When To Say Goodbye?

Beloved pets are not humans.  I realize that.  But humans and dogs, cats, and other pets hurt and suffer with pain like humans.  We don’t have living wills for pets, but caring pet owners face difficult decisions when told the pet needs an operation.  And the operation may not be successful; there are no guarantees the pet will recover and health will return.    

How long should a pet owner let the beloved pet endure pain?  Each of us hopes that in time they will get well.  How old does a pet have to be before the operation seems too difficult when the pet has to be put under anesthesia?  What chances are there for the pet’s recovery?  What expense is too much?  Every decision seems to have a question mark attached. 

When is it time to say good bye to our beloved animals? 

My family faces these questions today.  Buddy, our frisky Beagle, our good friend, is in pain.  Usually, he’s such a happy, energetic, loving dog.  Buddy loves to chase squirrels, butterflies, birds, even chipmunks...they tease him, then begins the chase where they easily get away from Buddy.  The chase is a delight, and the possibility of catching the teaser totally tantalizes our Beagle.  And he never gives up!  Quitting is not in Buddy’s vocabulary. 

Buddy is a determined, action dog, ready to move at the slightest noise.  His Beagle howl is well known throughout our neighborhood, though as he’s aged, he doesn’t vocalize as much.  At eight years old, our small dog Buddy is now in middle-age, approximately 54 human years.  He’s much more demure; he’s content to quietly keep guard over the lawn from his perch on a stuffed lawn chair on the deck.

Buddy is not a watch dog.  If someone or something invades his personal territory, he’s quick to acknowledge another’s presence with a little woof; that’s it.  If the invader is bearing any morsel of food, his tag begins wagging exuberantly; he jumps off his perch and rushes to greet the invader.  He’s a marshmallow dog when it comes to protection.  Treats, lunch, and dinner are some of his favorite vocabulary words.

But his reckless energy got the better of Buddy last week   Tiny chippies were hiding in the hosta plants bordering our deck.  Scurrying in and out through the thick green leaves, the noisy chippies were enjoying their play time.  They teased Beagle, begging him to begin the chase.  Buddy rose to his full stature, stood on all fours, howled his signature Beagle howl and dashed for the hosta-hiding chippies.  Leaping and soaring 3 foot over the thick, green plants, he landed on the lawn inclining to the lake.  Checking both ways, he inspected the territory and began the hunt with noisy sniffs for the scent in the lawn.  Buddy on a mission to hunt the invading varmints.

When Buddy landed, he must have jarred his body.  His neck became painfully stiff; it hurt to raise his head.  Dr. Roshar, our neighborhood veterinarian, tells us Buddy’s neck and back are similar to human’s troublesome backs.  Sometimes the discs in our back are crushed and the pain becomes unbearable.  Buddy couldn’t lift his head; he began having trouble walking up and down stairs.  He wasn’t interested in eating, not even treats when I hand fed him.  His right front paw drooped, and his front leg became lame. He cried when I picked him up to go to the vet.  Nerve pain radiated from his neck into his front leg.  He had trouble lying down to rest.  He began to favor his left side to lie on.  Buddy was miserable.  So were Mom and Dad!

And Buddy started to cry.  Remember how agonizing it was to hear your baby cry?  Well, Buddy’s cries have my husband and me running to him, gently massaging his neck and back, offering water and treats,  murmuring comforting words. 

We just returned from our second visit to the vet in a week.  Dr Roshar cautioned us that perhaps the cortisone shots and prednisone pills would not be effective.  Further options are an animal chiropractor or back surgery.  There are no guarantees that Buddy will return to his former frisky loving personality.  He’s aging... 

Neighbors, distant friends, and family call and email inquiring how Buddy is feeling.  He’s loved by so many people and his dog friends Sailor, Sunny, Dallas, Fletcher, Luna and Yankee.   The questions remain: do we let our dog friend be put under for an operation?  Will this latest shot help?  What if the shots and meds don’t work?  Should we risk an operation?  Is it time to say goodbye to our much loved Buddy?  

FROM WHERE I SIT   Neighborhood Fourth of July July 4, 2012       pat spilseth

This is the place to be on the Fourth of July.  Much like many small towns in Minnesota, my neighborhood has established a great tradition.  Kids, grandkids, aunts, uncles, and grandparents come from far and close by to be here on the Fourth.  Flags fly from every mailbox in our neighborhood; loud patriotic music is piped from speakers encouraging biker riders to round Casco Point at breakneck speeds; people dress in patriotic colors , and  kids race to the candy site...it’s another annual Fourth of July celebration on Casco Point.

Several neighbors are decked out as Uncle Sam, colorful residents appear with tall top hats and flag sun glasses. Gals dress themselves in flag shirts and sparkling T-shirts with patriotic necklaces in glittering stars.  Kids are the big attraction: this is THEIR event of the year!  Every kid from teeny babies in strollers to little ones with training wheels and the almost-teens, decorate their bicycles and wagons with flags, hats, sunglasses and patriotic shirts and shorts.

We know how to celebrate in this neighborhood!  This year a wailing fire truck was filled with kids, sweating adults waving fans, and resident dogs.  Several smiling junior Miss Casco Pointers rode in a convertible with mom and nana.  We were among the many appreciative neighbors who arrived early to set up lawn chairs for perfect parade viewing.  The neighborhood’s presence is counted on by all the parade participants.  We clap and yell, flinging candy at the participants and offer rolls and cooling fans to beat the heat and humidity.

This was the hottest, most humid Fourth of July in memory...and we’ve been celebrating JULY FOURTH in this manner for over thirty years.  The party planning began with long-time residents whose grandparents lived on the Point.  Today, it’s been passed on to younger moms as our kids grew out of the bicycling and candy fighting stage of life.  Moms still push babies in strollers with flags fluttering.  Kids still decorate their bicycle wheels with red, white and blue crepe paper strung between the spokes of the wheels; golf carts and convertibles continue to feature pretty girls, hovering parents and doting grandparents.  Even a horse marched in the parade a few years back.

Lawn chairs are set up early on

Casco Circle

for neighbors to view the parade, drink coffee and eat rolls.  Neighbors here enjoy getting together.  It’s a perfect time to meet new neighbors as well as reacquaint with grownup neighbor kids.  We toss appreciated candy at the parade participants who pedal around the Circle numerous times to collect more candy into their bulging pockets and mouths.

The parade is an annual event all of us look forward to.  It’s a valued Casco Point tradition.  Several neighborhood kids who have grown up on Casco Point now have children of their own who participate.  We love to see the resemblance of neighbors’ faces in their grandchildren.  This is Garrison Keillor’s Lake Wobegon country “where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.”

So many kids and relatives returned this year for the parade, swimming and fireworks, including our daughter Kate and our Mexican son-in-law Bernardo.  He turned out in an Uncle Sam top hat, red, white and blue sunglasses, flags and fan.  Kate, as always, loves to celebrate and arrived in a red, white and blue outfit.  Son Andy remembered his bicycling days on the Point and chuckled at the exuberance of neighbor’s grandkids.

This is a generous neighborhood that enjoys getting together.  Neighbors host an annual party of brats and hotdogs, potluck goodies and revelers who appear yearly to celebrate.  Lawn golf, volleyball, an open pool and some cooling lake breezes are always available.  Sparklers and fireworks are saved for the evening.  Cascading stars and exploding colors can be seen from at least four locations at our screened porch and dock.  Hundreds of boats, kayaks, water skiers, and floats make their way out to Big Island for parties while other revelers find spots on the various bays of the lake to view the exploding show once darkness falls.  We sit on the deck surveying the parade of boats jockeying for a position as they stream through the Narrows passage from the Upper Lake to the Lower Lake.  It’s a mish-mash of boats, their operators hoping to avoid a collision and arrest.  That would put a damper on the celebration.

July is the perfect time to celebrate the freedoms we enjoy here in the United States of America.  Independence Day, our nation’s birthday is important to remember.  I hope our children will always learn that our ancestors paid a price, often with their lives, for the freedoms we enjoy.  Freedom and independence aren’t gifts for people everywhere.  806

Backyard Enchantment

FROM WHERE I SIT             Backyard Enchantment June 19, 2012  Pat Spilseth

When summer arrives in full bloom, there’s a special kind of enchantment.  Summer breezes smell extra fine.  Grass feels softer.  Waves gently lick the shore.  Hammocks swing slowly between backyard trees, and we fall into a deep sleep.

Remember when your mom told you to go out and play?  You did.  Kids got up a backyard ball game and played ante ante over the shed storing rakes and mowers, winter skis, skates and toboggans.  Little tykes blew bubbles through the wire wand of the bubble bottle, chasing them in until they burst far up in the clouds.  Some created plays on backyard stages.  You stayed outside all day long until the supper whistle blew, then raced home to eat with the family at the kitchen table. 

Do people still take time to enjoy relaxing in their backyards?  I hope so, but with both Mom and Dad working; the kids in day care or school, and grandparents living many miles away...who uses their backyards anymore?  Kids’ schedules are crammed with supervised lessons in every sport, music and language.   Do children today have free time to play?  Is the backyard another sign of oblivion like the front porch? 

When I was a kid, we used to play dress up with neighbors’ cast off hats, trailing bridal veils, and bridesmaids’ bouffant, pastel dresses.  We paraded with measured steps, pretending to be part of a wedding party. Some backyards had a swing set and a slide.  Jeanie Zimma’s grandparents had a play house in their yard for us to have tea parties and play with our dolls.  My backyard had a sweeping, weeping willow tree where I would sit with my pals on a high branch, lean back against another branch, and swap tales.  No parent or neighbor could see up through the leafy tendrils hanging to the ground.  How cool the shade felt on hot summer days sitting in the tree sharing our dreams.

When Dad was sheriff, my backyard at our jail home was across the street from the red brick Lutheran church.   Kids would gather before choir practice and confirmation classes to roll down our huge, grassy hill, squealing with delight.  We’d pick dandelions and braid the yellow weeds into crowns. Lazy summer afternoons we’d stretch out on the sweet smelling grass and search for four leaf clovers to bring good luck.  If we were lucky, we’d find one or two, press them into the thick Webster Dictionary, and save them in a special box.  On the cement sidewalk, we’d draw hopscotch squares with chalk and jump from one block to the other, scattering those nasty, sandy ant hills with our white tennis shoes. 

Mom’s laundry was hung on our backyard clothes lines on Monday, her designated wash day.  Her clothes pin bucket was a tiny dress whose skirt held the wooden clothespins anchoring clothing to the lines strung between metal posts.  White bed sheets flapped on the two outside lines; panties, slips and bras, BVD underwear, night gowns, and pajamas were hung on the inside line.  No one was supposed to see these “unmentionables”.  

We created a camp out tent by pinning Dad’s gray, wool, army blankets to the clothesline.  Though we wanted to spend the night outdoors, often we got too scared or rambunctious in the tent telling ghost stories.  The pins holding the tent would pop, and the blankets collapse on giggling girls underneath.  When we remembered that the jail prisoners were only a few feet from our tent, it spooked us.  Our imaginations, the starry black night, and those unidentifiable monster sounds frightened us so thoroughly by midnight that we’d abandon our tent and run to the safety of the back door. 

Mom and her friends enjoyed coffee and cookies while they visited in the backyard’s metal lawn chairs, which could get blistering hot.  The soft grass cooled our feet, especially after the Courthouse caretaker Herman Quist mowed the lawn, making the air sweetly scented with newly mown grass.  His helper, friendly Lee Sorset, would often stop to visit with us until Herman appeared; then Lee tried to look busy once more.

Dad liked to relax with a cigarette in the evening.  He sat in a lawn chair in the backyard watching the traffic on

Minnewaska Avenue

.  He could see who was walking down the sidewalks towards downtown, veterans going in for a drink at the Legion Hall, someone being booked at the police station, and ambulances bringing bodies to Hoplin’s Funeral Home.   We had quite the view!

Sitting in the backyard on Sunday mornings, we could see who was coming to church services at Glenwood Lutheran Church.  Of course, we also noted who wasn’t coming to church.  It was a thrill to watch brides in their veils and long white gowns, bridesmaids with their big skirts and bouquets, and the groomsmen in their black tuxedoes.   Photographer Vernon Hegg would shoot pictures of the guests throwing rice at the bridal couple.  I loved hearing the couple’s car with tin cans and noisemakers attached making a huge racket as they drove away for their honeymoon.

As a kid, possibilities seemed endless when it came to wasting away a summer day.  Finding a soft patch of grass under a tree to lie on my back, I’d gaze dreamily into the floating clouds in the sky.  English politician John Lubbock wrote, “Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under the trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.”

I love perfect summer days in my backyard, hearing neighbor’s grandkids laughing as they jump off the dock into the lake.  Summer doesn’t last forever... Take time to dial back to those empty days of a simpler time.  Give yourself the luxury of enjoying summer in your backyard. 991