Pets – Page 19 – Me and the Doods.com

My Dogs Are “Spoilt”

Recently someone sent me this Spoilt Pet Test. I immediately had an issue with the word “spoilt.” Hey, once an English major, always an English major.

CHARLEY Again with the issues.

ELBEE She googled it! Can you believe?

Yes, I googled it. For those of you who share my concern, some sources said that either was correct but when in doubt to use “spoiled.” Interestingly, another source stated that “spoilt” was the preferred choice in England.

CHARLEY That’s ironic.

The quiz was a no-brainer. I don’t need a test to tell me that my dogs are spoiled. Look at the first statement, “Your pet is allowed to sleep in your bed.” Stanley and Gus have taken over the bed.And they’ve also taken over the sofa.

GUS AND STANLEY We were on guard duty.

Not only have I refused to move if they’ve fallen asleep on me but my foot has fallen asleep because they were on it. Of course they get Christmas presents although I’ve fallen down a little on the birthdays. Yes, I sign cards from them.

We recently cancelled a trip, partially because of them. As for greeting them first, who else runs to the door with tails wagging?

ELBEE Certainly not the daughters

Actually, the quiz doesn’t go far enough. My hair products are in one drawer. Their hair products fill three baskets. The Doods have a chauffeur, that would be me. Also a full time maid who would also be me. Not to mention a personal chef.

ELBEE Putting packaged food in a bowl is not cooking.

On the other hand, the dogs would ace a “Spoilt Human Test.” They’re my constant companions when I’m home. They’re happy with whatever program I put on tv. They’ve become total Dodger fans.

When the husband and I are tired, they lay by our sides. They let us know when someone is walking by the house and when they’re gone. They make us laugh with their antics. When I’m sad they lean against me until I’m comforted.

At work they take my breath away. As a former sceptic, I never take it for granted when they show me miracles. I’ve seen people forget their pain, even if only for a few moments. I’ve witnessed clinically depressed people smiling for the first time in weeks. I’ve seen a schizophrenic little girl hug the dogs and tell them that she loved them. I’ve watched patients emerge from the haze of dementia or catatonia in response to the dogs.

I may wait on them hand and paw but I am happy to do it. They give me strength, a sense of purpose and joy. I don’t mind spoiling them because nobody spoils me the way they do.

Say “Cheesy”

Before I get to the main topic, the dogs’ photo shoot for the People Animal Connection calendar, I need to vent about a more sensitive issue…aging. When Gus and I were at UCLA this week, one of the therapists and I started chatting about age. She was feeling old but felt much younger when I admitted how old I was. She was kind enough to say that she’d had no idea.

A short time later, Gus and I were visiting with a group of kids in the neuropsych unit when a very quiet withdrawn little girl suddenly began talking to me quite earnestly. She told me about a skin remedy mixing blue berries with yogurt. In the past, someone had told me that blueberries helped with tear stain on dogs so I foolishly assumed she was talking about Gus. She said, “No, I meant for you.”

ELBEE I can’t stop laughing.

I have one more issue to discuss.

CHARLEY Yes, I’m here with Elbee and let me say it’s so great to have him home. However, I can’t believe she’s still having all these issues.

Someone on the news said that there are so many seniors in this country now, they’re referring to us as the “silver tsunami.” I’m not sure how I feel about being compared to a natural disaster.

ELBEE So far I love this post.

Picking up my reading glasses and moving on, the photo shoot was last Sunday. Gus is a pro but it was Stanley’s first time. I confess that I’m still a total stage mother. They had costumes for the dogs but where were hair and makeup?

I also admit that I told my daughter and granddaughter they couldn’t come up to visit that day because the dogs had the photo shoot? Is that so wrong?

ELBEE No, that’s awesome!

Gus and Stanley were dressed in Christmas regalia for December. I’m not quite sure about that large thing on Gus’s head but he was such a good sport. Stanley got off easy with a cute sparkly headband and red and green collar.

After the calendar pictures, Stanley had to sit for his UCLA trading cards. It was an emotional moment for me because Julianne, the photographer, has also taken pictures of Charley, Elbee and Gus, maybe under the same lights. It brought back memories.

Stanley still had one more to go. For his final shot of the day, he had to pose with yours truly because a picture of the team goes on the back of each card. At first he was such a trooper and stayed patiently at my side.

ELBEE I can feel his embarrassment.

After a few more minutes, however, he was totally done and sprawled out on the floor. He looked so comfortable that I decided to join him.

ELBEE & CHARLEY We’re split on whether this was cute or just sad.

People Say the Darnedest Things!

Walking alone I get an occasional hello, usually if I smile at someone first. When I walk with the Doods, people will say almost anything. The presence of the dogs seems to break down all sorts of barriers and filters. A man passing us on the sidewalk looked a little concerned about the dogs. I said “Don’t worry they’re friendly.” To which he relied, “I wasn’t worried about the dogs. I was worried about you.”

ELBEE That was classic. It’s so entertaining to watch everything from up here.

A middle-aged homeless woman asked if the Doods were friendly. Yes, I’m judging. She was disheveled, wearing a tattered dress that was hanging off her shoulders, one shoe and one slipper.

ELBEE Okay, I’ll give her that one.

After I reassured her, she sat down with them and started sharing a lot about her life. When she was younger she got in some sort of trouble and was given community service at a dog rescue. I was expecting her to tell me that it had been such a positive experience. Unfortunately, one of the dogs she was brushing bit her.

ELBEE That was a terrible story.

One morning I was strolling down a quiet residential street with Gus and Stanley and we were all, for whatever reason, extremely copacetic.

STANLEY Is that bad?

GUS I’m not sure.

ELBEE Oy vey!

A woman walking a medium sized Doodle on the other side of the street wanted to bring her dog over to visit. Enjoying the peace and quiet, knowing that Stanley would get overly excited and want to run around, I politely asked her not to.

She ignored me and came running over with her dog. Sure enough, Stanley wanted to play and started doing the puppy bounce. That’s when the woman told me, in the most condescending voice, “Apparently your dogs are hyper. Mine’s not.”

GUS Hey, I’m innocent.

I admit, she had ruined my mood. Fortunately a few minutes later we met a woman who said that Gus and Stanley should win the “dog beauty award.” Then as she was petting the two of them and Stanley began leaning against her, she remarked, “he’s so soulful.” My day was back on track.

Recently the dogs and I ran into a woman who’s a neighborhood regular. We’d always waved and said “hi” but never really chatted. Suddenly she stopped me and said, “I’ve wanted to ask you something for the longest time. Were you and your dog in I Love You Man?”

When I modestly answered, “Yes, we had a small cameo,” she exclaimed “Are you kidding? That was an iconic moment!”

ELBEE I’m not sure if I’m having a bigger issue with “modestly” or “iconic.”

As a side note, Elbee is back in my posts because he brings a certain rhythm and joy to my writing. And let’s face it, he is a talking dog.

We’ll Be Here All Week

I started this post before Elbee passed and then, in the pain of losing him, put it aside. I decided to share it this week including the last Elbee remarks from when he was next to me instead of keeping an eye on me from above.

After Stanley somehow made it through intermediate obedience (okay we took it twice), I signed him up for a beginning tricks class. The tricks, like shake, crawl and spin, are useful tools in the hospital. For instance, the dogs don’t go in to see patients who are in isolation so instead of just passing by, Gus can dance in the doorway and Elbee and Stanley can wave. You’d be amazed how that brings out the smiles and the laughter.

ELBEE There’s a little more to it than being a useful “tool.” Someone likes to get in on the act.

He may have a point. I’ve shared that my father and my brother Stanley were hams in the best sense of the word. At my grandparent’s Catskill Hotel, my dad was “that guy” like in the movie Dirty Dancing. He emceed the shows, told all the jokes and sang while he and my mother were on the dance floor, not easy to pull off.

He was so charming and charismatic that it sometimes got him into trouble. My aunt was getting married and my dad was part of the wedding party. As he sauntered down the aisle in tophat and tails, the guests at the wedding began applauding and shouting “It’s Lester the entertainer.” Not the best thing before Here Comes the Bride.

As a kid, I was incredibly shy and would cringe when my dad tried to have me come out on stage with him. It took years and my recovery from a near-fatal car crash to bring me out of my shell…way out. I guess I inherited the recessive ham gene. It just took a lot longer to show itself.

ELBEE Apparently she also inherited the flexing gene.

Stanley Who are these people? I’m so confused.

The other day Gus and I were entertaining a group of people in a waiting room at Providence Tarzana, milking the applause, when someone suddenly said “You should be on America’s Got Talent.” What a great idea. I can’t believe I’d never thought of that.

ELBEE And I’ve never peed on the carpet.

What I can’t believe is that she chose to use that as my last earthly comment.

A Gift of Remembrance

Friday morning the husband sent a cryptic text, “You need to come to the wound care center today.” Even for someone who sends short messages with no emojis, that was brief. When I asked which dog, he replied, “Either.”

I was taking Gus to Providence Tarzana to visit and figured, since the center is just next door, that he’d be the logical choice. Gus has still been mourning Elbee so I hoped that going to work would help to cheer him up just like it did Stanley.

From the moment we entered the lobby, he was on. His tail started wagging. The Gus “smile,” that we’ve seen very little of lately, was back. By then, the staff knew about Elbee so they all made a special effort for Gus. It was mutual therapy.

One patient visit really stood out. An adorable toddler, carrying her special stuffed animal, was in the Pediatrics hallway with her parents. Seeing the delighted look on her face at the sight of Gus, I had him dance for her, wave and play peek-a-boo. All of a sudden, giggling, she tried to give him her toy. The parents were amazed because she never shares it with anyone!

Of course there was the other patient who was happily petting Gus and taking pictures when suddenly she looked at me and asked if he was straight. I could only imagine what Elbee would have had to say about that one!

As we left the hospital and headed over to the wound care center, I assumed it must just be a hectic day when they needed a little dog love. Instead, after warm greetings and condolences about Elbee, the staff gathered around us as someone carried out a huge basket. At first I thought it must be a cake or maybe flowers, but when I saw what was inside, I started to cry.

There was a stone plaque with a poem that read:

“Missing your unconditional love and playful paws, we are now apart. You’re gone from our lives, but never from our heart.”

There were also three smaller stones. Each had paw prints and a date of passing. One said “Charley.” One said “Riley,” and one said Elbee. They were hoping we would put them in the yard near Charley’s bushes.

Charley burrowed under the purple flowering bushes on the morning that he left us. I knew the end was near for Elbee when he wanted to lay in the same place. As with the stones, there is beauty, peace and sadness in Charley’s bushes. There is also the immeasurable comfort of remembrance.

By the way, I just heard from Elbee informing me that the sentence above should have read “there are beauty, peace and sadness.”

The House Is Strangely Quiet

When I’m upset, I often go up into the mountains to work things through. Climbing the steep trails gives me a sense of peace, a sense of clarity. This week, however, was different. After losing Elbee, I found solace in the support of family, friends and countless people who had interacted with him at work. There was an outpouring of love. There was also a sharing of Elbee memories that made me happy and sad at the same time.

A therapist at UCLA commented that “he did things that none of us can do.” A friend who had seen him working in the ICU was amazed by his “understanding.” With tears in her eyes, a nurse said that she would miss the special moments when Elbee would come directly over to her as if to say hello.

Unfortunately, Gus and Stanley can’t share stories or express their feelings but it’s obvious that they’re both grieving. There are no games of tug or races around the yard.

The house is strangely quiet without Elbee. It’s not that the other two don’t bark, but Elbee was like the bark leader. He always had a lot to say. Gus and Stanley are moping around without him. They miss his voice and his presence.

Stanley is taking it particularly hard. He seems lost. Elbee, in a dog way, was his mentor. He taught him to heel and to do a perfect stay. He would tolerate the puppy behavior as Stanley pulled him around by his ear.

When I took Stanley to the groomer this week, everyone there said that they could feel his sadness. It was like an aura around him. We decided that taking him to the hospitals might help. He’d get lots of attention and would be distracted.

At UCLA most of the people we interact with were aware of what had happened. They were saddened by the loss but they’d had some time to process it. They were kind and caring. They showered Stanley with affection.

Going into Providence Tarzana was more difficult because many on the staff hadn’t heard about Elbee. They were learning about it from me. Several burst into tears. I was on the verge of losing it myself. Focusing on Stanley gave me room to breathe.

One of the other things that touched me this week was how many people were fans of the Elbee of my blog and how funny they thought he was. They didn’t want his voice to disappear. I suddenly asked myself, “Is it any stranger to hear him talking to me from above rather than from the couch in my office?” The oldest daughter does not need to answer that question.

Earlier in this post I was about to write that the past several days felt like an emotional cocktail. I immediately thought “Oh, Elbee would have had a field day with that one.” I promise he’ll be back when the time is right.

Goodbye Elbee and Thank You

On Sunday, Elbee was his usual, energetic, over the top barking self. Suddenly, on Monday, he was lethargic and not eating, usually one of his favorite activities. After visits back and forth to the vet, he had surgery on Thursday night and they found an inoperable tumor. Sadly we had to let him go.

I had a weird virus when he was a puppy and couldn’t start training him as early as I’d hoped. Missing some of the crucial stages, there were times I was about to give up but friends encouraged me to stick with it. I’m glad I did.

Elbee was that crazy, full of life character who seemed as if he’d live forever. His unique personality made him a favorite of so many. Once you met Elbee, you couldn’t forget him. My fifteen year old grandson said, “He’s my favorite animal to have ever lived.”

Elbee leaves a legacy of special moments. For instance, there was the little girl that he visited in the neuropsych unit. Within minutes she went from being out of control, smashing her head on the wall and crying, to sitting on the floor with Elbee, teaching him how to take a bow after he won her over with his tricks.

There was the teenage boy in another psych unit who was disruptive and yelling, not wanting to join the group gathered around Elbee. After some time, he actually lay down on the floor and hugged Elbee. Then I heard him whisper, “I love you.”

At an adult health center, a man with severe depression who only smiles when the dogs are there, fell in love with Elbee. When Elbee would put his paws on a chair and bend his head as if “saying his prayers,” the man always felt as if the prayers were just for him.

Somehow Elbee’s alter ego developed a life of its own in my blog. He inspired my writing. I could hear his voice and knew what he was going to say. In the strangest way I felt as if I was channeling him. It gave me such artistic freedom.

His sarcastic remarks kept me in check. His honesty was refreshing. His thoughts made me and other people laugh. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “Elbee is so funny.”

Now I have to day goodbye to the real Elbee and the Elbee of my imagination. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Thank you Elbee for being a larger than life character, for inspiring me and others and for making us laugh. Thank you for all of the amazing work and the healing that you did so selflessly.

Stanley and Gus are lost without you and keep waiting for you to come home. I take comfort in knowing that you’re home with your brother Charley and with your dear buddy Riley.

Hospitals, Hiking and Birthdays!

Four of the things that matter the most to me are family, friends, the Doods and hiking.

THE DOODS Not necessarily in that order and we are not responsible for this photo.

For my birthday this week I wanted to do something special. Instead of lunch or a party, I brought Stanley into UCLA for the second time. It turned out to be the best present I could have given myself.

I lost count of our lobby visits. The big, white shaggy muppet was back and drawing people to him. Then he met some of the staff from the neuropsych units who had heard about him and seen endless photos. They gave him a warm welcome.

We even went into Maddie’s room, the family surgery waiting area, for the first time. Like I had with Charley so many years ago, I followed the smiles around the room. Driving home, I had such a sense of joy and fulfillment. I knew that I had made the right choice for the day. The huge bouquet of roses from the husband didn’t hurt either.

But I needed part two of my celebration. Often I have done the “butt burner” on my birthday. It’s a really challenging local trail which, by the way, is not fun in July. Instead I decided to hike from the valley to the sea, about 8 or 9 miles. I had done it lots of times before but not in quite awhile and not alone. Hey, some people go skydiving. This was very tame in comparison.

THE DOODS That’s a great consolation.

Some family members, who shall remain nameless, thought it was crazy. Friends said “way to go.” The husband offered to pick me up as a gift. It was also just a couple of days from the date that my brother, Stanley’s namesake, passed away years ago so I knew he’d be watching over me and laughing.

There was a feeling of freedom while I was hiking. I took in the breathtaking views. I set my own pace, had time to reflect. I scrambled up a couple of side trails and only had to ask for directions twice.

I stopped someone to take the photo on the left below as I was starting out. Then I asked someone else at the Hub Junction, a well known meeting place along the beach route, to take another one.

ELBEE I don’t know which is more disturbing, that she’s doing the walk or asking strangers to take her picture.

I had such a quiet sense of accomplishment as I hiked into the park at Temescal Canyon where my special “driver” was waiting. The hike had been a little longer than I had remembered and the weather had been a bit warmer than I expected but just like taking Stanley into the hospital, it had been perfect. Happy birthday to me.

ELBEE Aye, Dios Mio and I don’t even speak Spanish.

Expect the Unexpected

Going to UCLA with one of the dogs always brings the unexpected. As soon as we enter the lobby we have all sorts of interactions, some calm and low key, some emotional and others just light and fun. Sometimes I find out that a simple encounter had much more impact than I realized. Wednesday was no exception.

I walked into the hospital, Gus bouncing along by my side with the usual smile on his face. Once I tie on his blue PAC bandana, he’s ready to take on the world. I think that like Elbee and Stanley, he enjoys solo encounters, being the center of attention. It’s his time to shine.

Three women came over to see him, saying how adorable he was. One of them, who is now a dog trainer, told me that she had been involved with PAC in its early days before she moved out of state. She was a huge fan of pet therapy. Another one of the women, who was hugging Gus, commented on how much better he was making her feel. Then, to my shock, she looked at me and quietly shared, “My husband just passed away.”

I later leaned that she had been visibly distraught when she’d first come downstairs. Gus was somehow the support that she needed. He was providing a serene space in the midst of heartbreak.

Shortly after saying goodbye to the three women, Gus and I found ourselves surrounded by about ten people. Being a teaching hospital, UCLA often has groups of students or faculty passing through. When they first spied Gus I heard a collective chorus of, “OMG he’s so cute.”

With that kind of an audience how could I resist. Out came the tricks. Gus is so familiar with the routine that he started doing some of them on his own. I asked him to dance and before I knew it, he was waving and playing peekaboo. He finished to a round of applause.

As I took him outside for a short break before we headed up to our regular neuropsych units, I was struck by the difference in the two impromptu visits. The three women, especially the wife of the man who had just passed, needed a few quiet moments of comfort. For the upbeat group, it was an entertaining break in their day.

I was trying to put it all in perspective but Gus and his fellow therapy dogs, don’t have to think it through. It’s simply what they instinctively do. The only tell tale sign of how much they give is how tired they are at the end of a work day.

Someone recently sent me this photo of what therapy dogs may actually be feeling.

ELBEE Sorry to break the mood but I believe it’s called a meme and I only feel like that at home.

Okay, maybe I am guilty of oversharing with the Doods.

Stanley Is on Probation…the Good Kind

Stanley did his first official visit to UCLA Medical Center last week. It’s kind of a probationary period to be sure that he’s ready for the big time like patient visits and possibly the neuropsych units.

ELBEE Oh, it’s probation not parole. I couldn’t figure out what I had done wrong and kept trying to get my record expunged. I never thought that being funny was a misdemeanor.

Being able to practice in the lobby and other public areas of the hospital is such a gift. On the day that he passed his test, just for fun, I had taken him to meet a few people on staff. Now with his acceptance letter from Pet Partners, it was for real.

I was so proud but also a little nervous as we entered the front doors. With the high ceilings, the noise and the chaos it can be a bit overwhelming. Stanley immediately put my fears to rest. He strutted at my side like a pro.

ELBEE It’s amazing how often we have to do that. She is very high maintenance.

As one of his first tests, I walked him over to meet Virgil, the security guard who is a big fan of Gus’s. Not only did Stanley sit for Virgil to pet him but then he nudged against him. It was love at first “lean.”

With his size and fluffy muppet appearance, Stanley is hard to miss. One person after another approached. He interacted with people of all ages as if he’d been doing it for years. From toddlers to seniors in wheel chairs, Stanley was receptive and sweet, no jumping, no barking. I lost count of how many times I heard the words that are always music to my ears, “He just made me so happy.”

There was a moment right after we arrived when it truly became real. Erin, from the People Animal Connection, saw Stanley and asked why I hadn’t put on his hospital bandana. I guess part of me wondered if it was too soon. Fortunately I just happened to have Charley’s old scarf in my purse.

ELBEE What a surprise!

As I tied it around Stanley’s big shaggy neck, it struck me that he was really an official therapy dog. It was a simple gesture but as it had been with Charley, Elbee and Gus, it was a symbol of the journey ahead. And once again I was lucky enough to be holding the leash.