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Do You Believe in Magick?
By: Shauna Zamarripa
A few weeks ago, we had to say goodbye to a family friend, our 15-year-old housecat, Magick. And while it was a tragic day, his quality of life just wasn’t there anymore. He had been diagnosed with mouth cancer a few years back, a tumor had grown up into his nose (making it nearly impossible for him to breathe) and he was hiding under the bed, sneezing blood.
He had already called it. He just needed a little help to pass over the Rainbow Bridge.
So, around 8 pm on a chilly evening in February, the entire family met up at a local pet hospital to say goodbye.
To end his suffering.
And, faster than what we were ready for, it was over.
There were many tears.
There were muffled sobs.
But there was also peace.
For him.
And he had earned that.
On the drive home, as I tried to keep my tears from blurring my vision on that dark road, I got to thinking about the permanence of death.
Of all the times I said, things like:
“I’ll talk to them later.”
“I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
“I’ll get around to making that apology/statement/email/letter when I can.”
“Maybe I can get coffee next week with them….we need to catch up.”
But, you see, every single time I have said this, I have been wrong.
Not because all of these people have dropped dead, but because I have been living as if I will live forever; as if I am promised tomorrow.
As if you are.
But the cold, hard truth is that we are all dying…every day. Each and every one of us comes with a unique expiration date. It might be today, tomorrow or 50 years from now, but we have to remember that we only get one shot at this life, in this body, in this skin, and that because tomorrow is a gift, we need to make the most of our presence today. We need to make sure to never forget to say an “I love you” at the end of each call/visit. We need to make sure people know they are missed, loved, valued. And we need to do it today.
For me, for my part, I can say that I am ever so grateful to my readers, to people who correspond with me about my blogs and to all of you who have become inspired to start your own blog/vlog or other way of expressing yourselves in a healthy, cathartic way because of me. And I cannot thank you all for your messages of love, outpouring of support and your willingness to share that with me as you go through your journey.
I am proud of you.
I am grateful for you.
I hope I am around tomorrow so that I can share in the joy of the tremendous things you do.
Laugh hard. Love harder. Be blunt. Say what you mean. Mean what you say. Because your present is your gift.
Much love,
Miss Adventures
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Showing posts with label Pets. Show all posts
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| In Loving Memory of Apollo |
I ran across this list on the Positively Positive blog this morning. And, while I began reading this list of 10 things, I felt my head move up and down in agreement with each line item. I recalled the times I wasn't the best dog owner --and scolded myself for it. I also remembered a lot of happy things --and for those I am grateful. All in all, it was incredible morning reading for me. It was something I needed --thanks Universe.
Yet, I digress. I felt compelled to re-blog this list because I think sometimes we all need a reminder. Even though we know our dogs love us unconditionally and even though most of us realize that we share a special, almost symbiotic bond with our canines, sometimes it never hurts to be told (once more) how truly, incredibly unconditional that love is. So, without further adieu:
1. My life is likely to last ten to fifteen years. Any separation from you will be painful: remember that before you get me.
2. Give me time to understand what you want of me.
3. Place your trust in me—it is crucial to my wellbeing.
4. Do not be angry at me for long, and do not lock me up as punishment.
5. You have your work, your entertainment, and your friends. I only have you.
6. Talk to me sometimes. Even if I don’t understand your words, I understand your voice.
7. Be aware that however you treat me, I will never forget.
8. Remember before you hit me that I have sharp teeth that could easily hurt you, but I choose not to bite you because I love you.
9. Before you scold me for being uncooperative, obstinate, or lazy, ask yourself if something might be bothering me. Perhaps I might not be getting the right food, or I have been out too long, or my heart is getting too old and weak.
10. Take care of me when I get old. You too will grow old. Accompany me on difficult journeys. Never say: “I cannot bear to watch” or “Let it happen in my absence.” Everything is easier for me if you are there—even my death.
And, above all else, remember that I love you.
Are these boots made for walking? In my dog’s case…they probably are. I am pretty sure Aradia has a pair of Gestapo for all four paws…because she has made a habit of walking all over me this week.
I think my problem is tools; I need better ones. I have a very strong-willed, perky German Shepherd that is driving me absolutely batty when it comes to her nightly walks. Instead of getting progressively better, she is actually getting progressively worse.
I went to Caesar Milan’s (aka the Dog Whisperer) website for some tips. I’m trying everything the guru suggests and am crossing my fingers for a positive and speedy resolution. The biggest problem I have when I walk Aradia? Other dogs.
I can tell that she wants to socialize, but there is a thin line between socialization and choking on a Chihuahua, so I’m a bit hesitant to give her the green light. Instead, I let her visit her ‘smexy’ doggy boyfriend, Bruno, through the fence. So far, that relationship is going better than any relationship of mine ever has, so I am hopeful that a doggie park is in our future --sans puppy flavored appetizer.
My biggest problem is keeping my dastardly dog from pulling on the leash. I have the reticent choke collar and nylon leash that all the experts say is “da bomb”, but she is as stubborn as I am (yes, I do believe dogs take after their owners).
Since I like food, I incorporated treats into her walks, which seem to help – but only a little. Last night, I started the brief poking in the neck technique I saw Caesar implement, to display my dominance in the pack and get her attention --because I swear she has a wicked case of ADD. So far, she seems to respond better to that than she does to positive reinforcement. I guess a good poke really does do wonders.
On the training side of things she is improving in leaps and bounds. She is incredibly clever. She mastered sit, stay and lay down (also staying) with minimal effort. Next, we will move on to “roll over," which I am also certain she will master in no time at all.
Every day is a journey with Aradia as a solo pup. Some days it’s great, others not so dandy. Anyone out there in Internet land have any suggestions on keeping her cool, calm and collected on walks? Because I’m (literally) all ears.
More on the Dog Project
One of the biggest drawbacks that goes along with having a highly intelligent beast like a German Shepherd is that they tend to express grief when they lose a friend.
Last Saturday, I had to put our 13-year-old German Shepherd, Apollo, to sleep. That leaves me with our 4-year-old Shepherd, Aradia.
Aradia has always been around another dog. When Apollo didn’t come home from the vet last Saturday, she wasn’t quite the same happy-go-lucky-dog she has been. Adjusting to being a lone pack member, for her, has been difficult. There were several days that she didn’t really want to do much of anything at all. However, in my attempt to be a “better mommy” to my now single pup, I am implementing “The Dog Project”.
This is a yearlong trek into behavior modification for Aradia using different methods, tricks and positive reinforcement.
Each day, she is walked, groomed for 15-minutes, and we work on a training command. This week, it’s “sit” which she has pretty much down, when she wants to. As we progress on “The Dog Project” I am going to write about her development, take photos and let you in on any new-found doggy knowledge I pick up along the way.
So, I bring you Aradia and Week 1 of the “Dog Project”, starting Monday. Stay tuned!
Last Saturday, I had to put our 13-year-old German Shepherd, Apollo, to sleep. That leaves me with our 4-year-old Shepherd, Aradia.
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| Aradia on my 365 Project |
This is a yearlong trek into behavior modification for Aradia using different methods, tricks and positive reinforcement.
Each day, she is walked, groomed for 15-minutes, and we work on a training command. This week, it’s “sit” which she has pretty much down, when she wants to. As we progress on “The Dog Project” I am going to write about her development, take photos and let you in on any new-found doggy knowledge I pick up along the way.
So, I bring you Aradia and Week 1 of the “Dog Project”, starting Monday. Stay tuned!
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| Aradia |
One January, 13 years ago, I found a fat, roley poley puppy in a barn. He waddled when he walked. He had floppy ears and horrible breath. But I loved him anyway.
His father’s name was Zeus. Thus, we dubbed our corpulent canine, Apollo, son of Zeus.
I stayed in love with that roley poley puppy all his life. I loved that puppy when turned into a not so rolley poley dog and even more when he became a rolley poley old man. He was always there for everyone in the family. He was a smiling (dogs can smile), happy faced, wet nosed, fuzzy shoulder to cry on. He was my own personal weather vane. He was neurotic and loyal. He was my boy. He would greet me every time I came home and see me to the door every time I left the house; he was always the gentleman.
Over the last year, age became an unwelcome guest in our home. Apollo’s once keen eyesight gave way to cataracts and glaucoma. His perky ears gave way to deafness. His body gave way to ailing joints and a diseased back. My friend was getting older, and I couldn't stop it.
Father time was unrelenting to my pleas for "just a little more" of his gift. I knew, this week, that we were approaching the end. Apollo was slowly losing all of his senses. He didn’t know where he was, didn’t recognize anyone, and wasn’t able to move anymore. He lost control of his bowels and his bladder. His eyes no longer danced with happiness when I would come downstairs in the morning. He wasn't able to move freely. He was no longer able to get up and greet me when I came home. He didn’t have it in him to see my to the door whe I left. I hoped it would pass. It didn’t.
It was time to call the vet. I did. The vet told me that with a dog his age, there was little I could do. Still, I thought we would go to the vet one last time. Maybe. Maybe there was something other than putting him to sleep. No matter what else happened, I just couldn't bear to see him in pain another day.
It was a sunny Saturday. He was excited to leave the house. I hoisted him into the car; but his legs twisted behind him, bound up like a pretzel. This had become a common occurrence lately, so I knew what to do. I untwisted his leg, lifted his hips and lifted him gently into the backseat. I sat in the back with him, stroking his head. He looked up at me, as he always did, trusting and loyal. He laid down on the ride to wherever we were going, sighed an old man's sigh and slobbered on my foot. I didn't mind.
It was the last time he’d ever ride in the car.
Apollo was less than pleased when he realized that our destination was the vet. For 13 years he hated going to the vet. Today, I shared his distaste.
It wasn’t long before we were in the exam room. The vet told us that Apollo’s spine was giving way where it connected to his hips, and it was happening rapidly. His prognosis was not good. The vet went on to say that Apollo was living on “bonus time” as it was. We could either keep him alive, in pain and without his mental faculties, or say goodbye. He said it was a personal decision, but that "if it where him" he would put a dog in Apollo's position down.
We didn't make a snap decision. We had already discussed our plans, depending on what the vet said. Since I believe in quality of life over quantity of life, I knew the days of waiting to make the call were behind us. Apollo wasn't getting better. For the last week he was not in control of his bowels or bladder. He spent his days dazed and confused. He wasn't the dog I knew for so long. I know, I am confident, had I been Apollo, I would have been ready to go. I believed he was ready to say his goodbyes. He had, in his own doggy way, already told me so.
I also know that principals only mean something if you stand by them when they are inconvenient. Keeping him alive and in pain would have been selfish. He deserved better than that.
In those last few minutes, I could see in his eyes he knew who we were, he knew where he was, and lumbered over to the table without complaint. He looked at me, with no hesitation when I ushered him to the table with tears in my eyes. He did as he was told. He knew. He waddled when he walked. He had floppy ears and bad breath. And I loved him anyway. He loved me right back.
We stood next to him. He was stretched out on the table. He looked up at us. He trusted that we were doing the right thing for him, just as he always did. The vet was ready to proceed.
But, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t second-guess every choice I make.
They shaved his paw. The injection was ready. I was standing there, my heart beating so loudly I could hear it in my ears. The tears were flowing. I could hear some of them patter on the ground. I wasn’t sure anymore. I didn’t think I could go through with it.
As the vet was getting ready to proceed with the injection, I could feel the word, “STOP!” welling up in my throat. I opened my mouth through the tears. Just as I could feel the words ready to pass my lips, it was already over. I looked down, right into his eyes, and he looked at me. He was okay. The words choked in my throat. I couldn't speak. In just a few seconds, Apollo breathed a heavy sigh on to my face, it was his last breath. I felt it. My heart went numb. The only thing I managed to blurt out amidst a tearful moan was, “He’s gone.” And he was. His body went limp. He had passed, quietly and painlessly. My friend was gone. I couldn't contain my sorrow.
We stood there with him, for 15 minutes after the vet left the room. It felt like hours. I petted him. I kissed his muzzle. I rubbed my head on his one last time. I said goodbye to my friend. I missed him already. I still do. There is an empty place in my heart that will always be reserved for that roley poley puppy I met in a barn one January, 13 years ago.
Good night sweet prince. Farewell Apollo, son of Zeus. May flights of angels take you across the rainbow bridge to rest.
The breeder charged me $325 for my AKC registered angel. However, it's like Rudyard Kipling said, "The price of a good dog is a broken heart at the end." My heart paid a price my wallet could never hope to fill.
The breeder charged me $325 for my AKC registered angel. However, it's like Rudyard Kipling said, "The price of a good dog is a broken heart at the end." My heart paid a price my wallet could never hope to fill.
Really. It is. Honest. And I’m not saying that to be a negative person or a Debbie downer. My life, as it so happens, is shit. At least today.
It all started about 6 o’clock this morning. Wails of, “Oh my God, what is that smell?” came wafting up from downstairs. Yet, these were not the queries of younglings anticipating a hot breakfast. These nose-scrunching odoriferous cries go along with the downstairs of my house being plastered in shit. Literally.
There was shit on the carpet, ca-ca in the kitchen, doo-doo in the breakfast nook, crap in the family room and (do not ask me how) even poop on the walls.
Like the responsible, mature adult I am, I hid under my covers pretending to be sleeping, and let the teenagers take care of cleaning duty.
What’s with all the shit?
Well, I have an ailing, older dog; a 13-year-old German Shepherd to be precise, Apollo. He has pretty much reached the apex of his life; his body has begun to give way. He suffers from cataracts, glaucoma, is partially deaf, has weak joints and now, for the past three days, has been unable to control his colon. If that wasn’t enough of a shitty situation, because of Apollo’s weak joints, there are some days the dog has trouble lifting himself upright long enough to evacuate his bowels, so he does it wherever he is; laying down, trying to stand up, or even when he is sitting. This results in his paws, tail and hind legs being constantly covered in shit. Shit that he spreads around as he travels the house. I never knew a single creature could produce so much excrement.
It all started about 6 o’clock this morning. Wails of, “Oh my God, what is that smell?” came wafting up from downstairs. Yet, these were not the queries of younglings anticipating a hot breakfast. These nose-scrunching odoriferous cries go along with the downstairs of my house being plastered in shit. Literally.
There was shit on the carpet, ca-ca in the kitchen, doo-doo in the breakfast nook, crap in the family room and (do not ask me how) even poop on the walls.
Like the responsible, mature adult I am, I hid under my covers pretending to be sleeping, and let the teenagers take care of cleaning duty.
What’s with all the shit?
Well, I have an ailing, older dog; a 13-year-old German Shepherd to be precise, Apollo. He has pretty much reached the apex of his life; his body has begun to give way. He suffers from cataracts, glaucoma, is partially deaf, has weak joints and now, for the past three days, has been unable to control his colon. If that wasn’t enough of a shitty situation, because of Apollo’s weak joints, there are some days the dog has trouble lifting himself upright long enough to evacuate his bowels, so he does it wherever he is; laying down, trying to stand up, or even when he is sitting. This results in his paws, tail and hind legs being constantly covered in shit. Shit that he spreads around as he travels the house. I never knew a single creature could produce so much excrement.
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| Apollo |
Thus, my life is shit.
Even though the kids cleaned up the mess this morning, I “found” some residual. (And by found, I mean stepped in.) So, as the twins left for school, I tore apart my kitchen and breakfast nook, swept, mopped and am now blogging about my shitty life while waiting for the floor to dry. All in the name of love…and shit.
I suppose that I could waste my time getting mad about the fact that my life is this full of shit, but there isn’t a point. See, Apollo has given me 13 great years. A bakers dozen full of years with wet noses, wagging tails, bright eyes, disgustingly slobbery doggy kisses and (all the while) putting up with my shit. And now that he’s nearing the end, it’s my turn to put up with his. So, yeah, my life is full of shit, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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About Me
Shauna has also been a featured speaker on a variety of radio and talk shows as well as Huffington post video panel discussions and been requested to speak on a myriad of issues all throughout Texas, including advocacy against domestic violence, and empowering women through self-education.
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