Man’s Best Friend, Etc.

Today’s ambitions have been waylaid by mutt gut. The last time Riley’s belly gave her this much trouble, she had eaten an entire loaf of rye bread. The vet ran a bunch of tests on her a few months ago and was unable to give a diagnosis, although Cushing’s disease was suspected. The next step was an ultrasound…then Minnie got sick, and before we knew it, we’d spent more money on a handful of vet visits than I earn in a month. Riley’s health is failing, but she’s 13 years old. We can throw all the money in the world at the vet, but there’s no cure for old age. She’s eating and her spirits seem good so we’re monitoring the situation. Bob thinks it’s her bowels…that’s TMI, isn’t it? No one needs to hear about a geriatric dog’s bowels. She also has a habit of gastric indiscretion, so maybe I am wrong and she’s not dying at all, the tough old piece o’ meat…

In any case: Riley’s my friend, my loyal and protective friend for the past seven years. It’s not fair to leave her sick and scared to be alone. She’s always had separation anxiety and today the stress might be enough to do her in. Playground and errands be damned! An oil change can wait another day but Riley’s are numbered and I’m running a hound hospice.

So Riley, Silas, and mommy had a backyard picnic instead, complete with Mozart and Goldfish crackers. Our backyard is actually a bit of a toddler Club Med. There’s a sandbox and a swing and lotsa sticks. Who needs battery-powered plastic gadgets when there are sticks to brandish about?

(Not that Silas doesn’t own his share of plastic crap. It’s unavoidable with grandparents like his. I don’t replace the batteries on most of his toys when they die. Let us not speak of the stuffed dog that so unnerved me with its unpredictable, maniacal giggle. I’d be walking down the stairs, and…it was watching, I swear.  That laugh taunted me from the bottom of the garbage can where I was forced to relocate it. I’m sure it’s still cackling away, somewhere in the Johnston Landfill. We’re talking Chucky-caliber scary.)

Riley is on the mend. Someday soon, my dog is going to die. But not today. Probably.

This is the kind of day I am grateful for a well-stocked pantry.

“My Dog is Dying and I Can’t Leave the House to Go Food Shopping” Dinner a la Corrie:

Chop and saute a peaked looking zucchini and the remnants of a bulb of garlic in olive oil. Add jarred red peppers, canned black beans, and shredded leftover chicken breast. Heat until warm. Roll the mixture up in a tortilla and top with cheese and avocado slices. Serve with a side of barley. Or maybe grits. Garnish with a gentle belly rub.

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A Dog’s Life

My dog is dying. The vet said she might have a few weeks left, but I think it is a matter of days. This is the part of sharing your life with pets that everyone dreads.

Minnie was called Tina and was the companion of an elderly woman in Cranston before she came to live with us not quite three years ago. When her elderly friend’s  dementia progressed to to point that she needed to move into a nursing home, Tina/Minnie ended up at the municipal pound. Her owner’s only family was a nephew in Texas and was either unwilling/unable take her in. Pat from the pound said she was going to call the woman to tell her Tina had been adopted, but she wasn’t sure the woman would be able to understand. I have often thought about how Minnie was probably this woman’s only friend, and it was obvious by Minnie’s behavior that she was coddled and spoiled during their time together. I imagine she was lonely. Who doesn’t fear facing old age alone, of losing control of their mental and physical faculties? The companionship of an animal can be a powerful thing at any time of life, but I imagine it is a particular comfort in old age for many people. I hope in caring for Minnie we have honored that elderly woman.

Beagles are dogs that love their pack. We have shared adventures great and small. She came to Ocean City, Maryland with us and touched noses with a wild pony on Assateague Island. It was the off season and Ocean City was deserted, but the weather was uncharacteristically warm and the beaches belonged to us. We took sunny walks along the boardwalk and made friends. Unlike cranky old Riley, Minnie has always excelled at making friends. She is a jolly little creature. One thing we were unable to do on that vacation was leave the dogs alone – Minnie would make her displeasure known with a bay that reverberated through the hotel. The hounds would ride with us to the supermarket or restaurant and wait in the car while one of us would run inside to procure meals. They even came to the indoor hot tub – we tied them to the railing, right next to the bottle of whiskey and glasses we had also brought along. Minnie’s voice echoing off the walls was a glorious thing.

She was there when I brought my baby home. We hope our boy will be a gentle soul who is a friend to dogs, and his delight in Minnie has been a pleasure for two proud parents to behold.

She has been a good friend to us, and we to her. A old dog’s death is a small thing to the world, of course, but it is a sad thing for us to say goodbye nonetheless.

It’s cancer, in her chest. She is having a difficult time breathing and eating is a challenge. She’s on antibiotics and cough medicine, and is sleeping on the couch wrapped in a Red Sox blanket. There is a pound of roast beef for her in the fridge when she is ready to eat a little.

We knew she was sick, but we didn’t realize how sick. I feel guilty for not taking her to the vet sooner. It’s almost as if she took a turn for the worse when the diagnosis was delivered. It wouldn’t have made a difference, as far as the terminal cancer diagnosis goes – but maybe we could have made her more comfortable? She doesn’t seem like she’s in pain, although she doesn’t seem like a well dog, either. Yesterday, though, she still enjoyed sticking her nose out the car window and sniffing the bushes outside the vet’s office. There is still some enjoyment of life. We are going to do everything we can to make things as happy and comfortable for her until she dies naturally or we decide there is no quality of life. We should all be so lucky to have such a death, I know. But this is hard.

I am so sorry for all the times I was impatient with her. Beagles are not always an easy breed to live with and she could get on my last nerve. Not Bob, never never Bob. He treasured Minnie, to the point that I would roll my eyes at the silliness of it all. But now he has nothing to regret, and I do. She never held any of my shortcomings and failures of patience against me. I was the giver of dog massages, after all.

It is my fault for repeatedly adopting geriatric dogs from the pound. I can’t help it – I look into their eyes and I know what we can be to each other. They are hard to find homes for through no fault of their own. My own stupid fault and I will probably do it all over again. There’s just something about old dogs that tugs at my heart.

” He is your friend, your partner,
your defender, your dog.
You are his life, his love, his leader. He will
be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat
of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of
such devotion.”

Unknown

“Dogs are our link to paradise. They don’t know
evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog
on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back
in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring–
it was peace.”

Milan Kundera

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Gimme a T, Gimme a V, Gimme a P

First, the answer to the timeless question: will a useless mutt eat dry tvp?

Oh, yes.

I had no idea tvp (that’s textured vegetable protein if’n you didn’t know) was both controversial and commonly used in more foods than you might think. I just saw it at the market and thought it might mimic the texture of ground meat enough to scratch the itch I sometimes get for meaty goodness. I thought it was one of those meat substitutes that all the cool vegetarian kids were eating, like tempeh and tofu. I don’t have a touch for either tempeh or tofu, so tvp was next on my list.

But then Michael Pollan didn’t have anything good to say about it in Food Rules (“avoid foods created in a lab”), and Google University revealed that the US government is a the largest purchaser of tvp. It is used as an extender for “meat” served in schools. It is also used in many processed foods…so even if you aren’t a vegetarian, you have certainly consumed tvp. The Savvy Vegetarian looks into tvp closer than I intend to and concluded that the health benefits are dubious.

I dunno…it’s got to be better than this:

I think my mother plotted to feed this to Silas when we went to Boston last week. It was discovered in my cupboard and is not something I would ever purchase.  I regularly ate this kind of stuff as a kid. Sure, it tastes good…but the sodium. My god man, the sodium! Two tablespoons have almost 30% of your daily allowance. My mother is suspicious of food that doesn’t come in boxes.

Now I sound all judgemental when I only wanted to talk about the awesome dumplings I made using tvp:

No recipe, I just added boiling vegetable broth to dry tvp (if I can find it in my unenlightened hometown, you can find it in yours). Then I sauteed cole slaw mix (find in with the bagged lettuce), chopped garlic and zucchini in olive oil with a splash of sesame oil and soy sauce. Sriracha is never a bad touch. Press into dumpling wrappers, steam, and voila! A vegetarian dumpling of questionable nutritional value. Tasty!

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You could eat off my floors but I wouldn’t

In the interest of sanity and a heartfelt dedication to not abandoning my child in front of the television for the duration of his early childhood, I have decided to lower my housekeeping standards. This is not saying much, as I have never been known for my spic and span tendencies. While I stave off squalor in the kitchen and bathroom, clutter always finds me. No matter how hard I try to keep the house clean, most people’s homes seem to always be tidier than mine. I aim for shabby chic, but only ever seem to manage the shabby.

I’m unashamed, mostly. It’s not that I don’t admire other people’s homes, it’s that if anyone judges me – truly judges me – by the cleanliness/fanciness of my home, then they are not someone I care to know.

But then, who would not feel ashamed of this: Old age and the addition of a pup to the pack has not been easy for Riley. If she’s not peeing punitively to register her opinion of our services to her, then she’s genuinely incontinent – at least some of the time. Bob thinks she has dementia and forgets to stop drinking water, causing her to pee copious amounts. We keep old towels and rags around to soak her “accidents” up. Here she is, resting comfortably on a comfy pile of garments soaked in her fresh urine. Dogs are so weird.

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