CAMP A.G.

Bird and I had our first assignment as a registered therapy team last weekend and it was a great success from all sides. The camp we attended is for families with children who have been diagnosed with cancer. It affords them a chance to get out and do fun things together and with other families/kids in similar situations (arts and crafts, zip line, horseback riding, pool, lawn games, jumpy house, etc...). Therapy Dogs, Inc. has been asked to have dogs present for several years now, and they are apparently always a big hit. This year was no different, and a few kids and parents remembered some of the returning dogs from prior years.

I was afraid it was going to be a sad and depressing day, but it was actually quite fun and light. Yes, there was a young boy missing an arm (my favorite), a couple were obviously undergoing chemo, one used a crutch to get around. But they all had such super attitudes and big smiles on their faces, you generally couldn't guess which sibling in a family had been diagnosed with cancer. The staff was also fantastic and was obviously doing everything possible to make the day fun for the families.

You never shook the fact that these were kids facing unfair difficulties and futures, but damn if they didn't make my day when it was supposed to be the other way around. Here are a few pictures I was able to sneak in (always after asking parental permission, but the real names of the kids and the camp will be kept under wraps).

Before the families arrived for registration, the staff needed a little dog love to get the morning started:

This is Sadie, another therapy dog Bird tested with. This was her first gig as well.

Sadie's owner makes bookmarks for all of the dogs for every occasion. She has another dog who has been a therapy dog for several years, so she has bookmarks for the kids' cancer camps, veterans' get-togethers and parades, etc..  The kids loved them. (I gave one to my ex-3yo-boyfriend and I think I won him back).

This little girl was fearless and completely entranced by the dogs. Her mother told me she had matured a little since last year as she hadn't put her finger up Bird's nose. Not two minutes later, her finger went up Bird's nose. But like a good little therapy dog, B just stood stoically and took it.

This little boy was awesome. He lost an arm to cancer and his shirt says Campers Can Do It All. The little boy stick figure on his shirt is doing all different activities. And he did, too, including leaving a trail of popcorn on the ground for Bird wherever he went. Even if she wasn't around. He dropped some under the table and one of the other dog owners said, "You dropped some popcorn for X." He said, "No, that's for Bird." To her credit, she did not steal one kernel of popcorn or stick of cotton candy from anyone. Frankly, I was more concerned when I saw all the balls out on the lawn. Balls of all sizes and bounciness, all kinds of things to be thrown in, through and over other things. She stopped and gave the cornhole toss a second look, but otherwise was a champ at ignoring what was going on with the balls (though to be honest, if a soccer game had broken out, it would have been all over).

Bird meets Gazpacho the rabbit. Who I will never believe is a rabbit and not a muppet. The softest thing I've perhaps ever felt, this rabbit was like every child's dream of their stuffed animal come to life.

Bird still cared more about Gazpacho's owner than Gazpacho. I guess I can safely get a bunny.

I'm not sure what it is about dog noses, but B's got a workout. All this little guy wanted to do was stand there with his hand on her nose. So we did.

Bird and I enjoyed ourselves so much we stayed for two shifts. This town is generally pretty hot in the summer, so the therapy dogs do 1.5 hour shifts. We got lucky and it was fairly cool on this particular day so we stayed for three hours and could have stayed longer. They invited us all in for lunch, but I figured we were pushing our luck on the behavior front and we all called it a day.

All of my dogs have been great with kids, one even better than B because he simply ignored them, even if they tortured him. But I'm not sure any of them would have wanted to go through what she did for three hours and enjoyed it and interacted as well as she did. I was really proud of her. I was also really proud of those kids, not one of whom was anything other than gentle and kind to her.

A successful day. I only needed one bourbon when I got home. I'll remember it for a long time and can't wait to do it again.

A BRIEF SABBATICAL

I realize it's a tad early in this new venture to be requesting time off, but life events require I do so.  I returned from a fabulous five days spent at Bouchercon in Long Beach to discover my computer had died.  As in wouldn't even turn on.  Where are all of my reviews?  On my computer, natch. And while I have fabulous IT folks at work who are hopefully going to fix my wicket, it will be a while before I can get to my prior literary musings, if at all.

I may write something new, but the country song I came home to threw a wrench in my emotional works as well.  Upon arriving home, I received a call from my pet sitter that Hank wasn't doing well. I rushed to pick him up, then rushed to the vet, where the news was not good.  The worst of news, in fact.

Hemangiosarcoma is a blood tumor cancer to which golden retrievers are prone.  It's one of those bastard cancers that doesn't present until it's entirely too late for an intervention.  Many dogs simply die on the spot once the tumor ruptures and begins to bleed.  I've been "lucky."  Two of my four goldens have died from H-sarcoma, but I've had a day or so to spend with them and "get our shit in order."

With Hank, that meant taking him home, making him comfortable, and making an appointment with Dr. Anthony Smith.  God bless vets like Anthony Smith.  Dr. Smith provides in-home euthanasia, so your pet can die in as much comfort as possible in its own surroundings.  He is understanding and gentle and, as much as possible, allows the pet owner to direct how things play out.

This is the third time in twelve years I've invited Dr. Smith into my home.  You might think he's a person you never want to see again, but I'm of the opposite view. If I'm going to own pets (and having done so my entire life, I'm not likely to break the habit now), it's a comfort to know Dr. Smith is there when the time comes. And it always does.  Seeing him reminds me there are people out there who do difficult jobs so the pain of others can be borne more easily, that while my current situation might suck the biggest of big balls, I will love another pet enough to put myself in the same situation all over again.

I was so very lucky to have Hank in my life.  I had recently lost my first golden, Dakota, and that loss was so great I swore I would never get another dog.  It would just be me and my remaining golden, Jake, to the end.  Nine months later, a scrawny, obviously beaten and abused Hank wandered into my yard.  He was full of scabbed-over wounds.  He had lost half his tail to frostbite.  But it was love at first sight, and he rarely let me out of his sight from then on.  He would walk backwards or sideways so he never had to take his eyes off me (I never had DNA tests done, but I swear he was part Lipizzaner stallion).  He would smile on command, but also every damn time I walked through the door.

Hank morphed from an abused shell who was afraid of everything (and yes, I even saw him, quite hilariously, almost jump out of his skin at the sight of his own shadow) to a confident dog who loved everyone and everything.  He was never happier than when running across the neighborhood Bengal cat, who would rub noses with him and allow him to check out every inch of feline goodness.

Dr. Smith came at 11:00 a.m. yesterday morning.  For the previous 24 hours, Hank and I lay on the floor together.  I tried to look at and touch every inch of him, knowing soon enough I'd have to call on memory for those pleasures.  He was comfortable, but never left his bed, moving only his head to adjust it from my lap to my chest and back.  We talked.  I told him how lucky I was and what a good dog he was.  I swore I would never do this again at the same time I promised him I would. That I would save someone else, which really meant I would let another someone else save me.

All too soon, I helped Dr. Smith load him into the carrier and watched as he was wheeled away.  For the first time in my life, I was without a dog.  The energy in the house has changed.  I dread going home today.  But I will.  And some day, another beaten, scrawny, frightened dog will find me and save me all over again.

But god damn I will miss this magnificent bastard: