If you read Earnest Talks, you’ve read about our dog Shorty and you may even know he is being treated for heart worms. We knew he had a mild case of the little buggers, when we adopted him last December, but they thought his preventative medicine would do the trick. Last week, I took him in for his 6 month check up. Our vet decided we needed to go ahead and treat Shorty’s heart worms more aggressively. The first injection left Shorty sore, droolie, lethargic (but restless), and obviously confused – much like Ron after a recent alternative treatment for his arthritic knee. (There is an orthopedic surgeon in Irving who sharpens his scalpels when he sees Ron’s name in the appointment book. He can’t wait to replace those knees. Ron is trying just about anything to avoid this outcome. Ron blogged about this treatment which he describes as torture.)

I went outside to check on Shorty and found both he and Ron in the backyard. You could see the love and despair in Ron’s body language as he watched Shorty’s unrest. Had there been another observer in our yard that day, he or she would have seen the love and despair in my body language as I watched Ron watching Shorty. Ron noticed my surveillance and just looked at me and shook his head. I could tell he was close to tears. In nearly a whisper I said to him “welcome to my world.” His gentle eyes told me he understood what I meant. He knows I struggle when I see his pain. He said, “at least I can talk”. I remember thinking that while we humans can talk when we are in pain – often we choose silence. I’m learning to live with the silence when it happens. I try not to take it personally, but the damn helpless is the hardest part.

I felt a strange sense of validation when I saw my helpless on Ron’s face. I believe it’s part of loving fiercely. There are things we just can’t “fix”. In my worst moments several years ago when my best friend was dying, I found comfort in the words of Oriah Mountain Dreamer’s poem – The Invitation .

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

Ron and I both knew this knee treatment would make him feel worse before he got better. We knew that Shorty would feel worse before he got better. I even know when clients walk in the door of my office they may leave feeling worse than when they came. The doctor who’s doing the alternative treatments for Ron has Marine’s t-shirt which says – “pain is weakness leaving the body.” I think what we don’t often take into account is how darn weak we are going to feel while we watch someone else’s pain leave their body.

Thankfully, winter leads to spring. The earth may get cold and hard and the tree are barren but new growth lies just beneath the surface hidden from sight. Austere hibernation is a vital part living. You can’t hide it, fix it, or fade it. You just sit with it, sometimes hold a hand, and keep breathing.

Meet Freddie.  Our “forgotten” child.

(Posted by Gayle)

Seems to me May December couples can often relate to our love of furbabies.  And as a “fur mother”, I’ve been feeling a bit guilty.  Shorty gets more attention on our blog, etc. because of all the photo opportunities he provides.  Freddie is camera shy, but he is no less loved by me and Ron.

Right now he’s suffering from an ear mite infestation in his left ear.  As I nurse his ear, all sorts of maternal feelings  flow through me.  Some of you may find it silly, but many of you will relate to what I am saying.  Age gap couples are often found by special fur babies.   It’s like they can sniff us out. They know we’ve got an abundance of love to share and have often made the choice not to bear children together. Little Freddie came to live with us on December 31, 2004.  It was the wrong time for a new pet, but he put himself out there on google just so we could find him.  And while surfing the internet in the wee hours of the morning, he found me! The rest is history. Wrong time + right dog = right time!

We’ve learned copious lessons from him.  He was damaged emotionally when he got here.  He was a year old and had great socialization skills with DOGS, but not HUMANS.  It took months of loving patience (okay more than a year), a few major meltdowns,  and some mighty “dog whispering” to bring him around.  He still has his shy moments,  but his gentle and still wounded spirit reminds us on a daily basis to trust the power of love….

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A dog’s life.

(posted by Gayle)

Shorty - the morning after

Ron and I often wish we could trade places with our rescue beagle Shorty.  Even though a nap is sounding pretty good right about now, today is NOT the day to be Shorty.  All the noise (gasoline powered generator) and confusion cause by our 24+ hour plus power outage,  had Shorty in high alert mode.  He is positively exhausted (a few minutes ago I checked to make sure he was breathing!)

Things will be getting back to normal around here today, but it may take Shorty a few days to rebuild his strength.  (He won’t be getting back to normal though – he wasn’t really “normal” to begin with!)

Because their dear “God Mommy” Rhoda went on ahead of all of us today.

(Posted by Ron)

Today, April 16, 2009 our sweet friend Rhoda decided to stop struggling with the cancer she fought so bravely. She slipped into a coma this morning and this afternoon, shortly after her family played Garth Brook’s song Standing Outside The Fire for her she silently slipped away.  Music had always been important to her and those of us who loved her.  She is not the first of our family of friends that has been accompanied into death with songs they had sung so strongly in life.

Rhoda was especially important to me and Gayle. Read the rest of this entry »