daily dose of dogs (aka cats with your coffee)

Meet Oliver and Thomas

One night, after a long day of medications and force feeding and wondering who would live or die that day, I made my way upstairs to get ready for bed.  Jazzy was the last sick one I would take care of before trying to get some sleep.  She was living in the upstairs bathroom.  I walked in, wiped her eyes and nose, and sat down on the floor beside her.  I put out some food and planned to watch to make sure she ate.  With her face down toward the food bowl, I heard a bright, loud meow.  Jazzy has a mostly silent meow.  Her mouth opens, but really nothing audible comes out.  I sat there looking down at Jazzy.  I said her name.  She looked up at me and there was that silent meow.  As she closed her mouth, I heard it again.  A nice strong kitten meow.  She was looking right at me.  Her mouth had not opened.  I sat there with sort of a semi-shock stare and thought to myself - Well, you’ve done it now.  The stress got you, and you’ve gone completely crazy.  Jazzy did not just meow even though you’re sure you heard it.  Auditory hallucinations.  I wonder how long before the voices start. . . .

And then again.  A longer, louder meow now.  I jumped up.  There had to be another kitten in this bathroom.  But where?  I started looking around.  I was sure I was going completely mad.  Again.  I tried to follow the sound.  It was coming from the bathtub.  There had been a large crate in the tub that Jazzy had come to us in.  I realized that crate was gone, and a slightly bigger one took its place.  I looked inside.  And there was the tiniest little gray tabby I’ve ever seen.  And he meowed right at me.  I smiled as tears filled my eyes.  I wasn’t crazy.  There really was a kitten meowing in that room.  The crate was big and there was a very small kitty litter box inside along with a soft towel, and a water bowl.   But what was it doing here? 

I stepped out into the hall and tapped on Younger Daughter’s bedroom door.  (Older Daughter was gone for the evening.)  I asked Younger Daughter if she knew there was an extra kitten in the tub.  She said yes, but that it had surprised the daylights out of her.  She said she was in the bathroom talking to Jazzy, and all of a sudden, Jazzy started talking back.  Only Jazzy’s mouth wasn’t moving.  I started laughing and told Younger Daughter the exact same thing had just happened to me.  We figured out that Older Daughter must have delivered this tiny one to the bathroom between work and her evening plans.  We would discover what he was doing here when she got in.

Older Daughter got home and listened to our stories.  There were now three stories - all the same.  The girls’ dad had the same experience.  He was in the bathroom seeing Jazzy with his eyes, but hearing somebody else with his ears.  Older Daughter explained that when she got into work that day, this little guy was in a quarantine cage all alone.  She named him Oliver.  He was a bottle baby.  But he was past needing to be fed all throughout the night.  He had no idea how to eat solid food yet.  He had been returned to the shelter from the foster home where he and his siblings were being bottle fed.  Oliver was sick, and the foster mom didn’t have a way to isolate him from the others.  When he came back to the shelter, he had not yet learned to eat on his own, and he had two different medications that needed to be given several times a day.  Older Daughter knew he would never make it there.

Older Daughter brought him home, and set him up in the upstairs bathtub, and in her haste to get things done and get to her evening plans, she had forgotten to tell any of us about him.  We went to bed, and Older Daughter bottle fed Oliver before turning in herself.  We didn’t find out until the next day that there was something a little “different” about Oliver.  Older Daughter said - Last night, when I bottle fed Oliver, he did something weird with his ears.  I can’t really explain it except to say that they move back and forth as he nurses.  It looks like he’s trying to get them flapping so he can lift up and fly off.  You’re really going to have to see it to believe it.

Well, see it we did.  It was exactly as Older Daughter had described.  As soon as Oliver latched onto the bottle, his ears started flapping wildly back and forth, just like he was trying for a lift-off.   We took turns watching this phenomenon, but it was nearly impossible not to laugh out loud (which would startle Oliver while he was trying to nurse).  A little tiny Dumbo, trying to fly away via his ears as he drifted into the pure delight of nursing.  Oliver came at a time when we had sick and dying animals everywhere.  He, too, was sick, and therefore a worry.  But he also brought SUCH a smile. 

We set Oliver up in a cage in the downstairs bathroom.  So now we had kittens in the kennel office, kittens in the kennel storage room, Jazzy in the upstairs bathroom, and Oliver in the downstairs bathroom.  We didn’t know for sure what Oliver’s illness was.  But we knew Jazzy had both Rhinotracheitis AND Calici.  We didn’t dare put Jazzy and Oliver together.  At that time, Jazzy was too sick to care.  But Oliver was desperate for our attention.  He was living all alone in the bathroom (rarely in his cage) and it was a big, old empty room for such a tiny-tiny.

  
Learning to eat.


A favorite place to sleep, in Husband's houseshoes.

And then Thomas came into the shelter.  A single kitten, with nearly the exact symptoms that Oliver had.  He was in a quarantine cage, alone.  Older Daughter tried him on softened kitten chow (which by now we had weaned Oliver to), and he was able to handle it well.  So Thomas came home to join Oliver in our downstairs bathroom.  They are perfect for each other.  About the same size.  Two tiny boys.  Another two peas in a pod.  

                                                                                Meet Thomas.

                                                                                        Buddies.

Have a great weekend!

Jenny

If you read the amazing story of how Jasper and Soapy made their way across this country to their home with Lana in California, you probably didn’t notice one little line in that story - the teaser that something neat had happened here at our place on that same day.  I mentioned a planned mission (not having to do with Jasper and Soapy) and I also said we unloaded what Husband came home with before heading off with the California-bound kitties.  That is the story for today.

When the details of our plan came together, these were the things that had been accomplished.  Word had been put out.  A response came in.  Procedure and fee were discussed.  A date and time were set.  A travel trailer was borrowed.  Excitement was building.

We had said goodbye to our horse, Queenie.  Radio was now all alone.  He had broken all of our hearts by first lying, and later standing, on Queenie’s grave.  That boy needed a friend.  Radio has never grown up (in his mind) and he has, without a doubt, been the baby in our pasture.  Red The Pony was an old man when he arrived here.  Charlie The Llama was like a sibling to Radio.  They romped and played together.  Queen was Radio’s surrogate mom.  However, Radio would accept any of the four of us as mom, too.  He wasn’t picky.  But just because he loves his people so very much didn’t negate the fact that he is a HERD animal.  He needs another member of his own kind. 

We started discussing what to do about Radio the day after we lost Queen.  We all decided that the greatest thing we could do would be to get a “rescue donkey”.  We knew such animals existed, but we wondered if we could actually find one close enough to us that getting her here would be a real possibility.  Obviously, we couldn’t travel days to somewhere out west to pick up a donkey.  We needed something a little closer.

We got word from the Director of the shelter where Older Daughter works that she had located a rescue donkey.  There were texts and phone calls back and forth between Director and Older Daughter.  We were told what we would need to do to adopt this girl donkey, and what the fee would be.  It was all do-able.  We were very excited that we would soon have a friend for Radio AND that we were offering a home to a donkey who really needed us.  We had no idea when we were busy making our plans just HOW badly this donkey needed us.

I remember the first text Older Daughter got when our rescue donkey had been located.  The shelter Director had texted this - I think I found you a rescue jenny.  Older Daughter read the text out loud.  We all got cracked up because until that moment we did NOT know that female donkeys were called jennies.  Of course, now we couldn’t stop calling this potential family member - “Jenny”.   We started saying that if we ended up with this one, we would surely HAVE to name her that.  Unfortunately, it would be like naming your new dog - “Dog”, but for this family, it was settled.  We had a name before we had a donkey.

The Director told Older Daughter that she didn’t have much information about this donkey - only that it was female (we had requested a female so that Radio wouldn’t feel threatened) and that she was about a year old.  She sounded perfect.  Everything was set up for Husband to pick her up on that Friday.  He got directions and borrowed a small horse trailer from a friend.  Half an hour in one direction for the trailer, then over an hour and a half the other direction to our donkey.

Those plans were set.  Then Jeanne (Random Felines) performed her miracle and suddenly we were planning the transport of Jasper and Soapy for that same Friday.  It looked like Husband wouldn’t be home in time that evening to go with me on the transport.  But he slid in at the last moment, and we unloaded our Jenny.  I could hardly wait to see her.  Husband backed the trailer into the pasture, and opened the back.  He said she was shy, and they had to force her into the trailer.  Now she wasn’t coming out on her own.  Lots of coaxing and a great big tug from my husband, and Jenny was out of the trailer.  She went down in that pasture, directly onto her side, and laid flat in that field.  And she didn’t move.  I thought she had died on the spot from fright.  She didn’t move until she saw what we saw out of the corners of our eyes.  Here came Radio.  What in the world was going on in his pasture?  He came trotting straight at us, and then slammed to a stop just as Jenny lifted her head and pointed those big donkey ears straight at him.

I’m not absolutely sure, and I didn’t witness the dance myself, but I think it was love at first sight.  We had to get on the road with Soapy and Jasper pretty quickly after unloading Miss Jenny.  I was in touch with my girls by cell phone, and it was Younger Daughter who got home first.  She went straight to the pasture and stayed with the donkeys until her sister got home and they had to start feedings and medications.  Younger Daughter called us and explained what had been going on.  Radio had gone into complete and total “flirt” mode.  He galloped around.  He ran, then stopped, looking directly at Jenny.  He would come close and then shoot away.  Jenny watched all of this while eating and eating and eating.  Finally, Radio dropped to the ground and took a gigantic dust bath.  Almost as soon as he finished, Jenny dropped and took her own dust bath.  That got Radio so excited that he ran right up to Jenny, dropped to the ground beside her, and took a second dust bath, all the while watching to make sure Jenny was watching him.  Younger Daughter said it was entertaining beyond description.  Jenny has been following Radio everywhere ever since.

It was wonderful to get Jenny.  We fell in love with her immediately.  Of course, it has been even more wonderful to see what a pair Radio and Jenny have become.  But there is another reason that it is so wonderful that Jenny is with us.  She needed us.  She was so thin when she arrived in our pasture that she was nothing more than a walking skeleton.  The only donkey we’ve ever known is Radio.  He came to us from a farm where he had nursed from his mother and was then turned onto healthy pasture.  We don’t know Jenny’s past, but her coat was terrible, her skin dry and crusty, and she was scary skinny.  Now she is getting brushed and groomed.  She is on healthy pasture and gets grain every morning.  She already comes to the pasture’s edge when any of us walk over.  And she’s not just following Radio anymore.  She really wants to be close to us.  We pet her and make over her just like we do Radio, and she has decided she quite likes the attention.  A Radio and a Jenny - two peas in a pod. 

Radio.

                        This picture shows Jenny's terrible body condition when she came to us.

                                                              Sweet Jenny, now home.

Waggles Update

Today, I will fill in the details of Waggles’ second cancer treatment.  I already wrote about her first treatment.  It was considered a “success” by Dr. K.  She had not really known for sure what the results would be.  After that treatment, she said a second treatment was warranted.  The plan was for her to put Waggles under general anesthesia again and pack the cancer-killing drug into the sinus cavity via the hole that now exists in the bone.  She called just after the procedure.  She told me that after Waggles went under, she found another problem.  She discovered that the tumor had bulged into the roof of Waggles’ mouth, pushing against the soft palate.   It wouldn’t have been long before the tumor would block the airway and Waggles’ ability to eat.  She said that at first, she saw this as a complication.  But then she realized this was another place to access the cancer.  So she actually injected the drug into the tumor through the roof of Waggles’ mouth.   In other words - Dr. K said -  I had two avenues from which to access the tumor. 

When I got there that afternoon to pick Waggles up, the receptionist said Dr. K wanted to talk to me.  I got a little nervous.  We had already spoken over the phone.  She came in and told me that what I would see over the next 48 hours was going to be hard to take.  She said there would be bleeding from the opening in Waggles’ face and probably from the nostrils and maybe even from the mouth.  She said I shouldn’t worry about this bleeding unless it became more of a flow than a drip.  Chrystal - she said - this is going to get nasty.  If you thought that first treatment produced a scary result, I can tell you this one is going to be even scarier.  But if we can get her through the first 48 hours again, and if the drug does its job again, we will have killed out a large portion of this tumor.  Of course, the bottom line - we don’t know how extensive the cancer is.  I’ll say it again - if the treatment doesn’t kill her, we may have bought her some time.  With any luck at all, we may have bought her quite a bit of time.  With no treatment at all, her time is ticking away quickly. 

I walked Waggles out to my vehicle and lifted her onto the sheet-covered back seat.  She curled up and tried to lay her head down, but that E-collar prevented her from getting comfortable.  I took it off.  She was too groggy to start rubbing her face on anything, and I wanted her to be able to recline completely.  The forty-five minute drive home was long.  I tried to avoid bumps and to take curves slowly.  I looked back at her over and over.  Wow, she SO didn’t deserve this.  I hoped she would bounce back quickly and that we had done enough damage to the tumor to give her a shot at some time - QUALITY time.

No way was I prepared for what was to come that night.  The girls and I were back and forth to the basement all evening.  There was ALOT of blood.  No, it never was a “flow”, but the dripping was sometimes fast.  I vacillated between assuring myself that this is what Dr. K said would happen and worrying that this was TOO MUCH blood.  At 11pm, I told the girls to go to bed.  I would stay with Waggles a while longer.  We had been wiping the bloody discharge that slimed down the side of her face.  We had dabbed her nose.  We had cleaned up so many pools of blood from that basement floor that we could have re-stocked another dog with a full body supply.  Those hours between 11pm and 5am Saturday morning are forever burned into my psyche.  Waggles would sit with her head hanging down and the blood would drip from her nostrils and off the end of her tongue.  She was rattling as she breathed and sometimes she would almost panic because she must have felt like she was drowning.  I would lie down and pat the floor beside me, trying to encourage her to lie down.  She would come to me and try to get comfortable, but the dripping blood did not cease.  She was exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep.  Sometimes, as she sat with her head hanging down, her eyes would close.  The blood would collect in her throat and her eyes would fly open.  She would make a circle and come back to me.  Twice she laid over on her side, and with my hand on her back, I would start to drift off.  Then the silence would jar me awake.  There was no rattled breathing.  I grabbed her fur and squeezed.  Was she breathing?  She jerked up both times and struggled to suck in a breath.  I still don’t know if she was slipping away or if she was just so exhausted that she couldn’t wake herself up to breathe.

I stayed in the basement all night.  I wanted to go upstairs and get on a couch for just half an hour, but I was afraid as soon as I left her, she might slip away.  As I sat beside her all night long, watching her struggle, I knew I had made a mistake.  I shouldn’t have decided to try the treatment.  Nothing was worth her suffering like this.  I tried to remind myself of what Dr. K had said.  If you can get through the next 48 hours, we might have bought her some time.  I thought through all of the things Waggles had been through in her life.  She was one of a litter of puppies born to a stray we had taken in.  The shelter (where Older Daughter works now) had agreed to take the puppies when they were weaned.  The litter got sick while at the shelter, and two died.  The others were “chosen”.  Waggles was the only one who didn’t get adopted.  She was going to grow up at the shelter.  We ended up bringing her back to our place when we built our little shelter area here.  We would try to find her a home ourselves.  But no one ever chose Waggles.  She fought and beat Demodectic mange.  Then one day she collapsed from Hemorrhagic Gastrointestinal Disorder (an immune-compromised condition) and got as close to death as an animal can get without going all the way.  We vowed then and there that if she survived, she would no longer live in our shelter area.  We wouldn’t hope that someone would adopt her.  She would become one of our family.  She shouldn’t have, but she lived.  And as promised, she became our dog.  She has been bitten by a snake, and she has been shot.  She had the worst nose bleed any of us has ever seen, and the vet said she could have bled to death that very night.  She saved Older Daughter from the biggest copperhead snake my husband had ever seen.  For years, she has gotten between the girls and their various boyfriends.  She has broken up every tussle the other dogs have gotten into for fear that this is something we wouldn’t like.  She lived to please us.  And she NEVER complained.  I sat with Waggles in the middle of the night, and I told her what an amazing member of this family she had been.  I told her how sorry I was that she was going through this.  I promised her that I had opted to treat her cancer believing that I was doing the right thing.  All she had ever wanted was to be with us, to protect us, to be near us.  I wondered what we would do without her.  I wondered what she would do without us.

Morning did finally come.  Waggles was still alive.  It seemed like the dripping had slowed some.  I dragged myself up the stairs about 5:00 that morning.  I would get a cup of coffee, put a short post up on the blog, and make sure Older Daughter got up at 6am to start getting ready for work.  My body hurt from spending the night on the concrete basement floor.  I still felt that having put Waggles through this had been a mistake.  The only thing that would redeem the decision would be an extended lifespan for Waggles.  And not just time, but the quality time Dr. K was hoping for.  We couldn’t look into our crystal ball and discover the outcome.  On Saturday morning, I hoped for no more than some relief  for Waggles.  She needed to rest.  She needed a break from the bleeding.

By Saturday afternoon, Waggles was getting that break.  The bleeding from her nostrils and mouth had ended.  The hole on her face was still seeping, but was much improved.  Waggles slept alot on Saturday and Sunday and she started to eat again.  Monday morning, she walked out of the basement into the morning sun and plopped down in the grass.  She even did some rolling.  The last two days, she has had alot of trouble breathing through her nose, but she has started to act like she feels good. 

Waggles will stay on the oral cancer drug as long as she continues to tolerate it well.  We will take this one day at a time.  I have visions of Waggles on autumn walks with us.  I picture her face all healed and her breathing easy.  I see her trotting ahead of us, always on a mission, always leader of the pack.  If that is not to be, then I will hope for as little suffering as possible.  I will hope to know when it is time.  I will assist Waggles on to her next journey if I need to.  In the meantime, I will treasure every day with her, and know that she treasures every day with us.   

                                                       Here she is - about nine years ago.

Tuesday - No Internet

Our internet server stopped working last night.  No internet, no email from 10:30pm last night.  Still don't have email, but I've been checking all day for internet.  It's now 2pm and we have our service back.  I hated not being able to post today because I was afraid some of you would check in on Waggles and would think something bad had happened.  I will post tomorrow (assuming internet service) and get back on track.  (I have a couple of introductions to make before the week is out.)

Waggles' Weekend

Just wanted to post a line or two for anyone who might be checking in on Waggles.  She made the weekend.    Friday night was really bad, but on Saturday there were some signs of improvement.  Yesterday (Sunday) she had come around ALOT.  This morning, I let her out and she puttered around in the backyard and even rolled in the grass.  She has had a good meal and her medication, and is resting in the basement. 

This week I'll tell the story of her second cancer treatment and what Dr. K found during that treatment.  That first night (Friday night),  I was convinced that I'd made a mistake to try it.  What she went through was SO bad that all I could do was wish I hadn't made the decision that I had made.  Dr. K had warned me that this was going to be ugly.  The only thing that will make putting her through this worth it is if this buys her some quality time.  We aren't going to know that for a while. 

She has spent a big part of the weekend sleeping.  But every time she's been awake, she's wagged that tail and squinted those beautiful eyes.  She loves it that we sit beside her and talk to her and pet her and make over her. 

It's hard to want to write about anything else in our world right now.  Waggles has been such an intricate part of this family for so long.  She had a sad start in life (being the only pup in the litter who was never "chosen" for adoption).  When we brought her back from the shelter, she certainly had a family of her own, but she has never had a trauma-free life.  She has given so much.  Dr. K says that if we can do enough damage to the tumor, we can buy her some time - time to lie on the deck in the sunshine, to take walks with us through the fields and woods, and to be showered with the love and adoration she has more than earned over all these years.

I'll tell more about Waggles this week.  I'll try not to overdo it.  I still have a happy-happy story to tell (that had been planned for last Saturday).  Thanks for stopping by.

Have a good Monday.

No Post Today

I had a great story I was hoping to tell today.  But I haven't been to sleep all night.  Waggles had her second cancer treatment yesterday and she had a really bad night.  I sat next to her on the basement floor and tried to make her comfortable.  We were all afraid it might be her last night.  It's 5am and she's still with us.  We'll see what the weekend brings.  Hopefully, next week I'll tell the story I wanted to tell today.

Have a good weekend.

 

Jasper and Soapy

We had two of the “chosen ones” into their home.  My friend Mere Lyn delivered Max and Dearest to Goldie.  This was right in the middle of a tough time here.  As I was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel, I started thinking (hard) about how we could get the other two “chosen ones” (Jasper and Soapy) to Lana in California.  But even with things making a turn for the better here (and my clarity of mind improving), Lana and I were having no luck coming up with a plan. 

Enter Jeanne.

Do you happen to remember a time not too long ago when I received a package in the mail that included lotion, chocolate and coffee for moi?  That package also included treats and a toy for Daphne.  What a gift.  That gift came from Jeanne over at Random Felines.  Last Friday, one week ago today, Jeanne gave me another gift.  Except that you almost can’t even classify this in the category of “gift”.  It was way more like a miracle.

Jeanne will be telling her side of this story on her blog - Random Felines, so I won’t try to get into her head and report what was going on when she decided to MAKE this happen.   She says she felt like she just HAD to do something.  While she was scheming and brainstorming, I got this email from her on July 12:

    If you are OK with it, I would like to send an email to friends here and see if anyone is flying to California and would be willing to take the kittens. I know enough people locally that someone has to be headed in that direction. I won't make any promises, but I feel like there has to be something.

Then on July 13, I received this:

  Hold on to your hat - I may have a plan. :)

I was afraid to let myself hope, but I couldn’t help it.  I also could not imagine why someone who was already up to her eyeballs in cats, kittens, and adoptions would work this hard to get a cat from ME to a new mom in CA.

On July 14, I checked messages late at night.   Jeanne’s email read:

 OK - nothing like the last minute. I have a friend (Cathy) who is flying Southwest into CA and willing to take the kittens.      Problem - they leave Saturday - yes, THIS Saturday.       I am torn between ecstatic and wanting to bang my head on my desk......      But - this would get them there. It is about 8 hours from me to you - if we could meet, I could get them back here in time. I know you have a million things going on right now......

I wrote back that I would try, try, try to make this happen.  Surely, I could.  Except that I needed to get the kitties into the vet to get health certificates so they could fly.  It was late Thursday night, and that only left Friday to get ALL of this together.  Being away for several hours at a time requires quite a bit of planning around here.  AND - what if the clinic simply could not get me in. AND - there were eight hours separating me and Jeanne. 

Unfortunately, I realized in the middle of the night that there was just no way I could pull this off.  Halfway to Jeanne meant an eight hour day away for me.  There were sick animals everywhere, and no daughters or husband scheduled to be home the next day.  It was Friday so it was a packed kennel day.  Too many meds to give.  (We had also acquired a bottle baby in the meantime, who had to be fed at regular intervals.)  And there was Waggles.  She had just had her surgery.  I simply could not be gone for eight hours on that Friday.  I sadly emailed Jeanne.

She emailed me right back.  She understood.  She realized this was all such short notice.  But what about this?   She asked me if I could go two hours from home instead of four?  AND we could do it at night.  YES, I COULD!!  I would have to leave before either daughter would be home.  But they would get back only a short time after I would have to leave.  I could work all day, try to race the kitties in for health certificates, and get on the road that evening for a mere four-hour round trip.  The girls would be home in time to take over the meds and the bottle baby, and take care of Waggles.  THIS WAS DO-ABLE.  My heart was racing.  Would it actually be possible to get the other two “chosen ones” into their real home IN CALIFORNIA?!?

I had been in contact with new mom Lana throughout the previous two days.  I wrote and told her it was ON.  She couldn’t believe it.  It was Friday, July 15.  She would have her new babies by the evening of the next day.  It was surreal to say the least.

I called the clinic.  I would beg if I had to.  As luck would have it, my wonderful Assistant C answered.  Yes, absolutely.  I could come that afternoon.

My husband was home for a brief period in the middle of the day.  We had a mission planned for that evening so he would be leaving again very soon (that story tomorrow).  He didn’t want me to have to do a transport alone - neither of the girls could go because they wouldn’t be home in time.  If he could get back, he would go with me.  I said it was no problem.  I was riding a “high” that wouldn’t quit.  I believe I could have driven to the moon that night if I’d needed to.  But I DIDN’T need to because Jeanne was driving SIX of the eight hours that stretched between us.  We needed to meet by a certain time so that she could get turned around and start SIX hours back in time to do some morning things she needed to do, and get the kitties to her flying friend by noon.  I couldn’t start driving early enough to meet her farther down the line, so she was coming the full six hours to meet me. 

I hope you’ve got a picture of what I’m saying here.  Jeanne would drive SIX hours to meet me, grab the kitties, and drive SIX hours back home, in the middle of the night.  She would deliver two kitties to California-bound Cathy by noon on Saturday.  And by Saturday evening, Lana would have her kitties.  What were the chances? 

In Winnie's Room, just before loading up.

                                                                                 On the road.



My husband DID get back at the very last second.  We unloaded what he had come home with.  The girls would be home very soon.  We would stay in contact by cell phone as far as all that needed to be done at home.  Jasper and Soapy were loaded up and off we went.  We grabbed a sandwich on the way, and by 9:30pm, we were pulling into a BP to meet Jeanne.  I leaped at her and hugged her.  I couldn’t help myself.  Here was this wonderful woman who was driving all night long to see that two little kitties from Winnie’s Room would get halfway across the country to their home.  I won’t ever be able to thank her enough.  But here is my feeble attempt.  Jeanne - THANK YOU.  I don’t believe you will ever know just how much I appreciate what you’ve done here.  And please give Cathy a giant THANK YOU from all of us, too.

And now I’m just going to ‘copy & paste’ the very words I used in yesterday’s post:
 
Lana, if I couldn’t find homes, the story would end there.  It wouldn’t matter how many more kitties there were who needed us.  It wouldn’t matter how many more I was willing to save.  I could not take any more in if I could not find wonderful homes to move them into.  So, Lana - THANK YOU.  You could have gotten kitties from anywhere, but you adopted from us.  What a gift to us.  What a gift to Soapy and Jasper.  What a gift to future needy kitties.

Here are those lucky kitties at home with Lana. 

Here is what Lana has to say about them:                    . . . . . .they're really both VERY special ya know. What a pair...!! We're having a ball with them.

What a story!  What a miracle!

(Be sure to check out Random Felines blog for that side of the story.)

See you tomorrow for another story you won’t want to miss!

Max and Dearest

At the same time that we were beginning to lose animals, I got word that the flights for the four “chosen ones” weren’t going to happen.  You might recall that Goldie (down south) and Lana (out west) had each chosen TWO kitties from Winnie’s Room.  Goldie picked Dearest and Max.  Lana picked Soapy and Jasper.  It had been SO amazing to have four from the Fantastic Fifteen be picked to go to their forever homes.  Then it started looking like we were going to be able to fly the kitties to those homes.  We had never gotten a kitty to a home by plane before.  I was anxious to get all of the details worked out.  But as I said, just about the time I was heading into a dark couple of weeks, the flights fell through.  It broke my heart, but I barely had time or energy to think about it with all that was going on here.

There were a few emails back and forth between myself and Goldie and Lana.  Goldie and I tried to figure out how far each of us could drive and what piece of the trip that left for anyone who might be willing to help us.  But I just didn’t have enough energy left over mentally, physically, or emotionally to dig in and really work on making it happen.  Lana and I were completely stumped.  Lana is in southern California.  It was extremely unlikely that we could get enough people between here and there to span three days worth of road travel.  Lana wanted to fly to the midwest, pick up the kitties, and fly back, but that was just enormously expensive.  Everything got pushed to the back burner while I was busy trying to keep the animals here from dying.

In the midst of the downward spiral, I received an email from my rescue friend that I’ve mentioned on this blog many times.  She says I am her “sista’ in the biz”, and we try to help each other out whenever we can.  I actually finally asked her if I could use her name in the blog because it gets a little tiresome calling her “my friend who also does rescue” over and over and over.  Her name is Mere Lyn.  As I said, she does private animal rescue like I do.  Our “specialties” are slightly different, so we complement each other nicely.  Anyway, one evening I received an email from her and it said - Hey.  I’m going down to visit a relative in North Carolina at the end of the week.  If you have any little furry creatures that need to go that way, let me know.     I emailed back and told her  - No.  Nothing going that way.  Thanks for offering.

I got offline and back to the business at hand when I got to thinking.  Hmmmmm.  I got out my atlas and looked to see if any part of North Carolina was anywhere close to where Goldie was in Georgia.  Well, not really, but it WAS all in the same direction.  I shot off an email to Mere Lyn and asked where in North Carolina exactly because I had a couple of kittens that had a home in Georgia if I could get them there.  AND SHE SAID - Well, good grief.  We’re going to South Carolina for a day trip.  You know me - I’m all about getting animals to their forever homes.  We’ll MAKE it happen.  I couldn’t believe it.  Here was Mere Lyn, in my hour of need, headed right down into the very part of the south I needed to send kittens to.  Would it work?   I shot off an email to Goldie.  She was having some car problems, but if Mere Lyn could get them that close, she’d find a way.

Mere Lyn and I started making our plans.  But in the middle of that, we lost Queen.  I think it might even have been that very night that Mere Lyn called to put some details into place.  I ended up in tears on the phone because my grief was about to take me down.  Without a moment’s hesitation, she said for me to send off an email to Goldie and have her send her phone number to Mere Lyn.  She would take over from here.  I was to let it go.  She would make all of the arrangements from here on out.  All I had to do was have those babies ready to go on the morning she would leave for her trip.  She would stop by and get them and deliver them to their new mom. 

If I had not been walking around in such a fog at that time, I would have been overwhelmed with happiness.  Even with all of the loss we were going through at the time, I felt the joy of knowing that two of the four “chosen ones” actually had a way home.  When I look back on that event, it is like a beacon of light on a dark night.  I remember how it felt getting up early that morning and heading down to Winnie’s Room to load up Max and Dearest.  Both had been in such horrible shape when we got them.  It was nearly a sure thing that Dearest wasn’t going to pull through.  And Max was one of the weaker ones, too.  But pull through they did.  And now they had a REAL home with their very own people.  AND a way to get there.

Remember when they looked like this?


Here is what they looked like on the morning they started their journey to Goldie.



 
This is some of what Goldie wrote in an email: 

I wanted to thank you for all you have done to get Max and Dearest to me. I was truly blessed to have your friend Mere Lyn bring them so close to home for me.   When I drove to meet Mere Lyn to pick up the kittens I found myself very nervous, so much so that I had actually forgotten to take the carrier and had to go back home to get it. This is probably because I knew how important this adoption was, to everyone. Since it was the first successful adoption and delivery (of the Fantastic Fifteen), I felt a great sense of responsibility. Everyone at work had pitched in to help me get out at a reasonable time to make the hour’s drive to B---t. Mere Lyn had adjusted her schedule to work around mine. In the face of unthinkable disasters hitting you right and left, you had managed to find a way to get Max and Dearest to me. I should have been happy but I was scared. What if the kittens didn’t like me, what if they don’t adjust, what if ??? what if???
The first night the kitties were a bit jittery. I set up four different sleeping areas in the master bedroom and one in the master bath. From there it’s been a wonderful ride. They are sweet and sleepy one moment, playing and jumping the next. Personalities are emerging.  Their lives are precious. They have the “silent meow” down to an art! I totally melt when they do that. I love them more than I can say. They are a symbol of recovery and hope for all. They are fat, happy, playful and doing all the things kittens do and it’s a joy to watch and participate in. 

Here is a picture of Dearest and Max in their new home, just waking up from a nap.



 Mere Lyn, you charged in on your white horse (or in your white vehicle) and saved the day.  Truly.  That was an amazing blessing to bestow upon us.  THANK YOU.

This work is hard.  It takes a lot of money.  It takes a lot of time.  It makes me smile, but it also makes me cry.  I have an amazing support system through the blog.  People send their hard-earned money and their prayers.  I receive supportive comments and emails that help me keep going.  But obviously, if I couldn’t find homes, the story would end there.  It wouldn’t matter how many more kitties there were who needed us.  It wouldn’t matter how many more I was willing to save.  I could not take any more in if I could not find wonderful homes to move them into.  So, Goldie - THANK YOU.  You could have gotten kittens from anywhere, but you adopted from us.  What a gift to us.  What a gift to Max and Dearest.  What a gift to future needy kitties.

(Tomorrow’s story is about another travel miracle.  Please tune in!)

Waggles

It had been a period of only two weeks, but it felt like a year while we were going through it.  The losses were simply TOO numerous for such a short period of time.  There was tall anxiety wrapped around nearly every moment of every day.  And nearly every day there was some new tragedy to deal with.  I wasn’t just tired, I was becoming a walking dead woman.  For the biggest part of the time, I felt like I was hanging on by my fingernails. 

What is truly odd is that it was at the beginning of this nightmare that I was questioning whether I had what it takes to do this work.  It seems like a person with that set of questions would need a period of time to rest and think and ponder and soul-search.  Instead, I got MORE sickness, MORE loss, MORE tragedy than I had ever faced in all my years of rescue work.  I absolutely did not have time to “contemplate”.  I had to work.  I had to keep getting up and facing it.  I had to do what I could for whoever might survive.  I had to face the loss of animals that had been with us for years (like Queen) and those who were only with us a short time (like Stella, Saucer, and Sweet Pea).  I had to look at the very real possibility of losing Waggles.  I had to get up every day and wonder who else we might lose that day.  There were so many right on the edge between life and death.  My feral four should not have lived.  Any of the sick kittens could have died at any point.  Definitely, Trex and Jazzy should not have survived.  This should have convinced me without any soul-searching at all that I could no longer do this work.  The losses were devastating.   But there were little lives still with us.  There were babies reaching up to touch our faces with their paws.  There was Waggles piercing my soul with her questioning eyes.  Without looking into myself at all, I knew I had to be right here.  I never thought I was ready to leave this work, but I was struggling with how to go forward.  The two weeks that followed showed me that there is no “how to”.  You just do it.  And it hurts, and it sucks, and there are no answers.  And you do it anyway.  Because they can’t do it for themselves.

I have some really nice things to share with you over the next few days.  Thursday, Friday, and Saturday hold posts about wonderful things.  Today, however, I want to honor Waggles.  She had her cancer surgery a week ago today.  It was unsuccessful. 

Dr. K told me she wanted to open up the swollen place over Waggles nose.  When I had taken her in with the facial swelling, Dr. K started Waggles on a new antibiotic, and hoped the swelling would start going down.  Instead, it got larger.  The pathology report came back marked “Cancer".  Dr. K hoped to go in and remove what she could.  But she called me just after she started the surgery.  She had made the incision.  The tumor had, in fact, eaten away the bone and was protruding out of the nasal cavity.  It had a huge supply of blood vessels supporting it.  Dr. K said to try to cut away any part of it would cause a massive hemorrhage.  Basically - said Dr. K - this surgery is a bust.  I can’t take any part of this mess out.  All I can do is sew her back up. 

We had three options.  One, she could euthanize while Waggles was still under general anesthesia.  Two, she could close her up and it wouldn’t be long before the cancer would take Waggles’ life.  Three, she could pack the area with a cancer-killing medication before stitching up the incision.  However, Dr. K did not know how extensive the cancer was, how far into Waggles’ head it had gone.  The drug was a strong one - sometimes the drug itself could cause death.  But it was also a known cancer killer.  We could give it a try if I wanted to.  I asked her what the benefits were of using this drug - would we see an extension of lifespan? quality of life?  Her answer - I don’t know.  All I can tell you is that it’s all we’ve got.  I said - Do it.

I spent that afternoon feeling pretty low.  Our precious Waggles.  We love all of our dogs, and they are all amazing individuals with wonderful unique characteristics.  But Waggles has always been special.  When I did her rescue story, I described some of the unique things about Waggles.  To read that, Click on ARCHIVES.  Click on May 2010.  The post 5/13/10 Proof of A Hero will give you an idea of how neat she is.  Her entire story is spread out and intermingled with others from 4/26/10 thru 5/13/10.  The story of when we almost lost her before is told 5/11/10 and 5/12/10.

When I picked Waggles up that evening, Dr. K warned me.  This drug would cause some pretty extreme swelling.  The incision was loosely stitched for drainage purposes.  She would need to wear the E-collar 24 hours a day.  (I HATE those collars.)  We couldn’t have her rubbing her face and tearing open the incision as the swelling became tight and uncomfortable.  Dr. K said the swelling had already started.  The warning hadn’t been enough.  I was horrified when I saw her.  Her face looked terrible and the E-collar was huge.  When she saw me, she squinted her eyes in characteristic Waggles’ fashion.  She sat briefly at my feet, and then went and sat directly in front of the door.  She wanted to go home.

The next two days and nights were rough on her.  Her face continued to swell and the oozing began.  I spoke with Dr. K on Friday after the Wednesday surgery.  Everything I was reporting was what she expected.  Look, Chrystal - she said.  Maybe this will kill out enough cancer to buy Waggles some time.  With no treatment at all, we’re looking at an acute downhill slide.  We may be no better off now than we were.  But at least we gave her a fighting chance.  

The first two days we were dealing with massive swelling and lots of drainage.  Then the swelling started going down, but the drainage continued.  Finally, the last couple of days, so much flesh died around the incision that a sort of crater developed and there was dead loose skin flopping.  Over the weekend, the stitches all broke when Waggles tried to rub her face on the inside of the E-collar.  I called and talked to the on-call vet who said to keep the area clean.  They would not re-stitch.

Yesterday we went for the follow-up.  Dr. K was actually happy with what she saw.  There is a very large hole in Waggles’ face where the drug killed some of the tumor and sloughed it off.  In places, you can see the bone.  I was worried about all of this.  But Dr. K said the cancer drug had done its job.  Originally, she wasn’t sure what the result would be.  Now that this first treatment had done what it was supposed to, we will go for a second massive treatment on Friday.  She will put Waggles under again, and pack in more of the cancer-killing drug.  There is not enough flesh left to stitch up.  Dr. K hopes to have an effect on the part of the tumor that is inside the skull.  Because we do not know how extensive this is, there is some danger in doing a second treatment.  But this is our only shot at trying to kill as much of the tumor as possible.  We realize that this drug could be the very thing that takes Waggles’ life.  But the tumor will do that anyway if we don’t try to get rid of it.  Our chances of getting it all are certainly less than perfect.  Waggles is on an oral cancer-killing drug as well.  If she continues to feel good, we will move forward and see where this takes us. 

Third day after surgery - looking MUCH better than the previous two days.  No pictures since the third day - it looks REALLY bad now. 

I am trying to face this cancer battle with Waggles one day at a time.  Even though this huge hole in her face looks horrible, Waggles wants to eat and she is happy with the attention she is receiving.  I have no idea what Friday’s treatment will bring.  There are many “unknowns” at this point.  Dr. K said we were giving Waggles a fighting chance.  I told her I was glad, and that I’d take a miracle if we could get one.   In lieu of a full-blown miracle, I’d take as long a stretch of quality time as I could get - for Waggles and for me.

Turning the Corner (Weekend of July 9th and 10th)

On Saturday and Sunday following the news about Waggles on Friday, I stayed busy at the kennel.  Busy was better when I was worrying.  There was the summer business, the feral four to tend to, two kitten cages in the kennel storage, and little Jazzy in the upstairs bathroom.  There were all of the healthy darlings in the cathouse.  And all of our animals at the house.  Each time the possibilities slipped in and nagged me about what I was facing with our sweet, sweet Waggles, I would force myself to focus on the task at hand.  I would deal with Waggles and the results of the surgery soon enough. 

On Saturday morning, Older Daughter loaded up three kittens to take back to the shelter.  Phillip, Poncho, and Aeon had been doing really well for several days.  We gave the vaccinations ourselves and observed for a couple of days.  They were healthy again - the first of the group to come fully out of the nightmare.  Now we hoped they would be adopted very soon.  All three are amazing kittens.  You sure get to know a fur baby when you are caring for it around the clock.

On Saturday afternoon, I was walking from the kennel with a basket of just-washed towels to hang on the line.  Miracle (one of our dogs - Waggles’ runnin’ buddy) was lying under the clothes line.  I started talking to her, saying her name or a nickname or something, and she crouched down like she had something.  I’ve seen this before.  It’s her guilty look, but at the same time, she is positioning herself to keep whatever treasure she has found.  I dropped the basket of towels and headed straight at her.  Oh, no.  It was a baby bird.  I snatched Miracle by the collar and started pulling her back as she fought to snatch her treasure.  I started yelling for Younger Daughter, as the baby bird was struggling to move away through the grass.  I was pretty sure she wouldn’t hear me.  She was inside and the air conditioner was running. 

I yelled again and here came Bouzzer and Rocky to see what all the commotion was about.  Younger Daughter never heard me, but luckily, my husband was in his shed.  He came running.  He grabbed Miracle and I headed for the bird.  It was trying to bounce away, and I was bouncing after it on my knees through the grass, trying to keep my body between it and Rocky and Bouzzer (who were now quite interested in this small item of prey).  I kept yelling at my husband to “Get the dogs, get the dogs.”  I had left him to grab three 40-pound dogs while I bounced around after a half-ounce bird.  I know it had to be comical.  Just as he yelled, “I can’t keep them ALL back”, I had it.  I had the bird.  I scooped it into one hand, covered it with the other, and I was running for the house.  I called back over my shoulder - “Thanks, honey."  And into the house I went. 

Younger Daughter had heard us by now, and was headed my way.  We found a box and examined the little feathered baby.  Clearly, it had a broken leg.  I knew there had to be internal damage as well.  We had taken injured birds in a few times over the years.  I even used to call my old vet and ask what to do.  What he always said was that it is nearly impossible to keep an injured bird alive.  Put it in a box.  If it lives more than a couple of hours, you’ll need to get it to a wildlife rehab center.  We never had one live that long.

On Sunday, three things happened. 

One, I woke up and checked on the bird and it was alive.  I panicked.  Now what?  Where is a wildlife rehab center?  What if I can’t find a place for it?  How would I ever go about feeding it?  Just when things were going better in the kitten department, now I had a baby BIRD?!?  I can tell you I am NOT a bird rescuer.  I got online.  Learned what to try in order to feed it (and how), and started looking for wildlife rescuers.  I found one.  And my wonderful husband offered to get on the road for three hours round-trip to drive the little baby bird to the wildlife place.  When he pulled out of the driveway, with that little bird in that little box, I thought about how he would NEVER have done anything like that on his own.  He was doing it for me.  And it was better than any gift he could have bought me.  I felt the relief.  I didn’t want another baby dying in my hands.

The second thing that happened on Sunday was that we got some news.  We had the Director of the shelter (where Older Daughter works) put the word out that we were looking for a rescue donkey.  Sunday is when she let us know that she might have found one.  We could not let Radio live alone.  He loves us, but he is a herd animal.  He needs a friend.  He had been through the loss of Red and Charlie, and now his mother figure Queen.  We would start checking on how to adopt this rescue donkey.

The third thing that happened on Sunday was late in the evening.  I had finished some work at the kennel.  I had been to the cathouse.  I had cleaned the cages of the remaining kittens in the “quarantine room”.  There were Thelma, Louise, Dazzle, and Brazzle.  And there were Frosty and Trex.  Any of these kittens could have died.  Trex for sure shouldn’t have made it.    I checked on my ferals.  All four were alive and improving.  And I had sat in the floor of the upstairs bathroom with the precious little Jazzy, who, against ALL odds, had survived and was now eating on her own.  Even the baby bird was now in good hands.  I walked into the family room where Husband, Older, and Younger were gathered.  I plopped down in my chair and smiled.  NOBODY was dying.  NOBODY.  We had made it through.