My 63 year old first born

My first born turned 63 on September 11th.  Or September 12th. She was born sometime during the middle of The Night in 2001 and her original human owners were glued to the television (with the rest of much of the world) and weren't quite sure when the number of puppies born in there jacuzzi bathtub grew from 10 to 11, but my Daisy was the last one born, at least 6 hours after the rest of her siblings, and only the second girl. I learned about her birth 4 weeks later and saw her the first time as a 4 and 1/2 week old yellow lab puppy. I saw her again weekly as I visited her, and then brought her home to live with me at 8 weeks. I took the first week off of work, a vacation which I felt was akin to some sort of maternity leave. The first weekend with her I stayed with her nonstop but like a puppy often does, she would fall asleep mid-play, and I probably took 2 rolls of film (pre-digital camera) and it was pretty easy. One memory of that first week stands out... going for a run (without her  of course) and leaving her in her crate alone for the first time. I remember standing in the front yard and hearing her crying (high pitched barking) from outside the house. I heard that same barking all the way down my block, as Daisy yelped and screeched to get out of her crate. I think my run was very short... motherhood guilt still gets me most of the time!

Very soon thereafter (probably later that day), I learned the trick of luring her into the crate with the reward of a small nip of peanut butter, from a Skippy jar which I then kept on her crate. She never minded the crate much, if at all, afterwards (and she, like me, is a peanut butter addict). In fact, when I had her spayed at around 8 months, she came home with her lampshade collar on and went straight to the basement door, which I opened for her out of curiosity and she followed her nose, bump thump bump thump the collar knocked against the wooden stairs all the way down them, to find her old crate which I had put away and stored down there 3 months earlier. She yelped just once for me to come down and open the crate door and in she went, in the crate on the cold basement floor, a place of known safety when the real world felt particularly raw and painful. 

After the horror of September 11, Daisy came into my life as something that I could nurture and love. And like every animal love before and after me knows, she gave me back ten fold at least over what I put in.

I have several friends who don't have children, either by choice or by circumstance, but with just one exception that I can think of, all of them have dogs. One friend on Facebook will post the most wonderful pictures of her dogs, no more often than I post pictures of my Sadie, and she posted a comment to her picture one day a few weeks ago admitting that her dog was like her child (and thanking us all for understanding) since she couldn't have a baby. Another of her friends remarked to her that she should consider adoption (of humans). I have thought about that friend (and her friend) a lot since that week, and it pretty much consumed me in my run this morning (during which I artfully wrote this blog in my mind, and I am regretting not typing it out 8 hours ago when it was most fresh).

Before Mark and I succeeded in getting pregnant, we had people offer all sorts of advice, and I used to wonder if they might think we lived under a rock and hadn't thought about every darn alternative there was in the universe. I know the advice giver was well intentioned, but instead of everyone saying to me "it will happen one day", I kind of wish someone has said instead "if it doesn't happen, you are going to be just fine!"  I have plenty of friends who don't have children, and without exception (even the one without a dog) they have lives that are just as fulfilling as mine is, perhaps even more so some days!  And I say this after having a great day with Sadie (not from the frame of a tired mom). She has added incredible experience to my life, but I would never suggest that someone who doesn't have children (out of choice or circumstance), holds a life of less value or meaning or depth than my own does. And this friend (whose friend made the comment) might not have meant that either... it just struck me and took off in my own mind.

Back to Daisy though. Daisy's had a tough week. While Sadie really did adjust to the new nanny without much trauma (well, Thursday appears to have been a really rough day, but I thankfully didn't hear all those details until Friday which was much better, the corner having been turned!).  While our new nanny seems to be just as deep of an animal lover as our old nanny was, we have no way of explaining things like this to Daisy, and every time old nanny's name was mentioned, Daisy would run to the front door expecting her to be arriving any minute and to take her walking or to throw ball. By Friday afternoon, Daisy was just plain spooked and wouldn't come into the house without much luring with treats, and wanted to return out back the next minute. This happens from time to time (Daisy has a great fear of both the oven and the grill... she must have died in a fire in her first life) so I didn't think much about it. But Saturday morning she was worse... she would follow me around the house and just stare at my face whenever I turned around to look at her, in a really unnerving way. Mark and I guessed that she wanted treats (she is a yellow lab after all, largely motivated by food, or the chance to go throw ball) and we have been trying to train her (after 9 years) not to beg for food, so I would ignore her. But she was driving me batty. And Sadie and I had a list of things to get done, Mark was down with a cough and cold, and Daisy just got in the way, a lot.

Finally around 3 yesterday afternoon I said to Mark that I was taking her for a walk. I should say here that Daisy doesn't tinkle or poop (sorry for the terms, with a 3 year old I live in these terms) in our yard, which has no grass and is largely a stone/paver patio with much and plantings on the sides.  But she had been walked in the morning, by me when I was still half asleep perhaps, and nothing seemed odd. But at 3, it was apparent that Daisy was in distress. And there I was walking with her, trying to get eye level to her rear-end as she marked every 3 feet or so to see the tell tale signs of a urinary tract infection. Not to be gross, or hyper technical, but if you have a dog who has had one, you have seen your dog with blood in her urine and know what this means.

To add insult to injury, I practically sprinted home with her once I saw the blood. My poor dog wanted nothing but to linger in the grass and try to relieve herself to stop the sensation, but not me, I wanted to get her to the vet as soon as humanly possible. I was the one who had missed the signs... dammit I was the one who actually saw the signs and remarked out loud "This dog is neurotic and driving me crazy!"

We spent about 3 hours (and $217) at the emergency vet yesterday afternoon, Mark and I took turns and Sadie stayed the whole time. The antibiotic was first given last night around 6 and like clockwork, she was more herself by her second dose this morning and even better after her evening dose tonight. She will be just fine.

I have never had a cat, and I have only had one dog from birth (Mark's dog was one he adopted when she was 3, and she died at 13) and my "step dog" Lily was a constant in my life for 10 years.  But our dogs have offered us unconditional love in a way that no toddler does.  While my love for Sadie runs deep and is unconditional, she is still learning how to love, and like, me back (she came out of me needing me, a skill that was perfected from day one). But Daisy... Daisy has been my rock for 9 years.

We look at the pictures we took of Sadie as a baby on her blanket on the floor, and there are very few of them that don't have a dog's paw in the edge of the frame, scooting closer and closer onto the blanket, ready to wipe that baby's face with a big old lick of affection. Every time anyone in our family is up in the night, sick or well, Daisy stays with them, her bloodshot eyes trying to stay awake, but laying on her side near you, letting you know that she is ready to defend you. I put Sadie to bed tonight and as she fell asleep (me laying on her bed with her, actually in the middle of the second story I tell  her every night), I was thinking about this blog and thinking about how Daisy was surely laying up near Mark's feet as he was blowing his nose and coughing a lot in our bedroom. And then I heard it... the deep breath and peaceful shudder that was Daisy's. She was next to Sadie's bed of course. Reminding me that she holds no grudge against me.  She is our constant.

I love to hope that we will have 4 or 5 more years with Daisy, but her face just this year lost that puppy look that strangers walking by her on the street have always commented on. She is nearly completely white now. It makes me sob to think that we could lose her at such a critical time in Sadie's life, where Sadie truly sees Daisy as her sister, our family, and has no understanding of heaven (goodness, she saw Obama speaking from a pulpit a few months ago and said "Is that God?" to me during dinner... we have failed in our religious training lately). She is just a perfect dog right now, she wouldn't chew a toy or furniture if it were bathed in steak sauce (ok, maybe that's an exaggeration). She requires just a few walks a day and ball throwing only has to happen a few times a week, and only for 15 minutes or so. She lets you know when she is tired, and it is always before you as her human are ready to come in, so she will just lay at your feet and relax until you take the lead to your next destination.  The only thing she asks is to be included. So we bring her most places we can, and we rent a dog friendly beach house for the beach every summer. She is in her own heaven there.

As much as Mark and I keep mentioning the need to get another dog, I don't want to do that as a way to get less attached to the dog we have now. As much as I don't want to ever be without a dog, the thought that we won't grieve the loss of Daisy as much because we have another dog just seems kind of cruel in a way. And yet, on the other hand... Daisy has lived every single day of her life with her only purpose to provide love and attention to us, her family. To think that she would want us to cry without a dog there to enjoy the salty benefit of licking the tears seems wrong as well.

So my whole purpose in this rambling episode, love your dog. Of course, love your child too, and your spouse while you are at it. But love your dog too. They generally ask far less, in the form of attention and these days, in the form of explanation too.  And I realized this weekend that they are too easy to ignore or cast aside, and they generally never deserve that, when you measure the love and attention and protection and just plain company they have provided their humans their whole life long.