Angels On Earth -- Celebrating Live Strong

My grandmother on my mom's side was one of those people that everyone just flocked to.  I can't recall ever meeting a person who had a single complaint about her.  There was just an air about her that put you at ease and made you want to be near her.

She was born the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter.  In the area where she grew up, many people believed that being born the seventh child of a seventh child and being of the same gender gave you special gifts.  Many times I have heard about how she used to be able to touch people's warts and the next day the warts would be gone.  As a young girl, she was very shy and one day after church, she was just mobbed by people asking her to rub their hands to remove wars and she vowed that she'd never remove another wart.  After that, she never could.

One night, she was walking home with her sister and a friend from church and they saw a ghost.  She told me the story every time I asked her to, and when I went back to Alabama with her, she even took me and showed me the place where she'd seen it.  It was always one of my favorite stories, mainly because of the way she told it.  After they saw it, her sister and friend took off running down the road, but she stood frozen in fear.  The haint drifted past right in front of her and disappeared into a storm cellar.

My grandmother was also known to occasionally have dreams about things that really happened.  She woke up sobbing one night over a plane crash that she'd seen, only to turn on the television the next morning and see it there.  The most famous of her dreams, though, was about me.  When my mom got pregnant with me, she dreamed that I'd be a girl with lots of dark hair and blue eyes.  As soon as the news came that I'd arrived, she and my grandpa hurried to the hospital to see my mom and me.  My grandfather was in a rush to see my mom and see that she was alright and hurried right past the nursery.  Grandma stopped and looked in, and recognized me immediately, even though the cribs weren't marked. 

Honestly, that story really tells so much of the story of my relationship with her that it's hard to describe.  My relationship with my parents wasn't particularly good.  My parents divorced when I was seven and both seemed to be more caught up in themselves than my sister and me.  My grandma was the person who was really there for me.  I credit much of the person I've become to her.  We could be together and "just be" without needing to talk and fill the void with a lot of chatter or words.  That's not to say that we didn't talk, but I remember many comfortable silences together with her on her porch.

After they moved back to Alabama, my sister and I visited there together almost every summer.  Sometimes with one of my parents, but often alone.  We travelled there by bus, by train, and later took an annual road trip together in June as soon as school was out for both of us.  After my grandpa died, we still travelled to see her.  To this day, I can't hear Bluegrass or old time Gospel music and not think about her kitchen.

Every year after I got married, she'd mail me a check.  One of those checks paid the adoption fee for the best present I ever got myself and allowed Treat to come into our lives.  I regret deeply that she never got to meet Treat, because I know she would have adored her.

The last time I saw her, she and my mom were both battling cancer.  I was the only one of the three of us who had hair.  My mom is still a breast cancer survivor.  However, three weeks after our last visit together, my grandmother lost her battle with cancer.  It had started around one of her bronchial tubes, went into remission, and then reappeared in her brain.  She passed away on Mother's Day, and a week later I got the last birthday card I'd ever get from her.  Ironically, Treat passed away near the anniversary of her death from a spinal tumor seven years later. 

Treat was our first Greyhound.  She was a perfect first dog, with an amazing personality and always wanted to be on the go.  She was a therapy dog, a READ dog, an ambassadog for Greyhounds everywhere, an amazing traveling companion and always wanted to be able to go where we were going.  If I'd put a leash on her, she'd walk to the ends of the Earth with me. 

One March afternoon I took the dogs out for turn out.  When we got to the door of the pen, Treat squatted to go to the bathroom and I figured that she had been stubborn in the morning and hadn't gone when she was out.  It took me about thirty seconds to realize that something was wrong after she went into the pen.  She couldn't stand up.  I felt my heart stop right there.  I called my husband, and called the vet to tell them I was bringing her in.  My husband arrived home, and we hurried to the vet.

A few tests at the vet left them baffled, but it was apparent that something was drastically wrong with Treat.  To say that I was heartsick is a huge understatement.  They offered a tenuous hope, to give her steroids overnight and see how she was doing in the morning.  I grasped the straw.  Amazingly, she was up and able to walk with assistance the next morning.  A day later, I brought her home, scared about what the future would hold, but relieved beyond belief that I still had my girl. 

She wasn't supposed to go up stairs or climb onto furniture by herself, so I'd bought her a huge, fancy orthopedic bed.  I carefully carried her into the house and set her on the bed.  She gave me a look of disgust and staggered over to the couch where she put her front feet up there.  I hurried over to pick her up and set her on the couch so she wouldn't hurt herself, and she curled up contentedly. 

We had several ups and downs where she got much better and then got worse.  Finally, five weeks after the onset of the problem, she had a bad weekend and that Monday morning she looked at me and I knew it was over.  She was tired of fighting, even though she'd done it so valiantly.   I called work and the vet and we took our last ride together. 

Cancer is a nasty thief, a crusher of dreams, and a breaker of hearts.  It's something I wouldn't wish on anyone, not for someone to battle themselves, or to have to watch a loved one go through it.  I really hope that in my lifetime we'll see an end to this ugly disease.

Today people are blogging everywhere in the LiveStrong Challenge about loved ones who have battled cancer.  I wanted to write about Treat's battle since this is a dog blog, but I wanted to share and celebrate my grandmother's life today, partly because she helped to lead me to my current love of dogs, and partly because I've talked about Treat's struggle with cancer before.  My grandmother was more than another cancer statistic, she was a person who touched many lives -- probably more than I'll ever know.  So, today I celebrate cancer survivors everywhere and honor those who still fight that battle.  I'd also like to offer a thank you to Dr. Cuoto at Ohio State University for all his work to cure and battle canine cancer.  They do wonderful and amazing work there, as many Greyhound owners know.  Take a minute to hug the people you love today and be glad they're here with you!

Ice Cream Trucks And Summer Afternoons

Earlier this week, I saw something I haven't seen in quite some time.  It was a real ice cream truck.  Those are hard to come by here anymore.  As I watched it, my mind went back to the memory I will always associate with ice cream trucks.

When I was a little girl, I lived on a farm, but I often spent time with my grandparents.  It was my home away from home.  After my parents divorced, we moved into a duplex just a few blocks away from my grandparents' house.  It was a dream come true for me.  I was incredibly close to them, and my parents' divorce was really an ugly ordeal.  I came out of it rather shell-shocked and in need of time with them. 

My grandpa had been a self-professed dog hater all his life.  However, he finally decided to get a dog of his own after meeting a Shetland Sheepdog that he really liked.  He'd been so charmed by the dog that he began searching for one right away.  I'd gone with them to look at the puppy and he rode home on my lap from the breeder's house just a year before.  Cavett was quite a little character and my grandpa spoiled the dog royally.  He was so spoilt that my grandpa would go to the grocery store deli and buy him roast beef, then sit on the step in the kitchen and tear it into little pieces for him, hand feeding them to him one by one. 

Every day on the way home from school, my sister and I stopped by their house.  Our mom was usually working and so she wouldn't know if we got home right away anyway.  We loved stopping to play with Cavett and talk to my grandparents.  One thing was always certain during the warm months at their house.  There was always a box of ice cream sandwiches in their freezer.  We were always allowed to have one unless it was the last one.  If it was the last one, it had to be saved because Cavett got an ice cream sandwich every afternoon. 

As it happened, my grandparents lived in an old-fashioned neighborhood.  They knew all their neighbors and were on good terms with everyone.  It was like a place from a movie that's almost too good to be true. 

Of course, one afternoon, it happened that they ran out of ice cream sandwiches.  For some reason, they hadn't been to the store, or hadn't realized the last one had disappeared from the box.  Whatever the case, it was still a fact that Cavett was in danger of missing his afternoon treat.  Sure enough, the ice cream truck went by that afternoon.  My grandpa stopped it and bought an ice cream sandwich for Cavett and whatever frosty treat my sister and I requested and life was good again. 

The next day, the ice cream truck came by again like clockwork.  However, there was something different on this day.  As the music of the truck chimed past the house, Cavett ran out, sat down and howled as if his heart were broken.  He learned that quickly that the ice cream truck jingle meant ice cream sandwiches and he thought it was time.  Of course, the freezer had been restocked with plenty of ice cream sandwiches by then and there was no need to buy one from the truck.  It didn't matter to Cavett.  He howled long and loud, getting fully in touch with his inner wolf.  Just as he finished his mournful serenade, the truck came back by and he had to start all over again. 

For the rest of the time my grandparents lived there, Cavett went through the same routine, howling his heart out until the music faded away.  They tried to make sure they had him in the house when it would go by, but it didn't always happen.  He did always howl whenever he heard that sound, though, for the rest of his life.  To this day, I can't hear or see an ice cream truck and not remember that remarkable little dog!

We're participating in the blog hop again this weekend! Feel free to join iin the fun!

Tail Of A Princesse

Well, it's been a year since we lost our brindle princess. Adios Treat was one of a kind and we'll certainly never forget her. It's been a year of ups and downs as I try to collect my life and move past losing her. Some days I still cry when I think about her, but more often now I smile when I think about the things we went through together. Losing her was certainly one of the harder things I have gone through. A year later, though, I don't want to think about her loss or about how we lost her. I want to celebrate how she lived and how she changed my life for the better. I'd like to share the joy of Treat so that others can enjoy her like I did and so I don't forget some of the better stories we had about her.

Not long after we'd bought our house and moved out of our apartment, Treat came into our lives. She was our Christmas present to us in the year 2000. We went up to the Quad Cities Greyhound Adoption kennel and met their four cat safe greyhounds. One was a livewire who nearly jumped through a window, one only wanted to get back to his food, one was very shy and sweet and the female was very lovey dovey with us. That little female was the only one who looked back at us as they led her back to her crate. We went home to think about it. We thought we wanted the shy, sweet boy, but they advised us against him since we'd have to be walking the dog on a leash. So, we went back up to meet the dogs a few days after Christmas and make our final decision. The males milled about and socialized with the volunteers. Treat had made up her mind and she stood plastered to either my husband or me the entire time we were there. Finally, we got the message. She had decided that we were hers. She pretty much ran the show from there on out.

One of the things about her that amused me to no end involved my husband's habit for always forgetting his wallet before we were about to go somewhere. We would get to the door and Treat would be dancing with joy at the prospect of going out when he would turn and go back to the bedroom to get his wallet or checkbook. Treat always followed him, stamping her dainty feet in outrage because it was time to GO! I'd hear it start, and it always reminded me of the Jaws theme. I'd hear her teeth click together, once, twice and then "Dammit Treat" as she bit him in the rear to hurry him toward the door. It was funny because she never did it to me.

Another story that comes to mind involves her diva tendencies and her extreme dislike of the rain. Treat loved to play in bodies of water, oceans, lakes, wading pools and creeks were all things she would dive fearlessly into. However, if it came to getting a bath or going to the bathroom in the rain, she was not into it at all. One October we had a deluge that went on for about a week. We even got her a raincoat, but she would stand outside in the pen, squinch up her eyes and just wait for us to come and take her back inside. She held it for the week as far as I know. I could see the wheels turning in her head. The people have a place to go IN THE HOUSE. The cats have a place to go IN THE HOUSE. Why am I, a superior being, expected to go outside IN THE RAIN?! Friday night came and my husband and I went out to see a movie. We came home and found that Treat, who had never voluntarily gone down into the basement ever before, had gone down to the basement and relieved herself in the litter box. If she hadn't been holding it for a week, it would have been a brilliant plan. However, she flooded the cat box and made quite a mess of things. Still, how mad could I be? She'd gone downstairs, on the concrete and given it her best shot.

Treat loved to travel with us. We took her on several trips and she always handled it with such enthusiasm. The other greyhounds would sleep as we drove, but Treat was always worried that she'd miss something. She usually had to stand behind me with her head out the window as she smelled out where we were headed to. She really didn't care. Everything was an adventure just waiting for her. It amazed me how many people knew her from message boards and asked to pet her and meet her. She was always gracious and loved the attention she got. She seemed to think that it was simply her due. When we would get out of the van, we usually came back to find her sitting in the driver's seat, wishing her feet could reach the gas pedals, no doubt. I'm sure she could have driven it if she could have gotten the mechanics down. She'd still be out there, driving around the country and meeting people. We met so many wonderful people through Treat, and that is one thing that I will always be grateful for. To all the people who ever sent her gifts and well wishes in her many ventures, I send my heartfelt thanks. Treat really did know that everyone thought she was special.

Treat was in a ballet performance here of Giselle. She dutifully attended ballet practice for weeks and pranced across the stage during the performance as if she were a ballerina. While we were waiting to perform she even met Roberta Flack, who happened to be driving by and made her driver stop so she could meet the greyhounds. Treat, my little diva, was even featured in Celebrating Greyhounds magazine with the other greyhounds who were in the show. She loved all the attention. No doubt she was sure all the people showed up to see her. The mob who surrounded us during the intermission confirmed her thoughts. People couldn't get enough of her.

Another thing we experienced because of Treat was therapy dog visits. Treat became a certified therapy dog, and we went to several nursing homes where she had quite a fan club. She loved all the attention she got there and made everyone feel as if she came there just to see them. She always seemed to have time for everyone. Aside from the nursing home visits, she also was a READ dog and she helped quite a few kindergarteners and first graders believe that they could read. She loved to close her eyes and just listen to their voices as they read stories to her. Every one of them believed that she came just to listen to them. That was a huge part of her charm. She was there to make everyone feel better just by being with them.

Treat was always my nurse. I had several battles with pneumonia, and she was always right beside me, making sure my blankets were properly held down. She kept me under constant supervision when I was sick. When I had to have surgery on my hand for some nerve damage, she paid extra close attention to me. During that time, she took to sleeping right up beside me, her head propped on my splint. It was something she only did while I was recovering from the surgery. How she knew I needed extra attention at those times, I'll never know, but she was very diligent in her care when she knew I was sick or injured. Something in her always felt she should take care of me and she never failed in her mission. It was one of the things that endeared her the most to me, along with the dance of joy she always did on my behalf when I arrived back home, whether I'd been gone for a week or five minutes. She was always happy that we were back together again.

I learned so many things from her. I learned patience and persistance. I learned about a special kind of unconditional love. I learned the value and beauty of old age and dignity. I always thought I'd go through years with her where she was an elderly grande dame, but she became an old dog overnight. The disease that attacked her stuck quickly and ruthlessly, but she kept up the fight for me. She never bowed her dignity or pride to it. She learned to love having us carry her up and down the back steps and she demanded to live life, even her last weeks, on her terms. There will certainly never be another like her and while I miss her still, I am so very thankful to have shared my life with her. She made me a better person and that's something money could never buy.