Scooby's home!

Sophie welcomes Scooby home. Well, she had to check, didn't she?

This morning my neighbor, Greg, went with me to pick up Scooby at the vet, and I was grateful for his help. Scoob is much better but had to be lifted into the car. His back legs give out all the time, though he is now walking. When he's not nervous or excited, he does pretty well. The vet tech said he's learned the trick of people with poor balance--walk close to a wall. I laughed and said I do that all the time. When I repeated that story to my friend Jeannie, she said she had this vision of Scooby and me going single file next to a wall.
The truth is not so funny. Scooby is on his way to recovery, and the vet tells me he will continue to get better. But he's far from there. He falls a lot. When I put his food out, he fell and rolled over just taking the one step down from his doghouse. When I wanted to bring him in, I tried to help, but he avoided me and made it down the step but was clearly afraid to try the steps into the house. When he finally came close enough for me to put a leash on him, he went up the steps willingly--and went splat in the doorway. I soothed and petted and said, "Hey, you did it. That's what matters." He fell four or five times between the back door and his bed, and I had to lean down and hoist his back end up--hardwood floors are clearly not easy for him.
He is disoriented and acts for all the world like he's had a stroke, but they assure me it's an inner ear thing--the second bout he's had. The vet says he may never have another one, but just in case I'm loaded with tranquilizers, anti-nausea pills, and anti-motion sickness pills. If it happens on a weekend, my hope is to nurse him through until my vet is open--no more emergency clinic, though I'm grateful for their care. It was, however, the most expensive care ever--12 hours cost over three times what five days of boarding at the regular vet did. And more important my vet knows the history and the dog. I am so grateful to University Animal Hospital.
Sophie is glad to have her buddy home again, but I think she knows he's fragile. I didn't see her jump on his back end one time--her favorite way to get him to play with her--and she didn't bark at him the way she often does to taunt him.
In time we'll be back to normal, but it will take a while. 100+ temperatures this week won't help. But I'm optimistic and grateful.

Yoga in two parts

Yesterdy morning I did about half my yoga routine and had to stop, for reasons totally unrelated to yoga. I finally finished the routine about six last night, and I'm wondering if a divided routine does you as much good as a complete one. But that's sort of how my week has gone.
Monday is usually my stay-at-home-and-get-lots-done day, but this Monday I was out the door early to transfer Scooby to his own vet--not only did it take a chunk of time, it set a less-than-efficient tone for my day. Scooby is still dozing and snoozing--eating, drinking, peeing and pooping but he has to be carried to the appropriate place for the last two, although he does stand to do them. No way I can carry a 55 lb. dog up and down even the two stairs to the backyard. I went to see him last night, and he struggled to get up for me, so maybe visiting is not a good idea, though I did stay and love on him. They say sometimes it takes a week for the disorientation to go away--much as I love Scooby, dollar signs are swimming in my brain.
Then Tuesday and Wednesday were routine doctor appointments for me (if you can ever call having your eyes dilated routine!). Both were just checkups, but they broke the rhythm of my days.
And then there were pleasant dinners with friends, occasions I wouldn't miss though once again they took me from my computer. I'm not sure I can justify calling myself a writer.
Finally yesterday I got to stay home all afternoon and evening at my desk--editing someone else's manuscript. Years ago when I started editing, I marked up hard copy, sent it to the author, whose responsibility it was to create a new manuscript incorporating my suggestions and return it. I had to compare the two versions, make sure no new errors crept in next to the corrections--that happened a lot. Well, today we have "Track Changes" which makes it so much easier--and so much harder. I am forever getting tangled up in that program--deleting things I don't mean to, creating little blue "fix this" lines that are unfixable as far as I can tell. This time, somehow I lost all the formatting on the manuscript. Fortunately the managing editor of Turquoise Morning Pres is a lot smarter than I am and could tell me what to do. Now, I hope, I'm on the home stretch--and a bonus: I've learned to make marginal comments.
I'm itching to finish this manuscript--but first there's the post office, the bank, the cleaners, early voting, and lunch with a friend. Sigh. But I've done my yoga.
I'm a writer--honest, I am!

Dogs and Men

Jacob and Sophie

My wonderful birthday weekend included a two-day visit to my younger son's new home and special time with his famly amd ended with a lovely gathering at my house, of neighbors and people I care about, put together by Jordan and my neighbor Jay (who baked a scrumptious cake). We were also celebrating his wife, Susan's birthday. So I was surrounded by wonderful people and thoroughly enjoyed the evening.
But it ended on a sour note after everyone but Jay and Susan and her dad had left. I went to put my dogs out--they'd been in because of the heat--and my big dog couldn't stand. His back legs kept splaying out from under him. Jay carried him outside, by which time the poor dog was shaking visibly. Long story short, Jay and I, with Scooby, ended up at the emergency animal care clinic about 8:45. Their probable diagnosis was toxicity--he'd gotten hold of something. I couldn't believe that but we waited for blood work results, which eventually were all good--no organs damaged. While we waited, Jay lay on the floor and loved on Scooby who finally began demanding affection and kissing him lavishly. Jay is what I call "a dog person," and it clearly showed last night--he really cared about Scooby. Meanwhile Jay also joked, poked fun at me, and was, in a word, outrageous. When the doctor came in with lab results, Jay was on the floor demonstrating a yoga pose. We left the dog to be "stabilized" with fluids, lasix, steroids, etc. On the way home, I said to Jay that I knew he kept cutting up to keep me from dissolving in a puddle, and he admitted there was usually a method to his madness. But I can't say enough for his kindness and attentiveness--I offered to go in my car so he didn't have to wait, but he wouldn't hear of it. He was right, of course, that I was on the verge of tears, and he steered me in a better direction. Other than loyal and loving children, there's nothing better than a good neighbor, and I am fortunate.
This morning I got Scooby from the emergency clinic--he was a bit better--and took him to my vet, who says he thinks it's a recurrence of his idiopathic vestiubular disease (it's like meuniere's disease in humans) and we'd just have to let him lie low for a couple of days. So Scooby is snoozing away at the vet's, and I am encouraged. He's an old dog, and I know one day one of these episodes will be the last, but he'd been enjoying life so much I couldn't face it last night. Another neighbor, Greg, had just commented Friday that Sophie, the little dog, has added years to Scooby's life. Friday the two of them were playing and  mock growling all around Greg's feet while he was trimming bushes. Nope, that dog isn't ready to go--and I'm not ready to lose him.
Today I felt the hangover of the trauma. It had even been an act of something on my part to transfer Scooby from vet to vet alone, so I was wiped out and not much good at anything. Sophie, bless her, put the icing on the cake this afternoon. I went to bring her in for her mid-day meal and a nap while it was hot, but she wouldn't come and obviously had something in her mouth she didn't want to relinquish. Finally she darted in the open door and made a beeline for the study, where I could corner her. But if I went to one side of the desk, she scooted under it to the other--and so it went. We were at a stalemate, in spite of my stern commands to "Drop it!" She finally did, and a pitiful baby bird gave a weak flutter. I put Sophie in her crate, gathered a handful of paper towels and disposed of the bird, and decided I really really needed a nap.
Tomorrow, I'm certain, will be a better day--and maybe I'll get some work done. But meantime, I entered into another senior year with great joy.