Slaughter-House Five, Or the Children's Crusade: A Duty Dance With Death

 Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut x2

Weight: 12 oz

Method of Disposal:  Gave to a friend who gave it back and then I donated that copy and another to Goodwill

I cannot guess how many times I have given away this book, and it is not my favorite Kurt Vonnegut book at all.  I am not even all that keen on it, though I do respect it.  It is impossible not to see it as important when you think about Vonnegut's time in WWII at Dresden, and the years he said he would right a book about it and finally did.  With that lens, it becomes even more powerful.  And with all that said, it is a Slaughter-House Five quote that I have tattooed on my back.  I got it after working at an animal shelter and losing some part of myself that felt pain, love, and passion intensely.  After losing so many dogs, cats, and people.  The sad stories and the tragedy occurring every day, over and over and over and over and over again.

 

The friend I had given it to now has Stage 4 lung cancer and has returned the book and says she loved it.  She does not even know what her treatment plan is, two chemo sessions in, because our medical system has grown too large and distant.  A life is so important and there are so many important lives.

Today, a coworker that I have known for 15 years lost his person and his kids lost their mother.  She was young.  It was unexpected.  He has been receiving treatment for cancer, in addition to the treatments he already receives for MS.  He is one of the hardest working people I know.  He is a great dad and a kind person.  She sounded like she was amazing too, and she made him happy.

The world is so heavy.  It is so beautiful and so painful.  It is so meaningful and so meaningless.  We all are clinging on in the balance.  We believe we are important.  We are important.  To us.  To some people.  We come slowly, and we go quickly, unless we go slowly, and there is no happy ending.  Though, a lot of happiness can be packed in before The End.  It is what it is.  Until it impacts you.  Then, it is so much more.  And, once you have been impacted over and over and over again, you have to decide whether to lean more into meaning or meaningless or everything and nothing.

Mutts: Shelter Stories

 Mutts: Shelter Stories By Patrick McDonnell

2008

Weight: 1.2 lbs

Method of Disposal: Donating

I remember lining the dog's cages at the shelter with newspaper and unfolding the comics to see a Patrick McDonnell strip many mornings.  This one reminded me of one of my favorite dogs of all time, Tenchi, who had to wait years to find her home, but when she did, it was the best home.  She has since passed away, and they have adopted again.  I posted this one on her cage while she was at the shelter because no one would look at her since she barked so much in her cage, and they thought she was unfriendly.  She was absolutely the sweetest girl and was so quiet when she got out and, later, when she was in a home.  It can be hard to know what behaviors from the kennels will stick and which ones will go away with time, exercise, training, love, patience.  I just knew that once she was out of the kennels she would be great though.  I needed to get someone else to see it.

In the end, it was someone doing community service who was around long enough to get to know her, and he took the chance on her. And, I love him for it.

Another memory I have is from 14 years ago.  I walked into the vet clinic, and saw a beautiful brown pit bull, scared and despondent in her cage.  There was blue painter's tape above the bars with the name "Hershey" written in sharpie.  She was the color of chocolate, of course.  I thought to myself, "that is my 3rd dog", and then I quickly shook my head and inwardly rolled my eyes--absolutely not.  I did not want another dog with my boy Phoenix being so old and already having a rocky transition with Sergei (Serg/Sir Gay/Nader/Nader Nader Alligator/Sergio/Asshole/The Jackass/The Criminal/Sergei Ivanovich McKelvey/My Soulmate), coming into the home.  I had been at the shelter maybe 7-8 months, and I was still learning so much.  I had no idea what I was doing.  I still am learning now, after all these years in rescue.  I guess that never stops.  But, I had never seen a dog like "Hershey" before.  I cannot tell you now exactly why I found her so striking.  Maybe it was because my metaphorical heart knew, and the rest of me did not.

I remember sitting on the steps in intake with someone from the old leadership team.  They told me that she was abandoned, tied to the gate on the coldest day in December, but that we could not keep her at PAWS.  They had tucked her away in the clinic while they tried to think of an alternative.  It was a different time then.  She told me that they would rather euthanize her than send her to animal control, where she would surely be euthanized, but she would be so much more fearful as she left.  Now days, we love and support our animal control, and we do not see a dog going there as being worse than death.  So much has changed, not only with animal controls all over the country, but with us, at the smaller, non-government funded facilities.  And thank goodness.

I was told that I would get five years of heartworm preventative, and that she would be spayed and vaccinated at no cost if I would just take her as an individual and foster her until another placement could be found.  They would help me.  I did it because I could not stand to think of that beautiful creature dying for what?  Because she was a pit bull?  She was spayed, and they discovered she had 9 puppies.  And then, I took her home.  My then girlfriend, Vallan, tried to name her "Le Chien Nikita" and we compromised on "Madeleine" (Lion/LyLy/Mattie-Lion). My dear friend, Tracy, told me her ears were something special, like satellites and, when I wanted to know how she was feeling, I needed to only pay attention to those ears.  She has not been wrong.

I had not introduced Madeleine to either of my dogs, and I was winging the whole thing all the way.  By some miracle, she always did well with Phoenix, thank goodness.  He was an old man and had no interest in other dogs, and he deserved peace.  She mostly did well with Sergei,  but Sergei and her were hot and cold, and the cold would present itself in these rare but scary, shocking, and sudden dog fights that would cause me to scream and panic, while frantically pulling them apart.  No one was ever seriously injured, and I know now that is because of them and not just me.  I have many dogs with dog aggression who are a lot more determined and serious about it, and they have been wonderful dogs, but there is no way they will be making any canine friends.

My girlfriend at the time once through beer all of us to break the two of them up.  It did not work, but we were all wet, and I was trembling and worried about what we would do next.  I could not bear it if she hurt Sergei.  I was really uninformed at the time.  I learned over the years that Lion was dog intolerant and would be aggressive to other dogs that jumped on her or tried to play.  Sergei was a resource guarder with food and toys.  Lion was a resource guarder only with other dogs with food and sometimes water.  They both were wary of strangers, but Sergei would actually bite you if you took something away from him or got under the bed (his self claimed space) to grab something, but Lion would not.  I learned to always keep them in separate rooms when I was not there to supervise and to never give them treats or food together.  I learned how to communicate with them better.  Inadvertently, they learned that I would lose my mind if they fought, and they did ultimately stop.  They also learned each other.  If Lion approached the water bowl, Sergei would walk away and come back when she was done.  If Sergei had a tennis ball, she would not try to take it but, if she had a plush toy, he would not try to take it from her.  They worked out this whole system, and they compromised on so much.

This is not how it goes for all dogs, and I do not recommend forcing a dog aggressive dog to get along with other dogs.  It can be dangerous and heart wrenching. But, I do recommend taking a chance on loving a dog that doesn’t love other dogs or doesn’t exhibit the behavior you are use to (but can be kept safely in the community). It is 100% worth it. They need you more then any other dog at the shelter, and many of them will love you fiercely. They will absolutely teach you a lot, and you will love them fiercely too. 

Madeleine was just tolerant enough, and both of their triggers were really easy to work out, with some time. Sergei is the only dog I think Lion has ever truly loved, though she tolerated a handful of others within reason, because her moms work in rescue. I catch her spooning with him now, and I did even before her mind started to go. Now, he makes her feel safe. She lays close to him so she won't fall off the bed with her poor mind, bad vision, and hearing, it is an absolute necessity for her at night when we all go to bed.

She is scared of going outside at night, and she will not go to the bathroom without Sergei there. He is very tolerant of her needs and does not even growl (though he will groan) when she stumbles all over him and steps on his face. I never would have believed it circa 2008-2015. They have not fought in ages, and I do not expect they ever will again, though I am always sure to separate them when I am not there and do all the things I have always done to ensure they get along and are happy. I suspect they would be fine, maybe even better than fine. They have really worked out their differences, but Harriet and I agree. It is not worth the risk. They done so well all this time.

Unfortunately, before Vallan and I knew that Lion did not like dogs, she took her to a friends house to play with their smedium dog, Lucy.  Lion, apparently, hopped like a bunny, grabbed the dog in her mouth, and started shaking her.  Vallan got in the middle of it and was determined to break them up and save our friend's dog.  Not surprisingly (she was a determined and passionate person), she was able to break them up, but she got bit in the process.  Lucy was totally fine, but Vallan had to go to the doctor.  

All the support I had been offered went away.  I was told to euthanize her.  There were too many friendly pit bulls dying to hold onto an aggressive one.  The vet I assisted in spay/neuter surgeries was angry with me for not listening to reason.  The trainer was more gentle and offered alternatives but, ultimately, agreed that euthanasia might be the best option.  And the thing is, neither of them were wrong really.  In some situations, there are dogs that are truly unsafe to adopt out, but they weren't right about my Lion. I just knew it was dog aggression and that she had redirected on Vallan but was not dangerous.  Vallan agreed.  

We kept her and began looking for a home for her.  We made flyers, contacted the pit bull group that everyone vouched for (but was later shut down after a Fox 5 Investigation).  We posted her on social media and told people in the line at the coffee shop about her.  There was no one looking for a dog aggressive pit bull with a bite history.  I was so frustrated.  I did not want to keep her.  I remember saying that, "she was the only dog I ever met that I did not like."  I was resisting her, but it was all so ridiculous, because Lion was and became the best dog.  She was well behaved, protective, loving, playful, loyal.  So, we gave up looking for a home.

I love everything about Madeline. I loved her then, all the years in between, and I love her now, more than I could possibly describe here. She is 15 years old and has developed cognitive dysfunction and has serious mobility issues from muscle wasting. I wish so much that Harriet and I could soothe her mind and strengthen her legs. When I most felt alone, and I was at my breaking points, I always had Lion and Sergei to soothe and strengthen me. Phoenix had passed away of a heart attack some time after Vallan moved out and, in time, the three of us became a true pack and a family. I stayed and fought for my life because I could not imagine letting them down. No one had wanted either of them. Who would possibly take care of them if I did not?

The deal was that if Vallan and I ever broke up, she would take Lion, and I would take Sergei and Phoenix. Phoenix (P-Beast/Feanie/Beast) was my childhood dog after all, but the way life worked out, she would only have been able to take Phoenix, and I would never let him go.

I am so glad.

I’m so glad I fell for it and took Madeleine home, though I don’t recommend getting people to rescue that way. I’m so glad no one else adopted her when they had the chance. I’m so glad we could see past her dog aggression and know that she was not human aggressive, though maybe wary of strangers. And, I am so glad I ended up with custody of all three dogs, though, at the time, I felt overwhelmed. Vallan sent "dog support" and always loved them. It is funny to me now to think about how worried I was, after all the dogs Harriet and I have fostered, rescued, worked with, and even adopted. Three dogs? We have five now, and they are not "normal" dogs!

Lion met Harriet maybe four years after Lion met me, and they’ve loved each other ever since. I can forgive Lion for considering Harry to be her favorite, as she has been my favorite human too. So, I understand.

Madeleine has been the best girl, and almost everyone who has met our pack has considered her the favorite because she is so sweet, loyal, and playful, but also, she is the best behaved pup in the pack.

I’ve never had a dog love me like Lion has. Until her cognitive dysfunction took over, she would do anything to protect me. Unless Harriet was around, and she had to choose. Then, she would choose Harriet, and that was perfect because I am protective of both of them. It is hard watching her age and change, but I am so grateful for the opportunity.

Now, we have been battling with the knowledge that she will need to be euthanized before this gets worse, but it is hard to admit that, after all the medications, food, the expensive Impact crate , all the love and attention and thoughtfulness. She never had to be crated before, but she started hurting herself when we left. My dad began to call her "The Termite" (He is responsible for "The Criminal" too), as she was eating our new house from the inside out. This was not a trajectory we expected. Over the last year, she has begun having accidents in the house 2-3 times a day after being a housebroken dog all her life. She will chew on the window frames and base boards if we let her free roam when we leave. She is our sweet girl, and we know she cannot help it. We just take her out often and try to make her feel safe. But, it is hard to see her like that and know she is scared too.

She panics and hurts herself when we leave so we have her on anti-anxiety medications that might take the edge off, and the crate does help a little. Maybe. We play calming music and sometimes use diffusers with lavender oil. She has been restless at night and now she is restless anytime she is not in her bedroom. Her legs sometimes spasm, and she gets up with a start and takes off, but she can't "take off" anymore so she will fall and then panic and not be able to get up without help. It is shattering our hearts to watch her, but we've been able to find ways to bring her happiness even as she forgets everything and we have mom ears for when she is struggling, even when we got COVID and a fever and thought we could only sleep. If she was struggling, we were up and lifting her and telling her to slow her roll. It was okay. She is no longer wary of strangers and loves them. She no longer knows the words/commands she once knew. Her whole life revolves around eating and when she can get her next treat. She has become fixated on food. She gets confused sometimes when trying to figure out doorways or turns. She will completely fall, splayed out, if she is even accidentally nudged by Sergei or one of us.

We said we wanted to say goodbye to her before she did not recognize us anymore. We did not want her to feel like she was with strangers when the time came, but there are times where she clearly does not know us now. Most of the time, I believe she does know she loves us and feels safe with us, but when she doesn't, you can see her get scared and confused. She almost "snaps out of it" when the recognition finally comes--usually from your smell, or your voice, or something she is used to hearing you say even if she does not know what it means. She has no muscle and falls over her own feet, Benebones on the floor, the weight scale, a piece of fluff, pretty much anything. And, if she falls, she cannot often get up. We cannot leave her alone because it is torture for her.

And yet, I cannot imagine living in a world that does not include her. At this point, that does not revolve around her. I know that we have to, and that it is not fair to her to make her suffer now that she is truly suffering more than she is not. We are supposed to say goodbye to her Tuesday, at home, but I keep telling myself and Harriet that we can cancel it, but I know we cannot and Harriet knows we cannot.

I worry about Sergei. He is also fifteen and is wonky after a bout of vestibular. How will he handle losing Lion? I've always said he was a sociopath, so he might be okay, but I do suspect that they love each other deeply after all these years. I thought as they aged, their relationship and Sergei's attitude would get worse but, like I have been so many times, I was wrong.

Tonight, when I was pulling up her breakfast for tomorrow, and adding all her "powders and potions," I realized that, once she is gone, I will miss the whole process of feeding her because, even though there are calming probiotics, fish oils, Clonidine, Prozac, Galliprant, Dasequin, Gabapentin, and it is changing all the time with new medications are coming and old ones are leaving. While I am pulling up all these things, I know she is still alive. And, when I am not, I know that she is gone and that we might have bought time, but there are no miracles other than that we all found each other eventually. I know that there is no amount of money or effort that can turn this around or change a forever goodbye. It is unbearable. Harriet and I use to agree not to cry in front of her when this all started. We did not want our sadness to increase her anxiety, but now she does not even notice tears or tissues or whimpers or cries. She is always seemingly trying to figure out who and where she is and what she is suppose to be doing.

One of the kindest things we will ever do for our dogs is to let them go. And while it can be scary, because you do not want to take away any bit of happiness or hope from them, and you cannot ask them what they want, you know there really is no other option. It goes against every desire in my body to imagine laying in bed without feeling her body in between mine and Harriet's. She sleeps there now, with Sergei at the foot of the bed to feel secure. I need to see her senior lady tongue, hanging out of her mouth while she snores. On what planet will I be that now she cannot spoon me or Harriet when we are not spooning her. When I was single and living alone, she would always through her paw over me and hold me like a human, and it was oddly comforting. I can see her at 2 years old, leaping, and running, and chasing her teaser toy--a toy on the end of a rope on the end of the stick. I can see her at 4, when we used to go hiking every weekend. One time, we almost went over a waterfall, but I grabbed her by the harness with super human strength and pulled her out of the water just in time to get her back onto sturdy ground and then scramble up after her. Was she six at the horse farm, when Sergei went missing, and my world was falling apart, and I could not function, but she was right there, concerned, and ready to comfort Harriet and I. We took her on walks all over, hoping her female marking would give Sergei a path to follow home, and maybe it did. Who knows? But, he came back, and it was the happiest day of my life. She loved Kong Wubbas and then she loved those weird, round Bark Box toys--the Olympian in particular. We ordered her another after her first one was destroyed. She loved the toys that had smaller toys inside of them she had to pull out. She loved Harriet's mom, and her gifts from England. She loved everything about us, and we continue to love everything about her.

There are so many stories, so many beautiful and happy moments. There are thousands of pictures and videos, but there will never again be another Lion. I am grateful I got to spend her life with her but, right now, I am just scared and heartbroken and dreading Tuesday, but feeling like it might also be too long for her to wait, and hoping she will rally, as dogs do, right before the end.

Asymmetry

 Asymmetry by Lisa Halliday

2018

Weight: 8.8 oz

Method of Disposal: Giving Back to Friend Who Gifted It To Me

This one just did not work for me.  I wanted it to, especially after my dear friend told me that her sister, who passed away this year, had loved it.  As I read it, I had questions for someone that could never answer them.  In the way that death does, this book took on a meaning it never was meant to.  I tried to read someone into it that I wanted to be here still and could not find them.  Not that I would be the one that would find her if someone could.  Someone that really knew her, like my friend, might could do it. So, I want to give her the book back, knowing she will look also.

 It has been a little over half a year since there was a day that her sister and best friend was alive and it, at once seems like it has been no time at all and also seems like it has been an impossibly long time.  Grief is such a brutal component of love.  We have no choice but to endure it.

Yolanda's Genius

 Yolanda's Genius by Carol Fenner
1997
Weight: 6 oz
Method of Disposal: Lending Library

This was a surprising book.  I did not expect anything in particular going in, but I have not read a young adult book quite like it before.  The lead character is a large girl whose body takes up space, provides security, and glides through crowds.  She admires her Aunt in many ways but often describes her big, beautiful body too.  She is always eating and enjoying food, even as her mom periodically tells her she needs to eat less.  We, as readers, do not see her fatness as a negative but as a source of strength.  

She also wraps a self-protective attitude around herself and her brother and can, sometimes, come across as a bully but, what is most obvious, is that her and her brother are real children, with positives and negatives and strengths and weaknesses.  Only Yolanda can see that her brother is a musical genius and not just a tiny boy with a learning disability.  Only her little brother seems to be able to see his sister as a Queen, warrior, and protector and not just as a tough girl, always looking for a fight.  She looks like trouble, but she has learned how to construct and control life.  They have both grown up in the shadow of the grief of losing their father.

There is a strong mother, a magical aunt, a scrawny young girl with the potential to be a true friend, a teacher with a stutter.  There is so much going on in this book because of how it is written.  It just sort of whisks you away, and you just have to give in and follow its current.  If you don't, you may not appreciate it, but I just let it take me away and enjoyed it.

Tiger Eyes

Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume

1982

Weight: 4 oz

Method Disposal: Giving Away

It is no secret that, in general, Americans do not have a healthy connection with death and dying.  I sure do not and have been looking for tools and resources on my own in an attempt to get more comfortable with the most uncomfortable of subjects.  I always think I am preparing myself, but there is no preparation and it is jarring and disorienting in the largest, most earth shaking ways when death touched you, even on the periphery.  I am scared to face the death of my loved ones, but I am also determined to be better at being supportive of those I love who are grieving.  Unfortunately, it is not something that you can learn from reading a handbook, and it is not something you can protect yourself from.

I did not pick up this book to learn about death.  I picked up this book to revisit the work of Judy Blume as an adult, and I had also never read Tiger Eyes.  I recognized the style right away, even though I did not know the story.  Tiger Eyes is about a teenager who loses her father to violence and her struggle to overcome depression, anxiety, and grief afterwards.  She must do this within a family of other people who are also grieving.  She wants and needs her mother, but her mother is lost in despair too.  She is not always her best self and neither are her mom, her aunt, her uncle, but they are also not their worst selves.  They are just hurting people.  

I think young adult books like this, centered heavily on character development, are so helpful and important to our emotional growth.  Young adults do not always feel comfortable asking questions and, if they are like I was, they would not even always know what to ask.  You are learning so much so fast, and what you are learning is not just your school curriculum.  If a young adult will read and wants to read, they can learn without fear of judgement, without having to know what is right and wrong to ask, and you are just led through it without even realizing you are learning.  Learning by experience even if you, personally, are not the one doing the experiencing.  Do not get me wrong, you do not read Tiger Eyes and then become a person who knows what it is like to grieve, but you do develop empathy and concern.  There is a template, if you ever need to see one again or if you needed one to begin with, that shows you that there is still life after the death of a loved one.  Books like this one do not make everything better, but their value is subtle and that value collects in your brain, with all the other information you have gained from life, from other books, from other people.  Thank you, Judy Blume, for tackling the hard stuff, even though it is not easy to face the darkness.

Giselle's Bucket List

Giselle's Bucket List by Lauren Fern Watt
2017
Weight: 1 lb
Method of Disposal: Lending library at a shelter

This ended up being my beach read in Sanibel because I had absolutely no time for reading, and this is something you can fall in and out of easily.  It reads quickly and is full of pictures of an incredible and sweet mastiff, Gizelle.  The author is a young, confused woman who is trying to figure out her place and meaning in the world--I can still relate to that, and I am just under ten years older than her!

 I am only slightly kidding.  I remember being 25 years old and being desperate for meaning and answers.  It was very frightening and it all felt so urgent.  I only made it through because of my dogs (and ultimately meeting my wife).  It is a scary age to own a pet because a lot of 25 year olds cannot afford the medical bills or know what it takes to truly commit to a dog for life, but I believe it is a time when many people would benefit from having a pet.  Lauren clearly did.

I, of course, cried when Lauren had to say goodbye to Gizelle and could absolutely empathize with her.  My heart broke.  6 years is definitely not long enough.  I am glad Gizelle had Lauren and her family and friends though.

I don't know that this book had a real trajectory.  The author tried to use the bucket list as the glue that bound it all together, but the bucket list did not really seem to be the big, powerful thing.  It seemed like she tried to fit the list into the book instead of the list driving the book.  I think, like in life, she was confused about what to do with herself, her feelings, and her grief and so she wrote a book.  I think she did a good job for where she is at in life, though it did not speak to me as much as it might have when I was younger.  I can still remember and relate. 

I also appreciated her sharing the difficulties she faces loving an addict/her mom.  That was heavy and sad and something else the author was trying to make sense of.  Her honesty in and of itself was helpful, and you could see the love shine through the sadness and frustration in her acknowledgements at the end of the book.  This book is not going to teach most people anything, including the author, but it is a sweet love letter to the dog Lauren adored so deeply and a good peek into what it feels like to be twenty something and not know what you are doing with your life, relationships, and career.

Belle Prater's Boy

Belle Prater's Boy by Ruth White
1998
Weight: 11.2 oz
Method of Disposal: Donating

SPOILER ALERT

This was a surprisingly good young adult novel that was centered on two kids turning into teenagers, Gypsy and Woodrow.  They are both reeling with the loss of a parent.  Gypsy lost her father to suicide and Woodrow's mom disappeared.   Both characters are so earnest and so lovable.  You just want to make everything right for them.  They have such loving personalities despite their struggles and when Woodrow weaves an elaborate tale of magic and two worlds throughout the book you find yourself desperately believing that his mom will come back for him and that she is just stuck somewhere.  It is not until the very end of the book that you too have to feel a disappointment similar to Woodrow's when he admits that his mom left him behind and that she is not coming back.  I wanted to be enraged, but then Gypsy reminds you that, "Aunt Belle had left Woodrow on purpose just like my daddy left me.  Not because they didn't love us.  They did.  But their pain was bigger than their love" (195).  

Other People's Love Letters

Other People's Love Letters: 150 Letters You Were Never Meant to See edited by Bill Shapiro

2007

Weight: 1.4 lbs

Method of Disposal: Donating

This book was great.  It made me feel all the feelings out there! Maybe, most of all, it made me want to write my wife a love letter and then cherish her and then feel so lucky to have found her.  I really was grateful that the editor included letters about sex, fucking, illness, divorce, family, dating, war, peace.  The letters ranged from the early 1900s and on.  There were letters from a mom to a daughter's lover, from an ex to an ex, rejections, marriages, loss.  It really had almost everything.  I am really inclined not to give this book away. but I am.  I want it to bring someone else the joy it brought me.  

When I saw the drawing above I thought it was an adorable thing for a man to do for his mildred.  I wondered if he had heart issues or if he just exercised every morning. It wasn't until many pages and much later that I read the following, and I cried and cried and cried.

There were others that were happier and also wonderful:

And some that were unimaginable--that I hope I never ever have to know what it would be like...

High in the Clouds

High in the Clouds by Paul McCartney, Geoff Dunbar, and Phillip Ardagh
2005
Weight: 1.1 lbs
Method of Disposal: Donating

This book was alright.  I liked the premise enough--much like one of my favorite movies, A Land Before Time, but with a little FernGully and Wind and the Willows mixed in.  It seemed as if the authors wanted it to be a much longer or much shorter book, and they straddled that line.  I think it would have been much more successful as a longer book, but I know it can be hard to keep children invested if it is too long.  I am afraid because it is not long enough it cannot fulfill its potential and because it is too long most children will lose interest anyway.  Luckily, with someone like Paul McCartney helping to author it enough adults will likely be interested.

The reason I read this book was Linda Galpin, a woman I was only able to know a few short years before losing her to brain cancer.  I was newly married in her last year and had a lot going on in my life, and I did not talk on the phone with her for hours like I had previously.  She fostered a dog through PAWS and so I was fortunate to see her on the days she needed meds or food.  She would always bring me boxes of gifts, each with a handwritten note about the item she was giving me.  It was often something she had made or held onto for a long time.  After I married, she would bring my wife gifts too.  She said we had given her a gift.  We had taught her that, "love is love."

She loved dogs.  That is a big understatement.  Dogs meant the world to her.  She grew up with hounds and had retrievers as an adult.  She once had a shepherd too.  After meeting me, pit bulls topped her list despite never having one.   She loved New England and history.  She enjoyed photography and once even made stained glass--she gave me a piece which I still have.  We brought her to the farm once to see all the horses and all of our dogs, and she loved it.  She thought it was the coolest.  Her and Buttercup would drive around town "rocking out."  She smoked pot and would get a devilish grin if you caught her afterwards.

She got sick and had to move away to Connecticut.  We frequently wrote letters, but there was still little time for phone calls.  I just knew that, as much as I loved them, they would go on and on.  I wouldn't get all the things done I needed to.  I knew she was sick, but she was so vague and so off and on about it.  She was thinking about moving to one of the Carolinas when she started to feel better.  I had no idea she had a brain tumor or that we would lose her, suddenly, over night.  I feel like such a fool now, and it is one of my deepest, most shameful regrets that I did not talk to her more on the phone at the end of her life.  That I did not soak up her love, knowledge, and stories.  That I, ultimately, took her for granted even with all the clues. I would have seen it if I had listened closer.  I should have known.  I will miss her always.  I have no belief in an afterlife or God, but sometimes I cannot help but pray to her and ask her to, please, forgive me.  I think about her all the time.

How Can I Help?

How Can I Help? How to Support Someone Who Is Grieving
1999
Weight: 8 oz
Method of Disposal: Taking to Lending Library

I originally purchased this book when I was working at Barnes and Noble and one of my coworkers lost a parent and, seemingly, her mind.  I wanted to help even though we were not friends.  My heart broke for her.  Then, my best friend lost her fiance.  Unfortunately, since then, I have needed to pick it up many many more times.  You can tell by how well read (read worn) it is. 

It is a basic but worthwhile book that gives some really good, easy-to-follow, and solid advice.  It has some great reminders on what NOT to do, which I sometimes find even more helpful than what to do.  It encourages you to speak from your heart but to be sure you keep your focus on the grieving person and that, in their most painful moments, you do not bring too much attention to yourself or demean/belittle the feelings of the person grieving.  I recommend this book if you are looking for a way to be helpful after loss.

San Francisco Panorama

McSweeney's No 33 San Francisco Panorama
2009
Weight: 3.4 lbs
Method of Disposal: Donated to Goodwill

I see hard things every day.  I watch baby kittens die for reasons completely unknown to us as humans, though mama cat seems to know which will live and which won't.  We fight nature.  I watch dog's hearts break into thousands of pieces while their owners drop them off and don't look back.  A mom telling her children in a chipper tone, "kiss your dog goodbye but don't touch him with your lips!"  Dogs with chemical burns all over their body.  Dogs who will live but are currently so sick that the life seems to leave their eyes, and they just lay in a heap in a cage no matter how much affection you shower on them.  I see dogs and cats being misunderstood. Every. Day.  People say, "that dog is just mean."  Really, she is just terrified and having the worst 6 months of her entire life.  I jump from one broken heart to the next to the next to the next.  This description is of just some of the animals I cared for this week.  Sometimes, the animal will be busting at the seams with gratitude and joy, which is wonderful and, yet, still so sad that they expect so little out of life that 15 minutes with me is enough to change their world.

I rarely break down.  I always power on.  After 10 years you would think I had seen it all, but I still get surprised almost weekly.  Then something not surprising at all, that I have seen many times before, will hit me with all the force of my first day all those years ago and my stomach will turn and my breath will leave me.  It catches me completely off guard.  The other day we sent a senior mastiff to be spayed.  She'd had many many litters, but we had her for awhile and she showed no signs of pregnancy.  She's old and ready to retire.  The vet tech brought her back, and the dog had the most forlorn expression.  The tech said, "She had one big baby in there.  She couldn't have passed it anyway." A solitary puppy.  But it was the word "big" wasn't it?  Or the expression on the dog's face?  Or the fact that she would have to "sleep it off" in a kennel all by herself along with all the other suffering pets.  No peace, no giant dog bed in a cozy home with doting humans.  She was truly and completely on her own.  More alone now, as her one big baby would have died or had to been euthanized after the spay.  No one expected to find that baby. She likely did not expect to lose it.  She just woke up, and it was gone.  Maybe it was painful but a relief or maybe it was devastating,  Her face seemed to tell me it was the ladder.

I wanted to bring her home but, with 5 dogs of my own and 3 foster dogs, all of which had made my stomach turn at some point, I knew I had nothing left to give her and, even if I could take her home, I would have to leave all the other broken hearts behind.  I covered her in a warm blanket from the dryer, pet her, spoke gently and then left with my partner to try to rescue two feral kittens who had been abandoned at the fire department.  No time to cry or to register what had happened to that beautiful mastiff.  It haunts me, like so many other things, though she was much happier today when I saw her just a couple days into her recovery.  I am so ready to see that dog go home and know that her new family will not have to carry the sadness of having seen her that day.  That they will be able to look at her and love her with pride and not the guilt of closing the cage and walking away from her on what may have been the worst or one of the worst days of her entire life. 

The United States of Poetry

The United States of Poetry
Joshua Blum Bob Holman Mark Pellington
1996
Weight: 2.4 oz
Method of Disposal: Leaving Somewhere

I bought this book in the 90s and just now read it in 2016, but I am glad I saved it all this time.  I also think it is better it is released now rather than later.  It seems like there is less poetry out there.  I do, however, find it amusing that I am now married to someone who had a total mental collapse when she realized I was reading a book of poetry next to her.  She has some deep-seated disdain for poetry we need to overcome, apparently.

I picked up this book and read it last weekend, after we had to euthanize our beloved Chihuahua-Potato, Bayah.  I thought she would live for at least two decades and never imagined we would lose her in the 8-12 year old range.  She was rescued with her baby, Aires, from a puppy mill and brought to PAWS Atlanta around 4.5 years ago.  Harriet and her then boyfriend, Connor, took Bayah in as a foster.  She was seemingly young and feisty.

She was adopted out and about a year later she came back looking terrible.  She was overweight, had hair loss, and her teeth were completely rotten.  Harriet had moved back to England, and there was no room at the shelter.  Having started falling in love with the now single Harriet, I could not let anything happen to her foster pup and so I took Bayah home as my own foster.  I fell in love with her too.  And hard.  I tried to adopt her out, but when she came back a week later (she wasn't housebroken) I was so relieved to scoop her back up.  I finalized her adoption that day--April 18, 2013.  I was able to be her family for a little over three years.  That's it.

She was my little hot potato and my co-pilot. She was the dog I could take with me everywhere.  She was relaxed and loving and not at all worried about adult strangers.  Children were slightly alarming, but she would not hurt them, and I always made sure they were sweet with her too.  She fit perfectly in my arms.  She would not lay down or rest until she found a comfy bed to rest on but, if you put her in a bed, she would not budge again until you made her or until you took out some food.  She loved to eat more than anything else in the world and on her last night we gave her chocolate and chicken jerky, which she scarfed down as ferociously as ever.

She developed a head tilt and was diagnosed with vestibular disease, but three weeks went by, and she did not get better.  We got a third opinion.  We were told she had a brain tumor and our time with her was short and, even with the warning, there was not enough time spent together.  There never could be.  That's the thing about death.  No matter how much life allows you to prepare for it you cannot prepare for it.  It feels sudden or unexpected even when it is not.  If it doesn't feel that way then you have likely suffered terribly and for awhile.

That last night was the first time she flinched when someone went to hold her or when her canine best friend, Savannah, got near her.  She was in pain.  The tumor was putting pressure on her eye.  She had gone blind in that eye just a few weeks before. The only option was surgery, and she was not a candidate for surgery at her age and in her condition.  She left us before we left her, and our hearts broke into a million Bayah-sized pieces as we drove away from that hospital and home to a house that felt empty even though it was full of dogs.  I funnel my affections into her best friend and my other dogs, but nothing touches that place within me where the memory of her lives.  It is heavy and damp, soaked through with my sadness.  I know that as time goes on it will fill with positive memories and funny anecdotes, but right now I just miss my beloved little Chihuahua and the tongue that always hung out of her mouth as she sauntered along.  The low, sweet bark she let out when she got really excited and the warmth of her small body resting next to me.  I will love you forever, Bayah. 

Phoenix, 1997-2010

The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein
2009
Weight: 9.6 oz
Method of Disposal: Not sure, but I want it gone.



On August 16, 2010 I stayed up late reading the ART OF RACING IN THE RAIN while my baby foster kitten ran up and down the couch. Phoenix, my old man, laid beside me and would give the kitten a sniff from time to time that would cause her to blow up into the tiniest little poof ball. Phoenix’s tail was wagging, and he was given a good pet. The next morning I woke up, left the house to go to work telling Phoenix my usual, “Don’t worry, I will be back. I don’t want to leave either.” I got off work an hour early. I stopped by Walgreens for a totally unnecessary soda and then went home. I opened the door. Phoenix was lying crumpled and dead on the floor by the window. I started yelling at him to get up and fell over the items that blocked my way to him. The consensus is that it was probably a heart attack.

I adopted Phoenix from a local animal control around 11 years ago, and they guessed his age to be two years old. He was a big, scared, black dog with snot hanging down to the floor. It was raining that day, and he was scared to get into our car. They thought he might die since he was so sick, but he recovered. His shelter name was Sprocket and, because I was in 9th grade and he had overcome so much, I named him Phoenix. Later, he would also be known as Fiend, P-Beast, and Feenie.

In his early years, he would bolt out the front door if anyone attempted to open it. He would run straight into children, knocking them over, and then walk away without a second thought about it. He was always terrified of thunderstorms. He was also my best friend, despite the fact that I was a teenager and had trouble showing it. He was there when I broke up with my first love, and he was there for all the trying times I have had since then. He met everyone who was important to me, and he impressed almost everyone he came into contact with. In his older years friends of mine would proclaim that they wished he was their dog or that they wanted a dog just like him. We would use him to socialize other pets that were more timid, and he helped Vallan and I foster ten or more other beasts. He moved 5 + times to new houses and neighborhoods, but he always took it in stride. New smells, new people, new friends. He was cared for by Vallan, my mother, my grandmother, and myself. Every one took care of him in different ways, and he loved all of them. He ended up being the best-behaved dog I have ever had the privilege of calling my family member.

Phoenix was a traveling dog. He loved car rides. He had the opportunity to go cross-country several times, and he was also able to live with my mom on top of a mountain in New Mexico. He never cared for swimming or baths, much to my dismay. He was so afraid of water I am surprised he ever drank any out of the bowl. He did like to lick the water off my ankles when I got out of the shower, and I always hated it, but I would let him, thinking I would miss it one day. I do.

The night before my best friend died, I was reading a book from the perspective of a dog about his love for his owner and his own dying. The book was sometimes trite, and it was often way too human-centric—mostly man-centric. The women characters left a lot to be desired, and the man was the ideal life form. I really don’t care about all that right now though. The book did make me cry often, and I did read it fast. It was good and, for some, I think it would be comforting. I had no idea I would lose Phoenix so soon after reading it and now I want it out of my life. It is not the book’s fault, but it has to go.

Good Bye Fiend Man, I will always love, respect, and cherish you. 1997-2010.