The 'Little' Puppy That Could

He is a chartered member of the tallest breed in the world and now, the newest member of a family who longed for his entry into their waiting arms. 'Harry', the Great Dane, debuted last year as the cherished 8 week-old 'son' of my daughter-in-law's sister and her husband, becoming their special wedding 'gift', a celebratory note to last summer's main event: their wedding. ... He squirmed his adorable way into their hearts, arriving full of mischief and warmth, all wrapped up in a soft, satiny blue-grey coat, floppy ears, magnificent adornments to his fun-loving spirit and charming, inquisitive persona. “Here I am world”, he seemed to say.

The cage that houses this busy miniature 'pony' occupies a large part of their living room, for now, nothing but the best for their little boy. (It is a welcome 'short-term babysitter' whenever circumstances dictate.) Cages have come a long way since the days of the appliance box that housed our first and last litter of 9 retriever pups. (We'd been so busy caring for our 'abandoned in a park' 3 month-old female retriever that we'd forgotten, months later, to have her spayed. We'd been visiting a family friend and his retriever 'son' in western Canada. Never again. All puppies found homes by 10 weeks.) 

Harry's cage is a beautiful addition to the living room furniture. He is part of the excitement and enrichment, in and outside of this 'container' box with a door, not an onlooker to the events happening around him. His parents insist. With canines, large and small, suitable squeezing, carrying and chewing toys are critical to their health and development. The cage offers him the interim safety, comfort and solitude required to develop well, in a tumultuous modern world. Sometimes this 'home' away from home is a quiet refuge, especially when nap time is near. Everyone needs quiet time. Puppies need it more. They need time to think and grow.

Harry is growing quickly into this majestic beautiful boy while leaving his footprints on our collective hearts. He is an 8 month old, telling us, in no uncertain terms, that he is a playful presence, not to be ignored. ... Believing he is much smaller than he is, Harry walks under tables, often, thinking it is a normal part of his day. I smile. What a funny boy you are. He manages to maneuver towards the wall and squeeze between it and the chairs where family members are seated. But there are only few inches to spare, he realizes, and proceeds in reverse, to untangle himself, once again. He does it with such aplomb. He knows how. Mom and dad have shown him how to retreat, easily and calmly, in the kitchen and dining room. These are the special rooms, the food rooms, Harry has discovered. 

He can clear a table or counter in seconds, if given the chance. He stands tall. We all understand his uncanny ability in being able to clear tables, instantly. A twelve inch swath along the length and width of any table is his domain, he thinks. But mom and dad know better. There is nothing there, now. An advance guard was waiting. He meanders here and there. The food is gone. He will try again later. Will he jump, lick or nibble? His tackling skill has been challenged and is now a distant memory.

He is growing taller as his voice is becoming deeper. You know the baritone is here even if you cannot see him. His mom, a feisty young woman, a naturopathic doctor, too, takes her parental role very seriously. I am pleased. She does not allow for insubordination from her little boy. She is teaching him the ways of proper etiquette amongst humans and canine peers, alike. Harry listens, ever so intently. Mom knows best and is doing a marvelous job, ever watchful over Harry's antics with Mall Cop and his sister, Ella, his smaller older cousins.

Being a parent to a giant breed is no easy feat. I was, once upon a time, a parent to a retriever who became a 125-pound furry dynamo. Harry knows he is just a puppy. Mom and dad remind him daily of his place in their world. He fits their way of life, not the other way around. He is like a bendable tree, out for a jaunt, until there is a roadblock and dad or mom tells him, 'No'. They love him so. He is learning to be a companion with his cousins and respects the hierarchy. He is learning fast. Harry is not top dog, he is beginning to discover! 

He is restless but his daily walks with mom and dad help   sustain him while his toys provide another avenue of healthy 'exercise'. His bark, its deep baritone sound, resonates around the room, commanding attention from all who hear his roar, except from Mall Cop and Ella. Though Harry is over 140 pounds, they, a diminutive 40-pound brother and sister act, do not care. He is simply the newest and youngest member of their extended family. He'd better listen. And so he does.

At a recent gathering, Harry began 'talking', his deep voice penetrating the air around us, in a gentle swirling inquisitive way, hoping his 'words' would illicit a response from one seated guest. He sat and waited ever so patiently for the smiling guest to react, then turned his attention to another more interesting human whose attention to Harry bore witness to the exuberance of the puppy in our midst. The discussion began as Harry licked the face of the man, seated in the opposite chair,  in a face-to-face meeting of great minds, bound by love and respect. Who allows any gentle canine giant to lick his face without pause? When he roars, the nibbles and licks soon follow on the chin of the laughing guest. It is another spontaneous moment with Harry, the little puppy that could. 

Harry is not responsible for his DNA. He is tall, yet 'small'. ... He is boisterous, yet respectful. ... He is strong, yet gentle. ... His capacity for love knows no bounds. Harry is part of a family of dog owners who care about his ever-changing canine footprint. His mom and dad, new to the dog owning tradition, see beauty, love and a future of untapped potential for their soft cuddly 'teddy bear'. ... 

Once upon a time, this couple was building and shaping their careers and planning a wedding. Now, all of that pales in comparison to the joy that abounds and greets them every morning. Life is so precious. Their big boy with the puppy mind is a remarkable creature, chosen by them, to make the moments of their pet loving life special, every step of the way.

If Starches Disappeared

The elimination of all or most starches, in one form or another, would seem like a straightforward, logical solution to our dietary ills. We've been advised to do this by the wisdom of two illustrious doctors. 

Let us look further to the realm of the absurd, to a place called science fiction where all carbohydrates are gone or are in short supply. A chaotic, troubling dimension to our lives would be added, I believe, as we indulge ourselves in this rather unsettling scenario and follow it to a logical conclusion, as though part of a science experiment. ...( A simple grain diet 'grew' our first born. He is a strong and healthy human being today and brilliant, too!)

Agricultural land is left barren, for a time, to heal from its former use as a grain repository so other 'unmodified' heritage seeds can be planted in place of the wheat, barley, oats, and other grains we had come to love. Is it possible to grow oranges, apples, grapes in place of these former tenants? Too soon to tell. Will the land and the weather map help heal the soil to allow for other healthier crops to be grown? And what would they be, now? ... 

 

The industry responsible for giving flour mills their inventory and bakeries their purpose, are gone. Farmers' markets are restricted to only fresh produce, no longer able to sell jams, jellies, artisan bread, rolls/ buns, danish pastry, croissants, crusty bread because the sugar and flour they require are not being milled or imported. ... Goodbye hotdog, hamburger, cinnamon buns and homemade doughnuts, and maybe the traditional summer barbecue. There is no sugar for jams, jellies or sauces. Will ketchup be made from processed dates, raisins or figs, for its added sweet taste? Made from scratch is gone from our vocabulary. 

Honey and maple syrup are still around but including them in preserves causes their prices to skyrocket, to the absurd. Do they now qualify for special status because they came from an insect and a tree? But then, who cares? The bees are dying off at a phenomenal rate because the seeds/flower blossoms they attempt to pollinate are coated in something that kills them. When we mess with mother nature, she bites back!

Canning rarely happens, as sugar, the preservative and flavour enhancer for this centuries-old tradition, is no longer being imported from those countries where it was grown. Artisan breads, homemade pies, and cakes are gone. The raw materials are hard to find plus we should not be eating them, anyway. Bakeries and flour-mills cease to exist. All Culinary Institutes where professional pastry chefs/ cake decorators and sous-chefs train have a reduced student population. Some schools are closing. The demand is low or gone. From there we can safely forget pasta, noodles, rolls, buns, breads - healthy or not. 

The celebratory nature of anniversaries, bridal and baby showers, birthdays and weddings is curtailed. Special cakes, squares, tarts, flans, cookies, pies and candies are no longer available, anymore. Fruit and veggie platters are now the latest rage or are they? Part-time, full-time jobs and careers associated with the carb/grain/dessert industry are slowly disappearing? What would the effect be on society? Since we stopped importing sugar cane and certain starchy foods/products from 'other' countries, their export quotas have dropped. What happens, then, to those countries struggling to cope with this new diminished demand? 

Good-bye the mixed cocktail. What about beer? (High fructose corn syrup is gone, thank goodness, but that can be done now by mindful 'clean' food choices.) The GNP (gross national product) of all countries is affected, in one way or another The shift begins. But where do we go from here? If there is not enough land to raise the animal protein on 'healthy' grass then how do we feed them and us, now? The grains are in short supply or gone.

Starches have fed populations throughout history. It is cheap, nutritious food. ... Rice and potatoes are some of the common starch staples that have given life to billions around the world. Some plant foods are endowed with cheaper sources of protein called incomplete and complete protein. We have vegetables and fruits, in abundance, with varying costs to match. We have a host of dried legumes/ beans- black, kidney, black-eyed, white pea beans, barley, lentils, to name a few, that must be hydrated over a few hours, then slow-cooked, for long periods of time, to access their 'digestible' nutrient content. Who will bother with these very cheap protein packs? Who has the time? We have been told to get rid of most or all of the carbs because their starches are harming us. Now what? Animal protein is expensive and not affordable or desired by many. Ditto for the cost of seafood. But then these delicious morsels of the deep have mercury in them, we are told repeatedly, so we should not be eating them, anyway. 

Eat healthier, we are strongly reminded, by both doctors. Stay away from starches. Where does the average person buy the grass-fed animal protein, the holy grail of animal protein? Is the grass laden with pesticides, too, and not an option, anyway? Not all stores carry these specialty meat products, at affordable prices. Let's get real. Are we creating a have/have not world of food now? We all have to eat. Now what? 

If modern grains are the bad guy, then organic should be a healthier choice? Momsey uses organic, supposedly the way food used to be grown, whenever she can. Organic flour, sugar and oats are her staples. Onions, carrots and romaine lettuce, too. If carbohydrates, in all forms, are in short supply or gone then we are faced with fewer jobs, more unemployment, civil unrest, perhaps, and greater economic instability, globally, too. ... 

 

Health issues, on a grander scale now enters into the debate. Can we all afford to eat what remains? Is there enough food to feed us all? How does the elimination of thousands of 'carb related' positions in the manufacturing, wholesale and retail sectors, and carbs themselves, aid in our total health? Mental health, as well as our physical health, is now at stake. But at least the carbs are gone because they are not readily available, anymore. The market has shrunk or disappeared because we were told to stop eating them. So we did. And then it happened. But this is just science fiction, after all.

It is odd how information travels the globe in this incredible medium called the web. As I 'travelled', looking for more facts on starches, their significance in keeping us alive during times of political upheaval, strife and famine, a link kept popping up, repeatedly. It was about the thyroid gland, the most misunderstood gland in our body, yet the one that holds the greatest power over our total health, after our brain and heart. What could I possible learn now, at this stage, about my hypothyroid condition? I wanted facts on starches. I wasn't looking for anything else! What happened next shook me to my core, altering the course of my thinking on grains and their role, as food, in our diet.

In the 60's, potassium bromide replaced its cousin, potassium iodide, in the role of softening and conditioning commercial dough. Iodine is a critical element in healthy thyroid functioning. The former 'star' attraction in bread dough, potassium iodide, was now gone. But in 1994, bromide was banned in Canada, however. Should we now be grateful? When potassium bromide is present, an iodine assault begins, affecting our thyroid and its simple mechanized system of making other critical thyroid hormones. This continual domino effect tampers with and ultimately sabotages the proper functioning of all our organs. The master thyroid suffers the most, then the weight gain begins.  When does it end? .More on this. later)

There is no wonder why we have a worldwide diabetes and obesity epidemic. Our bodies simply can't cope with the deluge of suspicious things being included in our 'healthy' store-bought bread and other processed foods to improve their appeal and longevity. It's about them not us.

Let us not fault grains and our decision to include them in our diet without adding a hint of conspiracy theory to the unending chemical soup that is deliberately being added in commercially made products to 'help out'.  (There is sugar in deli meats.) We are not scientists, of course. But buying a loaf of bread, a cake or pizza should not be fraught with danger! Get me out of here.

Soon:  'The 'Simple Loaf of Bread'......

Lucy. Sauerkraut. Our Telomeres

Lucy - singer, songwriter and my blog editor - made sauerkraut, the other day. I was surprised to hear of her first-time effort at this rather time-consuming, odorous yet yummy activity. Both she and her boyfriend, my son, decided to also exclude starches from all non-produce food sources, for two months, while augmenting their beneficial gut bacterial count with the addition of this homemade fermented food called sauerkraut. It soon became a delicious journey. 

Home made has never tasted so good nor has it ever been so important in our lives, as it is today. 

Fermented foods are excellent food choices for us, we now know. Even pickles can be star pupils, in our diet.. A gut microbiome teeming with beneficial bacteria - probiotics - keeps us healthy. It is a priceless connection. It is our life! 

Probiotics are created in the gut when we make sensible dietary food choices. Fermented foods are a part of that dietary picture, too. Yay to fermented foods, as Lucy might say! Probiotics are found in other fermented foods such as yogurt, kefir, kimchi and pickled fish. My favourites, as a little girl, were pickled herring, hot banana peppers and sauerkraut. (My mom used to pickle the whole fish). Fermented foods never looked so good!!

The gut micro biome is a delicate balance of good and bad bacteria. Our food choices decide 'its' health. We must learn to take our gut seriously. There is also a special type of fiber called prebiotic fibre, found in onions and garlic, that aid in maintaining a healthy gut core. Momsey cannot live without onions and garlic. She can and does live, quite happily, without soda pop and candy, but not Italian Rum Cake! ... 

Making sudden dietary changes is not easy for many of us. It seems like we are denying ourselves something, but are we, really? We must begin this journey to dietary health for the benefit of health and longevity. When positive dietary changes are implemented, we 'risk' weight loss, reduction of inflammation and renewed energy. Inadvertently and without much thought, we are safeguarding our telomeres, those long strands of DNA that protect us from the big three health scourges: cancer, aging and death.

Some of us are addicted to the carbs we are eating. That must change, however! We must learn to substitute for 'cleaner' choices, maybe eat them on certain days of the week and perhaps shorten the eating 'window', in our day, for all foods consumed. Our bodies should not be on digestive duty, all the time. Fat storage, lethargy, predisposition to diabetes, obesity and other ills can result from the overindulgence of foods, high in starches, assorted sugars and 'other things'. Michael Pollen refers to these products, in the grocery store, as food-like substances. That man got me thinking. Should we be listening and taking stock of what other 'experts', have to say, and act accordingly? Lucy and 'Paul' have. 

I was impressed by the couple's determination to make homemade sauerkraut with a schedule that defied imagination. They adore sauerkraut and making it was no big deal. (It was to me, knowing how my mom made hers, back in the day.) 

Trying to build a career, in the entertainment industry, is no easy feat. Talent is not the only commodity required. Networking is a critical element here, too. But here they were making sauerkraut, in the middle of it all, while planning the scenes for their next music video, shot in far off places and beyond. 

'Paul' was making 'homemade' real-life props, 'special effects' costumes and filming all the scenes required for their premiere on YouTube. He is a director, a cameraman, an all-in-one studio, while tending to the sauerkraut. ... They are a dynamic working duo, rehearsing then filming, non-stop, the videos earmarked for early 2016 release, while their second batch of sauerkraut was fermenting. Imagine that! (The first batch disappeared while Momsey was writing about it.)

In the last century, my mom made sauerkraut using a porcelain bowl left in a basement laundry tub. Here the salted shredded cabbage aged, over several weeks. It was my job to check on the 'impending' sauerkraut, daily, keeping the contents of the bowl submerged beneath the fermenting liquid, using a heavy plate placed on top. Homemade was the order of the day, in my 1950's/60's world. We never concerned ourselves with starch, ever. Everything was in moderation. Rye bread, with caraway seeds, was a staple in our diet. Fermented foods were also a staple and always homemade. Pickled herring was my homemade family favourite. .

(Fast food was a burgeoning industry back then, not the intrusive, pervasive 'refined' marketing machine it is today!) There are two bestselling books making the rounds today telling us we must not eat carbs, grains/starches of any kind. In Wheat Belly by Dr. William Davis, a respected cardiologist, we are reminded of the deleterious gluten-effect on our bodies when ingesting 'modern' day grains containing this protein compound. ... In Grain Brain by Dr. David Perlmutter, a neurologist, the grain dance continues, with the emphasis now on the effects carbs have on our brain - command central. (A chocolate bar is supposedly a better choice than a whole grain slice of toast. When and how did that happen? Oh, my!)

Being mindful of our carbohydrate choices, in limited amounts, is the name of the dietary game. There are consequences to a diet high in sugar, starches and trans fat. Our bodies and gut have been trying to tell us, for years, that we are wrong in some of those choices. Give that salad a chance with a full fat dressing on top! 

The gut has a 'mind' of its own, I discovered. The brain in our head is not the only brain we have. Feeling blue, scared, uneasy, sick? Our gut brain is talking as 'Alex', our go-to-health son, has told me. Our digestive core, where trillions of bacteria reside, seems to be speaking to us. We should be listening. It has also been called an organ unto itself. Wow! What an epiphany for The Momsey! 

Keeping a diet rich in probiotics from a combination Paleo/Mediterranean diet of assorted plant foods, lean proteins, healthy fats, with the added probiotics and taste from delicious fermented foods and prebiotic fibre will help drive us in the right direction. Vitamins A, D, K, E are fat soluble. Where do they go when we eat a fat-free diet? They go nowhere and we suffer the ill effects of their shortfall in our diet. Remember, vitamin D is the cornerstone for a strong immune system.

Lucy is proud of their journey into world of sauerkraut. It is a delicious gourmet treat. In today's modern world, starches are here to stay. We should treat them with due diligence, however. They are our health's 'smoking gun', Momsey believes. Think ahead. Eat that salad when silly carbs enter your system.  Make a direct deposit into your health account whenever you make a health 'withdrawal'. Drink that ever-important water. 

Cooking at home should be as important as time with family. Put the digital gadgets away, from time to time.  None of us are that important, anyway.  Let us not sacrifice home cooking for that relentless dining-out or fast-food experience.  

Driving to that special restaurant, parking, waiting to be seated, waiting to be served, making our selections, waiting for the bill, all take time and can cost us dearly, in so many ways. Our lives depend upon the good health we can give them. Let them eat sauerkraut, salad, lean protein and healthy fats, too. Our telomeres deserve that much and more. Lucy would think so, too. ...

Next: 'What If Starches Disappeared?'....

       

"Where the Wild Things Are"

I had dropped him off in the wrong spot that morning. I had not given the decision much thought. Why would I? He was in grade 6, at a new school. What trouble could possibly be lurking there, that early in the morning, at an elementary school? Had I been paying attention, I would have seen them.

They stood tall, these five strangers, all banding together, like soldiers, on guard, against a common enemy, waiting for him and the bus that would take them to their secondary school. No one was bothering them. Why couldn't they have accorded him the same respect and left him alone? Was this a test of skill? But maturity would have no part in what they were about to do. That would have been too easy, an adult thing to do. But why had I not seen what was brewing? (A parent's job is to anticipate.) ... Had I driven a bit further along the curve of the driveway entrance of the school, the confrontation would have surely been avoided and the threat, passed. ... Why had I not figured it out, sooner? ... Why, indeed.

Our son walked briskly towards this menacing group of teens, all preparing, perhaps, to unsettle the day of this innocent little guy. ... I drove to the end of the paved driveway, in front of the main office entrance, to bear witness to this act of aggression or tomfoolery. I sat in my parked car, watching ever so disquietly in the direction of the group whose intentions were slowly becoming clear. 

 

They began to separate into two clearly defined rows of 'well-wishers', waiting for their prey to appear. My gaze remained rigidly still, not wanting to lose sight of what was happening in front of me. ... He was my son, after all. His safety and well being were uppermost in my mind and my responsibility. I watched and waited.

They all glowered towards their first act of the day: encroaching on the life of my little boy, a stranger to them, while he simply did what he did everyday: walk towards the rear of the school to play. Everything  would soon change. A mom had been watching them. 'John' walked through the gauntlet I had unknowingly created for him. He was their perfect target, I now could see.  

 

'John' was young, carefree, innocent, oblivious to confrontation, a compliant citizen, and inexperienced in life, in summary, a perfect victim!  They were bored and looking for fun. Spontaneity was a part of their game-plan. As John walked through the line-up, I motioned him to come to the car, as I remained inside, ever so vigilant of the parameters of this unsavory event. Like the personable little guy he always was, he smiled at me. “What did they say to you, John?”, I asked. And so he began, replying as quickly as possible before bouncing off towards the back of the school to play. 

I raised the side passenger window to its rightful place, while turning off the car's ignition. I could hear John say, “I'm getting out of here”, as he sprinted to the back of the school. He knew mom so well. The repercussions of this 'simple' act of aggression were not going to go away, he realized immediately. Mom did not endorse misdirected behaviour from anyone, including him. Mommy coddled no one. 

Everyone is responsible for his or her own actions, regardless of age or time of day! This  simple act of treachery would not go unnoticed. I got out of my car and began the short walk to the 'boys of the band', stepping firmly on the driveway pavement in my walking heels, instead of gingerly on the beautifully cut soft grass directly in front of us. I wanted them to hear the crisp clear sounds of footsteps coming towards them. This would be the preamble to the main event, like the overture in a symphony. Their 'innocent' little rant was not going away. Someone had to defend little children, after all.  It was now my turn to step up to the plate. ...

As I approached these silly boys, it was becoming apparent to them that something was about to happen. They stared. They knew. “Which one of you called my son a retard?” I asked, knowing there would be no answer to my question. Silence was their best bet, they collectively knew. Any lawyer would tell them that. As their facial skin pallor began to deepen to a crimson red, I realized, immediately, they had done the deed. Where was this all going, they were probably thinking?

Embarrassment and guilt manifested themselves, on each boy, as I spoke. ... The exact words were unimportant. But the tone and gist of the one-way conversation were clear. "Should a confrontation with another student occur in the future, on school property, I will inform the authorities of today's event. 

No child should be made to feel vulnerable while on school property.", I remarked. Would you want this done to your younger brother, sister or family friend? You have been given a privilege by being allowed to wait on school property for your bus, I reminded them. ... You just might lose that privilege of waiting here for your bus altogether should the principals, from all schools involved, hear from me. Do you understand the ramifications of that? All children need to be protected from this sort of thing, not just my child". 

 

Bearing witness to a small act of aggression demanded action. To simply stand by and do nothing was to possibly give these immature boys permission to continue their harassment of little children and perhaps, kick it up a notch. It was not a reign of terror, yet. But it could very well be, someday. Things can and do escalate. Confrontation by a witness was mandated.  It was now my #1 priority on this early weekday morning to-do-list. ...

I looked into the eyes of these foolish 'older' boys. It took 5 of their collective courage and genius to verbally 'assault' a carefree innocent who was simply walking on school property while minding his own business. I was not amused and they knew it. 

A small crowd of little people had begun to gather on the fringes of our meeting. Other children were watching a five-foot mom confront big tall boys about something. They could not hear. My lecture was forthright, to the point, understated. These boys had been caught with their hands in the proverbial 'cookie jar'! Was I looking into the eyes of evil of the future?

 

"For evil to flourish all it takes is for good people to do nothing", so goes the saying of Edmund Burke. Had the boys not looked down on 'innocence', that morning, we would not have met. These were not evil people. They were simply immature boys - adults-in-training - testing the theory of freedom of speech, beyond an acceptable mandate, in a public forum. But I am sorry, fellas, but the playing field was not equal and you knew it. There was no confusion, here."

 

"What were you thinking?" But then, you weren't, were you?" A stranger, spoke to you like a mother whose children had misbehaved, in a most unseemly boorish, potentially dangerous manner. These potential saboteurs needed a fresh look at what they had done. Unbeknownst to them, someone had been watching. I drove away a bit wiser, more hopeful of the future. I hoped they did, too.

An Angel to Animals, She Was.

Pam was an angel to animals. She had boarded our dogs, years ago, in a place called home. Here is an edited version of a letter sent her, in Dec. 1994, soon after the death of one of her 'clients'. ... Pam was a kennel owner, like no other. Her passion and concern, for animals, went above and beyond anything that exists in the kennel world, today. Her loss is still felt today. She sent us a note thanking us for sending her the letter of appreciation. She read it to her family to help explain her love of animals and why she became a kennel owner, as a career choice. ... Sadly, this angel to animals died several years ago. ... Let us not wait to tell those closest to us how special they are in our lives. Do not wait or hesitate. Let them know today. Tomorrow is guaranteed to no one!  Death does not take a holiday.

Dear Pam:

It has been 4 months since we last saw you. At that time, we had just picked up our family treasures, Sumai, our 13-year-old 'grannie' and Chushee, our 6-year-old boy. Your business card read 'Worry-Free Boarding'. It should also have said, 'Heaven Sent.'

A family outing to visit friends was to be a first in a long time. I was concerned about leaving our pets behind, considering Shumai's delicate condition. Her breathing difficulties requiring aminophylline, twice daily and prednisone, to be administered once or twice weekly, as needed, were grave concerns of ours. Would her medications be given as directed? We did not know you. Dogs, like children, cannot tell stories. 'Parents' of both must rely heavily upon good, reliable references and the integrity and honesty of those in whose care we entrust our pets and children.

We visited you, on a few occasions, to meet with you and view the facilities which would house our pets. On one of those meetings, it was a very hot and humid day. That whole summer seemed like one very long hot, humid, sticky day, conditions that made breathing very difficult for those of us - animal or human – with lung disease. In our case, high humidity could easily kill our precious 'granny'. She became cyanotic, one morning, when she was walked, a bit too far, one very humid summer's morning. A trip to the emergency clinic resulted. 

 

I worried non-stop about finding excellent kennel care. Finding another person, like me, was too much to expect. Then we found you, the angel we had been looking for! One meeting lasted for nearly two hours. Questions about cleanliness, routines, and our biggest worry- the management of heat and humidity - were laid to rest. Three ceiling fans above, in her 'kennel rooms', created air-conditioned comfort, making breathing easy. You understood. You cared. You listened. Your attention to details: the bulletin board and the covered pails for each 'client' were much appreciated. ... 

 

What remained in our memory, long after we returned from our trip, was 'Big Band Saturday Night' , a program of band music from the 40's and 50's that our pups listened to. You had insisted. We would mention this to everyone we knew. ... “There is this woman who keeps the radio going for the animals, knows them all by bark and realizes the importance of music and the human voice in keeping them all happy”. We could not have asked for more.

As the primary caregiver in our home, it was comforting to leave them, with you, for the few days I was able to get away. We'd had them in kennels before but nothing quite like your 'home away from home'. I spoke with the assistant manager of the veterinary clinic whose husband was our doctor and the best, anywhere. A friend of hers had also been consulted when we went looking to find care. Both had recommended you highly. 

 

On our return, I was told by clinic staff that you had called numerous times - long distance - for further information about 'granny.' I was blown away by your actions. Who does that? Who was this angel? You had gone above and beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Even our young sons, who had accompanied their dad to pickup the dogs, were crazy with excitement, when they returned home with our pets. Your total commitment to caring for animals was evident. I asked our boys what they thought of you. They soared with enthusiasm, as they spoke of you and the dogs.

On November 28^th, Sumai died. She was 13 years old. Her final days had become a struggle that neither she or nor we could bear, any longer. Our youngest son, age 11, remained home from school that day, sketching her all day long, in all manner of poses. We loved her so much.

 

The time she spent with you will always hold a special place in my heart. You treated her like your own. I will never forget that. Thank you for giving us piece of mind, knowing she was with family when she was with you, for a few days, in August. Your concern for animals places you in a very special place in our lives and in our hearts. You are royalty. Our fragile pretty girl knew it and so did we! Thank you for your priceless gift of caring and love.

"Father's Day Should Be Mother's Day - Part 2"

He reminded me that a card was not important. He was not a fan of Father's Day, anyway. It was a holiday for commercial enterprise, nothing more. His point was understood and well taken, as he ranted, a bit longer. We needed to honour women, he continued, for all they did, each and every day. Mothers needed another holiday named after them. Father's Day should be renamed, Mother's Day - part 2.

All I had said was I needed to go to the store to get him a card. Time had run out. The holiday was here tomorrow. I had been mistaken. ... He seemed lost in thought and annoyed at the idea of a day for dads. This Father's Day criticism was a first. Where had it come from? He deserved to be recognized for his invaluable contribution to our family. Still he balked. “Mothers did more than father's and took on all sorts of duties, to make the home run smoothly”, he continued. Fathers didn't do all the little things. They did things for which others understood their value. Men's contribution to family life had value and were noticed. Moms' were different, on so many levels,  undervalued, sometimes, and not always appreciated, too. 

Much of what I do is intangible, menial stuff. He could never see the 'play', the hugging, the interaction with all the pups and kitty.. He knows its there, nonetheless. He sees the fool I am, in the evening, when they are chewing, sleeping. Then there is all the cleaning. Living in the country has its own value and its own maintenance, more than was present when we lived in the town north of here. .... There I carried laundry water upstairs, to be emptied. Our three boys were little tykes then, still in diapers. What a time. But they were healthy. I just did my job. (My husband always did his.) The basement drain could only accept a small amount of water per day, in those years. Labour ruled my day. But I was healthy. We all were. There was a time when things weren't good. Being healthy is everything.

For me, there is no separation of time or days of the week. All days seem to run together. Animals cannot tell time nor the days of the week. Their needs are always the same, regardless. Food, several water changes, washing their bedding/ towels, vacuuming the floors, daily exercise, dusting, shampooing carpet, especially in the room where Tiggy, the cat lives and plays. It is my office, too. We share the space. She plays, eats and sleeps there. We talk. Her litter box is nearby, always full, it seems. She vomits rarely now but sometimes it is an event. Her room has carpet. I clean a lot. Her hyperthyroid gland rules her life. She eats yogurt, then her specially chosen chicken dinner each day. During the night, it is her special dry thyroid diet, available 24/7, for those hungry spells and when I am sleeping. All her bowls are washed, frequently. They must, as I have learned late in her game. Cats despise their own saliva - in leftover food or in her special dry food - so food is added in a single layer, not too tightly. Water is always fresh, several times a day. Saliva floats and looks invisible. It must go. She is stable. I am grateful for her 8 1/2 pound life. We are a team. Last year I observed and recorded her actions. She took on the characteristics of a laboratory animal, a thesis, perhaps, the basis for an undergraduate degree. Understanding her behaviour helps me understand her health. She is guiding me along her personal journey. So far, so good, as they say. We play, too. She sits on me. But don't get too close. I am a different kind of cat, she meows. 

I did all the painting, still do, while fixing cracks here and there, even painted over the rusted parts of our grand old Jeep Grand Wagoneer, over 20 years ago, with our oldest, in grade 7. The special paint was bought and away we went. My husband needed it one more year. A newer vehicle would have to wait. Business travel and road trips take their toll.

I have learned the art of dry brushing our Tiggy, a step in helping her adrenal glands flush away toxins from her body. Cats have those glands, too. We should all be doing it, I have learned.  I dry brush her regularly, now. ... She loves the therapy, especially when the brush is near her head. She pushes her head into the brush. It feels so good. I must remember to do it for 'them', too. Hers is a tiny perfect brush, used to comb her, hence, reducing the amount of fur ingested. She vomits less often, now. The furballs are almost gone, I am happy to say. I watch her. She listens to me. “You must finish your yogurt.” Then comes the chicken she adores. Yes, indeed. Though she is “just a cat,” she is our cat. (I know. I know.) Pretty special, too. 

Father's Day was not for him and should be renamed Mother's Day, part 2, he kept telling me, again. I listened. Much of what the Momsey does is boring, everyday important stuff for 'them'. “How many sandwiches do you want?”, I ask him. With the dogs, fruit platter time is part of their raw diet. It is important to them and us, too.We have raised them well. They stand and stare until we acquiesce to the stillness of their imposing glare. We get it. They want their apples now! One hour of exercise per day for their breed, minimum. For us, too, I think.

“There should be Mother's Day, part 2, he continues. You are always on duty.” “Yes, maybe, but there are dads out there who are both mom and dad, too. Let us not forget that.” “You work very hard keeping it all together.” Your hours are different, that's all. ... I was in charge once upon a time. Now, he is. Roles reverse when life changes demand it. There should be no Father's Day, he boasts. Yes, I understand your point of view. But please understand mine! ...

When he got his Father's Day card, from me, the next week, on the real day, he loved the sentiments expressed in it. He was both a husband and a father, after all. He was there for family and friends, remembering anniversaries and birthdays when I would forget. He planned our trips, ran errands, made certain he was there for all of us! He stopped complaining and remembered that it is for others to determine if he is worth it. And he is, very much!

"Where My Coo-Coo Be?"

He spoke with an enthusiastic fervor that was not always understood by me. Gesturing helped his struggle with words. ... Though he was only 3 years old, his energy was a refreshing change from our non-stop worrying of 2 years, gone by. We could now relax. He ran all day, sometimes carrying his blanket, this comforting fabric appendage, made for him, by his paternal grandmother. It had been with him through it all. Change was in the air. Nursery school was just around the corner.

The world of little children was here. He would be among strangers, potential playmates, forced, to some degree, to speak their language, one he was familiar with, yet could not handle, very easily. But he was friendly, happy and always busy. Though 'John's' spoken vocabulary was limited and sometimes, unrecognizable, at times, his abilities were not! Our attempt to enroll him in a local nursery school, at the tender age of 2 1/2 , one year earlier, had been short-lived. Three illness episodes, two weeks apart, had put an end to that error in judgment. His grandmother was pleased. She worried a lot about her preemie grandson. He was simply too young; his immune system, too immature for structured time with other children.  His 13 week early entry into 'life', had propelled him into a world of developmental challenges. He did not care. He was always smiling, laughing, having fun and full of busy. He'd beaten the odds, an incredible feat, unto itself. He was alive. That was what mattered most. A language delay was window dressing, to me.The words would come, one day. In our family, words were a mainstay of our lives, a tool to the future. "Where my coo-coo be?”, he would ask many times. (“Where is my quilt?”) “Where did you last leave it?” I would respond. Words that should have been easily spoken by him, were problematic. The teacher inside me didn't worry. He was alive, healthy and safe. Being three was a great place to be.

Long before I became this person of 'responsibility', I had been a young special needs high school teacher. My male students had challenged the notion of the meaning of success. In my first year, a special staff lunch was organized for the departing vice-principal, to be served, in staggered fashion, over three, 45 minute lunch periods. My grade 9  and 10 male classes had help plan the event, astounding the staff, at this hastily executed last-minute production. Going off curriculum had shown the students, in dramatic fashion, their capacity for learning success. In uniform, my boys performed their duties, to applause. They had achieved the improbable. They were a delightful 'band of brothers'. Their learning struggles had captured my attention - more than those of my son - at his tender age of 3.

As a newly 'minted' teacher, I had been puzzled how 10 years of formal education had not managed to address and ameliorate the learning challenges of my 'bigger boys'. In the process of trying to educate them, what had we missed? Were reading, writing and tests the only true measures of their success, worth noting, in the learning curve? Was hope fading? Was the academic stream, in education, the only way to gauge learning success? (Whole brain stimulation was always the key to it all!) Did these other abilities not matter more, in the short term? What had we ignored? ... I would soon appreciate the true nature of learning when our first child arrived too soon to survive. ... What had made the difference for him. later, in his learning journey, was simply having fun, laughing and doing whatever suited him, that day. Education was never ever about curriculum!  It was always about engagement, interaction and diversification. Thoughts and ideas were the 'silent' partners in verbal expression, in this thing called language. Were they absent because the words weren't in place and in proper form? Modelling language helped to show our son the way. ... 'Creative' language was his journey to the real thing.

Preschool served as a simple 'litmus test' for our son. Through this new medium of learning, problems of development would be revealed, noticed by his trained teachers. Nursery school would help our son build vocabulary and syntax, the rules of language. Other children would also be his teachers. At home, he was busy from moment to moment, attempting new things, enjoying food, smiling, laughing, building wooden towers with his family. He would jump and squeal at the anticipated collapse. He loved his dogs. Was that not important, too? John would be surrounded by music and dance. They were fun, healing and happy things. All the senses would be activated. Though I could not ride a bike, swim or skate, he would learn these very important life skills, too. Everything mattered – not just words! At nursery school, there was no one who would understand him the way we did. But that was good. He needed to be challenged, to be would be prodded out of his intellectual shell to go where he was not familiar. He would problem-solve, create and learn to listen, to others, in a remedial circle of fun.

It was year end when I was called into the teachers' office. Why did they want to see me? What had he done? He was only 3 years old. But here were the results of the 'litmus test,' I had hoped for. Nursery school had been my investigative tool for our son, another layer of assessment, in helping me gauge his life's progress, so far. His teacher and the owner of the school spoke, with candor, about his verbal delay. Words were the movers and shakers of communication, the measure of intelligence, I understood. But they were not the only measure, I knew. They had recommended hearing and speech assessments. And so it was done.

His once a month, one-hour speech therapy sessions, lasting one year, ended on 'graduating' day. Viewing 100 'picture' cards, each showing 3 different 'action' poses of people or animals, our son pointed to the pose most aptly described by the spoken words of the speech therapist. Making only one mistake, out of 100, catapulted our son to the top of his graduating class of one! Therapy was officially done. Real world kindergarten beckoned. His enthusiasm began to build. A new chapter was waiting.