MAKING HISTORY

The first season home game of the Habs – I was installed with Mommy and my glass of wine in front of the living room TV, watching the opening ceremonies when my phone rang. I usually shut the darned thing off during games, and anyone who knows me will time their calls accordingly, but...

It was my neighbour, the beautiful Louka’s daddy, who has helped me out so often that I couldn’t NOT answer. He needed to fax some papers – it would take a minute – would I mind? Of course not! The first period was just starting when he arrived, the deed was done and he left – it took all of 5 minutes. I was back on the couch with Mommy when I heard his voice calling from the kitchen moments later.

“What did you forget?” I yelled back, not moving, expecting to see him come around the corner from the hallway. But he didn’t. Odd.

Mommy had run to the kitchen to investigate, so I decided to do the same. I found my neighbour stretched out on the floor – what??!!!

I knelt beside him, saying his name – he opened his eyes, groaning, hanging onto his arm. He was trying not to faint from the pain as he told me that he had slipped on my outside stairs, whammed his head good against the stone wall, and he was sure his arm was broken.

A flurry of activity followed; ice wrapped in a towel to put around his arm, checking the side of his head which was already swelling, telling him he’d have to get up because there was no way I’d be able to carry him downstairs....
Finally we were in his truck, the beautiful Louka licking my face as I attempted to negotiate this huge vehicle from my driveway, and we got to the village hospital. True to its reputation, he was told to take a number and sit down...it was number 79 and the waiting room occupants informed us some had been waiting there since noon. Back into the truck and off to the hospital in Ontario, where service does exist even if it takes much longer to get there. The man is tough. I suspected he was concentrating on dealing with the pain, but I kept talking to him, making him answer me...I was worried about concussion.

It took a few hours, but they gave him pain killers, x-rays, and a cast, in that order, and we drove back to the bush. He came up for a bowl of soup and sandwich before going home; neither of us had eaten. He apologized again for my missed hockey game.

"It's okay. My son was texting me the information during the hospital wait and I can get the highlights on the internet. The first time ever the Habs have started out with five wins in a row!"

"Hmmm," he frowned. “First time in my life I ever broke a bone!"

"So!" I laughed. "Tonight you both made history!!"

And we SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

FOUR YEARS....

It was Mommy’s jumping out of bed that woke me at 2 AM this morning. I groggily wondered where she was going – usually she needs to be prodded to get up – she likes our bed. When I turned over I was facing the clock...and seeing the time sharpened the thoughts that have been on the edge of my mind all month. Okay – I wouldn’t be going back to sleep right away, I knew that now.

Four years today, and it sure doesn’t seem that long. I know I say it every anniversary, and it’s just the truth. Right now I am sitting the same place I was four years ago, in exactly the same spot. Except then it was on the side of Bird’s bed instead of on my office chair. I was saying goodbye.

I cry a little, because I still miss him terribly. I also smile, because I can’t think of him without re-living all those crazy hours spent together; hours of laughter, and sibling bitching and love...so many giggles, so much love.

I don’t remember him just on October 14th. I believe I can safely say not many days go by without his invading my space, much as he did when he was alive – something he said, or did, or how he would react to a certain situation. But tonight, maybe because I am alone here, in the same place, at the same time these years later...it just seems to hit me more. I know he’s not here...but he is.

I sincerely hope that, after I am gone, my children will be able to feel as I do at this moment. There is the pain of loss, yes; but there is also the peace of accepting the way it is, has been, and will continue to be in our human span. Mostly it is overwhelming, warm gratitude for his having been part of my life.

And I SMILE.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!

The pharmacist (not the greedy doc) had come up with the brilliant idea that I take Gravol an hour before each antibiotic pill, and with this I managed to keep the medicine down, even if I slept walked through most of the week. Friday night was the last of them, and I was so looking forward to eating something other than cereal and soup! I should have remembered that the effects last a little longer. Ok – lesson learned...again.

I did force myself to go and buy a turkey (I could feel my Mom at my elbow), which I will cook today. There is no formal gathering planned. I still haven’t the energy for a houseful of family and friends, but if anyone does drop in, there will be food to eat. I’ll take a plate into my niece, who is in the hospital and in far worse shape than I ever was. She called me yesterday to remind me not to forget the dressing. It’s an old family recipe, and both she and I have been enjoying it each turkey occasion as far back as we can remember.

My son and my Japanese DIL dropped in with little Miko last night – that child smiles at me and I absolutely melt! She cuddled on my knee as we watched the Habs beat the Bruins, and I lifted her little arms celebrating the goals, and she giggled, showing all 4 of her new front teeth. So quickly does time fly! She is already 9 months old, and just her being here is reason alone to be thankful. There are plenty other reasons – I am convinced that I am one of the most blessed persons on this planet. The more I read the news, the firmer is my belief.

For all my Canadian friends, I wish you a happy Thanksgiving Day. And for those who will celebrate at a later date, I wish you the same. There is nothing wrong being grateful every day, is there? I’m sending out big SMILES with those wishes, big enough to wrap this special weekend in warmth and caring and just plain old joy!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

COMING HOME

It was Saturday morning at 9 AM, and I fortunately found a parking spot right in front of the Fosters’ apartment on busy St-Laurent Street in downtown Montreal. I trekked up the stairs, two cages in hand, and knocked on the door. It opened on a scene of organized turmoil! The Agency people were already there, gathering up toys and food and blankets and dishes; puppies were scurrying around everywhere, and Pitiful Mom was running frantically from one baby to another. The Fosters stood back watching the activity, not quite sure what to do – mostly attempting to stay out of the way. Wow! Would you believe it took only 10 minutes to fill my truck with all the extras and 5 puppies sharing the 2 crates? In the end my contribution was to hang on to Pitiful Mom’s leash, which wasn’t easy until she realised that we were following the men carrying her puppies. I opened the back door of my truck, wondering just where she was going to sit, it was packed so tight...and she balked. She came to a dead stop.

“Oh, I forgot!” said the Agency lady. “She doesn’t like getting into cars.”

What???

I stared at the lady – here I was alone, with a truck full of puppies, going to have to negotiate heavy downtown city traffic then another 90 minutes following vacation-bound tourists, with a hyper mother pit-bull who didn’t really know me from Adam...and you tell me NOW she doesn’t like cars? The lady read my expression and hurried to add “She’ll be okay once she’s inside, she just doesn’t like getting in.” I stared down at Pitifull Mom, wondering just how I was going to do this, short of physically picking her up and stuffing her among the blankets on the back seat. The puppies saved the day. They began to yelp, and it only took a second for Mom to scramble up, attempting to reach the crates. I quickly closed the door. When I slipped behind the wheel, I was more than a little apprehensive for the ride home. Taking a deep breath, I turned the key, put on the air conditioning but left the windows open a slit for air, locking them into place, and turned up a CD of soothing music. I took it slow – heard more than one horn blasting at my cautious driving – and by the time we left the city Pitiful Mom was still moving between the back and front seat, but she was not jumping...it was more like a prowl. I talked to her constantly, but she ignored me. She was not happy with this.

She began to show an interest when we got onto the country roads. Her nose was in the air and she was sniffing – I imagine the smells were completely foreign to a dog that had spent her whole life in the city. When we reached the house I drove into the garage and took her leash, coaxing her out of the vehicle. I lifted the back door of the truck – the puppies were awake now and yelping again – so I let her see that they were okay before taking her for a short walk in the yard, staying close so that she could see her babies. By this time they were making a racket – they wanted to come out and investigate too.

This called for planning. I brought Mom upstairs, closed her into a room – Bandit, my cat, was in the house and a proper introduction would come later - then I returned to the garage and backed my truck to the door of the downstairs apartment. It took more than one trip to get all the stock and the crates inside. I fetched Mom, then opened the crates. Out tumbled five furry little bodies.... and my Foster-Fail began.

(To be cont’d)

Sorry folks – I’m still fighting the antibiotics and trying to catch up on 3 weeks of missed work – the story of my life, LOL! But I am feeling better, and this Friday will be the last of the pills and it should be all kool from there! Just that thought makes me SMILE – am sharing it with you as always!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

AND THEN THERE WERE...SIX???

Pitiful Mom would be coming home – I was accepted!! When the woman from the Agency called to give me the news, I took advantage of the conversation to ask her for some background on my soon-to-be companion. Most Rescues arrive with issues – sometimes little things that can be corrected, and sometimes things to which one has to be ready to adapt and endure.

During my meeting with Pitiful Mom, the Fosters had mentioned that she had been living with a ‘vagabond’. Having worked in the streets for years, I was well aware of how the majority of homeless people treat their animals. The Agency confirmed my guess; this little girl had maybe not received adequate health care, but she was never mistreated and she was well loved. In fact, it was because he loved her so much that her owner had contacted the Agency; when she went into heat, his male pit would catch her. This was her 3rd litter and she just a little older than 2 years. His financial situation did not permit sterilization, and seemed very unlikely to improve. He cried when they went to pick her up, but he chose this particular Agency because he was aware of the strict adoption policy. I promised to give them pictures after Mom was settled in so that this man who had made the ultimate sacrifice would have a measure of comfort, knowing he had made the right choice, that his baby was happy.

At the same time, the Agency lady mentioned that a couple of the puppies were weak, and could need to stay with their mother a little longer than the projected date of total weaning, which was the end of July. In that case, the arrival date would be delayed. Although disappointed, I also understood, so I agreed. It was only the next day that I thought ‘Well, why not?’, and sent them a message that I could handle a couple of puppies for the time it would take to wean them if it meant I could have Pitiful Mom earlier. (Yes, as one of our dear friends said to me later “You have this way of getting yourself into predicaments!”)

Things moved so quickly then! Later that week I was contacted to say they would probably take me up on the offer, and maybe earlier than planned. July 1st had been rough; there was an overflow of animals and they were working frantically to find temporary homes for the poor, lost creatures. Two nights later I was sitting at Suzie’s and the call came in. The Fosters could no longer keep Pitiful Mom and her babies – could I come and pick her up the next morning, and maybe FIVE of her puppies too? The Agency would keep the weak ones, putting them in homes experienced in that sort of thing, but 5 of the puppies were quite healthy, and the usual fosters who took puppies were on vacation to return in a couple of weeks....

Well, what do you think I said?

And this is why my son takes the credit for being a good salesman; he was selling me as the owner of one pit-bull, and I ended up coming home with six.

(To be cont’d)

Yes folks – I’m still on sickbay. In fact, I am returning to the clinic later this morning – the 2nd dose of antibiotics is useless – I can’t keep them down long enough to even digest them. UGH! The weekend was bad – my kids hovered around feeding me soup. I went into the office yesterday for 5 hours and it nearly did me in. More healing is needed before trying that again!

But I’m still SMILING, and, even if my illness is not, I’m hoping the SMILE is contagious!!! It’s on its way to you now!!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

THE APPLICATION

As soon as I arrived home, I logged onto the Rescue site, paid my non-refundable $25 for the application form (serious contenders only!), and was informed that it would be sent to my email. Two days later and there was no form, so I made contact by private message, then tried not to panic while waiting for the response. It didn’t take long before the answer came back. ‘Have you checked your junk mail folder?’

Duh! Of course I hadn’t, and that is exactly where I found it. It had been sent the day after my request was made. I hit print, then stared as page after page rolled out. Great Scott! It was like a marriage contract! I gathered it up and began to answer the numerous questions, some of them quite personal. Why did I want this dog? Would my financial situation permit me owning and providing adequate care for the animal? Did I have a fenced yard, and if not, would I be willing to have a fence installed? Where would the dog live, outside or in the house? How many people lived in the lodging – and were there children? Where would the dog sleep? Would the dog be caged when left alone? How would I deal if a dog misbehaved? Could I promise the dog would get regular exercise? And it went on and on..... . I was also to forward a list of each animal I had ever owned, where and at what age I had obtained the animal, if I still had the animal and, if not, why not?

After being warned that unannounced follow-up visits would happen, and that sterilization was absolutely required, I was asked to give 3 reference names; a friend who has known me for a long time, a member of my family, and a vet I had used for at least 4 years. If I was accepted, the cost would be $565, which included all the necessary vaccinations and the sterilization fees, and was to be paid on signing the adoption contract.

It took me more than three hours to complete and return the document. Then I sat back to wait...and wait...and wait. Neither my son, who was the family reference, nor my friend had been called, and it was over a week. Could it be that I wasn’t accepted in spite of all my experience with pit-bulls? I sent another private message – please tell me what is happening. My answer was nearly immediate: This is July 1st in Quebec. We are extremely busy, but Pitiful Mom is on hold for you until we can complete the investigation.

Of course! Those familiar with Quebec will know that each July 1st is the ‘official’ moving day throughout the whole province. If you are changing addresses, you have to be out of your lodging by the end of the day on July 1st. Sadly, it is the worst time of the year for pets. Many are left behind, either surrendered to Rescue organizations or just kicked out into the street, because the majority of landlords will not accept animals. People working in these types of organizations, often volunteers, spend hours and hours combing the cities, helping out where they can, finding and providing shelter and food for the poor animals until they can be re-homed or worse, put down.

Relief – the little lady was on hold for me, and that was all I needed right now. Finally my son called to tell me that the Rescue had been in touch. The questioning was quite long, and very thorough. “But don’t worry, Mom,” he said. “I told them that 95% of humans won’t be as happy or as well off as that dog if she ends up with you. And I’m a good salesman!”

With the events that were to follow, he would upgrade his description to ‘a damned excellent salesman!’

(To be cont’d)

UGH! Still feeling terrible, still on antibiotics and still not able to go to the office. This so-o-o sucks! A bright note? Hockey games have started! And that makes me SMILE!!! Sending your share...big and warm and real!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

PITIFUL MOM

Like all good marketing tools, one click on any particular thing that may interest you on Facebook and you are suddenly bombarded by posts containing similar content. My love for animals, especially doggies, is no secret, and many Adoption Sites, or Lost and Found posts, show up on my screen. One day there was a picture of a young, male pit-bull; he had been hit by a car, they were not sure they could save his leg, and they were looking for the poor baby’s owner. Seeing no update on his condition within two days, I contacted the Rescue Site by private message, asking for news, or if they needed help, and said that I would take him if the owner wasn’t found. They responded by telling me to call them and they would give me the information. I was overjoyed to hear that his owner had been found and was assuming responsibility for all his care – he was a loved pet who had slipped his leash.

One thing led to another, and they mentioned a Site dealing often in pits, and told me to check it out. I did, and found a gorgeous white male, about 6 years old, who was up for adoption. This Site is very strict – you have to be serious about your requests, send in your experience with dogs, especially in the strong race category (Pits, Akitas, Rottweilers, etc) – and they will decide if the dog is a suitable match. They are serious about finding ‘forever homes’ only.

After reading my bio, they discouraged my interest in the male. I have a kitty, and he didn’t like cats. But, they wrote, if I wasn’t set on having a male, they had recently brought in a 2 or 3 year old female pit. She was sweet and gentle, used to other dogs and cats, and had just delivered her 3rd litter of 9 puppies. She would be available in about 6 weeks, as soon as the pups were weaned. They sent me a picture of this little girl, surrounded by her puppies, looking so thin and tired. All their dogs are in foster homes rather than kennels, and they gave me permission to contact the foster Mother to set up a meeting.

The date was set. I left work early and made my way to downtown Montreal to meet the little lady. I knocked on the door, it was opened, and she immediately came running. Her pups were in an enclosure in the same room and, like all good mommies, she was being protective. I had expected this, so I didn’t even look at her or the babies. I smiled and chatted with the Fosters, leaving my hands by my side, letting her sniff all over this stranger. Suddenly she stood up on her hind legs, putting her front ones on my shoulders and we looked into each others’ eyes. The Fosters made a move to pull her down but stopped when I shook my head. We stood like that for a moment, then I smiled, reached over and rubbed her behind the ears, and said calmly, ‘Hello sweetheart. Are we going to be best friends?’ She smiled back at me (yes, dogs do smile), got down and promptly sat on my foot, leaning into my legs...and stayed there for most of my visit. I glanced at the puppies – they were too cute – but I didn’t approach them. Trust doesn’t happen in an hour, and anyway, I was already wanting to bring them all home with me. It was safer for me to keep my distance.

She would be ready to come home by the end of July. If my application for her adoption was approved, I would be allowed to visit her again before the move. I left there on a high, crossing my fingers that I would be accepted, already loving Pitiful Mom, the name the Rescue Group had given her. There will be no more Pitiful in your name, I silently promised her. No more puppies for you either – it’s time for you to be cosseted, to have a life of your own. It’ll be just you and me and our kitty.

Once again I was to learn to be careful when making promises. Life has a way of throwing a wrench in the works – sometimes good, sometimes bad, and events were already in motion to totally screw up the one I had just made to Pitiful Mom.
(To be cont’d)

Wow! I haven’t done this in a while! But Mommy’s story is too long for one post. Am sending you all big SMILES, and already looking forward to telling you more.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.