Four Dogs and a Baby

I wasn't sure how it was going to unfold. It had never happened before. But the moment had arrived. Four dogs and a baby were here. An impromptu breakfast had been planned. The four 'cousins' hadn't seen one another in several months. Sally, the retriever, had been under exercise 'arrest', solitary confinement. She had to be. On a reduced strict exercise regimen, after back-to-back surgeries in 2017, the time had come for all to meet, again. The only difference now was that a new baby was on board.

Mall Cop and Ella had a new human brother, a first for them. Ella was acting like a new mom, too. With the wiggler in their midst and Sally, too, how protective would they all be? Would they share? I decided to remove all barriers, for the time being. The Wiggler, with gift in mouth, was the annoyance factor in all of this. He would not sit still and that annoyed Mall Cop and Ella, briefly. Attention was shared by all adults to all children.

The baby is now 7 months old and raring to go, hither, thither and yon. He is on the verge of crawling while flipping himself beyond his baby mandate. Everywhere he looks there is something needing investigating. The best part, right now, are the licks of these majestic beasts from 20 to 77 pounds. He is ready for them. And so we watch and watch. Ella, the mini-schnauzer, sleeps near him, just in case. We understand. Then out of the blue comes Mr. Wiggles, touting his brand of play. Here I am he seems to say, boldly. With a gate barrier there and a folded ladder nearby, there seems to be nothing to deter this frolicking canine. Mr.Wiggles is the X-factor, but a nice one. The others are quiet, minding their own, hoping for watermelon, strawberries maybe blueberries and carrot sticks. Either will do. Food is food.

Mall Cop and Ella know trouble is not afoot, only Mr. Wiggles. He does not understand the boundaries of love and play. He only knows how to work a room, especially with young children in it. They are his love targets. And they love him back with their generous smiles and gentle strokes of hand.

Breakfast is being served, buffet style, of course. My first course is my grandson. Food is not needed, only love. Baby surveys the table and his family, nearby. As a mom of three little boys, decades ago, eating for me was always last on my list. Today is no different. I am full right now, filled with the joy of seeing this magnificent baby and his playmates, all four puppies, abounding here and there. It is quiet. There is no jealousy or anger afoot. The dogs are moving about while their baby, now on the floor, is moving with focused attention to the pictures on his blanket. So much to do while the animals roam around him. Ella lies nearby just in case help is needed. Mall Cop walks about checking on Mr. Wiggles just in case his unending presence arrives, too close for comfort. Mall Cop will simply watch. But out of the kitchen comes the relentless happy-go-lucky puppy, Mr. Wiggles, looking for his baby. His newly acquired 'ear of corn' arrives with him with that squishy noise it makes for the baby to enjoy.

The baby is used to dogs, their touch, licks, barks and beautiful presence. He is at the zoo watching them all perform in their own unique style. No matter who has the baby, a puppy is not far away, protecting him from who else? Mr. Wiggles, of course. Sally, the majestic, lies under the table waiting to be called. She's fine lying there in wait. Food can happen, there, too, as a hand reaches down to offer her a special brand of fruit.

The puppies know their role when baby is near. Bodyguards abound while gentle happy Mr. Wiggles performs. He will not stop. It is his duty, his mission in life, to entertain. He rules the stage. While baby smiles, he is momentarily distracted by Mr. Wiggles. This entertainer carries his 'ear of corn', the newest toy in his arsenal of carrying things, to show baby. His parents bought it for the dog who does not stop! Baby is in his 'office' standing around watching, then turning his head to the sound he hears. Do babies even do this at 7 months? It is a peaceful, loving visit, a time that shows that animals and young children belong together, a place where respectful learning is discovered and imprinted on everyone's brain. I'm one lucky baba.

What Does Matter!

She'd vomited that morning. Not a strange behaviour for dogs, but today it was food, not bile, that suddenly appeared without warning. Breakfast had not yet been served. She refused all water and food. What now, I wondered?

Giving her water through a small syringe was not a reasonable long term strategy, I knew. She needed to drink this life sustaining liquid on her own. She wasn't doing it and I didn't know why. Dehydration was now on my radar. She was a food fanatic. Not today. For her to be sick, suddenly, was not her, in her nearly 10 years of life. So off to the doctor we went. 

For two days, we visited the animal clinic trying to solve her food and water dilemma. She was becoming an enigma. An ultrasound would be needed and perhaps an IV, too. Medical procedures such as these could not be found here. Closing hours were 7:00 p.m. Maybe a cohort of medical specialists were needed. Off to the TVEH (Toronto Veterinary Emergency Hospital) we went. I was comforted in the knowledge that we were returning to her home away from home, staffed by the best in the world. An ultrasound would tell her story, perhaps a CBC and urinalysis, too. Everything necessary would be there. It had been, in the past. 

She was admitted by the same emergency doctor that had admitted her younger brother, Mr. Wiggles, a few years ago, when a grapefruit sized thing grew under his neck. Thank goodness for veterinary hospitals and their critical care teams and staff. Where would we be without them? Emergency surgery to remove an enlarged necrotic lymph node, was performed, two days later. Now, I was becoming an amateur sleuth on that subject, too. She was an exemplary patient, we were told. A new surgeon was on her case. 

It was comforting to know, however, that top specialists, with revered reputations, had been present to deal with her latest emergency. They knew. We were ever so grateful. Our family doctor, a human encyclopedia, knew these specialists from her days as a doctor-in-training. They were exemplary individuals, then and now, both personally and professionally. And we were beginning to meet them all, one by one, on a regular basis, with every visit.

Gratitude is a word that comes to mind during times like these. Gratitude for all the professionals who selected veterinary medicine as a career. I could never do it. But they did, thank goodness. Pet insurance helped. When all was said and done, few answers were found. But our girl is back, playful and crossing the line, 'cause she refused to act like a patient. She'd had a raging infection, of unknown origin, that suddenly hit. Lymph nodes became new words in my medical vocabulary, in this latest medical intrusion into our lives. Last year's medical 'parade' had undoubtedly culminated in this latest round of hurt. The lymph nodes carry waste from the body, including drug use, of which there were many last year. (No antibiotics routinely given, anymore, thankfully!)

During all of her recoveries, healing and restricted exercise regimens, the previous year, and recently, all Sally wanted to do was run, jump and fetch. Being a patient is an unknown. She does not know its meaning. Nor does she care what I think. The surgeons kept her in the dark. She's home and that's all that matters. Dogs do not know of the future. They only know of now.

In the series, Mayday, causes of air crashes are investigated. In a few instances, after eliminating every possible cause - pilot error, maintenance history, the plane's mechanical/computer history, air traffic controller communication, the checking of the cockpit and data recorders, sometimes, the investigators are left scratching their heads. What remains is generally the cause of the crash. In our girl's case, heads were definitely left scratching. They're still not sure. But sometimes, answers are not always evident. The mystery continues. I'm fine with that.

We went to the clinic today. I'd found a cyst on her face last week. Whew. With her colourful medical history, as a guide, I made the appointment. The thing was removed. Just to be sure. And a cytology done, just to be sure. The report for her emergency surgery of a few weeks ago was in my hands to be studied. Various forms of the noun necrosis were read. (I guess we're all necrotic, to some degree. Processed foods can do that). Aging is the polite word. Her doctor explained my questions and notations. Sally's hospital team had pronounced her perfect. I'm exhausted. Sally isn't. All she wants to do is run and fetch.

I'm exhausted. But she's happy, eating and drinking while being tough, loving and eager to run! Apples are her specialty and cucumbers, too. I'm always good with that! She's become more than a patient of the clinic. She's a project, I'm beginning to see. One day at a time to be sure.

Once Upon a Seed. ...

He handed me the bag of grapefruits and the 2 bunches of celery I hadn't asked for, medicine from a tree/plant. It then dawned on me that something truly remarkable had just happened: fully grown foods having begun their lives as seeds. Once upon a seed, there grew a grapefruit, then celery. Here they were, all grown up ready to eat or to be juiced.

My husband was doing what came naturally: buying simple ingredients for me to turn into yummy treats. The grocery store was near his office, if an emergency run was required. I was surrounded by former seeds, these luscious things, now, all grown up calling themselves this or that. They could be paired with other 'cell' mates: radishes, celery, grapefruits, oranges, lettuce, for an extraordinary assault on our taste, texture, visual, smell senses and, last of all, our health. It all seemed quite remarkable. Unrecognizable seeds had morphed into an adult grapefruit and celery, this time.

We were fortunate. Many people had chosen to grow food, as a career. Someone had to do it. It was not easy but someone had to. Many someones, in fact. Food keeps us alive. In their infancy, these foods began as seeds. Plant too many, the yield might not grow well. Floods, droughts and freezing spells cast doom upon the picture of a perfect harvest. Seeds planted deep within the large field or small garden needed to be done. Protecting these life saving powerhouse gems of future nutrition was not easy. Predators abound, too. They had to live, on their raw diet. They had young ones to feed, too. But first momma bear has to eat.

Digging, planting, watering and fertilizing was an art. I should know. I do not possess the skill. I am trying and will keep on trying to learn to be better. (“Good, better, best. Never let it rest until your good is better than your best.”) I have listened to the experts. I have seen their successes. The soil of the seeds need to be perfect. Knowing how is a life long skill to be learned and respected. I have watched, in sadness, the ruination of my efforts. Crop rotation is a must, too. Last year, organic corn had been my focus. I planted too close though the stalks grew tall and healthy. The ears of corn were present but the kernels were not. What happened? Where did I go wrong? The celery and grapefruit had begun their lives as seeds, too. As I moved to put one on the wrought iron shelf and the other in the fridge, I marveled at how beautiful they had become since their beginnings, months ago.

 

Having food year long is a gift. If no one bothered, where would we be? We shop at grocery stores, most of the time. What if the shelves were bare? Growing food was some else's career choice, not mine. And it was not a game to me, either. Once upon a time there were Macintosh, granny smith, red delicious. Now the selection is mind blogging, all started from seeds or seedlings. Do not get me started on how to plant trees for the apples, peaches and plums out there. The how-to-process for growing food is an encyclopedia to behold. Now imagine all the fruits and berries available and the chapters or encyclopedias required to understand all of it, then do it and succeed, year after year.

For several years we've been trying to grow raspberries, transplanted from a woman, my late mother-in-law, whose green thumb was well known. Pail after pail of raspberries she brought forth. Could the climate zone - Saskatchewan - be the deciding factor in her abundant harvest? We keep on trying, keeping rabbits away, adding top soil and sheep compost as needed, behind the 3-foot-tall movable decorative metal fences. Fertilizer, anyone? Trellises to hold them upright and the removal of weeds all help to keep them safe and healthy. Raspberries galore, one day, I hope. It's a miraculous gift.

As I look at the broccoli 'bouquet' on the counter, bought at its summer low price, I was reminded again of this superfood's origins, as a seed, once upon a time. How did it manage to get here? There were so many for sale yesterday. All perfect, large, cheap and ready to devour. (Steamed is advisable to lessen its 'grip' on my thyroid gland). It is also a superfood. As I look around the kitchen, I see apricots, a food, until a few months ago, I did not eat. I like its taste and will eat it now for a particular health reason. There many hurdles to overcome. But someone planted them, watched them grow, protected them from predators and climate havoc, then made sure all of it was readily picked, gently, on its maturation date then sent to market for us to buy.

How fortunate we are, so very fortunate. Here in this climate zone, we live in a magical kingdom where food is grown all over the place. To think, all of it was a seed, once upon a time. Wow, seems quite the magical kingdom, if you ask me.