Category Archives: Animals

Community Living

Posted on by

Back home in Michigan now, my mind and heart are often still in Hawaii, where two of my children and one grandchild remain. My stay there, acting as a nanny for Emerald, was positive in every way – except one.

Although I lived in a lovely guest room by myself, after the first few days I discovered I was going to have to share my space after all, with some very unwelcome roommates… three gecko lizards.

geckoHawaiians love their geckos. “They eat mosquitoes and other pesky insects,” I was told, “so we’re always glad to see them. We never hurt them.”

But being from gecko-free Michigan, I felt differently. Though there are no snakes in Hawaii (good news for my phobia), a lizard’s tail comes pretty close, not to mention its beady eyes.

My three roommates were different colors, so I could tell who was who – tan, grey, and green. Occasionally I’d see them together, climbing up and down my room walls on their sticky toe-pads with who-knows-what intentions. Their chirping, which sounds much like their name, would often startle me with how close it was, and I’d freeze until I could see where they were.

Because my bed was in the corner, I worried I might wake to find all three lined up on my pillow watching me. It was a terrifying thought and sometimes kept me from sleeping. Lizard-related dreams were frequent. And I’d often hear them scampering around the perimeter of the ceiling, just behind the beams.

FullSizeRender (4)In the end, though, I had to admit that my gecko roomies probably wouldn’t harm me, and despite disliking them, I would have to co-exist with them for the duration.

Life continually asks us to co-exist with situations (or people) we don’t like. God often sets it up that way on purpose, expecting us to handle it with grace.

Why would he deliberately do such a thing? Because working to co-exist with something or someone we struggle to get along with is good for us, tugging us away from a natural me-first mind-set. It forces thoughts about another, though what those thoughts are is up to us. We can fight against acceptance or work toward it, our choice.

I had no trouble being irritated with the geckos, but the truth was, most of my objections were in my own head – fabricated by my dislike of them. It didn’t help the situation to think negatively, though, and could have worked in my favor had I tried to accept them as the Hawaiians do. None of what I worried about came to pass anyway.

But all is not lost. Back in Michigan now, God is giving me a fresh chance to learn the same lesson. Once again I’m hearing the scampering of little feet around my bedroom ceiling, and not just three sets of them. This time there’s a whole army — of squirrels.

Let us pursue what makes for peace. (Romans 14:19)

 

What about Jack?

Posted on by

Our good buddy Jackie-Boy has written his last blog. On January 5th his gentle heart stopped beating, and he fell to sleep. All of us began grieving the minute we made the appointment, but no one suggested we reverse the decision.

Snow dog, usedEarlier, Jack and I had shared a last walk, crunching our way around the neighborhood on icy snow, taking our time. For once I didn’t hurry him with, “C’mon, Jack. Let’s keep moving.” He stopped and sniffed to his heart’s content, though his heavy limp revealed a shoulder that was more painful than ever. But the frosty cold and 21 degrees was his dream weather.

Once at the vet’s office with Birgitta, Emerald, Louisa and her boyfriend Teddy, Mary, and me, he sniffed his way around, wagging happily and returning to each of us repeatedly for loving pats. Even after we moved to a private room, Jack continued to do well. The rest of us, though, deteriorated fast. It was hard to see the white blanket lying on the floor, though we were told he didn’t have to lie on it — his choice.

After that, our tears began to fall, and an invisible blanket of sadness wrapped around all of us. Dr. Mike, Jack’s vet, is exceptionally gentle and had been Jack’s friend for years. He’d given him an overall assessment several months ago and hinted back then that this day wasn’t too far off.

IMG_1422The scale indicated Jack had lost seven pounds, down to 72. None of us revealed, though, that just before coming to Dr. Mike’s he’d eaten two lamb shanks, a gift from his ever-thoughtful “Aunt” Mary. His tummy had never been happier — and there wouldn’t be time for an upset stomach.

Patiently Dr. Mike took us through the details of what was ahead and answered our questions. And then it was time… one injection to coax him to sleep and a second to stop his heart.

Jack, always a patient patient, didn’t even flinch as the first one was administered, but within a few short minutes his steps began to wobble like someone who’d had too much to drink. He walked over to the white blanket and plopped down right in the center of it, a wise choice. Kneeling in front of him, I petted, hugged, kissed, and loved my pal in every way I could, as the others did, too. Then, fully relaxed and feeling no pain, he slowly closed his pretty brown eyes.

“Take all the time you need,” Dr. Mike said. “I’ll come back when you’re ready.”

Wetting his fur with our tears, we loved on Jack and hung onto our last moments with him. But then it was time for the doctor to come back for the final step. Jack didn’t move when an IV line was inserted into his leg and the last drug put in. Though we’d been warned he might open his mouth, gasp for air, shudder, pant, or lose his bowels, none of that happened. He just slipped away without any movement at all – a good dog, even in death.

As for the rest of us, we couldn’t stop crying. Leaving the room while Jack remained on the white blanket was awful. Carrying his collar out without him in it hurt terribly. And as we arrived home to his footprints in the snow, my sobbing just wouldn’t stop. But that was only the beginning.

All the next day I stayed in my pajamas, something I haven’t done in 70 years. Unable to deal with dismantling Jack’s bed, washing his bowls, or putting his leash away, I just cried and cried. I’m fairly sure part of it was the history Jack and I shared with Nate. Six years ago when he died, Jack had moved in close with cuddly comfort. Though I still can’t explain it, my tears that day were somehow linked with fresh sadness about Nate, too.

The second day after was better, probably because it had to be. Birgitta, Emerald, and I boarded three consecutive flights on a 20-hour travel day that took us to Kona, Hawaii, and the University of the Nations there. [ Next post…. I promise.]

IMG_1427In the mean time, we’re thanking God for our dear pal Jack and the gentle way he left us. As we said goodbye to Dr. Mike that day, he hugged both Mary and I and said, “You’ve just given the kindest gift of all to your dog.” And though it still hurts, I know that’s the truth.

For everything there is a season… a time to be born, and a time to die. (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

When All the Choices Are Bad

Posted on by

Everyday life forces decisions on all of us, some of them lightweight, others very heavy. But what’s the best way to make a decision when every choice is bad?

Tired JackieOur canine friend Jack is nearing the end of his life, handing us a heavy question. What’s the most loving way to deal with him, now that he’s old and infirm? In other words, when is pet-euthanasia kind, and when is it not?

Though technically Jack belongs to Louisa and Birgitta, they grew up and left home, which is when he became “mine.” God’s timing was perfect in that, since it happened simultaneously with Nate’s going to heaven. But for Jack, that was half-a-lifetime ago, and much has changed for both of us since then.

As my pain has calmed, his has climbed, which is why the girls and I are sensing we’re coming up against this rough decision. And we’re having lots of trouble making it.

Is there ever a right time to schedule that last appointment with a vet? Or should we wait? But then, wait for what? for one more thing to go wrong? for Jack to stop eating? or go into hiding? or fall down the stairs (again) and do damage this time?

In one week Birgitta, Emerald, and I will be leaving home for an extended period of time, me for about a month, she much longer. [Next blog] Though we’ve worked diligently to find daily care for Jack, we’ve been unsuccessful. But even if we had succeeded, we know being alone at all is very difficult for him right now. He claws at doors and howls to get close to us, new signs of his decline.

Besides, what if he had a crisis with no one nearby to help him? Would it be fair to abandon him while he’s so needy? And even if we could find good care, would we wrongly be transferring our difficult decision to someone else?

Though I’m filled with joy as I share this week with our daughter and her family in Florida, my pal Jack back home (with Birgitta caring for him) is constantly on my mind.

IMG_0801Yesterday I called Jack’s vet to talk about end-of-life issues for him. If we decided on euthanasia, exactly how would it go for him? For us? Though she patiently answered my questions, she couldn’t help me with the timing problem. The pressure of our upcoming trip makes us think no decision should be made right now. But simultaneously that same trip is forcing one.

Yesterday someone suggested God might have lined up these exact circumstances for just that reason – knowing we’d be unable to make this decision for Jack any other way.

As the Creator (of Jack and us) often does, He sent wise counsel through others who have had to make this same “bad” decision. And each of their stories has helped lighten our heavy thoughts. Most have ended their comments with the same advice: “Don’t wait too long.”

Before I hung up with the vet, I made an appointment – Jack’s last. In my heart I know it’s the best of our bad choices, but it still felt pretty bad. The only thing that made it tolerable was knowing we do have an option to cancel….

The righteous care for the needs of their animals. Proverbs 2:10