So then THAT happened...

I can't stand it; I was going to post a whole slew of stuff I've been saving up but it's been so long since I posted anything that I have to do something:

I thought when a dog had seizures you just gave him meds. I didn't realize you'd have to experiment with doses, be there every second of every day, monitor for seizures in clusters (very dangerous), learn to give liquid Valium rectally, discern between large and small, aura-extended and contracted, and a host of other happy accompaniments to epilepsy (which could also be a tumor, a reaction to vaccines or "other..." ).

I don't believe I enumerated the attending bodily fluids and I don't believe I will.

This derailed the blog for awhile but I am happy to report that at present (hearty wood-knocking) things seem to have calmed down.

Also the dog formerly known as Carlo is now called Kola. It's a long story perhaps shared in future but meanwhile call him Kola cuz he won't answer to anything else. Although sometimes we call him "Seize-y."

So Sir Kola seized 5 times in one day (prompting an overnight ER stay, aka the most expensive dog-sitting in town), four the next, then two, now none for almost a week. I never thought I'd measure time by how many seizures did not happen in an hour and then a day but there you are. We even got to take the long-awaited trip to the coast, being sure to pack our new Seize-y Kit(TM). We learned that Kola:

loves to travel in the car

would prefer riding over walking

doesn't like rain

loves to run in sprints

loves to pull dead fish from under the sand

doesn't eat the brake handle when not drugged on that one drug we can't pronounce

um, loves to ride in the car.

More soon. Seriously.

Cowboy + Dogs = Happy Ending

Seems like if you used to lasso you never forget how. Jesus Villanueva used to rope cattle in Jalisco 30 years ago; the skill came back when he spied two dogs trying to get out of a canal near Yakima, WA. The sides were too slippery and the owner had been desperately running alongside for TWO MILES. A deputy was trying to rope them but no luck, so Mr. V. got each one of them on the first try. Read more about it.

Nothing's simple

Well, you'd have to expect that if the Sullicake household got a new animal, it would turn out to be a little... special. New kid Carlo turns out to have epilepsy. Or at least that's what it looks like. Needless to say we have been thrust into the world of research, worry, relief, concern, bemusement, etc and we're still learning.

At 5:00 a.m. a week after we got him he had a seizure. It had all of the symptoms of "grand mal." Reaching over the bed in the dark to him, holding gently, waiting, watching him on his new bed convulsing. An eternal 90 seconds.

In the last week we've been getting to know him, partly by noticing what he's not and what he doesn't do. Wow, we'll say, he didn't bark at the neighbors! Oh, hey, did you notice he didn't grab food off the table? Such is the discovery process of adopting from a shelter. It's been delightful--so many things he doesn't do--we just got lucky. And then there's, oh, lookie, he's having a seizure!

When Carlo came out of it he was breathing hard, foaming at the mouth. And, a shock: he clearly did not know who Ann and I were. Total blank. What I realized a few hours later was that in our concern we had gotten all in his face, and even though he didn't know us, he didn't get aggressive or bite. If I'd come out of a seizure or even a deep sleep, I would not have appreciated someone in my face, especially from another species. (Well, I might have preferred animal over human.)

Yet another thing he "doesn't do."

So, here we are researching, weighing, and opting for something as holistic as possible without depriving him of what he needs to keep the symptoms down. But the thing I noticed this morning after we talked to the vet that I "didn't do," was for one second think, "oh what a drag this is." Not because I'm so enlightened but because there's been a shift in me lately from "oh god, not one more thing," to "this is life." It used to be that if anything unexpected happened it threw off the whole apparatus. But this is what is now. A new teacher has come to us.

Grateful yet again.

Earthfire Institute

(Photo by Marilyn Paine, courtesy of Earthfire Institute)

In August, I was honored to be invited with 10 other students to a retreat at the Earthfire Institute in Driggs, ID. We were brought there by our Reiki teacher and animal communicator Polly Klein. I am still figuring out what happened. Still journaling, meditating, singing, and whispering about it to myself, a few others. One thing I learned: right after, I should have gone into silence, as befitting the sacredness of it. But I also need to tell people. Somehow.

It was the sentences that got me, later. Impossible ones. "If you're done with the wolves, we can bring in a coyote if you'd like." "The bears are too intense so we'll just have you sit near them first, then we can bring them into the garden." "If you just move with them they'll come up to you." "If you feel a lick, just turn around slowly."

These were said quietly and without irony by caretakers and founders Jean and Susan. How do you integrate those into your usual sentences, I wonder? Even with such a strange internal dialogue as mine? I had thought, before I left, that I would get to stand really, really close to a bunch of cages with wild animals in them. I had no idea that I would not only be able to touch some of them, but give one of them a massage and a Reiki treatment to another.

I keep trying to interpret but I'll just tell.

I sat on the grass watching Jean pet ancient cougar Windwalker until he purred. (Again with the sentences.)

Behind me I heard a huff-huffing, which turned out to be a large grizzly named Huckleberry Bear Bear. Poking his giant snout under the bars of his enclosure, then followed by more of his head so I could see his eyes. Following instructions, I looked at him briefly, then looked away. I looked back and he was still gazing at me. I looked away again. Then trusted my instincts and looked back. We gazed a long time. And I heard, clear as a bell, a question from him:

What kind of animal are you?

I knew instantly that this is the question I've been answering all my life. I told him that, awkwardly.

Polly was also deeply moved by her encounter with another grizzly, Humble Bumble (above), who is a bit differently abled. We all struggled to articulate what it was exactly that had moved us all. It came to me: in zoos, which I cannot visit anymore, even if they are good ones, the animals are simply "not there." You look into their eyes and they are gone. At Earthfire, the animals are completely there. And they are completely taking you in. They see you, they are seen.

It took me a full three days to realize that Jean and Susan weren't kidding: they really do mean to be creating something new with animals. A connection. How it used to be or how it could be or something else that I won't diminish by limiting with words. But to be with wild animals who are perceiving you as a fellow critter, to be sniffed and possibly touched by them, is to restore the animal in oneself.

If that had been all that had happened I would have come away from there astounded. But it wasn't. There is more, and I'll post that soon, too.

Welcome to Animoush

Here is the first post to this blog. Do you like it? We can see how it goes.

This is my cat Dimitri. I've been with him since 1995.

Dog Carlo on the left. Been with him since yesterday. Seriously. Seattle Animal Shelter's finest.

We lost our beloved Molly (on the right) in March and in the process lost the presence of Dog in the household, too. So "in the fall" was when we were going to find another friend to round us out again. Moral: Never go to a Kill Shelter with an intention just to look.