White Christmas

For the first time in a long time, that I can remember, we had ourselves a White Christmas. Now granted, the snow didn't really get going until the evening of the 25th, but hey, that counts!

Greensboro and the surrounding areas (meaning most of the Carolinas) were blanketed with 4-8inches of powdery white goodness, turning our normally nondescript neighborhood into a winter wonderland.  By the time we went to bed, we had a solid half-foot in the yard and on the cars.

Nice wet snow and below freezing temps gave us good accumulation and plenty of snow sticking to bushes and tree limbs. We got up early on Sunday morning and were the first people in the neighborhood to go tramping down the sidewalk (I mean, who else gets up at 6:15 on the day after Christmas?). We bundled up in our snowsuits and had a jolly time tramping through the powder, watching Dean run around like a ninny. I think he has a different gear that he reserves for bunnies and fresh powder, and the gleeful expression on his face would make you swear he's a heli-skiier. He also likes to eat snowballs, which is good, because Jack and I like to throw them, and we make a good team.



We also got to build a snowman, which despite the protests of some other household inhabitants, I insisted we do before Sunday was over, even if that meant suiting up at 5pm to catch the last half-hour of light. It took some cajoling to get Jack out the door, but once he was out in the snow he didn't want to come in. All in all, we are one goulish snowman and several great snowdays richer this Christmas.

 

Dean, Ghost Dog of the North

Playing on the Floor

Top Ten Ways to Celebrate Law School Graduation

1. Nice long run by the lake with my dog (to include "bath" of said dog)
2. Wrap birthday present for my hot-as-tamale wife
3. Check in on the new "office"
4. Try to sell my academic regalia on Craigslist 
5. Not study for the bar exam
6. Find 6GB of music from college (hey, that was a lot back then..)
7. Watch everyone else's facebook status change to FirstName LastName, JD (or Esq. )
8. Mail some thank you notes
9. Plan the next big graduation in the family (hello, Nassau St!)
10. Enjoy having such a great family

Katana-dog

We will miss you, old friend.

Rites of Passage

Some of the most poignant moments I spend as a veterinarian are those spent with my clients assisting the transition of my animal patients from this world to the next. When living becomes a burden, whether from pain or loss of normal functions, I can help a family by ensuring that their beloved pet has an easy passing. Making this final decision is painful, and I have often felt powerless to comfort the grieving owners.

That was before I met Shane.

I had been called to examine a ten-year-old blue heeler named Belker who had developed a serious health problem. The dog's owners - Ron, his wife, Lisa, and their little boy, Shane - were all very attached to Belker and they were hoping for a miracle. I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer.

I told the family there were no miracles left for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home. As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for the four-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt Shane could learn something from the experience.

The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker's family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on.

Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away. The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker's death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives.

Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, "I know why."

Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me - I'd never heard a more comforting explanation.

He said, "Everybody is born so that they can learn how to live a good life - like loving everybody and being nice, right?" The four-year-old continued, "Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long."


By Robin Downing, D.V.M. from Chicken Soup for the Pet Lover's Soul (c) 1998 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Marty Becker and Carol Kline.

Hillbilly Bone

I am glad that we have a very tolerant dog. Dean is, well - he's special. He's smart (but not all the time) and he is obedient (some of the time) and graceful (hardly ever). But at the very least, he is tolerant of the growing interactions between him and his little brother from a different mother.

For instance, when he was just a pup I taught him to calmly play catch while laying on the floor across the room from me. He lays there and I roll the tennis ball towards his snout. He catches it, chews on it a bit and rolls it back in my general direction. He'll do this for about a half hour before he starts to lose interest (which is about 5 times longer than I'm willing to do it). Recently, this dog-bility has worked well with Jack's newfound penchant for throwing things. Jack sits on the ground and rolls the ball to Dean; Dean rolls it back to Jack. This usually only lasts for a few minutes, since Jack's new throwing skills usually end up in a errant toss behind his back or over his head (we're still working on his release timing).

Last Saturday, we were sitting on the floor playing and watching hunting shows on VersusTV (which is fast becoming our Saturday morning routine when Doc is working). We topped it off with a little country music in the background. So it was fitting that Jack and Dean's newest game - Dog Bone Keep Away - was fit to the soundtrack of Hillbilly Bone by Blake Shelton. Jack would taunt Dean with the bone, Dean would lick it and try to take it away. Then Jack would triumphantly remove it from Dean's snout. And then try to lick it himself (but I stopped the game right there). For most dogs, I think the kids life might have been in peril at that point, but not with Dean. Good dog, indeed.

On the Road Again...

There's not a single memory of childhood car trips and the thrill of rest area candy machines that doesn't have my dad's voice singing one of Willie's finest tunes as a soundtrack. It took 6 hours to get up to West Virginia this summer, and the dog and I sang that song the whole damn way. God Bless You, Willie Nelson.