In Memory of Nicky

Nickolas J. Cat

September 2000-May 10, 2015

I've been avoiding writing this post for awhile; it's hard to believe that Nicky is really gone.

I adopted Nicky in November 2000 as an 8-ish-week-old kitten. I have kitten pictures of him, but that was the pre-digital era. Barring a period of time when he lived with my parents (I lived somewhere that didn't allow cats), I've had him ever since.

How is it that I don't have any PICTURES of Nicky and Maisy together? Here- have a video instead.

Nicky was always a playful little beast. As a kitten, Nicky played fetch. It was adorable. We'd throw one of those barely-counts-as-a-mitten things and he'd chase it and bring it back. He also would brush up against my landline (remember those?!) and call my mom on speed dial.

"Whatever it was, I didn't do it! It was the cat, honest!"

As an adult, he adored catnip and would gladly bliss-out any day of the week. I actually have a plant of the stuff that I grew just for him. He also had a charming habit of sleeping on my head, and a not-so-charming habit of drooling on my face and in my ears. It was disgusting, but I would give anything for that now.

"What? He's in MY crate!"

Things got harder when the Barrera household formed last summer. Not only was Nicky older and arthritic, but Lola was quite scared of him. It took awhile, but we did find a tentative peace in the house. The pictures I have of them together are some of my favorite.

"Dis MAH kitty."

This spring, when it became clear that he was very sick, we began to allow him to do whatever he'd like. As it turns out, that was go outside. He wasn't really allowed to do that before, and he became obnoxious in his attempts to get outside. Mostly he sat in the sun, and I was happy to sit with him.

The best family picture I ever got.

It astounds me how big of a hole such a small being can leave. The dogs have such big personalities, they are so demanding. And yet, Nicky's absence is so conspicuous. I miss him so much. I will always love him. <3 p="">

Oseh shalom bim'romav hu ya'aseh shalom.

Zichronam Liv'racha, Nicky.

May your memory be a blessing.

Holding On and Letting Go: In Memory of Shanoa

What happens when you’ve done everything possible for your reactive dog and it isn’t enough? How do you decide when it’s time to let go? And how do you cope with the feelings of guilt?

These are terrible questions, and as glad as I am that I have not had to deal with them personally, I am devastated that one of my best friends does. On Friday, my friend Nicky made an incredibly courageous and compassionate choice for her reactive, anxious dog Shanoa, and it breaks my heart. I want to find a miracle cure for her dog, and I can’t. I want to wrap her up in love and take away all her pain, and I can’t. Instead, I sit with the knowledge that Nicky has lost her friend. And it sucks.

I met Nicky and Shanoa in 2010, when they joined the reactive dog class that Maisy and I were in. Shanoa was a beautiful Doberman from a not-so-great breeder who failed to socialize her and then sold her as an older puppy. The deck was stacked against Shanoa right from the start. The double whammy of poor genetics and no socialization is an awful combination; it’s like a house of cards built on a table with one too-short leg.

Nicky worked hard to keep the table balanced, the cards stable. And at first, it looked as though she might succeed. Shanoa was never the explosive dog in class; that was always left for Maisy. It was Maisy who would bark and lunge at everyone else. Both dogs started medication, and while Maisy showed improvements, they were subtle and gradual. Shanoa, though? She showed drastic and almost immediate improvement. I remember looking at her enviously as she slept through class in her crate, bored with the unstimulating environment, while Maisy continued to react at things. Shanoa did so well, in fact, that she became a certified therapy dog. She visited hospice patients, bringing joy and comfort.

But slowly, the positive effects of the medication wore off. Maybe her body got used to them; I don’t know. They saw the veterinary behaviorist, switched things up, and all was well again. Nicky decided to pursue nosework instead of therapy work because Shanoa enjoyed it more, and again she excelled… until the effects of the new meds wore off. And so began a years-long cycle of trying new meds, having them work initially, and then failing. There is literally not a behavior drug out there that they have not tried: multiple different SSRIs, short-acting drugs, even benzos. All showed early promise and then petered out.

When the last-ditch-effort drugs lowered Shanoa’s inhibitions, my friend recognized that they were in an untenable position. Shanoa continued to be anxious, unable to function even in her own home, let alone out of it. Even her safe places – like her crate – no longer soothed her. Meanwhile, her lowered inhibitions resulted in behaviors that required heroic management to keep everyone safe.

It must be noted that at no point was Shanoa a “bad dog.” She was a suffering dog. She had a debilitating medical condition that made life miserable for her. And at no point did Nicky fail her. She tried everything. She did the same types and quantities of training that I did with Maisy. She did drugs. She did management. She found safe outlets for Shanoa. And so she did the only thing she could.

She let her go.

I am in awe of my friend. You see, I believe that love is not about being together 24/7. Love is about sacrifice. Love is about selflessness. Love is a balance of holding on and letting go. Nicky could have held on longer. Life was difficult with Shanoa, but she could have made it work. I know that if Shanoa was difficult-but-happy, Nicky would have done whatever it took without complaint. But Shanoa was not happy, and holding on would not have been living. It takes a great deal of courage to do this - to voluntarily subject yourself to pain to save a loved one from it, to open yourself up to judgment and criticism from others. To let go.

I don’t know how to end this post, except to say, Nicky: I love you. Thank you for embodying compassion, courage, and love. I know it hurts, and I’m so sorry.

To Infinity and Beyond: In Memory of Buzz

 These are two of the luckiest people I know- my friend Megan and her dog Buzz:

Buzz totally counts as people.

A dog's life is so short and can be so uncertain that it is rare for one to spend his entire life with one person, but Buzz got Megan from puppyhood to his very last breaths. As for Megan, well, my friend Sara and I like to joke that our dogs will live forever, because the good die young (meaning the naughty live forever? I guess we've never really thought through the logic) but lucky Megan got to have the Best Dog Ever for 16 years.

Best Dog Ever
May 4, 1998 to May 20, 2014

And Buzz really was a great dog, although it was sometimes easy to miss that fact when we had all the dogs together in a group. Buzz was just so unassuming, you know? He was gentle and quiet, content to just sit and watch the day go by, not naughty and obnoxious like some dogs I know.

Ahem, Maisy. Not your treats!

Buzz was Megan's introduction into the dog world, and I have to say, I'm a bit envious. He was tolerant of a teenager's foolishness and tolerant of her mistakes. Not that he was easy, but when he presented challenges (as all dogs do), he would patiently wait for Megan to figure things out. And if she didn't, well, there's stuff over there for him to sniff or look at.

I'll just be over here while you get your stuff together, Lady.

They did find success together in the show ring (I loved seeing 15-year-old Buzz clean up in the Veterans rally class last year), but they also found success together in life. Megan went to great lengths to keep Buzz in great physical and mental shape, and I know Buzz offered her emotional support during some hard times.

God, there is just so much right about this picture.

I can't believe Buzz is gone. And I can't imagine how Megan must be feeling. But I do know they were the luckiest people ever. So godspeed, dear Buzz. We will miss you, and will always love you - to infinity and beyond!

A Brave and Courageous Dog: In Memory of Dobby

I remember the emails well: I have this foster dog, my best friend wrote, and I’m thinking about keeping him.

This was a big deal. At the time, Sara only had one dog, a recovering reactive dog named Layla who was pretty picky about her canine companions. But Layla seemed to like this dog, so despite some reservations (and a whole lot of emailing and blogging and general hemming and hawing that seems funny in retrospect), Sara decided to adopt Boots.

The first thing she needed to do was find a suitable name. The dog (well, puppy, really- he was probably around 6 months old at the time) she had pulled from the local city pound had been terrified. He would pancake to the ground and pee himself when people even looked at him. He had huge eyes and though scared of the world, desperately wanted to be right. 

She named him after the house elf in the Harry Potter books, and like his namesake, Dobby was brave in the face of fear. Over time he blossomed. He and Sara played in rally, and his prancy, bouncy heeling was beautiful to watch. He loved balls, and would parade around the house or training area when he was given one. He would curl up into a ball of fur and snuggle pretty much any time. 

And then he began having seizures.

With each subsequent seizure, his behavior deteriorated. Sara consulted with neurologists and a board certified veterinary behaviorist. She tried meds. Lots of them. And then she ran out of things to try, and he kept getting worse.

And so Sara- who loved Dobby with all her heart, who cared for him through it all, who gave him the best life he could have hoped for- selflessly gave him one last gift. She set him free from a body plagued with physical and emotional illness. 

Tonight, I am with Sara. As we walked our dogs together earlier, it reminded me of past walks in that same park, along the same path, with the same dogs... minus one. It's so strange to know that I'll never see that eager, earnest, amazing little dog again. Our time with our dogs is so short. Sara’s time with Dobby was even shorter. Don't waste a single moment. Go for a walk. Throw a tennis ball. Snuggle on the couch. Be with your dog.

Do it in honor of Dobby, the brave and courageous dog.

If you’d like to read Sara’s beautiful tribute to her dog, please read it here. It's way better than mine. There's also a follow up here. 

In Memory of Beckett

Beckett

(Bushwacker Danny)

February 24, 2005- July 17, 2012

(Photo by Megan Nelson)

My dear friend Elizabeth let her sweet dog go this morning after a brief but fierce fight with osteosarcoma. He was born "Bushwacker Danny." A racing greyhound who was moderately successful at the track, he raced for three years before being retired. But he was so much more than that. Beckett was, first and foremost, a loved and cherished member of the family. Elizabeth adored her dog, and it showed. Beckett adored his person, and that showed too. 

Enjoying a patch of sun on the softest surface in the yard.

Beckett was possibly the world's laziest dog. He loved nothing more than a cozy bed. If there was a soft surface, you could be sure he'd find it and lay on it. He also loved his crate, and could often be found lounging inside. In fact, if you tried to keep him up past his bedtime, he would put himself in any crate he could find, even if he didn't technically fit. 

I'll take this one, thank you. 

Still, Beck was a greyhound, and with that came bursts of crazy energy. If his first love was Elizabeth and his second love a bed, then his third was definitely Cuz balls. He went nuts for them, chasing them with gleeful abandon. Even better if the Cuz was thrown in the water. I wouldn't have expected a greyhound to like swimming, but he thought it great fun. And if he could prevent another dog from getting to the ball? Why, that was the greatest fun of all. 

Cooling off on a hot summer's day last summer.

Although people don't think you can train greyhounds, Elizabeth knew you can. Although she's probably the least competitive person on the planet, she and Beckett did earn their APDT Level 1 title together last year. Better yet, they also won the Sophie Award, which is given to the level 1A team that best exemplifies teamwork and relationship. Watch this video and you'll understand why (my favorite moment happens at about 2:25). 

Beckett demonstrates my favorite trick of his: "Cuddle."

And speaking of relationships, last summer theirs was put to the test when a huge storm caught them unawares while they were out canoeing. The canoe capsized and all their gear- including Beckett's leash and treats- sunk to the bottom of the river. With nothing but their shared history to see them through the next 24 hours, Elizabeth and Beckett somehow made it through the night, fought their way through downed trees, and got home safe and sound. 

Photo by Megan Nelson.

I don't know how to end this except to say: Beckett, you were an amazing dog, and you will be missed. Zichronam Liv'racha. May your memory be a blessing.