On Fire...

I have come to realize- just recently, surprisingly enough- that I do NOT like reheated chicken. Leftover chicken is fine, if it can be eaten cold (read: Mom's BBQ Chicken Wings- holy cow, YUM!). But, despite having eaten reheated chicken on many occasions, I have realized that I do not like it, that the very thought really is unappetizing. Before, I'd eat it thus simply because I don't like to waste food or there really wasn't another option. No more. If I can't find a way to eat leftover chicken cold, I'll just toss it.

Now, I move from this completely unrelated topic onto the main topic of this post: The Hunger Games trilogy.

WARNING: Juli, you may not want to read this post as it may contain my opinion of the books that may, in turn, be interpreted by you as a "spoiler." You have been warned.

Wow! In a week, I have read all three books in this mind-blowing trilogy. I originally wanted to try to cram all three into my fall break weekend, but alas, that did not happen. Still, I was able to complete each book in about 2-3 days apiece. Holy cow! Just when you think the stakes can't go higher, they do.

For those unfamiliar with the books, they are written in the dystopian style- it presents a pretty bleak picture of the future to try and save us from allowing ourselves to become that way. What I love, though, is that even the bleakness is tinged with hope, with determination, with a will to make things right.

Even though I don't entirely agree with the paths the journey took (there are elements I would have like to have seen that I don't feel would have corrupted the integrity of the message), I feel satisfied with where we ended up. More importantly, I feel she stayed true to the journey behind the message, which is basically that, whatever the good intentions of war, and however necessary it sometimes is- even when it's for our own survival- it will always have high costs which will forever change, for better and for worse, the people involved, directly or indirectly. Like it or not, war will take us to places we never wanted to go and will impact our relationships with everyone around us, including ourselves.

Suzanne Collins does an amazing job taking us on what I feel to be a very realistic journey through those disturbing places and we are left with characters who feel real because of where they end up. Her storytelling skills are superbly compelling and truly, we are left with nothing wanting, except the rather unrealistic desire that we never have to deal with war.

These books are the kind of books that change us as readers. These books are the kind of books that stay with us. Despite the grim tone throughout (because characters are constantly battling for survival), these books have already become my friends.

Delightful Day!

Perfect weather. Perfect company. Perfect food. The only mishap was stupid construction on State Highway 38 which delayed Juli by quite a bit.

This is how I would describe my day yesterday. Since I'm still on my Cracker Barrel hiatus and Juli didn't have to work at the temple, we decided to get together for some fall fun!

Thanks to the aforementioned stupid construction, we didn't get to do quite as much as we had originally planned, but we had fun at the two places we did go. We spent the afternoon at the Russell Farms Pumpkin Patch, just north of Noblesville, IN (for those of you who are not up to snuff on your IN geography, Noblesville is about 25 miles north of downtown Indianapolis- look it up on a map if you're still confused!).

It's just a simple family farm that, over the last several years, has established several family-friendly activities to entertain folks of all ages. Juli and I enjoyed not one, but TWO corn mazes (one of which was considerably smaller for the benefit of littler kids, and if you found all three seed buckets hidden within the maze and picked a seed from each, you could get a prize! I got a Chinese finger trap :).

We also enjoyed a hayride to the pumpkin patch where we "picked" our own pumpkins for purchase. While, for the most part, the pumpkins looked as though they had been placed there just for this purpose (there was little evidence of the vines on which they had grown- most of the vines had died and were decomposing into the dirt), it was still fun to try to find the perfect pumpkin amidst the scattered spheres of orange.

After buying a pumpkin roll (like a jelly roll, but with pumpkin bread and filled with cream cheese), Juli and I headed to downtown Carmel, IN where we had dinner at this most charming French-style cafe/patisserie called La Mie Emilie.

The food was absolutely delicious, and we got such personal service! Seriously, our server was only too happy to offer us a sample of anything we thought we might want to try and was so friendly and helpful, it helped make our dining experience truly delightful!

It is days like these that help buffer me against the frustrations I frequently encounter during the week, so thank you, Juli, for such a wonderful afternoon!

(I just wish I had remembered to bring my own camera to provide more personalized photos of the day- alas!)

Perfect Scrambled Eggs

As a Cracker Barrel server on the side, I often get complaints that our scrambled eggs are often flat and/or just folded. These (annoying) complainers do not seem to understand that, by definition, scrambled eggs are simply eggs in which the whites and yolks have been beaten together before the cooking process. Thus, even if folded and/or flat, those eggs are still scrambled eggs, contrary to their negative opinions.

Now, yes, as a sit-down restaurant, we are supposed to cook food to order as much as we are able to. What they don't seem to realize is that, as business, we also have to keep all our guests happy, which means getting them their food in a timely manner, which means not everyone should have to wait for their food while our grill cooks take the time to pamper a set of scrambled eggs for one guest. It simply is not realistic, people! If you want the fluffy, soft, scrambled eggs you think you ordered, you're just gonna have to make them yourself at home!

That being said, here are a few tips I have learned over the years that, in my opinion, help make the perfect scrambled eggs:

1. Beat the eggs a LOT, as in beat them until they look a little (or a lot) frothy. A whisk will greatly aid you in this, but you can also get the job done with a fork.

2. Add a little milk. I do not know of any restaurants that do this, most likely for possible allergy reasons (and it probably makes the grill messier, which means they'd have to stop everything and clean it...) However, this is one of the key things to make the eggs fluffy, if fluffy is your desire (and for me, it is!) It is harder (though possible) to get fluffy eggs without it.

3. Do NOT add the eggs to an already hot pan. If they are cooking right away, especially if the pan is on a higher temperature, they will cook fast and, usually, hard. Keep the temperature a little below medium, and either add the eggs before turning the stove on or just as the pan is getting WARM. This slow-cooking method really does work better!

4. Add the salt WHILE the eggs are cooking. Most people know to add the cheese and whatever other ingredients to the eggs while they're cooking (after all, how else will all those things get into the eggs?), but they taste so much better when the salt also has a chance to cook through, instead of being sprinkled on top at the end. (Just the salt, though- if you add the pepper at this stage, the pepper flavor might become too intense due to the heat.)

Once the eggs are done cooking, put them on a plate, garnish/season as desired (I like a little freshly cracked peppercorn, especially the mixed-color variety!), and enjoy!

So, with these tips (and a little patience, another thing restaurant grill cooks don't usually have time for), you can also cook yourself the perfect scrambled eggs!

Slowing down

My life has been frantic since school started. I found out a week before the first day that I had an official assignment, that I would be back in my own classroom with all the good and ill that it implies... (If only I had known that there would be more ill than good...)

I have been stressed. It has not been a very good start to the school year. I'm doing middle school this year, teaching 8th grade reading. While we are technically a step above the alternative schools (schools to where we send students who are too problematic to function properly in the traditional school setting), they might as well just call us an alternative school for all the discipline issues we have to deal with daily. Classroom management has always been one of my weakest areas, and I definitely feel like I am floundering. So much so that in order to try and keep up with my professional obligations, I have been neglecting my personal needs. (No, that doesn't include hygiene- I still shower and brush my teeth and put on deodorant and wash my clothes and such... but my apartment is a chaotic mess, even more than usual.)

I realized I can't keep doing this and survive the year.

I need to slow down before I get an ulcer or an aneurism or a stroke or any other major medical condition.

I loved getting to hear all four sessions of General Conference. Through the words of those who spoke, I felt the inspired wisdom of the Lord reminding me of what is essential. I felt re-anchored in fundamental, eternal truths that had been fading away into background noise as the noise of my classes made demands on my time and effort.

Yes, I still have those professional obligations that cannot be ignored. But I cannot let them take over my spirituality. And I had been doing just that. No more.

So. As my favorite season comes in full swing, I will remember that my time is just that- MY time. To enjoy walks where I crunch my way through fallen leaves, to enjoy the brightness of an autumn blue sky, to curl up with a mug of sugar-free hot chocolate and a book for half an hour without feeling guilty, to get back to writing, to find serenity in the things that give my soul joy.

I will catch up on all the grading I need to do. I will catch up on all the planning I need to do. I will catch up on all the organizing I need to do. But I will do it at MY pace. I will not let the frustrations of the year get the better of me. I hope that as I find peace, I can better handle all the curveballs and wild pitches the students are throwing at me. But even if I do not find tranquility in the classroom, I will renew my efforts to find it in my soul.

Avaunt and Avast, me hearties!

Arrrrrrr and Huzzah! And a Happy Talk Like A Pirate Day t' ye all, too, ye scallawags! Now, go swab that poop deck!

This is Me

My second youngest sister has been evolving. She has been growing emotionally, spiritually, experientially (but not literally... I don't think...). She has been on a road of self-discovery, the same road we all travel at different points in our life, sometimes more than once, sometimes without any clue as to where we are going. But then, while the destination is ultimately important, equally important is the journey. After all, that is a large part of what self-discovery is all about, right?

As I have read through some of her musings, I've reflected on some of my own journeys of self-discovery, of figuring out the essence of what is me. I'd been meaning to do this post for a while, ever since having a related conversation with my two older sisters about the what makes up the core of our identity. What are the things- ideas, beliefs, feelings, passions, etc.- that define our soul? As I've struggled to deal with the stresses of a new, haphazard school year and trying to figure these eighth-graders out, Sarah's own exploration of self have inspired me to step back and recapture some of those thoughts I had back in February, reflections on what contributes to my own essence. This is far beyond simply being a list of things I love (the list would be much longer if such were the case). Simply put, "This Is Me."

Baking: Baking is just something I have to do. It satisfies that part of me that loves to create and to share. I love not just the pleasure of seeing/smelling/tasting a recipe well-executed, I love the pleasure it gives others as they partake of the spoils. Again, I think that if I could not bake, a part of me would wither with wistful regret.

Beauty: I like to surround myself with beauty. Lest you think me vain or terribly snobby in some way, I just mean that if something is beautiful- music, objects, nature, words, ideas- I like to connect it with my life somehow. I love beautiful things. Some may call my life cluttered- I have so many decorative objects I sometimes don't know what to do with them all- but contrary to what some may believe, I do not fill my life with such things because I am so materialistic. I have these things because their beauty brings pleasure to my spirit. That is not to say that I consider these beautiful objects to be of greater importance than less tangible valuables (e.g. my relationships with my family, friends, my testimony, etc.). But while I have them, my heart smiles with delight.

Twilight Blue: I have many colors that I like, depending on their context. But there is something about this deep, celestial blue- the color of the evening sky after the sun has set, before it deepens to blackness- that reaches further into my eternal awareness, satisfying some deep, divine need that can never fully be expressed in words.

Music: This may seem obvious since I come from such a musical family, but there are certain types of music that resonate with my soul on a deeper level. Secret Garden comes to mind in particular. I have often said that if my life (or any of my writings) were ever made into a movie, I would want them to do the soundtrack. So much of their music provokes images to create themselves in my mind. So many stories have been inspired by their melodic and harmonic art. I also think Kurt Bestor and Enya and Tchaikovsky would be at the top of the list. Specific pieces of music would be Chopin's Nocturne, Op. 72 No. 1, Mannheim Steamroller's Stille Nacht and Nepenthe, and Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overature, which never fails to stir my blood and invigorate the fire within.

Nature/The Country: For all the convenience and opportunity a city provides, it can never affect me the way the sound of crickets chirping can. I love the way the woods look like they're draped in mists of green as the leaves begin to burst out of their winter hibernations, the way a June field glitters like a galaxy of stars as the fireflies flit about in the early evening twilight, the way the flames of autumn leaves subside into more subtle embers of somber hues, the way a light snow etches out the complexities of the beautifully naked trees in their midwinter glory. I feel so much more keenly in the midst of God's creations than I ever truly do in the midst of mankind's.

Writing: Like Mr. Holland, sometimes I think that teaching is the temporary job while I try to get all the ideas I have for novels- epic and otherwise- out on paper in some publishable format. I still feel like I have some good ideas, if only I had the time (or capabilities) of turning them into the good stories I know they can be. I have realized, though, that whether or not I ever get published, I have to write. Like Emily in L.M. Montgomery's books, it is in my blood. I don't just write because I love it; I write because I have to. I write because it is one of the ways my soul connects with itself. I love to try the taste of words in different combinations, like so many savory spices, where just the right blend creates a delightful feast for the literary palate. And for me, it is not just the end result but the process as well. The medium by which I write often makes a difference, completely affecting my mood: a pen has a totally different feel than a pencil; a quill pen that requires dipping ink inspires in me all the romance of those ages gone by; a typewriter creates in me a different awareness of life than a computer ever truly could (though I am obviously not averse to the modern conveniences a computer provides). Whatever comes out, however it comes out, writing is such a part of me that I would suffocate if I could not write.

Books: For years, books have been the balm to heal just about every soul-wound I have ever felt. Whatever spiritual or emotional aches I felt, whatever griefs I passed through, books were what calmed my troubled heart. I almost never get rid of books because I rarely buy books that aren't already friends of mine. The books that I read and love become so quickly woven into the fabric of my existence. Once a book has affected me that way, I can never read it just once. While there are still plenty of people to whom I will turn when I need help with one thing or another, books are equally my advisors, counsellors, confidantes, and friends. "Isn't it odd how much fatter a book gets when you've read it several times?...As if something were left between the pages every time you read it. Feelings, thoughts, sounds, smells... and then, when you look at the book again many years later, you find yourself there, too...." (~Mo, from Inkspell, by Cornelia Funke)

Stars: Every time I look up at the stars- especially when a cold, winter night enhances their stark splendor and brilliance- my soul stirs with love and longing. My eternal essence connects with the same eternal essence that burns within these guardians of the infinite. Even more than when I am surrounded by the cathedral-like spires of oaks, maples, and evergreens, it is in moments like these that I truly feel the boundless love of our Heavenly Father; I feel my spirit commune with His as the eyes of heaven twinkle tenderly from the eternities above. Above all, I begin to feel the glorious weight and responsibility of my divine potential as the endless possibilities of existence open themselves to my mind's view. Perhaps that is in large part why I love almost any sun/moon/stars motif or decor, because they remind me of "God, who is our home."

And so, for good or for ill, for better or for worse, this IS who I am.


For now, I bid you adieu.
Good-night.

Butler

At Juli's request, since she does not have a blog of her own, I am posting an In Memoriam for Butler. Since she had been his caretaker over the last several years, I am deferring to her words so that she can say what she felt needed to be said:

REMEMBERING BUTLER (7/93-6/10)

I'm not sure what really possessed mom and dad to take on a puppy when there were already 7 of us running around a duplex, (and the youngest only 2 and a half). I know he was free, and offered by friends of ours, but really, it was a little crazy. His mother was a pure bred, but his litter was a surprise, so no telling what else he had in him. I don't really remember picking him out from the litter (maybe he was all that was left), but I'm pretty sure he was the runt of the litter, and he had the adorable black-and-white coloring that earned him his name (he looked a little like a "tuxedo cat", plus then when he made a mess, we could always say "(the) Butler did it..." That's the Lambson family sense of humor.

I also don't remember a lot of his puppyhood. I imagine he drove Frisky-the-cat a little nuts. And I know his penchant for taking on bigger dogs got him in serious trouble at least once with a neighborhood dog (I think he required stitches...)

I also know he was pretty much a one-family dog nearly from the get-go and that he especially did not get along with little kids. This led to his near banishment by Dad and my promise to take him as soon as I got to a place where I could have dogs. Little did any of us know Butler would be 10 years old (already a senior citizen) before I could make good on that promise. In the meantime, he did spend some time away from the main homestead in the keeping of Elise and Beckie, but mostly just hung in there at the Parker Street home while almost the first thing any visitor heard upon entering the house was "Don't touch the little black dog!" With family members, though, he could be a good snuggler.

I also remember that when I would come home from college, Butler would be my "study buddy", giving my hand something to do as I read assignments (and thereby helping me stay awake).

I remember making fun of his tongue, calling him a "snake" because he was nearly constantly sticking it out to lick his nose or something. He was a big time licker, though not necessarily of people. More like carpet, pillows, blankets, sleeves, pant legs, whatever he was lying on. Also, his own fur/skin, which could (and usually did) cause problems in the form of hotspots, till I started keeping him cut pretty short so I could keep an eye on his skin more easily and nip problems in the bud.

I remember that mom tried to save money by grooming him herself several times, and I remember he put up with it pretty well in general, but his hair just NEVER SEEMED TO END. It was way to big a job for one person (or at least for this one person) so when he came live with me, he got professionally groomed about every other month - I had them go pretty short so it would still be do-able in 8 weeks. He had a couple of really good groomers, even as he got older, blind-er and grumpier. I swear he always strutted when he came back from the groomer and *knew* he looked good (probably felt better, too). He kept the bandana/bowtie on for a good while, too.

Butler and I moved to Indiana on Labor Day weekend of 2003. I finally had a place that would take dogs and Mom and Dad finally got to let him go/get rid of him.

I remember my first apartment in Valpo was on a second floor, so that was kind of a pain. I also remember that we had a pond there, which means we had Canada geese - that Butler wanted to take on (cause they were bigger than him, naturally!). I remember that at first, I didn't let him on my bed - he had a towel to lay on in my bedroom. But as soon as I let him once onto the bed, that was the end of the towel - he was my bedhog buddy from that point on.

Valpo was also where we started to establish a lot of those routines that I've had to unravel over the past couple of weeks. Things like "Sunday dinner" (when he got canned/pouch food instead of the regular dry). And "afternoon snack" (a treat when I got home from work). And of course, "potty time". He didn't have his own bed (cause he shared mine) and he didn't have to share space with a cat yet. He did have to deal with "strangers" coming over for FHE and all three of them, I think, got bitten (but after I had warned them to leave him alone). He would sometimes "help" me in my "garden" (and by that, I mean, lay in the shade), mostly because he'd bark if I didn't have him where he could see me. Or maybe that was Cville... Oh well, that leads me to the next (and longest) stage of our time together.

We moved to Crawfordsville in October, 2005. I remember telling the helpers unloading the truck to ignore the barking box, but in general I don't remember him being a real big barker (except with the aforementioned gardening). He had a couple of weeks to settle in and then, Halloween evening, I came home to a little black kitten on my doorstep, looking at me like "where have you been and what took you so long..." I brought her in so that no one could hurt her (a black cat on Halloween has to be careful, don't you know) and after trying to find who may have lost her, finally resigned myself and let her stay. She liked to swat at Butler, but ran away pretty quick when he barked at her, so it never got more serious. I like to think it kept him lively.

Gradually, he got slower and slower. I started keeping a stiff cushion under my bed that I could pull out as a booster step for him to use to jump on the bed. My parents brought me a big ol' chair, though, and that he could get up on just fine - the "couch", too - so those became some of his favorite "beds". I'm pretty sure I didn't ever get a picture of Butler curled up on the seat while the cat perched on the back of that big ol' chair, but I wish I had.

Our walks were generally shorter - but maybe that was just me being more lazy. One advantage of his growing more blind and deaf is that he didn't tend to notice other dogs/geese/critters and so didn't challenge them (though not always - on one of our longer ones, he noticed I had stopped to chat with a horse and decided he needed to tell it who was the boss - good grief!).

Valentine's Day 2007 brought a blizzard to Crawfordsville (an honest to goodness blizzard - I felt a little like Little House on the Prairie, only thankful I didn't have to feed/milk any cows). NWS archive says Lafayette got 17 inches - I don't remember exactly how much Cville got, but it was probably in that neighborhood - in any case, it was well over Butler's head and it freaked him out a little - no lingering outside on those days! But by the time we had company in June, he was back to strutting his stuff.

Also, over time, Butler's "Bladder of steel" (he used to be able to hold it for 12 hours, or maybe a little more!) lost it's "steel" - his "hold it" window it just got shorter and shorter. I adjusted my schedule to shorten my window, but eventually he just couldn't make it a whole work day, and he refused to use a pad. Not just couldn't find it, not just missed it, he REFUSED. One day in my early attempts, I had placed him on a pad (held him there by the collar) and waited for him to go so I could praise and treat him extravagently, like they say you're supposed to do. Not only did he not go, as *soon* as I took my hand/eyes off him (I don't remember, but I'm guessing the cat was doing something) he was OFF that pad and peeing on the carpet. That's when I knew it wasn't just "doggy dementia" - he had a thing against the pads. So I started barricading him in the kitchen/utility area so at least he'd pee on tile instead of carpet.

Then there was the morning he didn't get off of the bed before his bladder let go, and that was the *last* morning he was in bed with me.

The first time that the question of "time to let him go" really came up was in March, 2009, when he experienced a more catastrophic loss of vision than he'd been experiencing with his cataracts. But the vet helped me when she said that “[I'd] know when it was time”, and I knew it wasn't time yet.

When I was looking for an apartment in Lafayette, Butler's needs were a significant consideration and one of the big appeals of the apartment I'm in now was how much tiled floor (versus carpet) was available and the easy setup to keep him off the carpet.

He had a little trouble adjusting to the new apartment (he'd been in Cville for a little over 3.5 years, after all) - some random barking at nothing, etc... but ultimately he settled in. A few accessories were added - a baby gate, a cushiony bed, diapers...

Over the past year or so, he'd been gradually losing weight (I don't think he liked his specialty kidney food much - kind of blah, I'd guess), so I went against my own policy of "no people food" to try to entice his appetite and build him up a bit (it only worked slightly) and lo and behold, the little guy had a sweet tooth (donuts, cupcakes, pie crust crispies... who knew!) and he loved raw carrots. Seriously! I could hardly believe it!

At times over the last several months, I did acknowledge that it was a little ridiculous - all the medications, the diapers, the cleanup when the diaper was off or it failed, the special food(s), the carrying him up and down the stairs...

But until that last few days, there was no question that he was still interested in life and hanging in there. He didn't eat enough to keep his weight up, but he was definitely interested in his treats. He would sometimes (when I allowed the time) just stand and sniff the air by the pond. Other times he investigated the ground pretty thoroughly (and seemed to head for the pond a few times). He still liked to snuggle on the big chair (I had to remember to bring him to it, though - something I wish I'd done a bit more of). And he still snapped at Soot when she took it in her head to tease him (it didn't happen often, but once in a great while). It just wasn't time yet.

And then it was.

The beginning of June saw me on a road trip with Mom & Dad, Elise, Beckie and Kirsti to see Sarah, and Butler and Soot in the care of Brittany, the pet-sitter who's watched over them whenever I've gone out of town since being in Lafayette.

I got back to Lafayette on Wed, 6/9/10 in the afternoon and when Brittany brought back the key, she commented that Butler has eaten very little. But he hasn't eaten very much for a long time, so it wasn't clear if it was the "normal" little bit, or even less than usual. He did seem to strain to have a bowel movement, even though they were still soft, and he seemed to stagger a bit. He just seemed a bit off. I snuggled with him while I caught up on "Glee" online and that was pretty much that for Wed...

Friday, I think he only ate the "pill pocket" that his Benedryl was in - not even the applesauce or a sweet (like his "cookies" or a cupcake). When I got home (early) from a visiting teaching attempt and took him outside, he started dry heaving. That was alarming. He dry heaved several times, and my plans to work on something productive while I watched TV online went out the window as I snuggled him on my lap instead. He dry heaved a few more times, and when he finally took a drink, he threw that up, too. Poor guy.

Saturday morning, I had an awful feeling in my gut and was literally scared to go out into the hall because I thought I might find Butler dead on the floor. Seriously, I actually prayed for strength to leave my room and deal with whatever I found. When I finally came out, he was *not* dead, but he was pretty lethargic and having trouble staying on his feet.

I couldn't get him interested in even the "no fail" treats, and I tried to smear a food supplement I'd just gotten at Pet Smart on his nose and he didn't even muster the interest/irritation to lick it off. Even though he was alive, I couldn't shake that feeling in my gut. I took some pictures of him and even a short video (yay for digital cameras), sort of to have evidence (for myself?) that he was still alive (especially the video, where I captured him moving his head from one side to another - that's all he was doing, but it was voluntary movement – it was something).

Originally, I thought I'd call his regular vet at 9 (that's when I thought they opened on Sat) to see if I could get him in or if I should take him to the Animal Emergency Clinic in Lafayette. But with that feeling in my gut, I was calling by 8. There *was* a real person there, and she gave me the Emergency Clinic number. I called them, they said go ahead and bring him in, I said I would as soon as I finished my breakfast. But I didn't finish it. I couldn't. I covered and put it in the fridge and loaded my little guy up in the car to find the clinic. A couple of false turns and we were there.

They were really nice. The Dr. ran a blood test while I waited - what I remember is that his liver enzymes and white blood cell count were both crazy. I left him there to get IV fluids and to be observed and headed to see a coupla First Steps kids that I'd scheduled as make up for missing them while on vacation. After the First Steps kids, I stopped in my apt office to check on renewing my lease, including the pet addendum. While I was talking to Robin, I got a call from the Emergency Clinic (it was an unknown number, and I was with Robin, so I sent it to voicemail).

When I checked the VM as I walked out to the car, it was the Dr asking me to call back. When I left Butler, she had said that "no news is good news" from their end and that she would only call if there was a new concern. So right away, my heart starts going again, as does my gut. I call back and she tells me Butler has had a seizure and isn't looking good. I ask what the options are, she says basically euthanasia or Purdue research hospital (they would be able to tell if it was a tumor or just liver failure). I tell her I'll get back to her and call home. Dad answers, I give him the scoop and he asks what my heart is telling me. The tears come. It's time to let him go. His regular vet told me I'd know when it was time, and I knew. But I couldn't bring myself to make the call (and I had to get to a PRN shift at Regency Place). I ask dad to spread the word and go to work.

I manage to maintain my composure in public, even as I tell Regina about it, and the shift (just a short one) goes fairly well. When I get back to my car, though, there’s voicemails and texts and phone calls from family members. So I'm a ball of tears again by the time I get - home, I think it was - that part's a bit of a blur. I know I called the vet on the way to Wal-Mart to give the OK to let him go (she reports he's had more seizures and vomiting and endorses the decision though she never likes to recommend euthanasia if there's another option). I also opt for private cremation (versus receiving the remains sans cremation or group-cremation-and-scattering), figuring it allows the most options to remain available, in case some of the family decides they want to do something in MO. At some point, more family calls. I also know I manage to keep my composure in Wal-Mart (even when a crazy thunderstorm traps me at the Subway for a bit), but again, a bit of a blur.

Since then, this week has been a week of small and less-small adjustments (from not saving baggies for picking up Butler doo, to taking the gate to Goodwill, to staying out till 10 pm on a Wed without a quick dash home to check on my little dog). I emailed several friends to let them know what had happened, and heard back from a few of them. I picked up Butler's ashes on Tues. I've eaten the donuts and cupcakes I had bought for him, as well as several of his carrots and finished off the applesauce. I've recycled the cottage cheese dishes that were serving as supplemental food/medicine dishes. And I turned the rice and beef I'd put in the fridge to thaw on Fri into a Mexican-ish cheesy-beefy-tomato casserole for my lunches.

He would have been 17 next month - a long time for any dog. We would have been "together" in IN for 7 years in September. It feels weird to look back as recently as 3 weeks ago to buying those cupcakes and getting food ready for while I would be gone and having no inkling that this was coming. It's the way such things always are, but it doesn't make it less weird when you're in the middle of it.

So anyway, that's how it happened.

And now he's gone. I wish I'd snuggled with him more. I wish I'd taken more pictures. I wish I'd been more patient sometimes. I wish I'd caught on to the diaper idea sooner. I wish the weather wasn't so extreme (the cold and heat both seemed to get to him).

I'm thankful I had almost 17 years with him (almost 7 with him as "my" dog). I'm thankful my friends put up with him. I'm thankful I snuggled with him that last night. I'm thankful that his leftovers will benefit some other dog/owner (I donated his meds to the vet and his other supplies - shampoo, diapers, etc. - to a "Home for Friendless Animals"). I'm thankful for the sympathy and support I've gotten from friends and family as I let him go. I'm thankful that I didn't have to see his seizures. I'm thankful that I didn't have to find his dead body on my floor. I'm thankful that I got some pictures on that last morning (and that Emily got some good pictures during that visit in 2007). And I'm thankful that he's no longer in pain (or blind, or deaf, or confused, or incontinent, or underweight...). I'm thankful for my crazy cat.

But I miss my little black snuggle buddy.