Holy cow

Too much stuff going on -- Zuki + surgery, fight with Cornell, missing Kuro, working my patooties off.

God, I miss my boy.

Friends

Karen offered to pick up Kuro's ashes, and keep them with her father-in-law's, so they can keep each other company. What a kind and generous offer. I accepted: I'm too much of a weenie to do it yet, and I'd rather have him in a house than a vet's office.

She picks them up today.

Going on

I stopped at the local flooring place today, to look at alternatives to the grey-painted OSB I've had as flooring in my house for the past two years. I didn't want to put new floors down if Kuro lost control of his bladder.

I can make the floors pretty now.

I'd rather have Kuro.

Went to Wegman's and found two family-sized packs of hamburger (reduced for quick sale!), which, out of habit, I picked up. Feeding two large dogs a raw diet means I buy a lot of meat.

Except I made chili with one of those packs, after I realized I only have one 4 footed-friend to feed.

I'd rather have Kuro.

I can take Nikka with me to work if it's cool enough. I can get rid of the huge dog bed I have at the foot of my bed, since I can move one of the many smaller downstairs beds upstairs into the same spot, and actually have room to walk around the bedroom. I can put away leashes, his harness, many brushes. The house needs to be vacuumed far less often.

I don't have to clean up poop (sometime diarrhea), wash dog blankets, scour bowls, stock up on supplements, watch where I'm walking so I don't trip myself up or hurt him, strap his harness on or take it off, carry him up or down stairs, worry about having him get into a situation where he's stuck when I'm not home.

I'd rather, by far, have Kuro.

Yep, even with all of these improvements, life still sometimes just sucks.

The garden

I purchased 3 apple trees and a cherry tree this spring. I'm still trying to figure out where to put the last of the apple trees. I *think* I have the mini-orchard plotted out, especially as it turns out I need to obtain another cherry tree. The Agway salesperson neglected to tell me that one needs 2 trees to cross-pollinate cherries. In addition, I didn't know enough to ask.

I'll fence in the area, leaving room in the back for a large flower bed. I've not had much time for gardening the last year or so, because of work, house reno and Kuro care. This will be my Kuro garden.

Because of the yard work I did, I had a good afternoon, despite high humidity and grey skies. Then I took a tarp-ful of weeds to the big mulch heap. K's fur is there, left over from when his Auntie Nancy clipped him on Memorial Day.

Instant misery. I miss my boy.

The only place

Where to Bury A Dog'
The following originally appeared in The Oregonian in
1926 and later was included in the author's book of
essays and poems, "How Could I Be Forgetting."
By Ben Hur Lampman


For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land, where most exhilarating cattle graze. It is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, and nothing lost -- if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog. One place that is best of all.

If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call -- come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they should not growl at him, nor resent his coming, for he is yours and he belongs there.

People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing.

The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master. >

Smiling & laughing

Today, I spoke to my friends and neighbors about The Big Guy without crying. It's probably due to the amount of endorphins I have pumping through my system after today's pylometric workout (my comments to my trainer: 'I survived.') After the session, I was thinking about Kuro and smiling, remembering how wonderful he was, and thinking that I *will* always, always, always love him.

What I'd give to throw my arms around his neck and over that big furry head with kisses. Rats, I'm teary eyed again. I miss him. Part of me always will.

Someday, some guy who is smart is going to realize what incredibly good care I took of him, and what I did for him as his life wound down. They're going to think 'huh, she'll probably treat ME like that when I'm old....'

So far, the men in my life have been too stupid to twig onto that fact!

Expectations

Just got this email from someone who responded to my CraigsList ad. Holy Moly!

I am interested in the apartment you have posted on craigslist.

I have just been accepted to Cornell and will be beginning my graduate studies there this fall. I am looking for an apartment primarily just for myself, however, my boyfriend will be transferring to his company’s Albany office and will often be visiting on weekends.

I will be relocating to Ithaca from Chicago. My ideal move-in date is August 15, but I do have some flexibility with this. We are planning on being in the area July 8th and 9th and would like to look at available apartments at that time.

Since we are not currently living in New York, any pictures and floor plans you could send would be helpful.

In an effort not waste anyone’s time, here is a list of what I’m looking for in an apartment:

* In the vicinity of the Cornell campus, within walking/biking distance
* 350-700sq.ft
* $500-$700/mo, including utilities
* 1 bedroom, plus 1 office area
* 9ft+ ceiling heights
* Many big, tall, sunny windows
* Balcony, patio or garden space
* Gas stove
* No garden/basement apartments
* No carpet or linoleum flooring - hard wood only
* No dropped acoustical ceiling panels
* In a walkable neighborhood near a park and a grocery store
* In a quiet neighborhood
* Available parking for 1-2 cars

I know it's difficult to work with potential out-of-town tenants, so thank you very much for considering me.

Polite, professional and unrealistic. "Please, I want the perfect apartment that's close to Cornell for very little rent."

Good luck in your search!

Sleep and Sun

Both make a difference in my 'tude. The last couple of days have been rough ones. Lachrymose is an apt description of my state. In part, I'm sure it was due to bad weather and lack of sleep. Last night I only woke up a couple of times, and hence got more rest. It's sunny, too.

Right now, I feel less bereft.

Today's focus: finding a good tenant for German Cross. Prepping for this afternoon's lecture and figuring out why the White Girl has had diarrhea for a week.

Sunny, but sad

I'm having a bad day today. I miss my Big-Headed Boy. Sometimes, life just sucks.

Hugs and kisses

Yesterday, one of my patients said 'Kuro was the only dog I've ever known who knew how to hug back.'

It broke my heart to hear that. It's true, and I'll never be hugged back by him again. My sister is grief-stricken, too. 'I can't imagine a world where the name 'Kuro' won't be said again.'

Nor can I.

'It's just a dog, for chrissake!'

The yahoo who said that didn't understand the essence of The Big Guy. It's comparable to saying 'well, it was only a kid' to someone whose child died.

From the way he'd s-l-o-w-l-y turn his head to you after you stopped petting him (his way of saying 'hey! keep going!' to the way he'd stick his nose under your hand and flip it up to get more pets, to the tip of his tail -- variegated grey until the end. Then a black circle ending with a white tip -- everything about this dog was noteworthy. People who were 'petrified' of big dogs would soon end up with their arms encircling his neck, snuggling into him.

Underneath that genteel, calm demeanor was the heart and soul of a goof. He'd woooooo! when he was happy. Imagine that! A being who would throw back his head and shout with joy upon seeing you in the morning! What a welcome! What a great way to start the day!

On walks, he'd catch up and walk between you and your partner, looking for pets and telling you 'I'm here!' He'd catch your hand or arm in his mouth and gently hold you. Yes, my dearest dog, I love you too.

Hugs and kisses from Kuro. Hugs and kisses to Kuro, too.

Stormy weather

Right this very second, I'm supposed to be busting a gut in the Keuka Lake triathlon . When I awoke at 4, it was pouring rain. The forecast called for 100% chance of thunderstorms.

Bagged it. I did not have the enthusiasm and optimism it took to drive through the bad weather and stand around in dampness for two and a half hours waiting for my wave. Then, the hour and a half push... it wasn't in me today.

I was up till 6, then dozed off. When I awoke again just before 8, the rain had stopped and there were small patches of blue showing through the cloud cover. On the other hand, I just heard the rumble of thunder...

I'm still pretty numb. My heart feels a tad lighter, however. This despite the fact I'm apt to burst into tears. I skimmed a couple of older posts on this blog about The Big K, and see that it was clearly time to let him go. I'm so incredibly glad that I didn't wait until he was suffering and miserable. He was ready, even if I wasn't.

Other's voices

"I've never seen a dog with a more expressive face.... the last of the real gentlemen. The end of an era." Richard Orzeck, DVM. Trumansburg, NY
____
I'm glad i got to meet him.. He was everything you described and more. The first time i met him.. i remembered being so frightened when I saw how big he was, and he looked at me: "easy buddy, I'm not gonna do anything to you..unless I really want to! =)" and when we were inside to was so polite and gentle.. G. Eagan, Cortland, NY
____
I have such fond memories of you walking by my house with your guys Flag and Kuro back in the days when we were neighbors! I can remember when I first met Kuro, but what I remember most was that enormous head! He was very kind to allow this crazy lady that he hardly knew to get right up into his face in pure amazement of the size and beauty of that head!

I swore it was the biggest and most beautiful dog head I'd ever seen! I've spoken of this to so many people and will never forget it. So for your patience, I thank you Kuro for allowing me to love you up for a few minutes that day, and to admire you daily as you walked by." A. Marshall, Seneca Falls, NY
____
Kuro is gorgeous! Beautiful head, wonderful boy--I don't blame you for being so passionate about him B. Bouyet
___
I look at pizza bones and think of Kuro, not that Nikka doesn't like them , but I just love the way Kuro would give us a kiss before and after eating them . He didn't mind if it was veggie or meat pizza bone... I've printed out one of my favorite photos of him . I have it sitting on the dining room table so I can talk to him and let him know what a great friend he was to me . He was the one who had me get over my fear of big dogs; as well I did not have an allergic reaction to him . I could even put my face down into his fur... I glad that you called and had me come on Saturday . If you hadn't, I would not have said a quiet good bye to him. E. Mason, Lodi, NY

The Best Dog - Ever

It's easy to eulogize someone after they've died, and overlook or ignore the irritating and exasperating traits they had. Kuro was not perfect. He was, however, a damned Good Dog. Actually, he was the Best Dog Ever.

My ex-neighbor S emailed me yesterday. "Geez it wasn’t that long ago that he enjoyed escaping from your backyard on Kraft Road. I remember finding him one day eating a dead deer along Route 89 – I’ll be that was an excellent adventure day for him! He was a great guy, a big old gentle bear."

While the visual of him chowing down on rotting venison is not an appetizing image, I needed to hear this. I needed to be reminded that not so very long ago Kuro was in the prime of his life, and was hale, hearty and robust in health, spirit and will.

My nickname for Kuro was 'Butthead' -- saved for times when he was being the less than perfect canine. S's email reminded me of the fortifications I had to build to keep him in the back yard. 8 foot fences, chicken wire dug in along the bottom, fencing dug 2 feet into the ground.

I ended up calling the 'dog pen' (what to others would be a fenced yard) the Dog Stockade. Several times I'd be home, with the dogs allegedly safely contained in the yard. I'd get an itchy feeling at the back of my neck. 'Haven't seen The Big Guy for a couple of minutes...' Heading to the back of the yard, I'd find him climbing the 8 foot fence.

Each time he'd look at me and with his expression clearly say 'hey! look at what I'm doing! Aren't you proud of me?' He would literally climb 8 foot fences to enjoy an adventure in the great wide world. When I caught him in the act, I'd roll my eyes in exasperation, while he dropped down and came to me for a hug.

When I swam in Cayuga Lake, the dogs would run parallel to my course, running out to the end of docks, then scampering along the shoreline to keep up with me. When I turned, they did too.

Last summer, I had stopped to speak with a couple who were enjoying an early morning coffee at the foot of their dock. The dogs ran up to say polite hello's. Kuro then waded into the water, chest deep. By this time, he was already quite unstable. He clearly was worried about the uncertain rocky footing. That day, however, he gave me a round faced look. His expression clearly said 'I'd come out there if you'd hold me.'

So I did. "I'll help you, honey." I extended my arms. He waded in and swam to me, then paddled gently for several minutes with my arms supporting him. When he was ready, I let him go, and he swam regally to shore.

Kuro was not very vocal, but his expressions said as much as words. There were times where he'd be sacked out on one of his beds, and without moving his head, his eyes would track my movements -- rather like being watched by a whale or porpoise. Invariably, he was telling me to 'c'mon over and pet me!'

Boy, did he have me well trained. For of course I would. Who could resist?

One time, when we still lived at Kraft Road, I'd put the pups into the back yard and told them firmly "GO PEE!" Kuro did so immediately, then came inside into the kitchen. He made sure I was looking at him, then looked at the cookie jar, then at me, then back at the jar. Words could not have expressed his desire any more clearly.

Again, who could resist?

I miss his 'wooooo!' of happiness. I miss the way he could make his face round, turning it into a perfect circle, when he was happy and excited. I miss how, when he knew I was walking over to pet him, he'd scrunch is body up just for a second in anticipation of the caress.

Above all, I miss just having him with me.

I love Kuro with all my heart, took the good - nay, great - with the not-so-good, and am so incredibly grateful that this amazing boy graced my life.

Giving up those furry pajamas.

I had my beloved best friend euthanized last night. Kuro has been released from his old, old body, and has shed his furry pajamas.

When he came to me in June of 2000, the vet said he was seven or eight. I truly expected that I'd have him only a year or two. Big dogs don't live long. I had 10 grand, amazing years with this boy, who was a Prince among Princes. Funny, smart, loyal, gorgeous, affectionate, kind, gentle. He loved to be vacuumed and clipped - most dogs hate these! I am beyond grief.

The Big Guy has been winding down the last few months. Kuro's life had become more and more limited as his spine, hips and knees degenerated. It was time.

He had a great day yesterday. K was relaxed, happy, cool and cherished until the very last minute. The vet came to the house, and I held him until he was gone.

I spent much time and energy providing hospice care for the past several months. Someone (some knucklehead) said 'wow, your life with be so much easier when he's gone.' This is true. It's also unbelievably empty.

I do not resent or regret any of the thousands of times I helped him rise, lie down, get up the stairs or down them, or picked him up when he fell. Cleaning up his messes were part of helping him. Shopping for his food and cooking for him were a joy. I'd still be doing it if he had quality of life.

If I'd have been able to throw money at the problem to fix it, to fix him, I'd have done it. The last, best gift I could give him, the last, best act I could do to help my boy was to simply let him go.
---------

I remember the first time I saw him 10 years ago in June. NL, the director of Akita Rescue called. "There's a big male in Cleveland who needs to be temperament tested. Can you do it?"

"No, I've got 2 weeks of finals, it's a seven hour drive EACH WAY, this is crazy."

Which is why I drove to Cleveland. And back. In one day. The young couple who had retrieved him after he was shoved out of that truck and started galloping down the highway met me at a thruway exit. When I first saw "Henry" I was awestruck. What a gorgeous, lovely, big boisterous boy, filled with life and vigor.

He came home with me. I'd planned on fostering him, since "male Akitas can't be re-homed with another male." I already had a male Dalmatian, Flag, who, fortunately, was way down the pack hierarchy.

Then I had a dream, in which my first Akita Cagney appeared. She told me she had sent me this dog because I'd given her the best 9 months of her life. He was her way of thanking me. I needed to take my grief and put that energy into someone who needed me.

He transformed into Kuro. The word means 'black' in Japanese -- for his beautiful black mask and because he was less than spotless when he came to me.

Barbara Bouyet, the premier Akita expert in the U.S.: "He's gorgeous!" I know.

Michelle Bamburger, local animal behaviorist: "You have exceptional dogs!" I know.


I was so very, incredibly lucky to have this terrific, amazing dog grace my life. I miss him terribly already.

I now have the thankless task of telling friends, family, neighbors, and patients who love him that he's gone. I'm worried about some of my more fragile patients, whom he helped far more than I ever could.

Last night, G said 'Death comes to the best of us.'
'He IS the best of us.'

Memories of K:
Since he was an easy boy and an excellent temperament tester himself, I took him to NJ to check out a young female. My friend J, with whom we stayed, needed to make a late night trip to the grocery store. We loaded up and went for the ride.

As she stepped out of the car a group of young hoods swaggered out of the dark. "Hey, baby, come here, sweetie.' I got out of the car, too, and let Kuro slither around me. His head was down, his ears were flat, and his teeth were bared in a silent snarl.

I looked at this dog, whom I knew, but for an instant didn't recognized. He frightened me. Clearly I was not the only one taken aback. The group scattered, crying 'oh, shit man, it's a wolf!'

As soon as they were gone, he morphed back into my cheerful boy, ears up, tail curled, big proud smile on his face, and clearly saying 'hey! I did good! Where's my cookie?'

Kuro also defended me from inanimate objects. He rarely barked, but when he did, with his deep chest and huge lungs, it sounded like a cannon going off. He'd patrol his territory early every day. One foggy morning, he found a suspicious object in the garden. As he couldn't discern what it was through the fog, K started barking. When I went out to see, he refused to let me near the object of his attention. He kept barking and throwing himself between me and the unidentified It.

When I finally got him into the flower bed, he saw it was a large piece of cardboard (which I used for mulch and weed control). With crested neck, hackles raised, he stalked up, sniffed and then lifted his leg on it, before retiring to the porch to lie down. What a dog! ready to protect me from people AND cardboard!

Time after time The Big Guy proved himself to be an atypical Akita. Because of his round, bear-like face, people loved to get down at face level with him before I could warn them about not doing so. He would smile politely, and roll his eyes towards me, clearly saying 'man, this person is an idiot!' He never showed aggression or fear as people took this dominant position. Many times he'd give them a big raspy dog kiss.

I am grief stricken. Rest in peace, my beloved boy. Always loved. Always cherished. Always, always in my heart.