As you might know from reading Miss Doxie, dachshunds are contagious.  In fact, if Miss Doxie lived a little further south in Georgia and did not have so many teeth, I might think she was a distant in-law.

It started with Cinnamon, a little wiener dog some friend foisted upon Tom while he was still living in the same town as his parents.  I cannot remember the specifics of this foisting and Tom is in Oklahoma counting shit in a freezer (this pays well – evidently many people cannot count.  So, stay in school!  At least through 3rd grade!) so he is not available for clarification.  I am pretty sure it involved the friend going to drown/abandon/let loose the dog because this is how Tom gets all of his animals – if you listened to him, you’d think he never really wanted pets but he has just always been in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Like how you have traffic accidents?  He has pets.

Cinnamon lived in a pen outside his house and his father, also Tom, took a liking to her (have I ever mentioned that Tom is actually Tom Something Something the FOURTH?  Which FOURTH = you better sure as hell have kids – we have kept this jig up too long for you to fuck it up. He could not have married a woman more perfect for him and less perfect for his family.  But here we are).

Cinnamon also took a liking to Tom 3, to the point she’d just start escaping the pen and running down to their house.  When she didn’t, he would stop by and pick her up on his way to the fields for work.  After a few weeks of this, it became evident that Cinnamon had a new owner.

Then Tom got engaged, then his fiancé shot at him (guess what was included in our wedding vows?), then he moved to Alaska for a year.

When he came back, his parents decided he needed something waiting for him at home to tie him down a bit.  Since they could not afford a non-lethal-weapon-toting fiancé, they got him a dachshund, Busch.

From there, I get a bit hazy on the chronology.  His cousin got Luke, who ended up with his other cousin.  His aunt and uncle also got a dachshund.  And second to last, Luke’s owner decided he needed a playmate and Reilly came into our lives.

That’s 5 dachshunds in the family.

As you know, Busch passed away almost a year ago.  He attacked a timber rattlesnake and was gone in less than 20 minutes.  Funny enough, before he died I had been campaigning for Lady to come stay with us.  I wanted a quieter, more sedate, less needy dog.  Basically, I wanted a cat that woofed.  But after Busch was gone, I immediately felt the loss of character in our house and asked several times if we could get another dachshund.

(From a rescue facility of course.  If you are interested in owning a purebred, please look into your local rescue facilities.)

Tom always said no.  Another dachshund would remind him too much of Busch.

Busch was no spring chicken.  This meant of course that Cinnamon was even less springier and chickenier.  And a few weeks ago she had to be put to sleep.  While I was sorry to see her go, I know she had been in pain and I’m happy it’s been relieved.  I also immediately started scheming on how to get his parents to take the 3 feral kittens that had been living in my office – trapped off the road to the sanctuary, we’d had them spayed/vaccinated/etc. but could not adopt them out until they got a bit more accustomed to people.

I evidently did not scheme quick enough.  My mother-in-law sent me this picture yesterday.

Meet Buddy.  (I am also dumbfounded as to why I needed so much of my father-in-law’s crotch in a picture, but whatever…)

I forwarded it to Tom, who then got all sloppy and sentimental and drunk on the phone and professed his desire to have another little one of his own.

As long as he’s talking wiener dogs and not babies, I guess I’m good.

I really wanted to work that into the title of a mass email I sent out today.

Please excuse the picture quality – it’s a print screen from the podcast we did for the sanctuary on my hair cut.  This is the closest I’ve come to admitting my real identity on this site.  Note the oh-so-high tech rectangle over the logo.

So, what did you do today?

“Who left this glass right here so I would think it’s my margarita?  Because I just swigged straight tequila.”

“Oppsies.”

So…our dog has heartworms.

Heartworms are a parasite – a worm no less – that are usually transmitted by mosquitoes.  There are many, many, easy-to-use monthly prevention treatments that you can give your dog so it does not get heartworms.

Left untreated, heartworms will kill an animal.

Let me back up a bit…

I have not had a regular vet for a few years now.  I had a dislike for the vet that treated Sheba, and Tom had a horrible experience with him when Frisco got sick while I was in Costa Rica.  And we moved out of the area anyway.  So we saw a vet in the new area that we liked, but with six animals and one income we only went for the most necessary of reasons – he was the one who put Sheba to sleep when the cancer took over her lungs, and diagnosed Frisco with urine crystals.  We had Busch then, and he was on heart worm treatment that Tom had from his previous vet.  We also used flea prevention treatments bought over the counter.

We moved back to the condo, and we were pretty against going back Sheba’s vet.  I have almost daily access to a vet for informal questions, and two of our animals (Zulu and Spike) are still cared for by the sanctuary.  Most of our basic care was met. 

Busch passed away, and Lady came to live with us.  Fairly soon after she did, she went into heat.

Ever since then, it’s been on our to-do list to get her spayed.  We even got as far as seeing another vet, but this one I hated even more – the clinic smelled of urine and disinfectant, the staff was incompetent (“What’s Lady here for?”  “An aspiration of her lump.”  “Oh?  What kind of lump?” “Um…that’s what an aspiration will tell us.”), and the vet was borderline abusive with me.  Ironically, he was abusive about the fact that Lady was not on heart worm prevention.  After he berated and chastised me, I was ready to let him do the test – but he never brought up again when he came back into the room.  I decided I didn’t want to push it because I wasn’t giving him one more dollar than I absolutely had to.

(And despite the fact that this has all played out as it has, I am thankful that we did not get this diagnosis with him and have to endure his treatment.)

The lump was negative.  We were in the middle of Zulu’s second cancer scare, so we pretty much concentrated on her for a while. 

So…now it was September and we’ve had Lady almost a year and this has gone on way too long.  I made an appointment for Lady to have pre-surgical exam with a 4th vet, but less than a week later we moved the exam up because she’d lost her appetite.

This new vet is very impressive so far.  I am happy with her demeanor, her treatment plans, and her costs.  Of course, we had explained that Lady’s heart worm treatment had slipped (his parents had been vigilant while they’d had cared for her) and we were looking for a new family vet and to get her back on regular care.

Lady’s physical exam went OK, so the vet prescribed some yummier food and we did a full blood work up just to be sure – blood work was required for her spay anyway.

We did notice one other small ailment – a small cough – that came up a few times during the day prior to her exam.  As soon as we mentioned it to the vet, our eyes locked. 

Now let me back up again.  I am in the animal husbandry field.  Specifically, I am attuned to and aware of diseases/signs/issues with cats.  I also would like to think I have learned a thing or two about behavior and modification.  But I have not myself owned a dog since I lived with my parents.  I have never owned a dog in the mosquito-ridden south, owned a dog that was not spayed, etc., etc.  This does not absolve me from the situation – a responsible pet owner will educate themselves as necessary when they bring an animal into their lives.  So I do not mention my ignorance in defense; I simply mention it to point that I was indeed ignorant.

But my eyes locked with the vet.  Cough.  Loss of appetite.  Lapse in heart worm prevention.

Shit.

And so it was.  The vet’s office was very reluctant to tell us the news over the phone – a sign that they care and they were scared to scare us.  Especially over the cost.

I am very lucky that I DO have almost daily access to a vet.  So when we brought Lady in for her consult yesterday, I understood exactly what was going on.  I even jumped in with a few questions on some extra medicines to help make the heart worms easier to kill.  (The vet responded favorably to my questions and we left with a second prescription.)

We are in for two months of treatment.  A complete change in our daily lives.  And over a thousand dollars in vet bills.

Perhaps the saddest thing in all of this story was that when we decided we would leave the facility while she got x-rays – to buy her more yummy food no less – we were asked for a deposit.

People say they are coming back, and then don’t.

Tom and I have not behaved as the most responsible people in this story.  But before we knew anything, we agreed we would see Lady through this regardless of the cost.  We are very lucky that we can make such statements.  I understand not everyone can. 

For those who can’t, please know there is help out there.  Breed-specific rescue organizations are a great resource in your local community.  If you have to forfeit your animal, please contact one.

And for those who are even luckier, please consider donating time or money to such organizations.

And for those who know us, please consider donating a kind thought to Lady.  She is in for a rough two months.

1)  While I have fed the cats every night, I’ve not cleaned a cage since last Friday because my “part time job” has been so hectic.  I am huffing from climbing the stairs to the condo from lack of exercise.

2)  We found out the dog has heart worms.

3)  Tom’s out of town until Saturday.  This means I will not eat right or shower.

4)  At 2pm this afternoon my left ear suddenly clogged up as if I’d just gotten out of the swimming hole.  It’s 8:31 and no change.

5)  We are prepping for our large fund raising event for which I help administrate both the guest list and 300+ item auction list.

6)  Everyone’s week seems much shittier than mine so I can’t bitch about it to anyone.

TG:  How’s things at the sanctuary?

Me:  My co-worker just brought me a baggie of intern hair.  Does that sum it up?

It’s just a disconnect.

I’m disconnected from what I used to write about – the people, the situations, the decisions.

I’m also physically disconnected.  While I may turn on the computer at home for a little Solitaire downtime, if I open a browser I inevitably end up at my work email, or fixing a problem with the online store, or double-checking a number from an online spreadsheet.

I’ve used my powers of the internets to create good for the sanctuary and now I am all tapped out.

I don’t want to be this way.  I took a quick trip up to Chicago to see the family and the urge to write was so great I bought a new journal there even though I had a perfectly new untouched journal waiting for me in Florida.  I filled up that little journal with eight pages in three days.  I told myself I’d put it at my bedside and write a little something – anything – every night to get back in the swing of things.

Nada.

I went to Chicago because my father into the hospital again – his third stay and his second surgery.  It was a bit frustrating because I didn’t get to see a doctor while I was there and during my trip it looked like he might be sent home only to have things change last minute.  (He has since been released with a contraption stuck in his side and then also had that contraption removed.  Things look better but we are not out of the woods yet.)

I came up on a Friday and worked a farmer’s market with my mother on Saturday.  It scares me how easy the set-up/take down is for me and how difficult it is for them.  They are too old to continue that work without help much longer.  Every time I visit and help with the lavender farm I think about Tom and I joining them.  There is more than enough land for us to build a house there.  And there is more than enough opportunities to expand (whether on the farm itself or the surrounding area) to keep us happy and busy.  This isn’t just pity for my parents or guilt or anything like that – I don’t think those emotions have ever come into play in our relationship.  I just always have a great time when I’m there and know that in general that type of lifestyle (which is not too different from our current situation) appeals.

But then I also spent most of the trip telling everyone how happy I am.  I finally found a place I belong.  Of course I always felt I belonged as a volunteer, but now the final piece of the puzzle fits – I work at a non-profit where my liberal tendencies are accepted if not embraced, and I happen to be quite good at many aspects of the non-profit office management.  Granted my hours are shit and being quite good at stuff tends to drive you a little insane when you’re called upon to perform miracles at the drop of a hat.  But I still love it.  I wake up in the morning and want to be here.  I don’t think many people can say that about their job.

When we were done with the farmer’s market, my mother drove off to the farm and I stayed at the townhome in Chicago.  I did feel a bit weird not opting to go with her, but it was how she had envisioned the weekend going and I loved her for it.  I got a little time to just unwind.  George and Francesca and I went out to dinner for Ethiopian food that night, and then I went to the zoo on Sunday.

I haven’t been to the Lincoln Park zoo in a long time.  Much of it hasn’t changed from what I remember.  A few people made rumbles about coming with me (including George and Francesca) but I was happy to be alone.  I don’t think I’m very much fun at an animal attraction.  It’s like taking a flight with a pilot as a passenger, or eating a burger with someone who works at a slaughter house.

I had two slight ulterior motives for going to the zoo.  One was that it was near a convenient meeting place for my dinner companion.  Another was that I knew two keepers there, although I had lost their phone number in my harried packing for the trip.  I managed to find one in the farm area and it was quite delightful to catch up.  They are a married couple, so when the shift ended I walked with her to their car and got to see him as well.

I wished them well and then walked a mile or so to dinner.  This was one of my favorite parts of the trip – just walking the north side (Clark Street to be exact), wearing my iPod and remembering the feel of a city.  You don’t walk places in Florida – your movement is confined and air conditioned and dependent upon lights, other travelers, and construction work.  It’s all about how little hassle you can manage to get there as soon as possible.  I miss putting one foot in front of the other and keeping myself company until however long it takes to get there.

I got there before he did, so I sat down and pulled out the journal for a few quick sentences.  Then CB walked in and we did the awkward half-stand/half-sit hug.

The Certain Boy (CB) and I had not spoken in maybe a year and a half…yeesh.  I just did a bit of email-sleuthing.  It appears perhaps 3 and a half years?  Wow.  At any rate, we had a falling out that was more about the fact that we weren’t in a place to be friends at the moment.  We had had a failed relationship (which in some ways started me blogging), then he sort of tugged on the romantic connection months later when I was just starting a new relationship, then I sort of tugged back months after that when my relationship ended and he was starting one himself.  My life spiraled a bit in the downwards direction and I was looking for things to hold on to.  I think he was looking to not be one of those things in fear of our past becoming present.

So we didn’t talk.  For three years or so.  I always felt like it wasn’t right but I also didn’t feel like I was ready to bridge any gaps.  I was busy looking forward and I just couldn’t afford to look back.

I hate to say that it took a solid relationship – a marriage even – to make me feel like it was safe to start mending fences.  But it’s true.  Before I always thought that contacting someone after you’re coupled was sort of throwing it in someone’s face.  Now I am more of the mindset that some situations call for that much black-and-white, right-and-wrong, sin-and-no-sin distinctions.

Of course, the last time I reached out to him, I was also married.  Yet another reason why I hate the social conventions and implications of a ring and a piece of paper.  Suffice to say, this time it was different.

At Christmas, I sent two cards out.  One was to my ex-husband and his new wife.  One was to CB.  In both I simply mentioned I missed them and hoped that they were well.

I heard back from CB via email.  We quickly put the past behind us by simply catching each other up to the present.  After a few back and forths, there wasn’t much else to say.  We went back to our respective corners, silent but comfortable.

So when I arranged for the trip to Chicago, I contacted the few people I still knew in the area including him.

It was good to see him.  Nothing and everything has changed – including the bond we have.  We had Indian at my request and his delight.  He had just gotten back from Glacier park and had a good time.  He had been looking for a career path and it sounds like he found one that I think suits him well.

I’d forgotten how small-minded he can make me feel at times.  Perhaps the only person in the world that can make me feel conservative and unaware.  It’s something that I relished at times – I saw it as a stretching and growing experience.  But in the end, I think it just makes me feel tired.

I was more quiet than I usually am.  I felt bad, as if I was putting pregnant pauses in our conversation.  As if we had some big elephant sitting in the corner I was waiting for him to acknowledge.

I was just a little overwhelmed from being outside around people all day, tired from my work schedule and how the trip fit into it, and enjoying a slower pace.  While I wondered and worried that the silence was awkward for him, it wasn’t for me.  And I didn’t feel compelled to change it.

He walked me back to the car, then I drove him to the El.  (Then I promptly got lost getting back on Lake Shore Drive.  But then I promptly re-traced my steps and got unlost.  But this story isn’t about my usual clutziness, is it?)

I was tempted when I got back to Florida to shoot him a little email – good to see you, glad you’re on a good path.  But what the point have been?  To get a little email back?  I am glad we are back to being friends, but how does that work exactly when one of you is married and in Florida while the other is single and in Chicago?

The truth is, I would have sent a little email to keep me connected.  To a past or a future or what I’m not sure.  So I guess that’s why I didn’t send it.  I am enjoying my present immensely.  But the trip, my family, CB, the keeper friends, and even the city itself remind me there still a whole future to figure out.

As in, “back into the”.

It’s been on my mind to try and find ways to write more.  I miss it, and I think it misses me.

So I wrote a little post that I’ll finish in the next day or so.  But I thought I’d shine up the place for its arrival.  I’ve updated wordpress since I first started this blog, which forced me to back up my database for the first time as well.  And after very little searching, I found this theme which I kinda like.  I’m not sure how I feel about the archives, but hopefully it will grow on me.

(A thank you again to Miss Zoot for my last theme.  It was great to feel that personal touch on my blog, but after 2+ years it was time for a little change.)

Please check out the new look, and check back soon for more progress.  As in, “Jessica in”.