Farewell, My Heart

On Friday, the 20th of December, I had to say goodbye to my Samhain, my Sam, Sam the Man, Sam-Sam. I am crushed beyond words, so I'll try to spend a minimal time on the sad, and share some of the cherished memories.

Our last photo on Friday afternoon.

Sam had been fighting Hemangiosarcoma since sometime before the end of March. Just before my birthday (which seems to be the time for things to collapse to utter garbage), he was diagnosed with splenic Hemangiosarcoma, and had the splenectomy.

Friday, after a very good day at work, the dogs got their dinner. Within a short time, Sam started showing the symptoms of bloat, and I rushed him to the emergency vet. (My dad was very brave and didn't scream once as we were racing to the vet and weaving in and out of traffic!) The vet confirmed my apprehension, and said she thought there was another tumor which had possibly caused the bloat. Sam had thrown up a few times in the past few weeks, which was unusual, and putting that together with the bloat, I felt the time had come to let him go. He was already six months past his prognosis, and putting him through a surgery would not have been the kindest thing to do for him.

There are a bunch of posts about Sam here (a couple popped up in search that don't have anything to do with him) which go back to the very beginning, when he was a newborn.

Last week at the office, helping out in the archives

He was there for me when those I trusted most, loved most, left. He was always ready to play, ready to cuddle, ready to go for an adventure, ready to hang out and watch movies. He loved people so much that he was the unofficial greeter of the UPS store next door to the office. People went nuts over him. 

The kids this past Hallowe'en were telling other kids and parents that there was a "really awesome dog" at my house that they had to meet. The babies thumped him hard on the head and he just gave them tiny little kisses on their chubby legs. The toddlers threw their little arms around his neck and he stood still so he didn't knock them over. The teenage girls fawned over him and called him handsome, and he preened and gave them mighty slurps and giant, full-body wags. The moms and dads were amazed at what a good boy I had.

He adored them, one and all.

And he was good to the newest addition of our family, even though she's a terrible brat and does not care about pleasing anyone, unlike my Sam, who was crushed to report he had, in fact, tipped over the trash can.

I don't know what I'm going to do without him.

The Great Puppy Saga of 2011 Continues... Puppy Cam!

Small bundles of furry cuteness are bouncing clumsily through my head these days. The "coming home" countdown has begun, and I've started to look at my house through the eyes of a puppy to see what needs to be put away, taped down or otherwise made inaccessible.
Sandy, the breeder over at Sprague's German Shepherds, has been very gracious and helpful in answering my questions about the pups, and has been posting pics and videos of the little critters on her website and on Facebook.

Shelby and the kids at three weeks. Sorry, couldn't get the video to play.

Sandy was also open to doing a little experiment a la Cesar Millan when I come for my first visit next week. In his book, How to Raise the Perfect Dog: Through Puppyhood and Beyond, Cesar had the breeder of the dog he wanted for his experiment on raising balanced dogs from puppyhood put all the pups in one room, then bring the mama in to feed them. By watching the order in which the puppies went for mom and fed, Cesar was able to figure out which dogs had the highest, middle and lowest energy.
Since he was looking for a middle energy dog for his experiment (and is an expert at this stuff, which I am not!), he was able to avoid getting what the breeder felt was "pick of the litter," a much higher-energy level dog than he wanted. I'd like a middle-to-lower-energy dog, because I'm not going to be training little Sam for schutzhund, agility (though I might get a couple of agility toys for the backyard), flyball or any high-energy sport- though I am thinking about taking him for herding lessons once he gets old enough. I think it's important for a smart dog like a German Shepherd to have something to do, since they're a working breed and not having a job makes for a dumb, bored, frustrated dog, and chewed carpets.

Mr. ShellHawk is tolerating my obsessive reading (great info from Dr. Sophia Yin here, btw) and subsequent information sharing with grace and the occasional glass of scotch. (I think there may be some eye-rolling when I'm not looking, but I can't prove anything.) I think it was helpful for him to be away at a conference this week, just for a break from my obsession! ;o) Even so, I asked him to start puppy proofing the garage even though I don't plan to have the little one out of my sight for the first few months. During a yard inspection, I found a space under our side gate that will easily be large enough for the little guy to squeeze under, so that went on Mr. ShellHawk's honey-do list, too.

His crate for crate-training is here, plus another, more open crate to put in the living room, so he can watch everyone from a safe, out of the way place. (I'd hate to squash his little toes because I didn't know he was right behind me!) It's good training for them to know they don't have to be in the middle of everything when activity is going on, but learn to be a quiet observer.

And before someone leaves me a nasty comment about how crate-training is mean, consider that a dog's natural instinct is to be in a den, which is far less posh than a crate with his favorite toy and a soft pad and blanket to lie on. It prevents you from stressing out because you don't know if your pup has left you a "present" while you answered the phone or went to bed (which stresses him out because your body language is freaking him out), and it also keeps him safe when you can't watch him. After all, you wouldn't let your toddler wander around when you couldn't watch her, would you? (BTW: playpen=crate for children.)

Bowls, leashes, and collars are standing by, and observing some local trainers is on my to-do list this week. I talked to my veterinarian this week about other stuff I need to have ready for his homecoming and how I need to feed him (large breed puppy food, she said). I think I'm almost ready.

Can't wait for Friday and the results of the little experiment! I'll keep you posted.

The Worst Day Since Yesterday

It's been a bitch of a week here at the Nest. Sorry for the language, but I really can't put it any other way.

In spite of the promise of fun and excitement for my very first appearance on TV on Sac and Co., real life intruded with a gut punch, which started last week. This week, the hits just kept coming and have left me beat up all over.

One of our older German Shepherds, Josey, started to refuse her food last week. Since she's been a picky eater all her life, this wasn't unusual. But then a day turned into two, then three, and she started even to refuse turkey lunch meat and bacon.

When a dog refuses bacon, you know something is seriously wrong.

Josey with my idiot but loving lab, Gromit

If you're a dog owner, you probably see where this is going.

We took her to the vet who did bloodwork and took x-rays. We took her home. We got a call to bring her back the next day for an ultrasound. Ultrasound inconclusive, vet says take her to someone better at ultrasound than she was. We took her to the small animal emergency clinic at U.C. Davis, which is also a teaching veterinary clinic with many machines that go, ping!

Actually at this point, it was I who took her to Davis, as Mr. ShellHawk had no choice but to go out of town for the weekend to teach a class in L.A. He couldn't cancel, and there was no one else to teach it. He said his goodbyes to her when he left, since we both had a bad feeling that she wasn't going to make it through whatever was going wrong.

Sam, playing with his favorite dog, Josey, when he was a little guy.

The doctor recommended I leave her overnight so more tests could be done, the first being an ultrasound. I didn't want to leave her, but I knew that with her listlessness and continuing refusal to eat, it would be best. 

Josey, keeping an eye on the interloper in the first week or so we had Sam.

 

I got a call later that afternoon. It turns out that Josey had advanced stomach cancer.

To say that it was a shock is to make a huge understatement. If you had seen her in the days before she stopped eating, you would have seen her tearing around the back yard with Sam and Gromit, looking as carefree as a dog can look.

Stomach cancer? Advanced stomach cancer? WTF? She had given us no indication that she had any kind of problems other than becoming a little old lady with some arthritis issues.

I've read several times that this is the problem with GSDs. The breed, as a whole, is a stoic one, and generally won't tell you they're hurting.

The head-tilt for which German Shepherds are famous, in stereo, no less!

Mr. ShellHawk and I had to have a serious, come-to-Jesus conversation about what was to be done. Given that she was almost twelve years old, and that there was no doubt that the cancer was terminal, and that trying to extend her life for a month with a poor quality of life would be just flat out cruel, we opted to let her go.

So yesterday, I headed into work for a while to get a few things done, and left from there to go to the TV station. After that, it was time to head over to Davis and deal with the heartbreak of euthanizing my best girl. I insisted on being there with her, and had some private last moments with her before the doctor came in. When they brought her in and she saw me, she wagged her tail as best she could and then flung herself down on the fleece mat the hospital had provided for her. If ever an animal could tell you that they were done and ready to go, she was telling me loud and clear.

The doctor, himself, was the best man for it. He had given her a combination of painkillers and an opiate to make her comfortable. He was gentle and kind, and she was gone very quickly.

 

Mr. ShellHawk wrote this about her on his Facebook page yesterday:

Ten years ago, almost to the day, we were asked by German Shepherd Rescue if we would like to rescue an adult female German Shepherd who had been chained to a post in the back yard of a house and had been left there by the owners who packed up and moved. After literally stopping the euthanasia, we got Josey 2 weeks later; she was about 1.5 years old and weighed a total of 43 lbs, she had weighed 35 lbs. when they took her from the back yard. I would like to thank those bastards that left her there because she spent the next 10 years helping bring normality to our crazy life, healing past wounds, and bringing Shelley and I great joy. We lost our girl today to cancer. The attached photo is one that was sent to me many times over the years by Shell, it’s the “Tragic Shepherd” text, asking when dad was coming home. I will miss those texts.

Thanks to everyone that has been so supportive through this. She went quickly and peacefully thanks to Shell and some great doctors at UC Davis.

Yesterday was an even worse day for Mr. ShellHawk, as it was the anniversary of his beloved mother's death. To say it's been a bitch of a week is to tell the absolute truth.

Josey was such a huge part of our lives. She was awesome with kids and could be trusted with the smallest infant. I remember that when my nephew was a baby and would cry, she would rush over to lick his face to try and soothe him, all the while looking over at us as if to say, "Something's going on, here! Come and help this little fur-less puppy!"

As I sit here writing this in my usual spot on the couch, there is an empty space next to me where she used to park herself while I puttered on my laptop. I saw her empty dish this morning and burst into tears.

I will miss her in more ways than I can count.

It is truly the worst day since yesterday.

Sam Says Goodbye to "The Boys"

And gets his puppy hernia fixed, too.


Did you know that dogs can be born with hernias? I didn't either. It wasn't giving him trouble, so with the vet's recommendation, we waited until his neutering to have it taken care of. Sort of a two-for-one deal.


There's not enormous drama involved with this for us. We don't intend to breed Sam (Can you imagine me taking on one more completely life-hijacking task? Really?), so we did the responsible thing and had him neutered on Tuesday. There was a lot of going back and forth on what age to have it done. Some people say as soon as four months, some people say it should wait until one year. We decided to split the difference at 7 1/2 months. Since I never act stressed at the vet's office, and my vet's office has a great team, Sam was totally relaxed when he was led off by a veterinary tech, and wagged his tail at one and all. Even through the closed door, I could hear them fussing over him and telling him what a good, handsome boy he was. That made me feel good.


It was very gratifying to have one of the vets comment on how stable a dog I have on Tuesday morning when I dropped him off. You have to figure that veterinarians see the full range of dog owners, from the crazy pet hoarders who love their dogs too much and never set any boundaries for them because they think it's mean, to the ones who plainly do not care and either abuse or neglect their dogs to dangerous levels. That compliment made my day, because it means I'm doing my job.


Anyway, I found out my little puppy now weighs in at seventy pounds! Wow, that happened fast, huh? And I found out that though he cried really loudly when they put in the i.v. needles, he didn't nip at anyone or show any signs of aggression. Another good sign. He came out of the sedation well, and they let me know I could come and get him early.


So now, it's Sam's first experience with both pain that doesn't go away in a minute or two, and "The Cone of Shame."

Not surprisingly, Sam hates The Cone of Shame. Whined about it for several hours straight, although he also could have been disoriented by the last of the anesthetic working its way out of his system. That night, he was up and down, bashing the cone into the walls so much that I had to get out of bed and go lie down on the couch to be with him and allow Mr. ShellHawk to get some sleep. Around two a.m., Sam crawled up onto the couch with me (something he never, ever does, because he knows he's not allowed on the furniture without an invitation), and went to sleep. I think he was not only needing his "pack leader's" reassurance and closeness, but was hoping I could make it all better and incidentally take The Cone off. It was a very special moment. I threw an arm over him and managed to go to sleep for a little bit.

He seems better today. Now, all I have to do is keep him from playing with the other dogs. *sigh*

Sam and the Continuation of the Craptacular

My sweet boy a few weeks after surgery.

For those of you who aren't a Facebook friend or who haven't been following my blog for all that long, that doggo in the pic is my sweetheart, Sam. (If you're interested in his history, you can click here.)

Unfortunately, a few weeks ago, Sam stopped eating. Since I had already gone through stomach cancer with my old Shepherd, Josey, I was immediately concerned this was a repeat of that situation.

It turns out I was partially right. Sam was diagnosed with Hemangiosarcoma. He had a baseball-sized tumor growing in the middle of his spleen which needed to come out. They diagnosed him after sending it out for a biopsy. I found out on my birthday. Ugh.

Sam is still with me, but his energy level is down. Since this type of cancer is vascular, the next tumor could show up anywhere. The oncologist I consulted with said that usually happens within a month, and most dogs only survive three to six months after the surgery, and that's with chemo. I just can't see putting him through that without the assurance of at least a year or more of good quality of life for him.

In the meanwhile, the oncologist gave me a couple of over the counter supplements to make him comfortable. And while it may sound weird to you, I decided to search for a new puppy for Sam to help me train while he's still with us. I know he's missed his friend Coda deeply, so even though he initially doesn't like other dogs, I know that he'll be fine with a puppy once a few days have passed. Maybe he'll even perk up, some.

I'm trying to keep it together. Focus on positive things. I throw the ball for him until he gets too tired. He's on my bed with me every night. He gets lots of hugs and snuggles from my boss and coworkers, and of course my mom and dad.

After some thought, I decided to go with a breeder for a puppy. It turns out German Shepherds and most other large breeds end up blowing out their knees when they're fixed too young. Something about needing the hormones in order for the joints to form correctly - this happened to my other shepherd, Coda, when she was young. Rescues, understandably, have all puppies fixed before they go home, and Sam won't tolerate an adult dog. So, a breeder it is.

 The new pup has been chosen. She's a lovely black German Shepherd with lines tracing to Germany. Her grandfather has been best in the world in obedience for three years. And, like all puppies, she's adorable!

That little face! Just kills me!

I should be picking her up next weekend. It's going to be a bittersweet occasion.

*Sigh* I am so ready for things to start turning around for me. Maybe starting with money coming to me and my dog being miraculously cured?

Dogs!

"Throw the ball. Please, throw the ball! Throwtheballthrowitthrowitthrowit!"

I figure it's been a while since I posted about my dogs, and you were probably losing sleep, wondering what was up with them!

It's been pretty rainy here in Northern California, so the dogs have felt pretty cooped up. Cabin fever was definitely in the offing! On Monday, there was a break in storm fronts, so I took them around the corner to a local neighborhood park, ball launcher in hand.

Those of you who don't own German Shepherds (you poor, poor dears!) may not be aware that the vast majority of them are ball-obsessed. It's what happens when you have dogs with high prey drives, which is what many, though not all, of the Shepherd lines are bred for. It's what makes them great K9s and Military Working Dogs, along with their keen minds and natural sense of protectiveness towards their families.

My Sam and Coda are no exceptions to the ball-obsessed Shepherd stereotype! Sam is always on high alert, and when he takes after the ball, he pins his ears flat to his head and tears after it for all he's worth! Coda is a bit more relaxed about it, but still does a darn good game of fetch.

Although, they do things a bit differently when they're fetching together versus when they're just one on one with me or Mr. ShellHawk. 

As you can see in the below pic, Coda just wants to chase the dog who chases the ball, in order to be a noodge. She's really not all that worried if she gets the ball or not, as long as he doesn't have it. Kind of like that unwritten Dog Law: All balls are my ball, even if I don't want them!

She's a total nag. And even if he gets it, she'll often just take it from him, and he lets her!

Hopefully, the video will play alright, even though it's not the best clip in cinematic history!

They came home happy and tired, just as it started sprinkling again. That evening and all the next day, it was pouring! I'm so glad I got them out of the house!

Sam is four, and will be five in April. Coda is two and almost a half. I can't believe how quickly they've grown and how fast the time has gone!

Five weeks old and adorable!

All grown up. D'aww!

Face-hugger: GSD edition!

I still can't believe she was this small! She's 91 pounds, now, and
bigger than he is!

How could you not love the German Shepherd head tilt?

Dog snuggles are pretty much the best.

Dogs are just the best, aren't they? 

Progress Report

Before, with pegboard

 Progress continues in the shop, though of course not as fast as I'd like!

After, with drywall

The drywall guy came last Saturday and got the drywall up, put up the drywall tape and the first coat of joint compound. Though it has been rainy and cold-very unusual for us this time of year-in honor of my first application of joint compound, the weather turned hot. So hot, in fact, that the joint compound started to dry as I was applying it. Admittedly, I'm not very fast at the application, but I didn't think I was quite that slow!
The positive, of course, is that it was ready to sand on the same afternoon. I started the third coat Thursday, and went around the room to check for holes and dings to fill while I was at it. I also sanded and put up another coat of joint compound on the ceiling seams, which the previous owner had never finished. Let me tell you, you haven't lived until you work in 98 degree heat with the garage door closed. I couldn't have the fan on because of the dust it would have blown around, so even this self-proclaimed "desert lizard" was having a pretty tough time trying to stay hydrated. Of course, while I could have the door up, the newest "shop hound" was on hand to supervise.


So can I tell you how much Sam has grown in just a week? I couldn't believe it! I'm sure all of you have seen the video of Dunder, growing up in just forty seconds, but it's weird to see it happening in front of your eyes! We had a little get-together last night and our friends we haven't seen for a week all commented that the boy has grown noticeably since last Friday when they met him.

He had his first vet visit on Monday, and as you can see from the pic above, he was asleep through almost the whole thing. I can't help but think that his days of being picked up and put on the exam table are numbered! The vet will have to get down on his level very, very soon. He got to go to work with me on Monday morning, too, and was just as quiet as can be in his crate. Of course, I played with him to tire him out and made sure all his business was taken care of, so all he wanted to do was take his morning puppy nap.


This Monday is the final firing for the Raku class I'm teaching, which means a cruelly long day for me, as I teach in the morning (and doing a Raku firing is very physically and mentally demanding, since I have to wear long pants and sleeves and it'l be at least a zillion degrees by 10:00a.m.) and then go back in the evening to teach, too. One of my neighbors will sit for him for the morning session, as I suspect I'll be doing the firing until at least 2:00, and that is far too long to leave him in his crate. My neighbor has the coolest old dog ever, and he and Sam seem to get along just fine. I'm sure Sam is going to have fun on his visit. I'm very happy my neighbor wants to babysit! We're also going to take him on his first boat ride next week!


Well, off to breakfast with Mr. ShellHawk and the little Hell Hound. Be back Tuesday!

Dog Noir

About three months ago, now, my Sam was diagnosed with Splenic Hemangiosarcoma. He came through the surgery very well, but the oncologist told me the usual life expectancy after surgery was three to six months with chemotherapy. 

I just couldn't see putting my boy through that. Fortunately, there are a couple of alternative medicines which seem to have some ability to make him comfortable for however long he has left, and having joined the Hemangiosarcoma Facebook page, I have some hope he may last longer than what the doctor thought. He's still eating and completely ball-obsessed, which is situation normal for him! He's even taken well to the new addition in our home, Grace, a black German Shepherd pup.

Those of you who have followed this blog for a long time know how much I've loved my Sam and can imagine how devastating the diagnosis was for me. I am nowhere near ready to let him go, but since I don't get a vote on that, I decided that I do get a vote on how he's remembered.

Enter Diana Lundin Pet Photography! I found her webwsite through a Facebook ad promoting her "Dog Noir" style photoshoot. 

Since I am a lover of all things atmospheric and spooky, I decided to contact Diana for a session. I explained my (and Sam's) situation, letting her know that sooner would be better than later for a shoot. She expressed her sympathy and suggested a few spots for the shoot. L.A. has numerous locations suitable for a noir-themed photo shoot. We kicked around a few different options, and finally decided on a bridge which was featured in Orson Welles' last film, A Touch of Evil.

It had been rainy all week, and rain was promised for the next day, too, so I was a little nervous we'd have to reschedule. The weather gods were smiling on us, though, and gave us a rain-free afternoon and a beautiful sky with only a few fluffy clouds highlighting the sunset.

To put it mildly, handling two dogs, one of which is a puppy with no concern whatsoever for pleasing you and all manner of interest in bugs and leaves, was difficult. Diana and her photographic assistant came prepared, though, and helped me to get the dogs pointed in the right direction and get me to look appropriately distressed!

She came by the house to drop off the large framed print and the 8" x 10" I ordered, and I was so pleased with the results!

I'm so glad I decided to have Diana do this specific type of shoot for us! I think she caught the dark moodiness of the Noir genre masterfully! Both Sam and Grace look wonderful; and it's not easy to photograph all-black dogs. 

I honestly can't think of a better way to remember him when he's gone. I'll treasure this always!

The Great Puppy Saga of 2011 Continues... Puppy Cam, Part Deux!

If you're reading this, it probably means you missed the Rapture, too. I wrote this just for you guys, because I figured now that all the people who used to torture us about going to Hell because we loved Hallowe'en are gone, we'd need a form of entertainment other than annoying them to keep us occupied.

Yesterday dawned beautiful, clear and pleasantly warm. I had a pretty busy schedule, what with marking out my preferred looting spots and stocking up on my shotgun ammo, but I had scheduled time with Sandy at Sprague's German Shepherds to get my first look at the litter that has my Sam in it.

Again, we're looking for a low-energy, mellow dog, comparatively speaking, so it was important to us to see how they responded to new people, their mom being brought in, etc.

Click on the puppy pic for video. Not cute at all. Nope.

 We brought along friend and house/dog sitter, Stephanie, so that she could give us her impressions and so the puppy would know her from the very start. We talked about how we needed to be "calm-assertive" when we visited the pups, but were not very hopeful that we could maintain Cesar-Millan-like chill-ness in the face of extreme puppy cuteness. We sure tried, though!

 The one that friend Stephanie is holding is likely the guy we'll be taking home. "Yellow boy," from the color of the yarn around his neck, seemed, both on video and in person, a very cool, mellow little guy. So did dark blue boy. Yellow boy just laid on her lap and looked around, not whining or crying, just observing the goings-on around him. I'm really leaning towards him at this point, but I'll give it another visit before I decide...

The rare and adorable puppy conga line.

 After we left we headed to lunch and compared notes. All three of us agreed that both yellow and blue boys seemed to display the most quiet calm and would likely fit in best with our current kids. It was good to know that my choices were backed up by Mr. ShellHawk and Stephanie, because I know they are both very observant people and not likely to allow cuteness to overwhelm their good judgment.

Next Thursday or the following Tuesday, I'll head over and make the final decision as to who the real Sam is. Their personalities will have developed more and they'll be more active by then, too. I just can't wait!

The Dog Ate My Homework

Mr. ShellHawk and I got back from vacation late Saturday, so Sunday I headed for my studio. I managed to get a couple of pots thrown, and wandered inside for a power nap around 2:30p.m. or so. When I got up, I didn't feel like throwing, so I grabbed a lump of clay from my slop bucket and sat down at the coffee table to make a couple of mini-pumpkins. After catching up on "Trueblood," it was time for bed. I left my pumpkins and sculpting tools on the coffee table.

Yesterday was a busy day, as it was the first "working day" back from vacation. I had Sam Pumking's prize to mail out yard work to do, a fishbowl to clean, etc., and I pretty much jumped into the day when I got up. I didn't worry about the stuff on the coffee table because I knew I'd get to it around dinnertime.

By the time I got finished with chores and washed all the leaves and spiderwebs out of my hair, Mr. ShellHawk was home from work. I headed over to the coffee table so I could put my new pumpkins to dry out in the studio.

They weren't there.

I knew they weren't out in the studio; I hadn't put them out there and forgotten I'd put them out there... So where were they?

I've got a German Shepherd with the classic long Shepherd tail, so I thought maybe she'd tromped by the table and accidentally swept them off. I went looking for them. I checked under the table, under the couch, under the entertainment center.

Nothing.

It was a head-scratcher. Then I found these fragments, including a tiny little stem. (I know they look more like dog kibble, but really, they used to be pumpkins!)

The only conclusion I could come to was that one of the dogs had eaten the pumpkins, even though they're both older and haven't stolen anything off the coffee table in years.

I made their replacements, plus a larger Christmas ornament last night. After all, it's only clay.

But I will be picking up after the dogs today, and will keep an eye out for anything unusual...