu1-g/s1600-h/fipsDebates.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_kdgfa9vp5dK0Y07vfthm75KLBb34TjrsSBgidPCFOHLzsUvdwzn6nSCL3kAIZh-jYNP-whJLtvaZKx71XmpbG-SPVH3UtXWGD5P9pqbCnJm70fjlnv33KuexQBSoyWjqHHp2UFwu1-g/s320/fipsDebates.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391193591168022706" border="0" /></a><br />Does Fips know we are talking about his limping gait? He can hardly miss Jackson's gymnastic displays. Returning from the far side of the property, I remark that Fips looks like he's getting a little tuckered out. A little ways on, we come across some jumping hurdles. Fips, debates.....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitpIwLp8wQNTfMT7DjDuXLUiAaTH_JYkGzE2QqJjuZuUSRv1k7ZXHkFhWVMUOFo4qWLQNaf3PP3ornTw6NNPBh6GQXSjCa_jdO65XHCrIWPMwozD4tyN0nSHFdutKVWd5Em9lRJ_sdP3M/s1600-h/FipsJumps.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitpIwLp8wQNTfMT7DjDuXLUiAaTH_JYkGzE2QqJjuZuUSRv1k7ZXHkFhWVMUOFo4qWLQNaf3PP3ornTw6NNPBh6GQXSjCa_jdO65XHCrIWPMwozD4tyN0nSHFdutKVWd5Em9lRJ_sdP3M/s320/FipsJumps.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391202474536587602" border="0" /></a><br />And...he JUMPS! Proving that arthritis or not, Old Fuzzie still has plenty of spunk.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic0hpDOHapI03C-H0omlrNvxNa6YDq4mhYzfKWelEx3XYgcH22mlL_v4Rh2ZaFYJHWyCjFpulsCGWphlYqNUDXHwJFFTPlT6ZHFK61ydpbnXYwEEKQreafcoLLG-KbvDmFhkkuwbp6x_8/s1600-h/roscoponders.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic0hpDOHapI03C-H0omlrNvxNa6YDq4mhYzfKWelEx3XYgcH22mlL_v4Rh2ZaFYJHWyCjFpulsCGWphlYqNUDXHwJFFTPlT6ZHFK61ydpbnXYwEEKQreafcoLLG-KbvDmFhkkuwbp6x_8/s320/roscoponders.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391198025079937154" border="0" /></a>Rosco ponders .... but then decides there are better things to do and sniff.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">At length we complete our survey of the premises which have clearly met with the Fuzzies' approval. And so we return to our new digs where I hang up the Holy Bone.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbyCym8Lz_GaJyTXYR1n33wevC97dWpKMQTd8RIpKhmVXPxHGlXwgFANBEXq0O8q2DeorDBvHqf2ttNQDJsIrp-dj9TUUir1Y1yAx-5xQcVZQrGLAK-Y8-8L4pEiX5IbhoBNRuUUqcAjA/s1600-h/HolyBone.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbyCym8Lz_GaJyTXYR1n33wevC97dWpKMQTd8RIpKhmVXPxHGlXwgFANBEXq0O8q2DeorDBvHqf2ttNQDJsIrp-dj9TUUir1Y1yAx-5xQcVZQrGLAK-Y8-8L4pEiX5IbhoBNRuUUqcAjA/s320/HolyBone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391198928792892482" border="0" /></a>.<br /></div></div>Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-80133111962571073132009-10-10T20:41:00.000-07:002009-10-10T21:05:16.757-07:00Separations<blockquote></blockquote><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The pups are real travel champs. I don't know anyone who is easier to travel with than Fips and Rosco. But there is no question that it is hard on them. They like the adventure of going somewhere and yet at the same time they are on constant "<span style="font-style: italic;">separation alert</span>." They eye my every move and for the past two nights Fips has engaged in affirmative snuggling. And so, this morning, rather than suffer their anxieties in addition to mine, I put the pals into the truck as I did my final repacks. After all, at this point, the truck is the most familiar environment, almost as constant as me myself.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7N3kg8Oa2_AJRHNrF9sLTKfD-CyXDFyW3JWwrMjMNmPE2MFCJmXarMSGheCpp8wvsqM4AC0PSI6iRFLFMMAjj7Cx3C4GKzyaKCs5LS6LwvXk16zp3vx5gTjlHx1t-MnMgm2uqt_dyOjA/s1600-h/RoadToLinden.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7N3kg8Oa2_AJRHNrF9sLTKfD-CyXDFyW3JWwrMjMNmPE2MFCJmXarMSGheCpp8wvsqM4AC0PSI6iRFLFMMAjj7Cx3C4GKzyaKCs5LS6LwvXk16zp3vx5gTjlHx1t-MnMgm2uqt_dyOjA/s320/RoadToLinden.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391184878378729874" border="0" /></a><br />At noon, we checked out of the Dog Motel, and headed north to Lynden, through vast fields and family farms encompassed by a distant ring of majestic mountains.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifChrakkxrnIdPOPs_LxPnDIHEL3lmWD8dv4eOK-ySVbPNozABSie1RyzTIyL9jNpHKo-7RsXO1RSGL2f-1kZtBtpU4TP2G7Deygz9Ns7TPkVI-CGn1qbWKPRAyXwTfKtul4LXai0Sa48/s1600-h/MtBaker.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifChrakkxrnIdPOPs_LxPnDIHEL3lmWD8dv4eOK-ySVbPNozABSie1RyzTIyL9jNpHKo-7RsXO1RSGL2f-1kZtBtpU4TP2G7Deygz9Ns7TPkVI-CGn1qbWKPRAyXwTfKtul4LXai0Sa48/s320/MtBaker.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391184647625994162" border="0" /></a><br />Reaching Canada at last....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkLe_CQzMo5d4WnAlOx3or2x_FT9os_juf-Vp4UC82K-j85q2yXChwqbZ0wYRAdTxOcduO4jbacsX7yR6Ohyphenhyphenn7wCfLfsL7ikabViA-EAEJmG3lah1mOVgzlCxy7ztweo0dVTxgv4Mfgs/s1600-h/CanadaSign.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkLe_CQzMo5d4WnAlOx3or2x_FT9os_juf-Vp4UC82K-j85q2yXChwqbZ0wYRAdTxOcduO4jbacsX7yR6Ohyphenhyphenn7wCfLfsL7ikabViA-EAEJmG3lah1mOVgzlCxy7ztweo0dVTxgv4Mfgs/s320/CanadaSign.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391186713340035106" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">... or almost. What the sign should have said was "Leaving the Homeland -- Prepare for Search" But for all the doggies knew, the border exit point was simply a place to lull around and back scratch on the grass, before being lifted back into the truck and heading on toward Aldergrove.<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkgXh06sIcERmt1KhrWkOKqYoM7qQe65cG63jpksrlVZFOqG557qY0lWBRkv1Q1kas_oEgZ_cW_S4SDQnsaeItEFvQEiS4JmC-tOl_cVOg1JSMSxICANdFX2P-Hc_uZL5HnGWp0pZ-jA/s1600-h/aldergrove.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkgXh06sIcERmt1KhrWkOKqYoM7qQe65cG63jpksrlVZFOqG557qY0lWBRkv1Q1kas_oEgZ_cW_S4SDQnsaeItEFvQEiS4JmC-tOl_cVOg1JSMSxICANdFX2P-Hc_uZL5HnGWp0pZ-jA/s320/aldergrove.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391187915100188610" border="0" /></a>.Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997570513190897640.post-838169664671548912009-10-09T21:47:00.000-07:002009-10-09T22:07:27.475-07:00Man & Dog Stuff At the Border<blockquote></blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><blockquote></blockquote><br />After a night's rest, the human busied himself with mail boxes, boxes, and what not, after which -- it being a warm and crisp afternoon -- we went for a scope and sniff about around Blaine-at-the-Line. <br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhthQfRvhWkP9r7HrCfmJvopB9s6T3N5kjqG4hn-uLD8_NMCx6O8MlHyiqvJ2o979jhX34CFOqSeywoKFBP25AioZ8TsWrnDhVws5xL25q-BAjRxRBbKXsLVI0qFxs3QNVN3xyCg7_O_XU/s1600-h/BLaine1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhthQfRvhWkP9r7HrCfmJvopB9s6T3N5kjqG4hn-uLD8_NMCx6O8MlHyiqvJ2o979jhX34CFOqSeywoKFBP25AioZ8TsWrnDhVws5xL25q-BAjRxRBbKXsLVI0qFxs3QNVN3xyCg7_O_XU/s320/BLaine1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390829926512818498" border="0" /></a>Main Street in Blaine<br />(where the pups sniffed every tree and post)<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6FbCr3etjQg8glAeCE8o7IrDrqKytGB-CA0aRZAGmCrGa1HJRrbupSDvBKj_H4XEptYaaVd-CeIOVTIsZIayREyJbds24MiQe6q6O1ZP8xmwEY-NYm7kreql-4-m7XsO7wMhk8Vh7b0w/s1600-h/LookingTo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6FbCr3etjQg8glAeCE8o7IrDrqKytGB-CA0aRZAGmCrGa1HJRrbupSDvBKj_H4XEptYaaVd-CeIOVTIsZIayREyJbds24MiQe6q6O1ZP8xmwEY-NYm7kreql-4-m7XsO7wMhk8Vh7b0w/s320/LookingTo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390829707774088658" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Looking toward the promised land<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv4vHykmVmPTYbaPPGA1L3Po61qqxirRF0Nedoc7mrbuLLdHg3Z6o42cwpbt3P_Puv9bH992xMcSglE1y03_PdVFyQhi3K8AYr8r7cuT1ny1eSzAKwacj1tomb-tkkujio7PsYbg4TYKg/s1600-h/PaddingDownBlaine.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv4vHykmVmPTYbaPPGA1L3Po61qqxirRF0Nedoc7mrbuLLdHg3Z6o42cwpbt3P_Puv9bH992xMcSglE1y03_PdVFyQhi3K8AYr8r7cuT1ny1eSzAKwacj1tomb-tkkujio7PsYbg4TYKg/s320/PaddingDownBlaine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390829308881646962" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">"Strutting down Main"<br />(watch for upcoming video)<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAdpx8RALCo9DtsrusP_VNGhLPHtD4Fc92L3ZxbrUNyC8aClpPz7MTsRMKvHGRtGJyNQ32jtWNd-9qBXFSACCdXQbE10CvpZ8USZLCk1mUf95rR43tVIHdjnlv1gFHCp7XK5tuHKtL2Lw/s1600-h/Caboose.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAdpx8RALCo9DtsrusP_VNGhLPHtD4Fc92L3ZxbrUNyC8aClpPz7MTsRMKvHGRtGJyNQ32jtWNd-9qBXFSACCdXQbE10CvpZ8USZLCk1mUf95rR43tVIHdjnlv1gFHCp7XK5tuHKtL2Lw/s320/Caboose.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390828996309409474" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The Red Caboose where we shared a<br />Monte Cristo sandwhich<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvZil35QnyJIyULNubq5uvJLCjxdZwfVxcSEGVYRYGSCjNXRfwak4aPiZN0IG6IqZdtiBJ_f32Pgmvd0Cf1tZUoAzL6QI629YIstbM1H_CF7LPAA7SUjv9kTb_-OeEZdWCOvGp7SVjTrI/s1600-h/BackToBellhm.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvZil35QnyJIyULNubq5uvJLCjxdZwfVxcSEGVYRYGSCjNXRfwak4aPiZN0IG6IqZdtiBJ_f32Pgmvd0Cf1tZUoAzL6QI629YIstbM1H_CF7LPAA7SUjv9kTb_-OeEZdWCOvGp7SVjTrI/s320/BackToBellhm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390828767196524114" border="0" /></a>Back to Bellingham<br /></div>Chipsterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236068118310501365noreply@blogger.com0