Honey the Lion Hunter

“She’s out again!” my husband yelled through the front door on his way to work today.

I really don’t have the time or patience for this. For the third time today, I ran out and wrestled the dog to the ground, picked her up, and carried her into the house. Then I went out to inspect the fence again.

You really forget the troubles of puppy ownership when you have lost an old, tired dog and succeeded it with another. The housetraining, biting, jumping, whining, and escaping are all enough to make me not like the dog so much when she is misbehaving. Then she sits there cutely begging for a treat, or sleeping curled up on her doggie bed with her tongue hanging out, and she’s loveable again.

“Hound X” is the breed notated on her papers. Being a rescue dog, her exact origins will never be known to us. She has the qualities of a hound, Labrador, bulldog, with the webbed paws that only a few breeds boast of.

On Halloween, we had her walking with us when a neighbor stopped us.

“What kind of dog is that?” she asked.

“I don’t know. She’s a rescue dog.”

“I think she’s a Rhodesian Ridgeback?” she said.

“A what?” I questioned, and she repeated it.

“Your neighbor around the block has one. It’s huge. She has all the same characteristics – the markings, the ears, the webbed feet, and the coloring.”

I looked toward the corner just then and saw one of the hugest dogs I have ever laid eyes upon coming around with her owners. As they approached, I said, “Hey, someone just told me my dog is the same breed as yours.”

“Yep, she looks just like he did when he was a puppy. She’ll be a little smaller though – her paws are smaller.”

Their dog, besides being a male, was tremendously overweight. I let them sniff each other quickly and then, just as quickly, said goodbye. She hasn’t been spayed yet (a requisite for adopted rescue dogs) and I didn’t want to take any chances.

Once inside the house I looked up Rhodesian Ridgeback on the computer. This dog was bred in Africa to hunt lions. It is a brave dog and resistant to pests such as ticks. It is intelligent and great as an athletic trainer. The puppy pictures looked just like our Honey! The only thing she is missing is the “ridge”, which is a line of fur running opposite the rest of the coat on the spine. I read that this ridge is caused by a mutant gene but is a desired trait in the breed. The twenty-five percent that are born without the ridge are “culled” (sometimes that means “killed”) or removed from the breeding population.

So maybe Honey and her sister were purebred throwaways! Suddenly I saw her in a different light – she wasn’t just an unwanted mongrel but a potentially valuable dog. If she nipped at me I would say she was looking for a lion to hunt. I gave her some of the kids’ toy dinosaurs.

Why should her breed make a difference though? I started to get a little angry at whoever would get rid of a dog for the lack of a silly characteristic. A dog is a dog no matter where she came from and they all have lots of love to offer whoever wants to receive it.

"Also the animals possess a soul, and men must love and feel solidarity with our smaller brethren."
- Pope John Paul II

Bear's Pet Memorial Garden and Stone Marker

Click here for a post on how to make this garden marker as part of a pet memorial garden. My 13-year old was artistic director for the garden marker and my 11-year-old for the seashell design. My 9-year-old son and 4-year-old daughter helped with both. This was an extremely healing activity for our family. Bear's gentle spirit will always remain with us.

Bear Midnight Miller

"Also the animals possess a soul, and men must love and feel solidarity with our smaller brethren."
Pope John Paul II

“Bear is going to Puppy Heaven today,” I told my four-year-old daughter on Friday, “She will be able to go play with all our bunnies who are there - Hoppity, Peach, and Lucky.” She seemed to understand. She had watched me change bandages on her bleeding paws and carry her around because she was no longer able to walk, and she knew Bear was old and sick.

Bear, who has been in perfect health all thirteen years of her happy life, had a sudden decline over the past two weeks. Her had stopped eating and breathing was so poor that we knew her time was imminent.

“I can’t stand to see her suffer any more,” my husband said, and so we arranged to have a traveling veterinarian come to our house that evening at 7:30 PM, when we could have the whole family together. Still I hoped for a natural death for my gentle friend.

I carried her outside for some sunshine. At around noon, I went out and blessed her with holy water. “Please Jesus, take her home to be with you. St. Francis of Assissi, please help her.”

Although I had bathed her two days before, her smell was attracting flies, so I brought her in to the kitchen. I cleaned the house, put out freshly cut flowers and lit candles, to make the atmosphere peaceful for that evening.

Two of the children came home at 3:35. I explained to them what we planned to do and why. They were a little upset. At 3:40 I went outside to push my little one on the swings. At 3:45 I heard a yelp and the water bowl crash. I ran inside and saw that she had passed, her head on her paw.

I called the children and when they all met in the kitchen at once, they all started to howl. I tried to hug them all at once, and moved them into the living room. We stayed there for about 20 minutes and then moved outside to the deck. I was surprised that they were able to enjoy a goldfish snack, and actually play a little game with the goldfish crackers.

We had to pick up my older daughter from cross country at the high school. I warned them not to say anything to her until we got home. I didn’t want to cause a scene in front of the school or even in front of my house.

She came out of the school looking very happy. “I had a great day!” she declared.
Her sister and I exchanged looks when she was putting her stuff into the trunk.
We got home and I said we needed to go around back. I wanted to tell her in the back yard before going into the house.

Later she would say that she always knows what is coming when I tell them to sit down. We had gone through this with the bunnies.

“Come here,” I said, as I put my arms around her.

“Is it Bear?”

She looked at the other kids and knew. It was even worse for her. We had gotten Bear as a two-month-old puppy when she was a two-month-old newborn, and we celebrated their birthdays together.

Coming home to no dog was hard. . .

On Sunday morning I dreamt that Bear was playing with Alamo, the golden retriever of my childhood. I woke to the sound of giggling girls. I knew we were going to be okay. I went to Michael’s to purchase a garden stone kit. Together we made a garden stone for Bear, and planted mums around her grave.

"All things bright and beautiful,
all creatures great and small,
all things wise and wonderful:
the Lord God made them all."
Cecil F. Alexander"

This Old Dog

This week brought a new trial to the Miller household. Our black Labrador, Bear, who has been completely healthy for thirteen years, started bleeding from her paws. I originally thought she had broken off her claws and wrapped them up, thinking they would heal on their own. When the bleeding failed to improve, I brought her in to a veterinarian. I was in for a big shock.

Bear hasn’t left home in years, and she was shaking from the time I carried her out to the car to the time I lifted her onto the table.

I started by apologizing that she hadn’t been bathed recently; I hadn’t wanted to aggravate the bleeding and she has been spending her days outside. I also felt the need to explain why her claws hadn’t been trimmed recently. The assistant was very understanding. Again I felt apologetic as I removed her bandaging and she started bleeding all over the table.

“She has tumors in her paws,” the lady vet with the kind eyes told me.

My mind flashed back to my childhood dog, Alamo, a lively golden retriever whose life ended at the age of fourteen after we found tumors on her head. It was the first time I ever saw my dad cry; the second time was when his own father died.

Was she going to tell me to put her down? My eyes filled with tears.

I saw the doctor’s nose redden in response to my own show of emotion. “We can try an antibiotic for ten days,” she explained, “After that the only option would be surgery, which I wouldn’t suggest for a dog her age. Please call me by the end of the week and tell me how she is doing.”

I went home crying. I had to tell the kids what was going on with their beloved pet. As the days go on, they watch as I change her bandages. She doesn’t want to get up, so they have been bringing her food and water. She stopped eating hard dog food, so we bought her canned food. She even turns away from that now, and I have to force her to eat her pills, wrapped within deli meats. It feels odd now that I don’t have to watch the table to make sure she doesn’t jump up and eat my husband’s dinner.

Four days into the ten days of antibiotics prescribed, I wonder if she will improve; if she will pass peacefully; or if I will have to make a decision to euthanize my loyal friend.

Oreo the Cat: A Guest Post by Bear

My people have been watching a cat for our neighbor for several days now. Her name is Oreo. I used to really dislike this cat intensely but we have gotten used to each other now, and I guess she is okay.

When we first met, I used to bark at her all the time. When her family went away for Thanksgiving that first year before our littlest person was born, she came over here and ate my dog food. I tried to say hello and she scratched me. Then my mom got mad at her and chased her away. But her family is really nice and they have turned her into a friendly cat.

Oreo was not supposed to be living over here. The biggest girl is supposed to bring the food and water over to Oreo’s house. But she misses her family and comes over looking for company. It has taken to sleeping on a chair on my deck.

The littlest girl really loves Oreo. She chases it saying, “Kitty Cat! Come here!” Oreo seems to really like all the attention and will go to anyone for petting. When my mom tried to take this picture, she kept jumping off the chair and coming over to my mom and rubbing against her legs.

“Please Oreo, you know I like you but I’m allergic to you,” my mom said. Her eyes have been watering and she has been sneezing quite a bit lately.

I don’t really mind sharing the attention with Oreo. We get along pretty well now. I don’t like it when they follow her into the front yard though because I can’t go. Oreo can squeeze under a broken picket in our fence. When I was a puppy I was able to do this, but now I am way too big. It’s just not fair.

I wonder if she is here to stay or if she will ever go home? I hope she comes back to visit but I think I would prefer if she didn’t stay forever.

Sincerely,
Bear Midnight Miller

A Guest Post by Bear Midnight Miller

Today was a horrible, terrible, no-good, hot dog day afternoon. The worst possible thing that ever happens to me, happened. My people caught me, hosed me down with cold water, scrubbed me with baby shampoo, and then tied me up on the deck so I couldn’t go roll in the dirt. My mom didn’t participate in it but she was complicit to some degree. She felt sorry for me and tried to give me a treat but I was so upset I wouldn’t take it. I knew there was no sense in crying to the others so every time I saw her look at me I cried. I knew she wanted to untie me. I smelled a really good chicken smell coming out of the house and had to sit outside while all my people ate. Then my mom brought me out some really good fatty skin and I ate it. Then the really little girl brought me some treats and kept me company for a while. Finally the biggest girl came out and untied me. When it was all over all the kids ran around with me outside for a while and I forgave them, but I can’t forget. The good news is this probably won’t happen again for a really long time, but I will be on my guard whenever the hose comes near.

This picture is from August 2006. The children built a Little People town around Bear while she was sleeping. When she woke up they pretended she was a monster in the middle of their town.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Goodbye Lucky

This past Thursday, we said goodbye to yet another rabbit, Lucky. We had adopted him just two months ago. He was at least five years old and we knew his time would be limited. Yet my eldest daughter says it was the most difficult for her.

I have a feeling that, in the long run, this was the best experience for us when it comes to our small pets’ dying. The other two rabbits were still young and we were unsure as to whether we could have prevented their premature deaths. This one was being cared for in its old age. He was warm, well-fed, and loved. It was simply his time to go.

At 9:00 Thursday night, normally my children would all be in bed, but my eldest daughter was up late finishing up a research assignment. She happened to look at Lucky and thought it was moving strangely. She yelled to me, “Mommy, come quick!”

I reluctantly put down my dark chocolate Klondike bar and went into the laundry room, where Lucky resided. He appeared to be having a seizure of some sort. I picked him up and his body was limp. He was still blinking and occasionally twitched his legs.

We took him into the kitchen and laid a cotton shirt on him to make him warm and comfortable. The other two older children were called down. I knew he was near his end and thought this was an opportunity to teach about caring for someone in the last moments of life.

We took turns holding and stroking the rabbit. After an hour, I sent the 8- and 10- year olds to bed. My 11-year-old had done her crying and sat at the kitchen table copying out her report as I tended to the rabbit. Near 11:00, the rabbit made a sound. “Meep,” it said. It was the first time it had opened its mouth in the past two hours. It started moving again.

I picked it up and my daughter dropped some water into its mouth. It repeatedly opened its mouth and lapped up the drops of water. Then I saw its eyes glaze over as it stopped breathing. I laid it down again, and covered it up.

The children still went to school the next day. My toddler looked at the rabbit, unmoving in its cage. I told her, “Lucky’s sleeping. He was sick and old and now he is gone to heaven.” She repeated, “Bunny…heaven.” She did not go back to look at him the rest of the morning.

Later, while she was napping, the kids came home from school and we buried him in the backyard corner garden, next to Peach and Hoppity. It was a little difficult for me, with a frozen, snow-covered ground. I had already blessed him with holy water during his final moments, so we simply said a prayer and laid him to rest.

My 11-year-old was upset that our toddler would be asking for Lucky when she woke up. She did go to look at the empty cage. “Where bunny?” she asked. Again I explained, “Bunny went to heaven,” and she repeated, “Bunny…heaven.”

She made the connection later, when I was talking about eating a peach. She said, “Peach…bunny…heaven.”

“Yes, honey, Peach is in bunny heaven with Lucky and Hoppity.”


Picture is of St. Francis of Assissi, patron saint of animals.

Lucky

Meet Lucky, our new adopted rabbit. He is a dwarf rabbit, about five years old. Our children are so happy to have a new rabbit to love!

I thought Lucky was such an apt name in so many respects. I found him online just 11 minutes after his owner had posted him, the night after Peach died. Our kids were so distraught that I knew they needed someone else to fill that new void in their hearts.

The family took about a week to decide that we were the ones; they said they had a “gut” feeling about our email. They brought him over to our house today and said they no longer felt they had to worry about him. He was welcomed by all the children, and Bear as well.

He came with a cage that can easily be carried in and out of the house. We will keep him mainly indoors, but bring him outside with us during good weather. His previous owner had also given him vegetable scraps, so we can continue that practice. I had felt sad every time I threw away the pieces people find inedible but that Peach had loved to nibble on.

“Bunny!” my two-year-old announced as soon as the family had gotten out of their car with Lucky. They knew right away that they had found the perfect new “Home for a Bunny”.

Life Without Peach

Slicing a pepper, I thought sadly how I normally would save the vegetable scraps for the bunny. Peach would no longer need them. I saved them anyway, and threw them into the grass for the wild bunnies that scamper through our yard.

My nine-year-old’s immediate reaction to Peach’s passing was the most intense. My eleven-year-old’s was less so, but the sadness is more lingering. She still talks about Hoppity sometimes. “No other bunny could ever replace Peach or Hoppity,” she said.

My seven-year-old son did not show his emotion on the surface but I comforted him anyway, and there were some tears welling up in his eyes when he said goodbye.

Our toddler asked after the bunny today when she saw the empty cage. We repeated to her that Peach had gone to bunny heaven.

We finished the main portion of the swing set today. The swing side is not yet anchored – we will leave that final portion for tomorrow – but the rock wall and slide were able to be traversed. Hence there was much laughter for a good portion of the day, with tears interspersed here and there.

We had to tend to some of the more mundane and morose duties of a pet’s passing. We cleaned her cages – one for inside and one for outside. We put the food and other supplies away to save for the future.

Talking about getting a new bunny next spring gave them hope for a new life to care for, and eased their suffering some.

Heavenly Home for a Bunny

Today was a sad, sad day. When I woke up my husband told me that the rabbit had died.

“What! No! How!” I exclaimed in horror.

“It got really cold last night. It must have frozen.”

I felt really, really terrible. Every day I check the weather to make sure it is safe for Peach to stay in its outdoor cage. If a thunderstorm is predicted, or temperature under 40 degrees, we bring her in to its cage in the garage. In really cold weather, the cage gets brought into the laundry room.

That one day we did not check the weather, and there was a sudden cold snap. It was so warm today – I was outside in a t-shirt – that it seamed really unbelievable that it could have happened.

But it did, and I just dreaded having to tell the children, especially my eldest. She had been distraught after the death of Hoppity, and Peach had been a great solace to her.

Someone suggested waiting until tomorrow – but that just would not be right. We could not just leave her out there for another day and night. They had a right to know.

I put off visiting the cage until after noon. Knowing I would have no stomach to eat afterwards, I made myself eat lunch. I put the baby in for a nap and got out a nice shoebox. I went to the shed for a shovel.

Peach was still soft and fluffy, and I hoped she had died in her sleep and felt no pain in her hypothermia. I dug a hole for later and tried to lose myself in the swing set construction project for a while.

Later, I called my friend with whom we had plans to trick-or-treat. “Not to put a damper on your day, but I just wanted you to know my kids might be a little sad when we come over later…” I asked her to say a little prayer for us around the time my kids were to get home.

As they got off the bus, I greeted them at the door. Their bright and smiling faces ripped through my heart. They were looking forward to some fun trick-or-treating with friends. How much worse would their disappointment be when expecting something good?

I directed them all into the living room and they knew something was up. I had my eldest sit next to me. When I got to the part about there being a “cold snap”, her eyes widened in realization of what I was getting to. The other two needed it spelled out for them. Then there were shrieks and tears and running outside to check and then up the stairs and a locking of doors.

I left them in peace for twenty minutes. My eldest came to me and said she never wanted another rabbit again. She let me hug her. I keyed myself into my nine-year-old’s room and found her still crying on her bed. I put my arms around her.

I asked the girls if they were ready to go outside and say goodbye. They were and we went. I told my toddler the bunny was sleeping.

“Bunny weeping,” she repeated.

Using a small towel, I picked up the rabbit and placed it in its box. They all petted it. I said a prayer. I waited until they were ready before I closed the box. Then we carried it to the corner garden where I had dug the hole, next to where Hoppity lay. I placed it in the hole and covered it up.

“Where’d bunny go?” asked my toddler.

“Bunny went to heaven,” I told her.

“Bunny gone,” she said.

“Do you still want to go trick-or-treating?” I asked.

“Yes,” they all said unanimously.

So we went, and they had a surprisingly good time.

But after we had eaten loads of candy and it was time for bed, they became very sad again. We read “Home for a Bunny”, by Margaret Wise Brown. In the story, a bunny is looking for a home. He finally finds it with another bunny, in a burrow under the ground. The picture reminded us of Hoppity and Peach, who are now sleeping together under the ground. My nine-year-old read it to the baby, replacing “the bunny” with “Peach”, and in the context of Peach finding its home in Heaven along with Hoppity.

Bear Midnight Miller

After having introduced the rest of the family to the blogosphere, I would be remiss in not mentioning our most loyal pet of ten years.

When my first daughter was two months old, I took her for a ride to a dog shelter and adopted a Black Labrador puppy, also two months old. She had a bit of Golden Retriever mixed in too. (My childhood dog, Alamo, was a Golden Retriever.) My husband was surprised when he got home, but he let us keep it. He had the honor of naming her.

“Bear”, he declared.

I laughed. I imagined a Kindergarten teacher calling me in for a conference because my daughter could not differentiate between dogs and bears.

“Won’t our daughter be a little confused if we call her dog Bear?”

Apparently my husband’s college friend had a cat named “The BBOC” – The Big Bear on Campus. This was a great joke among his friends and he just loved the name Bear. I added Midnight (for her color) as a middle name.

We celebrate Bear’s birthday on my daughter’s birthday. The kids take care of her food, water, and baths. I think sometimes we take her a bit too much for granted. I realize this more as I see the greys increase in her coat.

The baby and the dog have become great friends. While reading on the floor one day, our black Labrador entered the living room. My baby’s attention diverted, she threw the book aside to chase after the dog. I made her a little rhyme:

Doggy-Woggy,

Big black doggy,

Let us go for a ride.

Doggy-Woggy,

Big black doggy,

You could be my guide.

Bear is gentle, loyal, sensitive, intuitive, and kind. She is a truly valued member of our family.

Peach

We got a new bunny today. She is a dwarf rabbit, about two months old. She is as soft as a peach and reminds us of the hybrid white peaches with beige markings. So we named her Peach Hoppity Miller. The store owner assured us that the most likely cause of Hoppity's untimely death was fright from the thunderstorm we had the other day. My daughter felt much better after hearing that it was not her fault. We set up two cages, one outdoors and one indoors, and will be bringing the rabbit indoors whenever bad weather is threatened. It is so wonderful to see the children all bright and happy again, chasing after their new pet as it hops about on a bunny leash in the grass.

Hoppity Hophop Miller

My daughter's beloved pet Dutch rabbit died today. Needless to say, we are all very sad. The baby doesn't know yet, but she used to wave hello as we pulled her past the cage in her red wagon. Just thinking of taking her past the empty cage has us in hysterics. We buried the bunny, with a little ceremony of sprinkling Easter water and saying a prayer which my daughter wrote:

Dear Hoppity,
I loved you dearly.
You made me happy when I was not.
I wish I could see you in heaven all happy and hoppy.
I won’t forget you.
Amen.