Stuff & Things

hello again, blogosphere! i have missed you so much, though i doubt you have noticed the absence of my whiny voice from the conversations i have here with myself about such riveting topics as my dogs, so different from every other dog.

it's not that i've been avoiding you or even been too busy because, let's face it, i waste A LOT of time, it's just that i've been uninspired and lazy. these have been pervasive emotions throughout my life, as much as i try to fight them, which is admittedly not too much, so i just roll with it and remain content taking that second nap and lazily whiling away the days. that is what summer is all about and i've been enjoying mine immensely this year, spending it in the following non-blogging ways:



FIRE IN THE SKY: my favorite day of the summer is July 4, because this is the day my beloved Los Angeles neighborhood of Highland Park decides to set itself on fire with a fireworks bonanza extravaganza that makes anyone who experiences it gawk in shock and awe. every year, i've thrown a fireworks-viewing party on my deck, and every year, it's had a great turnout, this past year being no exception. there are plenty of explosions, pretty colors in the sky, flavorful microbrews and good friends that more than make up for the disgusting air quality the next day.



WORLD CUP: speaking of the next day, the Costa Rican soccer team qualified for the quarter-finals on July 5, and the leftover food and brews from the previous day's fete came in very handy, especially when some of the same friends showed up to watch the game with Tico and me. that was a great day for many reasons, despite the fact that Costa Rica didn't progress much farther, but it was still nice to see my own Tico so damn happy. all in all, the games were a great addition to my summer as i made it a point to watch as many as possible. i assure you it had nothing to do with the soccer thighs.



INDY: this guy is the most unbelievably loving, unintentional funny and needlessly nervous dog i've ever known. it's been a hard road with Indy as his separation anxiety has translated into destructive behavior whenever he was left without a human home to reassure him that he is not being abandoned forever. despite our best attempts to dog-proof the house, Tico and i returned home to many messes. then someone recommended the Thundershirt and hot holy hell, that thing actually worked.

the minute we put it on him, he began getting very sleepy and even stayed stationery as we moved around the house, a stark contrast to the shadow he's always been. nowadays, we come home to no (or at least less) destruction and a much calm(er) dog. i can't recommend this thing enough. and no, the manufacturer is not paying me to say this, though i really wish they were because i would totally take the money.



SCHROTH THERAPY: though i may look mighty relaxed lying on a hot pack above (my favorite part of physical therapy), i assure you that the rest of the hour i spend in therapy is grueling. i've been going for several months now as part of the treatment to manage any current and future pain associated with the broken rod in my back. i'll detail it more in a future post, but it's been very very beneficial for me so far, despite also being very very difficult.

to sum it up, i am learning how to dramatically alter my posture by activating underworked muscles in my back while allowing the overworked ones to atrophy. it is a lengthy, oftentimes painful process that involves targeted exercises to support the new posture, exercises that i'm learning so i can practice them at home. to help me stay dedicated, i've set up a gym in my garage (and am actually using it). this is one of those maintenance-for-the-rest-of-my-life things akin to a change in diet, which i'm also striving for so i may lighten the load on my back. so far, it's working, except for the times when it's not, like pizza time.



HOUSEHOLD: Tico officially moved in with me this month, despite unofficially living with me for a year. to commemorate the occasion, we went to work on fixing up the detached garage to make it a usable space as it had long been just a place to store plenty of things i no longer needed. so we got to throwing them out, painting some walls, opening up other walls, building out the gym, adding a desk, bookcase, loungy area, shelves and a workspace for Tico. it now looks welcoming and usable and awesome (photos to come). i am thrilled with the results and feel accomplished like one of those DIY homeowners i sometimes see on reality shows. granted, he did most of the work but whatever. i steadied the ladder despite him telling me i didn't need to. and with the house on its way to becoming even more awesome, i am hoping that the rest of life follows suit. but first, there are more lazy days of summer to while away.

Introducing Indy & Z

the new pack

because i’ve been telling every one of my friends that i wasn’t ready to love a new dog following the death of my beloved Pinko last year, two new dogs arrived on my doorstep. was i ready to love them? it doesn’t matter because they were ready to be loved, and that trumped everything else, including my better judgment. 

one dog i was somewhat expecting, given that Tico had stated his desire to get his own dog and had been visiting shelters throughout Los Angeles in search of a new best friend. but as his visits dragged on for months without a victor, i dismissed his intention as not being very serious and settled into a new routine with Juice as my main bitch. sure, there were a few contenders, but none of them stuck until one of them finally did. when Tico took me to the North Central Animal Shelter to check out a Weimaraner mix he thought “had potential,” i was skeptical. the dog seemed fearful and unfriendly, never coming too far out of his kennel and toward the gate where we were beckoning him. 

i suggested he keep looking, worried that the dog wouldn’t be friendly with us nor other dogs, as i had Juice to consider at home. but Tico remained undeterred, and when the dog finally came up for adoption a week later, a handler took him out of the kennel to meet us. that’s when the magic happened. the dog, now named Indy (in honor of Tico’s childhood obsession with Indiana Jones), was still skittish but also sweet, curious and calm, never once barking or displaying aggression. it was clear he had a few issues that would need to be addressed, but we knew his fear would eventually melt away with a lot of love, patience and guidance. 

first meeting at the shelter. sparks flew.

while filling out the paperwork for Indy — feeling equal parts stunned, excited and petrified — delirium must have taken over because we decided to get a second dog. just like that, as though he were a candy bar added at checkout. we spotted another couple playing with him first and marveled at his cuteness. he was an owner surrender brought in that morning, meaning he was up for adoption immediately, as opposed to strays like Indy that had to first hang out at the shelter for a week. we played with him while waiting for the vet to swing by and discuss Indy’s snip surgery and began to feel the familiar pinch of cupid and his arrow again. evidently, lightning can strike twice in the same place, and sometimes within the same hour. 

he was an impulse buy, snatched up because 1) he was a Boston Terrier and Tico has always been interested in that breed; 2) he was an adorable puppy that would quickly be adopted by virtue of his adorable puppiness and the savviness that propelled him to lick the face of anyone holding him, so we needed to decide fast. after one minute of excited discussion, we agreed to get him, figuring we would be turning our world upside down with one dog anyway, so why not just go big and ruin our lives with two?

how could i resist this face?

Tico decided to name the puppy Zilla, short for Godzilla (another childhood obsession). it seemed fitting, too, as the puppy showed up like a wrecking ball to destroy everything, just like that overgrown lizard did. within a day, Zilla had been shortened to Z, which is how he’s known now. he is the dog at the end of the alphabet.



beginning of boot camp

i can’t deny that the first week was really, really hard — like really, really. everyone was snapping at everyone else, humans and dogs included. Z’s thimble-sized bladder kept him peeing inside the house, while Indy refused to have a bowel movement for three days. Juice seemed edgy about the new additions and even bit Indy’s snout after i took him on a lengthy walk without her. unattended items were chewed and vets were visited after Indy irritated his remaining ball sack following surgery and again when his nose started leaking mucus, indicating a bronchial infection that required antibiotics. 

meanwhile, Tico was trying to Cesar Milan his way through the days between bouts of frustration, while i kept questioning his tactics, having learned a few of my own from raising puppies. the house was a wreck with a strong smell of vinegar (used to mask the trail of dog piss), the dogs’ energies were near explosive most of the time, but especially at mealtimes, and tempers flared as voices rose, with most of the shouting directed at the puppy, who was the epicenter of drama with his inexhaustible supply of energy and mischief. but mostly, we were all exhausted and needed naps. 

buyer’s remorse? hell yes.

spawn of satan in cute packaging

a month later, the days are still very hard, with probably more bad-to-neutral ones than good ones, as the tally of items destroyed by Indy and peed on by Z grow daily. that’s not to suggest Tico and i don’t love these two idiots — we do more so each day, as evidenced by the fact that we haven’t taken them back to the pound — but we still want to murder them sometimes. case in point: that time one of them (likely Z) got into a bag of baby powder left in the back of the closet and proceeded to dust the entire house with it. our mistake for thinking the puppy had been behaving more, so let’s trust him outside his crate for one hour while we go to Home Depot.

first thought upon seeing this: i’m going to get back in the car and drive away. 

 

my second thought: i should probably go in and kill the puppy first.

Z’s nicknames: crackhead, crazy, the little shit, rata, poop machine, sparky, zeetchka

you’d never guess by looking at that sweet face, but this one is the shit starter. granted, he’s just a puppy, now five months old, so part of his job is to misbehave. i can’t say it’s not endearing sometimes, as his antics can be ridiculously cute, clumsy and innocent. and he does have moments of acting like the Best Puppy on the Planet when he gets kissy-faced and cuddly. so yes, i’m a sucker for that face and think i’m really onto something with my business idea of opening a store to provide puppy therapy to sad stiffs who need a mood-lifter. just a dollar a minute to sit inside a pen with puppies. i think it will make me rich.

i think he’s a Boston Terrier-Chihuahua mix; Tico thinks Boston and Border Collie (because he hates Chihuahuas). he’s roughly 10 pounds now.

Z is exceptionally smart, maybe as smart as Juice, which would be impressive. he learned how to shake, stay and sit after only a few minutes of instruction and is savvy about reading people and other dogs, easily identifying the suckers at the dog park who will feed him treats and the weakest dogs to dominate. he’s tough, fearless, quick, independent and could probably enter any one of your houses and forget that Tico and i ever existed within a matter of hours. he is interested in everyone and everything. 

Indy’s nicknames: snake eyes, Indosha, pendejo, chewy, hungry hippo, floppy

Tico picked about 30 ticks off of Indy on his first day home, an exercise that must have cemented a special bond in Indy’s heart because he is now lost whenever Tico steps out of the room. unlike Z, Indy has been hard to train and sort of dopey, with a cartoon face and big head that manage to hit each wall he walks by. he can also be defiant, what i call his "teenager energy," born of frustration when he doesn’t get his way. then, he throws an epic tantrum full of wails that sound like Chewbacca.

i think he’s a Weimaraner and pit mix; Tico thinks Weimie-Lab. vet said he is probably 1.5 to 2 years old and shouldn’t get much bigger. he’s 70 pounds of muscle now.

when at home and relaxed, Indy is a big sugar who wants to cuddle and sleep on top of us to make sure we don’t leave. when we’re up and moving around, however, he becomes a shadow that gets underfoot and seeks out negative attention. once a passive super-champ at the dog park, Indy became rattled after a mastiff bit his head and now becomes aggressive with dogs that try to dominate him. he’s unsure of strangers, men especially, and takes his time warming up to new people. he will not want to enter your house or let you pet him until you offer him several treats and/or Tico or i embrace you to show him you’re not a threat. but once you’re in, he’ll want to sit on your lap. 

after some initial sibling rivalry, these two are approaching a happier place and have begun to cuddle more. i’m hoping they join forces and begin to regard Z as their kid, but so far Juice has had to school both the boys.

Juice will turn 13 next month. her nicknames: jooca, joocasheena, big mama J, pretty girl, jooks, the OG.

i assure you that Juice has not been forgotten in this new world order. in fact, she is more critical than ever, helping play trainer and referee with the brothers. her relaxed energy calms all of us down, providing a welcome reminder of how training, dedication and time can transform a dog from beast to best friend. i well remember how, in her first year of life, she climbed onto my parents’ dinner table when no one was looking and ate the roast chicken clean. so when Z has peed yet again 10 minutes after being let outside and Indy has chewed up another item, i’ll calmly whisper to myself, “Juice and the chicken, Juice and the chicken.” 

the puppy adores her and often uses her body as his launching pad, pillow and tabletop. she allows it (most of the time).

the brothers have rocked Juice’s world as much as they’ve rocked ours and i’ve find myself asking her daily whether i ruined her life, especially when the house reaches chaotic levels because the puppies won’t CHILL THE FUCK OUT ALREADY. in reply, she’ll lick her chops and look at the cupboard with the dog treats. i always abide, sneaking her plenty when they aren’t looking, and lavishing her with affection and apologies whenever i can. she is a rockstar and a rock. 

the boys are ridiculously good-looking. of course, i’m totally objective.

these two know they are the new kids on the block and have bonded in a way that none of us were prepared for. they love and trust each other more than the rest of us outsiders with our dumb rules that limit their collective wrestling, barking, overeating, chewing, jumping, howling, begging, scratching and psychotic episodes that find them slamming into shins and knocking over items as they sprint through the house. they also gang up on dogs at the dog park, with Indy making a mighty display of himself whenever another dog dares to step up to his kid brother.  

a well-worn position

tug of war with Tico’s sock.

we’ve had to separate them more to keep the peace and our sanity intact. and when we have, they act like miraculously well-behaved angels. this is troubling because we need to function calmly as a pack, so the focus is now on showing the puppies how to co-exist without needing to chew each other’s faces off. it’s been difficult as their inclination, Z’s especially, is to roughhouse until they rile each other up to satanic levels of barking and body slams, but they will learn, goddamnit, or we will die trying to teach them.

triple the dog hair and dog shit, yay! 



does this puppy make my butt look big?

one of the other issues with the brothers becoming so close is that Juice is left out of their clubhouse. i had hoped a new friend would keep her company and stop the uncontrollable shaking she exhibited every time i said goodbye to her before leaving for work in the morning. and the boys have done that, but at 13, she’s not up for puppy playfulness, so she’s left on the sidelines as the buzz-killing matriarch that snaps at them until they stop wrestling and then demonstrates how to share toys. they both respect her, maybe more than they do us, but they rarely engage her in play. i’m hoping this will change as they mature. 

but sometimes, all three of them can get in on a good tug-of-war, which warms the cockles of my heart.

other times, the puppy will sleep on my lap while my man sleeps alongside me, and i’ll think, “this is a good time for a selfie.”

bipeds not allowed on couch.

Tico and i have been working well as a team through this despite the usual bickering that characterizes our couplehood. both of us have raised dogs before so we have established parenting styles to borrow from. thankfully, they are more alike than dissimilar and include a lot of Dog Whisperer tricks (Cesar Milan once worked with Juice before he became a megastar). in general, we believe in consistency, consistency, consistency. training during the first few months is intense. this means rewards for good behavior and, yes, punishment for bad behavior (solitary confinement in the crate or on the deck). i’m sure the pups regard us as humorless stiffs, but once we get through the boot camp of learning house rules, we’ve assured them that a better time lies ahead.  

if Z could surgically join himself to Indy, i think he would be happy. Indy’s choice would be to surgically join himself to Tico. Juice just wants all the dog treats in the world. Tico wants a motorcycle and i would like a spa day. 

somewhere off the 5 freeway, taken on our first road trip together.

Tico is very much the disciplinary dad, while i am the more lenient mom. together, we make the ultimate cliche of gender-based parenting. like all new parents, we have moments when we lose our cool and wonder why we wrecked our formerly breezy life with one old dog. but then we’ll remember that life before the two dummies was not nearly as interesting, challenging or joyful. that’s when we’ll share a smile as the boys wrestle (semi-calmly) at our feet while Juice snores gently nearby. we may even give each other a high-five, proud of how far the new pack has already come, and confident that we can go the remaining distance.

it’s a warm, empowering feeling, usually interrupted by the puppy shitting in the living room.  

The Grief

in the two weeks since Pinko left my life, i’m sad to say i haven’t dreamed about her once. i keep wanting to and asking her to visit me, but she hasn’t yet. maybe that’s because i’m sleeping poorly and there hasn’t been many solid stretches of time when dreams can happen. i’m hoping both these things will change soon, because i’m chronically tired from the lack of sleep and chronically sad from missing her.

i get that she is not coming back. there is no “magical thinking” happening where i’ve saved her things with the expectation that she will need them when she returns home. wherever home is for her now, it’s no longer with me. accepting this has made the grief more manageable. i don’t come home expecting to see her sweet face, despite thinking about her all day long. of course, the house is hollower without her. of course, my life is, too.

but once i made my way through the initial devastation — when i cried until i ran out of tears and drank until i felt numb — the dull, familiar ache of heartbreak settled in. i realize it will dissipate with time, as all my other heartaches have, flaring up intermittently when triggered. sometimes, it’s by my memories of her, like how she had one floppy and one upright ear and how she would put her face on the edge of the bed to greet me every morning. other times, it’s the realization that i’ll never see that face or hear her howl again. 

a few friends suggested i get another dog right away. i know this is good advice and there will certainly be more dogs in my future, but a new dog can’t fill the void of wanting my old dog back. i need to heal first and prepare myself to appreciate a new dog’s unique personality and idiosyncrasies instead of searching for one that reminds me of Pinko.

at least i have Juice. this is another refrain i’ve heard, and it rings exceptionally true. i couldn’t imagine walking into or living in a dogless house, now or ever. i need to see a tail wagging daily and have access to a furry face i can nuzzle. it’s good for my mental and spiritual health. Juice has delivered, though she’s less affectionate than Pinko was, so i find myself following Juice around the house and trying to coax her into giving me love and attention, as Pinko used to with me.  

if there is any bright side to this, it’s that i now have more opportunities to connect with Juice — and in many ways reconnect. Pinko’s rough origins made her slightly needy and insecure, while Juice has known no other life than the one she’s been living with me since she was six weeks old. rightly or wrongly, i gave Pinko more attention, sometimes at the expense of Juice, who has become more solitary over the years. but now, Juice has begun falling asleep with her head across my lap more, something she used to do regularly as a puppy.

i keep wondering what she is thinking through all this. i worry that she is lonely and bored without Pinko. i know i shouldn’t project my human sensibilities onto her, but there have been several times when we’ve locked eyes for a good while and i recognize a certain sadness in her, the same one that lives in me now. after these moments, i’ll always kiss her head and whisper, “i miss her, too.”

i know Juice understands that Pinko is gone. she stayed in the room with me and smelled Pinko’s still body when it was over. sometimes, Juice smells whatever remains of Pinko’s scent on my clothes and begins wagging her tail and pawing at me. she also seems far more interested in her dog toys, which Pinko routinely stole out of Juice’s mouth, but they are now carried around the house and brought onto the couch to snuggle with.

then there is Tico and his grief. in the days following Pinko’s death, he painted the basement, planted much of the front yard, vacuumed and washed my car, built a shelf for the hallway closet and reorganized the spare bedroom and bathroom cupboards — all while i sat on the couch, drinking, crying and looking at old photographs. i guess this sums up the difference between how men and women grieve. thankfully, he also slowed down plenty to offer his comfortable arms when i needed them most, cushioning this journey for me immensely.

i’m also indebted to my friends and family, whom i’m convinced are the most amazing people in the world. from them, i received money for vet bills, condolence cards, flower and food deliveries, a spa certificate, and several personal messages of love and support. i take none of it for granted and vow to absorb these inspirational lessons in friendship and pay them forward.

and even though i’m brokenhearted and going into the holidays with a member of my family missing, i still consider myself lucky for the many remaining blessings in my life — and for the six years i had with a cuddly creature that howled in my ear, warmed my side, brightened my world and grew my heart with her limitless love. i would do it all over again.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Pinko/Cheddar (2007-2013)

 
my favorite photo of her

when i first began drafting this blog post several days ago, the first sentence read, “a week ago, i thought this post would be an obituary.” after considering whether it would have been better if she went right away instead of lasting that extra week — a week that kept her alive needlessly, in pain and in vain — i’m certain that right away would have been better.

of course, i have the gift of hindsight and the scourge of jewish guilt that makes me think that everything i’ve done i could do better if given another chance, but reality is a merciless beast and my reality is that my dog is dead and the well-meaning chorus of “you did everything you could for her” rings hollow for me and will never remove the feeling i have inside that i didn’t.

i don’t say this to evoke sympathy or soothing words, just to state a fact that i would have done many things differently. i realize that none of it matters now. i realize that she’s gone and i’m tormenting myself with options i no longer have. i suppose it’s part of the grieving process and i will get through it. but still, there remains a secret hope that we all get one do-over in life. i would choose the past week as mine. 


at four months 

like the cliche, i never saw it coming. when my little Pinko (whom i call Cheddar nowadays) started walking funny on Thanksgiving, i assumed it was just a sprained muscle that would resolve itself in time, like it has in the past. so i continued on with the long weekend, visiting with friends who were in town and enjoying a daytrip with Tico to the Salton Sea. in other words, i stayed out of the house most of the weekend and didn’t notice that my dog’s health was in a freefall.

this was my ultimate mistake because by sunday night, Pinko stopped eating and seemed feverish and weak. by monday morning, when i took her to the vet, her nose had begun bleeding. the vet put her on an IV, took chest x-rays and drew her blood, which showed that all her organs were failing and producing enzymes to shut her body down for an imminent death. her temperature registered at 105.8 degrees (106 is fatal in dogs). she also had blood in her lungs.

with no time to waste, he sent me over to Animal Specialty Group in Glendale, a referral-only hospital staffed 24/7 with animal oncologists, internists and surgeons. more x-rays were taken there and ultimately an ultrasound that couldn’t locate a tumor in her body, ruling out the possibility of cancer. instead, she was diagnosed with thrombocytopenia, a blood disease that causes one’s body to attack its own platelets as though they were pathogens. at intake, Pinko tests showed 11,000 platelets (150,000-300,000 is normal), and she was bleeding internally.     

after i hastily signed some paperwork, she was admitted to the hospital’s intensive care unit and given a drug used for chemotherapy that tells her bone marrow to begin reproducing new platelets, a high dose of the steroid prednizone to shut down her body’s immune response so it would stop killing her platelets, and antibiotics to fight off any developing pneumonia or other infection she might catch because of her newly compromised immune system.

that day was a fast-moving blur and i know i didn’t ask all the right questions or understand all the details, but there are a few things i will always remember about it, such as watching my dog’s legs buckle from weakness on the slope in my front yard, almost causing her to slide downhill until i caught her; the sensation i had when she expelled a mighty sneeze that covered my face and white shirt in her blood; and the way Tico wiped the tears off my face after i cried hysterically on his shoulder once we left the hospital.


right before i left her at the hospital

the emotion that best characterizes that day for me was bewilderment. not that there is some ideal time for all of that to happen, but the surprise and urgency of events left me in a fog that had me wondering if the day actually took place. surely, i would wake up at any moment. surely, i would open the door of my house after leaving my dog in the hospital and find her waiting there for me with a wagging tail.

but as reality set in, the vodka flowed and tears blurred my vision, the only thing i could do was wait for news with a heart full of hope. i talked to the vet twice a day and visited her at the hospital every night after work. and every night, she would walk over to me with a wagging tail, collapse against my body and fall asleep with her head in my lap while i petted her through rubber gloves and cried.


hospital blues

most days, she looked horrid, her half-dead eyes barely registering the life happening all around her. she shook constantly and gagged often for no reason. one night, she burrowed her head under my arm and scratched at my pants when it was time to part, making for an extra difficult goodbye. that was the same night she had a seizure and i ran out crying from the ramen shop where Tico and i were having dinner after leaving the hospital.


the nightly scene

every day seemed to bring both good news and setbacks. she had more energy but her stool was bloody. the platelet count was still too low (14,000 two days after intake) but the pneumonia cleared up. i never knew how optimistic to feel from one day to the next, so i did the best i could to quell my anxiety, calm my pounding heart and reduce the grinding of my teeth. sometimes, my best amounted to very little food and sleep. other times, i got very zen about it and resigned myself to dealing with news as it came instead of fretting over the fact that i couldn’t control the news. (but mostly, i didn’t eat or sleep.)


my rock. he came to the hospital with me every night.

five nights after Animal Specialty Group admitted Pinko to its ICU, i received word that the platelet count was at 56,000, a number that exceeded everyone’s expectations and caused an eruption of joy with requisite happy dance in my kitchen. with that, she was released to convalesce at home with a bag full of medicine, detailed instructions on monitoring her eating and stool, and appointments for future visits when her platelets would be tested.


her first night back home

she was at home for three nights, also a fast-moving blur of hope and despair. she refused all food, even her favorite ones, and the force-feedings through a syringe felt like abuse, especially after the trauma she had endured. her backside was leaky, causing me to line the furniture with puppy pads as she had frequent accidents.

the first day at home, i could do nothing but cry my eyes out. i think i began the grieving process then with the instinctive knowledge that there would be no bouncing back from this and that my dog was already gone. i asked Tico to handle all the syringe feedings that day while i sat on the couch, overwhelmed by helplessness and in tears, apologizing. 


all the meds that i’m convinced did more to harm than help her. after i called the hospital complaining that her body was not handling them well, they told me to stop giving her half. i was incensed i wasn’t advised of this option before.

she had to take 15 pills a day — an immune-suppressant steroid, anti-vomiting drugs, appetite stimulants, antibiotics and antacid — all of which she resisted, creating another struggle. her skin smelled of chemicals, and she spent most of the day shivering, drooling, droopy-eyed and immobile in a zombie-like state, a shell of her former self, looking as though she would pass out at any moment, though never actually falling asleep because the medication made her wired. she didn’t howl or bark once and her tail never wagged.


one of the few good moments at home as a reunited pack. as expected, Juice was an incredible support to both me and Pinko through this ordeal, staying by her sister’s side through the difficult nights and feedings and often licking tears off my face. 

the second day at home started better, with a visit from my mom, before taking a nosedive when the baby food i fed Pinko at lunch, thinking she would like it more (which she seemed to), came back up. i saw blood in her vomit. after that, she had trouble getting comfortable and seemed weaker than before, so i laid down next to her, stroked her ears and kissed her face, while Tico called the hospital for advice. i apologized for feeding her the baby food and asked her what i should do. i listened to her breathing, which sounded labored. i worried she had blood in her lungs again and was becoming dehydrated.

that night was her last on earth.


glad my mom got to see her a final time.

i spent that last night lying awake in bed, grappling with the thought of ending a life i loved so dearly. i didn’t think i could do it. i considered taking her back to the hospital, but was worried about the bill, which was already over $5,500 (all on my credit card). i told myself that i could make more money in my life but i could never make another Pinko and the expense would be worth it if i had a healthy dog at the end of this.

at 5 am, after staying up all night with my stomach and heart in a knot, i meditated and asked for guidance. my maternal grandma came to me, as she has many times before in moments of crisis, and said only one word: rest. i fell asleep for two hours and awoke understanding what the day would bring. i went to Pinko and kissed her face. she looked as though she had been awake all night. she put her head on my arm and sighed, her eyes exhausted and resigned. i told her to hang on, that we were almost there.


Juice held vigil next to her sister all day and night. this is the last photo of the two of them together.

an hour later, Tico and i were dropping her off at the hospital so she could get her medicine and nutrients from an IV. i told them to give her something for the pain and call me after they ran their tests. they told me they wanted to keep her in the ICU another two nights. i told them one at the most and then began calling around for a holistic vet. i went home and laid on the floor next to Juice, asking the universe to make it very clear for me: either make this manageable and i’ll manage it, or make it impossible and i’ll do the impossible.

the vet called back in the afternoon and gave me every diagnosis imaginable — diabetes, hepatitis, anemia, pancreatitis, liver failure, GI tears and blood in the intestines. she suggested more medication, a blood transfusion and a feeding tube. i thought about calling her a cunt for never suggesting euthanasia, but instead handed the phone off to Tico so i could regain my composure. once i did, i told her to get the shot ready. i would be there in under an hour. i had no doubts anymore.


at six months, with the love of her life.

i want to state now that i don’t see my dogs as my actual children, despite referring to them often as “my furry babies.” i imagine that once i’m a mother (which i very much hope to be), i will feel differently about my child than i do about my dog. more to the point, there is an understanding when a pet is adopted that the pet will never outlast us and that we’ll one day have to make that decision we refuse to entertain until circumstances force us. i knew that day was coming, but given that Juice is 11 (almost twice Pinko’s age) and has begun having issues with her bladder, i never considered that day would come for Pinko first. not even once.


she was a deep thinker.

but still, love is love, and the nature of my love is protective. through this ordeal, i wanted only to shield Pinko from pain above all else, even at the expense of her recovery. every instinct in my body told me to toss aside the pills that were making her sick, to stop with the demoralizing force feedings and to find another, perhaps more natural approach. yet i did none of these things and instead marched toward a false promised land that filled us both with anguish, hers more excruciating. these are regrets i will need time to process, along with my grief. i’ve made promises to Juice that i won’t repeat these mistakes.


she was a cuddler.

the last few moments with her were far more beautiful than i thought they would be. i brought Juice along so she could understand what was happening and find her own closure. when the two of them saw each other, they touched noses briefly but purposefully in what i took to be their final goodbye. Juice then sat by Pinko’s side while i sat on the floor and brought Pinko’s head and chest across my lap.


her first time in the snow.

i talked to her for a few minutes, praising her for brightening my life in infinite ways for six years. i thanked her for being a difficult dog initially so i could learn about unconditional love. i apologized for extending her life that extra week, asked her to forgive me for yelling at her when she misbehaved and said i hoped she could reincarnate as a future dog of mine, to be adopted at an undetermined time, so i could see her again. i also told her that i put her name tag on my keyring and would keep her collar in my purse.

then i went through the list of all the things i loved about her — how she howled when she wanted attention, herded me toward the dog treats, sat on me when she didn’t want me to leave, jumped on me so she could stretch her back, pushed my legs apart so she could sit between them while i stood, and ran ahead during our hikes, though not too far, before running back to jump on her sister’s head. she was a funny dog, both sassy and sweet, equal parts fire and sugar, sometimes needy and always loving. i told her i hoped her sister and i gave her as much love as she gave us.


she had soulful eyes.

then i put my hand over Pinko’s heart so i could feel its final beat, leaned back into Tico’s arms, told the vet we were ready, and let my tears roll off my face and onto hers so she could take some of me with her. less than a minute later, i felt her heart and breathing stop. i kept petting her tan fur until her body began getting cold. then i kissed her still face goodbye and told her i would miss her every day for the rest of my life. she passed on Tuesday, December 10, around 4:45pm. she was a month shy of her 7th birthday.


goodbye, sweet girl. you live in my heart now.

Related Posts

• on bringing her into the household: Introducing Pinko
• on her adjustment to the household (and obsession with Juice): Puppy Love
• more on the adjustment: Puppies!!!
• a video of her howling: Chatty Pinko
• the time she was sprayed by a skunk: Somebody Was Sprayed in the Face by a Skunk
• the differences between the two dogs: Dogliness Update

please consider making a donation to help with the vet bill (roughly $6,600): Help for Pinko’s Medical Bills 

A Day at the Dog Beach

Dogliness Update

the OG: Juice will be 9 years old this year. this blows me away. i’ve had her since she was six weeks old, a time when i used to carry her around in my purse. she weighs 70 pounds now. it’s not an exaggeration to say she’s a stunning dog in every way. no one ever fails to comment on her beauty, to ask what her breed is (shepherd mutt), to notice how soft her fur is, how sweet her demeanor is and how she seems so much younger than her nine years.

i took this for granted, i suppose, figuring she would stay perfect until time immemorial. but then a tumor popped up on her head. i tried to ignore it at first, thinking it was some temporary swelling, maybe a bumpy bite that would go away on its own. i took her to the vet, who said there was no cause for alarm unless the tumor grew.



it grew: and began colliding with my hand every time i pet Juice’s head, reminding me of her age. around that time, Juice also began having accidents, usually when she was stretched out and relaxed, her bladder emptying itself on the floor, the dog bed, sometimes the couch — also reminding me of her age.

i took her back to the vet, where lab results revealed that she had “crystals in her urine,” which could lead to bladder stones, which could lead to surgery. a special diet was required in the form of costly prescription dog food. Juice hated it, and Juice (like me) hates no food, eating pretty much anything that is put in front of her. but here she was skipping meals and lumbering around the house with sad eyes during feedings. this lasted three months, a time when Juice seemed nothing short of miserable, which made me miserable. and yet the crystals weren’t eliminated entirely, only reduced, making me wonder whether there was a better way.



the better way: it came my way during a facial, performed by my awesome facialist Anna, who mentioned that she cooked for her dogs every day. i told her my issues with Juice’s health and she suggested i mix some human-grade kibble with carrots, rice, parsley and flax seed oil. so i did. Juice loved it. even Pinko loved it and Pinko is a picky eater. suddenly, a new doggy diet was born.



months passed: and the diet evolved, so much so that the kibble was eliminated entirely. now they’ll eat almost any vegetable i throw into their bowl. in the photo above, there are carrots, rice, shredded zucchini, cauliflower, butternut squash and sardine oil. and just this week i started adding boiled gizzards to their meals (they are over the moon with that one). meanwhile, i’m eating frozen pizzas from Trader Joe’s.



the new G: Pinko just turned four years old. this also blows me away. we’ve come such a long way when i first got her in 2007 as a birthday gift for Juice. she was a challenging dog then, still is in many ways. she came to me with major food aggression issues that were a bear to work around. but we kept working and she kept improving and i think i did, too, with her teaching me patience, dedication and unconditional acceptance. the last one was the hardest lesson for me to learn, as i was convinced i could turn this new Deuce into my perfect Juice.



no such luck: she was resolute in her Pinko-ness: a charm of extremes that waffles between sassy defiance and insecure neediness. the dog is constantly howling, herding, jumping and inserting herself wherever she wants to be, which is usually right in the middle of where she shouldn’t be.

and then the ears go down and she breaks the sweetness meter with her affection and need for love. she frightens easily and always ends up burrowing into various body parts (from legs to armpit) for safety, where she will hide her whole head until she feels reassured. then she’ll perk up, sass up and steal a toy from Juice’s mouth.



dog fusion: these dogs could not be more different. i always call Juice the “gateway dog,” as she will turn non-dog-lovers into fans with her effortless charm and easygoing nature. but Cheddar (Pinko’s other, more common name now) is more of an acquired taste. she’s the funny one full of personality — the class clown who sort of annoys you at first, but ultimately wins you over with her heart of gold. to know her is to love her. it can take some effort, but the rewards are divine.



partners in crime: despite their differences, these two make awesome companions for each other, breaking out in spontaneous play constantly. they’ll wrestle, engage in a little tug-of-war, compete for food and attention, pee on the same spots and then snuggle through the night. they are inseparable and love each other first above all else, even above me, which i’ve grown OK with (sort of).



back to the OG: her health is good again. the new diet did much to help her budding bladder stones and crystallized urine. she has stopped wetting herself and seems more joyful and energized. i also had her undergo a local anesthetic to have the tumor on her head removed, which left her physically flawless once again. i’m sure she’ll live forever now.



bonus shot: the costa rican cutie and i took a drive up the 5 freeway for a snow day with the pups, where this awesome shot was taken. Juice LOVED the snow and wanted me to spend all my time lobbing snowballs into her mouth. naturally, i obliged.