Lambiedog

Quality of life

I'm poised to start an oral chemotherapy regime of Chlorambucil (Leukeran) combined with Prednisone.  These are strong drugs.  Just having them in my body is a scary prospect, although the web includes numerous reports from veterinarians attesting that this regime is both effective and generally well-tolerated.

Another element here is also alarming. Chlorambucil, a powerful drug, can actually be carcinogenic to those coming into contact with it incidentally.   Directions for the administration of Chlorambucil caution that it should be handled wearing protective gloves because it can be absorbed through skin contact.  And not only during the direct handling of the medicine: 

Because of the potential for absorption of the drug or its hazardous metabolites through the skin via contact with urine, feces, saliva, vomit, etc., you should wear gloves to clean these up.  Washable items coming in contact with these should be handled wearing gloves (and a protective gown if needed) and then washed twice. Use these precautions for a minimum of 48 hours after the last dose is administered. 

Saliva? 

I'm a licker.  Other dogs specialize in hunting, herding, retrieval, and so on. I specialize in licking.  I love to lick.  I emit probably two hundred licks a day.  My favorite spot to lick is the area around and including the human nose and mouth.  It is my way of connecting, and of expressing my joy in the world. When my licking is repulsed I feel like I'm being punished.   

So this is going to be a challenge for us. We're going to need to eliminate the cues that start me into my licking spiral, and add new elements to maintain my joie de vivre.  There are many ways to skin a cat [such an unfortunate phrase].  Although licking must be eliminated from my happiness lineup for the time being, I will endeavor to keep this from negatively affecting the quality of my life.  

I might take a page from Dolce, who has gotten into contemplation, eastern religion, inner awareness - that sort of thing.  She has a  favorite meditation spot on the edge of the bluff.  She seems so at peace.  I could try that.

Back from medical leave

    

A couple of weeks ago I had surgery to remove a mast cell tumor. It hadn't metastasized to key organs, but watchful waiting is the new world order.

   The experience brought me down.  All that poking and prodding. The pain. The anesthesia. The meds. The anxiety.  The Elizabethan collar.

 

    I was miserable.  For a while I lay low and let it all roll over me. 

Finally I rebounded.  On our 'walks' I stopped asking to be carried. I relocated the spring in my step.  Now I pal around with Snoopy, sniffing at this and that. I race down to visit Buggsy and Beverly.

 Sadly, however, Buggsy is actually no longer there to visit:  In July he had a fatal accident. His family misses him a lot -- he was dearly loved.  Below is a photo of him from 2014.  He's the dog on the left, standing next to Beverly and David.

    When I go to their house I still always search for him.  First Beverly gives me a treat, and then I do a check of the house to see if I can find him.

     

What I do when no one's around

    A dog-owner with a home security camera provided this top-voted answer to the Quora question, "What does a dog do every day [when it's at home alone]?"  The gist of her answer was that her dog mostly sleeps, walks around, and waits for her to come home. 

    I don't want to cast any aspersions on her dog, but my own experience is far different. I am incredibly active both physically and mentally during the moments that I am at home alone.

    For one thing, I see that time as a critical opportunity for me to go back to the well, figuratively-speaking, and recharge my creative processes.   I fit in some slow breathing and meditation. I eat the breakfast I was too emotionally wrought up to focus on while everyone was at home.   I reorganize my rawhides.

    Additionally, I am acutely aware that I have been left in charge, a position of responsibility.  From my monitoring station on the sofa, I observe the neighborhood closely, integrating my observations into a constantly-updated internal representation of threats and opportunities.  We're talking substantive and sustained work here.  I'm often exhausted by the time my owner gets home.

    Several Quora respondents' answers included the observation that their dogs appear to be able to measure the passage of time, for example coming to stand near the door shortly before the owner would routinely be returning home.  In this area, their experience mirrors my own.  I too find myself very tuned in to the passage of time.  I pick up my cues and clues from changes in the ambient light, as well as from repetitive patterns of neighborhood activity, such as children coming home from school.

    If you're worried that all this cogitating is overtaxing me, please don't be.  Remember, what doesn't kill me is making me stronger.  Given that I will soon be entering my ninth year, I think it's a good thing that I devote so much bandwidth to staying mentally acute.  It's my canine version of Lumosity.

Age before beauty

  I struggled to maintain my dignity after being displaced yet again by the Intergenerational group meeting.

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I've grown accustomed to his face

 

Since my renaissance as a social guy, I race out of the house every afternoon when it's time to go mingle with Earnest.

     

Mornings are less satisfactory, as Earnest and his family like to sleep in.

   

I find it hard to manage my longing.  

I just want to be with him, pee with him, eat with him, walk with him, wear a garbage bag bow like him.  

    

Carwash

The Oxford comma

In the harsh light of recent criticism over my inconsistent use of the Oxford comma, I have been compelled to come to terms with my shortcomings.  When I look back at past posts, I blush to see how capricious my relationship with this comma has been.  No more, though!  I am about to start going back over my posts for the years of 2013, 2012, 2011, 2010, and 2009 with an eye to mitigating past wrongs.

Dog in headlights

Here I am with my pal Hannah trying to combat my tied-to-my-mother's-apron-strings complex.

Welcome to the danger zone

Charlie came down for the weekend with some friends, Connor and Kathleen. We had a convivial time -- until they started playing with an old gun. In a flash, things turned deadly. 

    I found myself looking down a gun barrel held, in the ultimate betrayal, by my own brother.  This Thiel Fellowship may be disrupting his moral compass.

At least he did put the gun down after I remonstrated with him.

That's when he told me it was a toy. Ha ha ha.

Once they'd had their laughs, the three of them fell all over themselves apologizing.

 

Could they have had too many Twinkies?

I forgave them, and we went for a nice hike.