Kitty Police, Potato Thief

Have no fear, Detective Simba is on the job.  We have many nicknames for Simba in the Harrington household.  Among them is the well-deserved moniker of "Kitty Police." 

Over the years she has become the self-appointed House Tattletale.  Elwood's on the kitchen counter?  My little Kitty Police will let out two or three sharp "bossy barks" to let me know.  Poor cat can't get away with anything.  Sometimes his big sister's powers of detection work in his favor, though.  Sister Belle using Elwood as a chew toy?  Simba the Snitch will set up another round of barking.  Seldom are her siblings off the doggie detective's radar.

What many are not aware of, though, is that Simba has another, darker side.  Mild-mannered Kitty Police by day, Potato Thief by night.  I just about fell over from laughing so hard by what I saw when I went to investigate the sound of rustling in the kitchen the other day.  Surprised I had not heard any alert from Simba, I left my work and headed for the kitchen fully expecting to find Elwood had gotten into something on the counter.  Imagine my surprise when I rounded the corner to see Simba in the middle of the floor happily munching away on ... a raw potato.  Torn-open bag of potatoes next to her, she just looked up at me as if to say, "Thanks for leaving this bag of potatoes on the floor for me, Mom."  I have no idea how many potatoes she consumed before I got there.  I'm betting it was at least two. 

Another name we have for Simba is "Miss Piggy."  She will eat almost anything, even peas.  Instead of biscuits, our dogs usually get raw carrots or apples as treats.  I have been known to throw her a piece of raw potato once in awhile when I am cooking, so I guess it should have come as no surprise that she would think of the bag of potatoes as doggie treats.

All I can say is the Harrington Household sleeps soundly at night knowing that Detective Simba, Kitty Police is on the job and will leave no potato unturned in her quest for a safe home, justice and ... a quick snack.

Giving Thanks

First off, my thanks to our friend, Linda Horner, for the photo you see.  I love it.  I captures so much of who Simba is and where she's at at this point in her life.

I was awakened at 4:30 the morning after Thanksgiving by heavy panting.  I turned on the light to find Simba shaking uncontrollably and panting in what was obvious distress.  She was unresponsive when I spoke her name, and it was difficult to get her to move her head to look at me.  When I did, her eyes were far away.  Having had two other dogs who experienced seizures, it was a familiar and frightening sight.  I spoke softly to her, petting her, and finally she tried to stand.  She made it about halfway and was stuck, legs splayed in a halfway-up squat, still rigid, shaking and panting.  Bit by bit she came out of it enough to finally stand.  I helped her out to see if some fresh air would help.  All she did was walk around me in a circle on her leash.  I finally helped her back into the house.  She was still having difficulty walking and needed guidance and support.  She balked at going through any doorway as if afraid.

We were away from home, having gone to Bennington to spend Thanksgiving with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law.  Bit by bit, she seemed to pull out of it, so I guided her to the living room and lifted her onto the sofa and sat down next to her, waiting for morning.  I didn't want to risk going back to sleep and missing another episode if it happened.  Thankfully, she slowly came out of it, and by morning was her usual exuberant, if arthritic, self.  We left around 8:30 for home, where I called the vet.  He was off for the weekend, but I had the emergency vet number just in case.  Since she seemed stable and fairly normal, I opted to keep an eye on her and left left a message for the vet to call me that Monday, which he did.

Bottom line was as I suspected.  It sounded like a seizure, but any tests at that point would most likely come back normal, and even if they didn't, we probably could not treat whatever was causing them because of her age.  He gave me instructions to call him if it happened again, and what to do if it was protracted.

I have noticed lately that my sweet Simba is stumbling a lot more than she used to.  I think something neurological is probably going on and I feel helpless.  But I have decided that to spend the time I have left with her grieving before she is even gone is not only useless, but an injustice to Simba.  She IS alive, and she is HERE right now.  NOW is what I need to enjoy and savor.  I'm making as many memories with her as I can, so I will have those to comfort me when she no longer can.

In other words, I am going forward with the Spirit of Thanksgiving in my heart, grateful to have such an exceptional soul in my life as my Sweet Simba.

Little Girl, Old Lady, Simbalina, Heart of my Hearts... Thank you for being in my life.  I love you, and you make me smile.

Happy Birthday Simba

It's been a quiet day for me at home. I've been bitten by a small stomach bug, and the prospect of having to fend it off at work simply wasn't an option.
What it has done, is given me some time to do something I've wanted to do since my wife's first post. Talk a little about our Dowager Queen from my perspective.
I am Simba's "daddy".
I put it that way, because,as you might suspect, no one is really her "master".
Day before yesterday, our old gal turned 14.  I've been a part of Simbas' World for the last ten years0.
It was not an easy place to get to. I met Simba during my stay in Laconia doing Harvey for San and the Streetcar Company. The two of us (San and I) were just beginning to develop a relationship. Simba had her ideas on the whole thing. They could be pretty much summed up in those early days as "Who the heck do you think you are ?"
I was good to go walking with (on leash), fine to receive pets from, and great when it came time to beg food, but anything in the way of requesting behavior (come here, sit, stay, lie down, off) was either double checked through San (do I HAVE to Mom ?) or simply ignored all together. San, to her credit, stayed out of these arguments. She says she knew I had the necessary skills needed to eventually get her to obey. I think I'm pretty sure she was hanging back just to see if I had the patience to win Simba over and earn her (their) respect. Love me, love my dog. Dog doesn't love you ? Nice knowing you, Jack.
I, with an amazing show of fortitude, persevered. An effort that has been well worth it, for I cannot imagine what these last ten years would have been like without Simba to share them . She has been companion, comforter and confidant. My hours have been enriched by sharing time with her.

Now, as she enters her 14th year (98-if you haven't done the math yet) I hope that in her Doggy Glory Days, there will always be a spot in her memory for me, the ball and the water. I know she will always have a spot like that in mine.

The Spirit Is Willing

It becomes more and more obvious with age that the body is not always in agreement with the spirit.  I see this in Simba every day.  Where she once burst through the doggie door and flashed across the yard to chase that squirrel, she now goes at a gentle lope.  Ears up, tail wagging all the way.  You can see the bright eagerness in her eyes.  But arthritis-laden joints and an aging body just won’t allow the transformation to the golden streak she once was. 

This was never so apparent as a couple of weeks ago when we went to help close up the cottage in NH.  In the past, the words, “Do you want to go to the lake?” were always met with a Happy Dance, an expression of pure joy.  This time she lay there, looking up at me and simply wagged her tail. 

Swimming after the ball was something she would do over and over tirelessly until recently.  Her preferred method was to launch herself off the dock.  She would race out and leap off without hesitation. 

This time was different.  Knowing the weakened condition of her legs, we tried to convince her to wade out into the water and swim after the ball.  Our old gal insisted on the dock; however, upon reaching the end of it, she stopped short.  She spent a good five minutes going back and forth, wanting to jump into the water only to find her back legs beginning to buckle when she tried.  We kept trying to convince her to come back to the beach and swim out from the shore.  She would have none of that.  It had to be off the dock.  She finally settled for a half-hearted “fall” into the water.  It broke my heart. 

After we had taken the dock in for the season she had no choice but to swim from the shore.  At first she was confused, looking for the dock, but she finally accepted it was gone.  She started out after the ball from shore, stopped to take a drink, and then completely forgot her original goal.  Pete had to swim out after the ball to finally jog her failing memory. 

I have come to the conclusion that getting old sucks, but it’s still better than the alternative.  I am glad to have my golden girl with me for as long as she can still glean some enjoyment out of life.  For as long as her spirit is willing, we will be there to help her carry on.

When Worlds Collide

Simba is my "old gal."  She will be 14 years old as of Halloween 2011.  She's a full golden retriever and I've had her since she was a pup.  We have a lot of history between us, this gal and I.  And, while I was lucky enough to have another before her who I felt was "special" (Trapper, who I honestly believe to have been an old soul), she also has shown herself to be another "special one," though in a different way. 

This sweet gal has made me laugh and cry through the years, but the one thing that has remained constant has been her indomitable spirit and her complete, unconditional love and trust. 

A couple of years ago she had two ACL repair surgeries six months apart.  My husband, Pete, and I were amazed at how quickly she bounced back.  She was bounding after squirrels in the backyard like a two-year-old.  And then, a year later, it started.  Her bounding turned to running, then to a slow jog.  The physical decline into old age suddenly became glaringly apparent.  We hated it, but accepted it as part of life. She had some arthritis, but still had a good quality of life, enjoying the daily walks and tolerating her much younger sibling, Belle's constant plaguing to play with good grace.

Eventually, however, the mental decline began.  It started with the occasional spate of "crazy barking" in the living room when I was down the hall working in my office.  The occasional became daily.  I tried Rescue Remedy, a homeopathic anxiety reliever.  It helped some, but not totally.  I began encouraging her to join me in my office along with Belle and the cat, Elwood,  Having her "pack" around her, minus Daddy, seemed to help. 

Things seemed to stabilize for a while; however, it has become abundantly clear to me lately that she is slipping slowly away from me mentally.  It becomes harder and harder to penetrate the world of canine dementia that I call "Simba's World" each day. 

Bit by bit, day by day, the world of reality seemed to recede, and the world of canine dementia took hold.  Phrases that once elicited enthusiasm and happy tail wags now no longer seem to mean much to her.  "Go for a ride," "go for a walk" and "go to the lake" no longer seem to register.  "Go to the lake" has always been an extremely exciting phrase for her, making her run and prance and wag her tail.  Today, she just lay there totally unresponsive. 

She seems to slip further into her own little world daily.  It breaks my heart.  I know, at 14 years old, she has had a good life, and way beyond what a lot of dogs live.  Still, it pains me to see her slip a little further away each day.  But I am determined to enjoy the time left, not waste it with worries of what will inevitability come.

This blog is a way for me to  celebrate the joys of Simba's life, while at the same time trying to deal with the decline of a loyal friend. 

Simba, thank you for the years of love and laughter you have given me, and may your remaining time in my life be all that you so richly deserve.