Dave and I have golfed as a recreation for years. A term used in the sport when a shot goes bad and you choose to "do it over" without counting the bad shot is "mulligan".
I am crazy emotional as we get ready to travel back home to Missiouri for a vacation in a few weeks. Home means many things to many people, but for me Kansas City will always hold the piece of my heart devoted to the dogs of my life. Dogs began in Kansas City for us with our first Siberian in 1988. When we moved to Syracuse from Kansas City, and then back to Kansas City six and a half years later, that is when it all kicked in. I became completely intrigued by dog sports. Dog sports, agility in particular were my consolation prize for having left perhaps the best sledding area of the country outside of Alaska. The craze for all things dog grew into a passion when we made that move. The passion was snuffed out by seemingly tragic circumstances, and now, finally, the embers are ignited again with this new dog, and a new passion for sports with canine partners.
The shot that went bad for me was Magic - it was October 28, 2007. He had just turned seven years old. I'd had him neutered a short time before and was seriously looking forward to running him once his hormones had run dry. He was hot, he was honest, but he was hot and I was looking forward to a rich career with him as a neutered male who would be less interested in unaltered alpha male behaviour. I believe we NQ'd most of the weekend, but he was quick and I thought we had a long road of green, and hopefully blue ribbons ahead of us.
Then it was over. I packed up my bags that Sunday afternoon, headed home, unpacked and started my Monday morning. The agility season was almost done, but my professional corporate career was in full throttle during the 4th quarter and we were heavily involved in preparing for our daughters' wedding. The wedding was the most important moment of our lives, even for me as step-mother, it was such an amazing event and we spent our resources caring for the event as best we could.
The year of 2008, I was taking my state insurance classes and exam. It was an insane time, long days, longer nights plus a couple of weekends in classes. On Sunday, November 9, 2008 I sat on the patio after one of those long classes enjoying a cool drink while the dogs played. Maddie and Mira had repeatedly taken Magic by the neck and rolled him into submission. He grinned bigger and bigger each time he regained his feet until this one final time when he simply rolled onto his stomach with his head between his feet. He was obviously not right and the girls were unable to stimulate him into moving from his prone position. When I approached he yelped as he staggered to his feet and then collapsed again onto the ground.
Siberians don't typically "bloat" but to my horror, all I could imagine was my dog was experiencing this horrific death before my eyes. They had eaten less than two hours prior and they were playing hard, it had to be bloat... As I knelt next to him, he never moved his head. There was no doubt in my mind that we were in deep trouble. As I scrambled to get myself redressed from my night clothes into anything that resembled publicly acceptable, Dave got the truck pulled up and the doors open so I could load Magic in. Once he was securely crated and I started down the road, I called ahead to the emergency Vet clinic to let them know I was en route with a "possible bloat", estimated 15 minutes from their front door. They met me at the door and took him immediately to triage. I filled out the necessary paperwork and began my pacing, chain smoking, wait. When the physician entered the exam room after her review of necessary testing results, she said "the good news is he hasn't bloated; the bad news is I can't find the right/left kidney (I don't honestly recall if it was the left or right), there's this mass over it that I'm not sure what it is..." With that said we began to toss scenarios around in our heads. A kidney that had a large tumor could be removed, actually most of both kidney organs could be removed and life sustained. There was hope. We made the decision to move him to a specialist on the following morning for further testing... Upon their evaluation, they discovered his lungs were consumed with tumors, the cancer they had seen on the kidney was perhaps the least of our concerns. We were told we could probably take him home for a couple of weeks and be able to maintain his comfort, but that he had a very, very short window of time. There was never a doubt in our minds that the decision to bring him home to his healthy, active pack of bitches who were accustomed to grabbing him by the neck and throwing him about as if they were actually strong enough to do so would be a horrid injustice to this magnificent dog who had given us so much joy in the past seven/eight years. We in that moment decided to say goodbye to him and leave him peacefully with the assistance of the loving staff at Georgia Veterinary Specialists. I will never forget the tears of the attending physician as she said "I wish others could be so selfless to their animals..."
I grieved. If I decided to write about grief I couldn't begin to imagine what it was that I felt during those times until it was experienced first hand. I closed out the dog world. I closed out my dog friends. I shut the door on so many things, people and activities that meant so much to me before. There was no way for anyone to prep me for the intense pain I was about to feel. My heart was beyond shredded, I think it was pulverized. There were no more dog sports for me. I was done, it wasn't that I acknowledged I was in pain; rather I just closed the door and didn't answer anyone who knocked.
Years later, I finally regained some interest in dog sports with Mira. My unlikely partner. She was the only dog I ever put away and refused to train because I had no patience to work with her. She drove me to the point of madness with her continual need to question everything. She was so unlike a typical Siberian, much more tempered toward a retriever, she constantly needed affirmation. But she unlocked the chains on my heart. She broke them down, tossed them away and guided me back to a place of willingness to learn and grow with a canine partner. Running was our thing. We were made for each other, our strides were perfectly balanced and our drive for the run was equally balanced.
The day she was was taken suddenly by cancer, I vowed I was never going to lose myself to grief again. I swore that I would stand up to this relentless pain and rise above it, stronger and better for the suffering.
Here is Stetson, my mulligan. He is the answer to my shattered heart. He has brought me back to a place that I can enjoy running again. Also to a place of experiment. I'm learning things I never considered before such as competitive obedience. I am looking forward to herding and tracking. I don't know exactly how, but we'll find out if he is a swimmer and if he would like to "dock dive" too. Lastly, but not least there was a GSD named Freya who loved to have Dave throw the Frisbee for her; Dave has longed for that connection since those days long ago and I hope Stetson will be able to bring that home for him. Why not try it all out together. He is open and so are we, I no longer resist the mulligans in life, I have learned to embrace them.
Thank you for being my mulligan. You're bringing me full circle and then some...
I am crazy emotional as we get ready to travel back home to Missiouri for a vacation in a few weeks. Home means many things to many people, but for me Kansas City will always hold the piece of my heart devoted to the dogs of my life. Dogs began in Kansas City for us with our first Siberian in 1988. When we moved to Syracuse from Kansas City, and then back to Kansas City six and a half years later, that is when it all kicked in. I became completely intrigued by dog sports. Dog sports, agility in particular were my consolation prize for having left perhaps the best sledding area of the country outside of Alaska. The craze for all things dog grew into a passion when we made that move. The passion was snuffed out by seemingly tragic circumstances, and now, finally, the embers are ignited again with this new dog, and a new passion for sports with canine partners.
The shot that went bad for me was Magic - it was October 28, 2007. He had just turned seven years old. I'd had him neutered a short time before and was seriously looking forward to running him once his hormones had run dry. He was hot, he was honest, but he was hot and I was looking forward to a rich career with him as a neutered male who would be less interested in unaltered alpha male behaviour. I believe we NQ'd most of the weekend, but he was quick and I thought we had a long road of green, and hopefully blue ribbons ahead of us.
Then it was over. I packed up my bags that Sunday afternoon, headed home, unpacked and started my Monday morning. The agility season was almost done, but my professional corporate career was in full throttle during the 4th quarter and we were heavily involved in preparing for our daughters' wedding. The wedding was the most important moment of our lives, even for me as step-mother, it was such an amazing event and we spent our resources caring for the event as best we could.
The year of 2008, I was taking my state insurance classes and exam. It was an insane time, long days, longer nights plus a couple of weekends in classes. On Sunday, November 9, 2008 I sat on the patio after one of those long classes enjoying a cool drink while the dogs played. Maddie and Mira had repeatedly taken Magic by the neck and rolled him into submission. He grinned bigger and bigger each time he regained his feet until this one final time when he simply rolled onto his stomach with his head between his feet. He was obviously not right and the girls were unable to stimulate him into moving from his prone position. When I approached he yelped as he staggered to his feet and then collapsed again onto the ground.
Siberians don't typically "bloat" but to my horror, all I could imagine was my dog was experiencing this horrific death before my eyes. They had eaten less than two hours prior and they were playing hard, it had to be bloat... As I knelt next to him, he never moved his head. There was no doubt in my mind that we were in deep trouble. As I scrambled to get myself redressed from my night clothes into anything that resembled publicly acceptable, Dave got the truck pulled up and the doors open so I could load Magic in. Once he was securely crated and I started down the road, I called ahead to the emergency Vet clinic to let them know I was en route with a "possible bloat", estimated 15 minutes from their front door. They met me at the door and took him immediately to triage. I filled out the necessary paperwork and began my pacing, chain smoking, wait. When the physician entered the exam room after her review of necessary testing results, she said "the good news is he hasn't bloated; the bad news is I can't find the right/left kidney (I don't honestly recall if it was the left or right), there's this mass over it that I'm not sure what it is..." With that said we began to toss scenarios around in our heads. A kidney that had a large tumor could be removed, actually most of both kidney organs could be removed and life sustained. There was hope. We made the decision to move him to a specialist on the following morning for further testing... Upon their evaluation, they discovered his lungs were consumed with tumors, the cancer they had seen on the kidney was perhaps the least of our concerns. We were told we could probably take him home for a couple of weeks and be able to maintain his comfort, but that he had a very, very short window of time. There was never a doubt in our minds that the decision to bring him home to his healthy, active pack of bitches who were accustomed to grabbing him by the neck and throwing him about as if they were actually strong enough to do so would be a horrid injustice to this magnificent dog who had given us so much joy in the past seven/eight years. We in that moment decided to say goodbye to him and leave him peacefully with the assistance of the loving staff at Georgia Veterinary Specialists. I will never forget the tears of the attending physician as she said "I wish others could be so selfless to their animals..."
I grieved. If I decided to write about grief I couldn't begin to imagine what it was that I felt during those times until it was experienced first hand. I closed out the dog world. I closed out my dog friends. I shut the door on so many things, people and activities that meant so much to me before. There was no way for anyone to prep me for the intense pain I was about to feel. My heart was beyond shredded, I think it was pulverized. There were no more dog sports for me. I was done, it wasn't that I acknowledged I was in pain; rather I just closed the door and didn't answer anyone who knocked.
Years later, I finally regained some interest in dog sports with Mira. My unlikely partner. She was the only dog I ever put away and refused to train because I had no patience to work with her. She drove me to the point of madness with her continual need to question everything. She was so unlike a typical Siberian, much more tempered toward a retriever, she constantly needed affirmation. But she unlocked the chains on my heart. She broke them down, tossed them away and guided me back to a place of willingness to learn and grow with a canine partner. Running was our thing. We were made for each other, our strides were perfectly balanced and our drive for the run was equally balanced.
The day she was was taken suddenly by cancer, I vowed I was never going to lose myself to grief again. I swore that I would stand up to this relentless pain and rise above it, stronger and better for the suffering.
Here is Stetson, my mulligan. He is the answer to my shattered heart. He has brought me back to a place that I can enjoy running again. Also to a place of experiment. I'm learning things I never considered before such as competitive obedience. I am looking forward to herding and tracking. I don't know exactly how, but we'll find out if he is a swimmer and if he would like to "dock dive" too. Lastly, but not least there was a GSD named Freya who loved to have Dave throw the Frisbee for her; Dave has longed for that connection since those days long ago and I hope Stetson will be able to bring that home for him. Why not try it all out together. He is open and so are we, I no longer resist the mulligans in life, I have learned to embrace them.
*hugs*
ReplyDelete