Happiness is Darby on my Feet

Every morning I wake up to a sweet, furry face looking up from the side of my bed. Even before I know I’m awake, he knows. Yet, he waits patiently for me to give him the signal for cuddles. Then he jumps up, leans in and gets a big hug. And I laugh. 

It wasn’t always this way. Two years ago, I had lost my sweet 13 year old doggy and I was beyond sad. I was lost. Everything I did from walking to reading to throwing clay was always done with her by my side. And she was gone. 

My dear husband shared my grief and insisted we both go to “Fun Day” at our local Guide Dog Campus. I loved seeing all the beautiful, happy, healthy dogs and their dedicated trainers. But with my grief so fresh, it was hard too. I wanted a hug from each and every one of them. I talked to the Guide Dog Career Changer Coordinators for a long time. I left sad but hopeful. 

Luckily, four months later I got the call about a black lab Guide Dog pup who needed a new career. 

Bouncy Boy. 

I’m so grateful for this sweet, ‘tiggerish’ boy. He bounces up every morning to greet me and my husband. He’s learned to wait at the top of the stairs for Michael to go down before he charges down and out into the yard. He’s a food gobbler, yogurt bowl licker and blueberry picker. 

He loves to run after the ball. He just doesn’t want to bring it back. His game is keep away and he loves to play it. Anytime. Anywhere. 

He has learned a lot in the last year or so here. He now takes his treats gently, greets a little slower (and without bumping into me) and looks but does not leap at other dogs. He also knows how to walk beside me off leash outside the house and ‘go home’.

Home is where my Darby is.      

Especially right now with all the fear and separation and loneliness, I know I’m not alone. Whether I’m throwing clay outside or painting inside, Darby is right there. 

Upstairs or down. Inside or out. He follows me from room to room all day long. If he can’t reach me because I forgot and closed the bathroom door, he whines to remind me. 

Just like Tigger in the Pooh books, he is happy, bouncy, playful and sweet. Even though he’s 70 pounds, he thinks he’s just a cuddly, playful lap dog. He snuggles next to me and when he can’t he watches over me. 

Wherever I go, he goes. 

Even if it’s on top of my feet. 

And I couldn’t be happier. 

Thankful: A Day of Small Moments

My granddaughter, Meyer is curled up, fast asleep tucked in by her baby blankets with her head on her special purple pillow. My sweet new Lab puppy is also curled up on his soft bed, asleep. This is truly a blissful moment. And a moment that can be so easily taken for granted because it’s just a normal, rainy, Monday. 

Thankful surprise. 

About a week and a half ago, I got the call Guide Dogs had a career changer for me! Tears of joy streamed down my face, as I listened to the director’s message. I jumped. I laughed. I almost couldn’t believe it. 

What is a Guide Dog Career Changer? Quite simply, a dog who, for many reasons, would not make a perfect dog to help and guide a blind person. With all the exceptional breeding, puppy raising and training, there are very few puppies now who don’t move on in the program. The ones who are career changed have a wide range of issues from physical to behavioral. They may not fit the Guide Dog program, but they are still wonderful.  

Meet Darby.

Delightful, sleek, strong and sweet, Darby is an 18 month old, black male Labrador Retriever. Born and raised in California, he came up to the Oregon campus a few weeks ago. He was career changed for his difficult ‘home’ habits. 

This means he ‘counter surfs’, ‘dumpster dives’, plays keep away and is very vocal. Now, I’ve dealt with all of these issues with other dogs. But right now, I want to get to know him. 

I now know he loves to walk in the park, jump for balls and eat strawberries. He does not like rain, getting his feet wet or dried off. Geese, ducks, kids and other dogs all distract him. He’s very energetic and needs to be reminded to take it easy going up or down stairs, across the floor or out the door. And he whines, cries, and yowls when he is in his kennel, which  just makes me laugh. 

Progress Already. 

He already knows his new name. When I call him, he comes. When I go around the corner without letting him know, he sees me and follows. Now, instead of pulling, he waits. He walks easily up, down and around. He is learning to ‘settle’ on his blanket or bed.

He does not bark. He is lying here on his bed, listening to new noises: cars and trucks on the street, dogs barking, the furnace and yet, he is quiet. His head goes up with each sound, he looks to me, I tell him it’s ok. He puts his head back down without a sound and does not disturb my sleeping granddaughter’s nap. 

It’s 3:30 now. Today’s rain continues and the dull, cloudy light is fading. But to me, it’s been a beautiful day. Why be thankful for a quiet, rainy Monday?

Because life is all about the small moments filled with giggles, yawns and peace. Thankfully. 

May The Odds Be Ever In Jilly's Favor.

I was scared.  It all started on a very normal Monday morning but by the next day nothing felt normal anymore. 

Jilly woke up a year ago and just didn't seem to be her usual tail-wagging self.  As we started out on our walk, she lagged and I knew something was bothering her.  I just didn't know what.  So I walked her carefully back home and called the vet.

After three visits, X-rays, ultrasounds, blood tests, we got the 'bad' news call.  The vet told us Jilly had cancer on her spleen and she only had a few months to live.  If we did emergency surgery and then chemo, she might live another 6 months.  That is, if she lived through the surgery which is a big risk for the animal bleeding out and dying on the table.

We said no to surgery and chemo.  And we said yes to Jilly living out her life joyfully doing all her favorite things even if it was only for a few more months.  

Jilly went to the beach on vacation.  

She barked and barked and barked at us to play ball.  We hesitated. Why? Because the vet warned us that too much activity could kill her.

But, you see, Jilly knew differently.

Jilly woke me up every morning with tail wagging and kisses, then went back to her bed and waited for me to do her morning belly and ear rubs.  She had breakfast, a walk, more treats and a nap.  She ran up to all her favorite people at the park tail wagging.  She bounced at the ducks and geese.  She insisted on all her favorite treats: peanut butter cookies, chicken liver purée, eggs, waffles, yogurt, cheese, apples and oranges.  I even let her 'steal' tomatoes and strawberries from the garden.

I've learned a lot from Jilly throughout our relationship.  Her training.  Her difficulties.  But mostly,  I learned a lot about faith and fun and, yes, life.  

Every morning, I used to wake up worried that today would be her last day.

Now, I wake up smiling because every day that my hand gets covered with sloppy Jilly kisses is the best kind of day. 

Faith in Furry Wisdom.

It's been two weeks now since Jilly was diagnosed with a tumor on her spleen.  She was weak and tired and maybe in pain.  But now, she's the jolliest of Jillys.

She feels good.  She feels joy.  She wonders, what's my problem?

I don't want to lose her.  Not now, ever and certainly not yet.  The vet said I could walk her but not let her get too rambunctious.  No running.  No jumping. 

She wants to play ball.  She's barking at me and throwing the ball at my feet.  She's standing in her ball playing spot in the yard holding the ball in her mouth.  Wagging. Bowing. Circling. Doing everything she can to get me to play.

She's saying, "Play with me.  Now."  

I say, "I can't.  Doctors orders."

She barks even louder and with more frustration, play with me!  I'm too scared to lose her.  That I've lost all joy in her sweet, silly ball game.

Jilly wants to play.  Now.  Today.  

The ball game is her favorite way to play.  I throw.  She jumps and catches and circles back to me.  She faces me with the ball in her mouth and barks.  When I reach for the ball, she backs away, wagging and barking some more.  If I step forward to take the ball again, she runs away.  My job is to stand still, ask her to drop the ball and wait.  When she's ready, she drops it and the game continues.  

Throw.  Run. Catch. Bark. Drop the ball. Repeat.

This is her joy.  Where is mine?  More importantly where is my faith?  Faith in the simplest of things in life like joy and enjoyment of things that Jilly and I both love to do. We love to play ball.  And we love to take walks in the park and she made it to the park everyday this week! 

My sweet, sweet Jilly is trying so very hard to get my attention and I'm not listening. She wants to enjoy the sunny afternoon in the backyard.  She wants me to enjoy it too. 

"Life," she barks at me is simple, "Play ball."  Now.

Her faith in herself is unshakeable.  My faith is always shaky.  

Maybe that's why faith found its way into my life as my word of the year.  I obviously have lessons to learn here.  My lesson for this week...is to get over my fears, get into life and have the faith to live it.  

That means having faith in Jilly's furry wisdom.  Gotta go, it's time to play ball.