Remembering Lucy

Lucy wasn't a special needs dog, unless you count needing a little extra attention every time she entered a room. Lucy was just special.

She worked as a therapy dog for special needs people, and I just wanted to share this little memorial from Lucy's people. Lucy crossed the Rainbow Bridge yesterday, just shy of her 16th birthday. We send gentle thoughts to her family, whom we know will miss her, and we also send thanks to them for having shared her with so many during her time on this side of the Bridge.

A Quack Grows Quiet

As you know, AlmostPerfectPets is a blog about all disabled pets, not just cats and dogs. Today, I'd like to share with you the too-short story of Sebastian the Duck, discovered struggling just to stay alive by her adopted mom, Sharon.

Sharon and baby Sebastian

She picked Sebastian out of a garbage pile and raised her without even an inkling of what to do with a duck, especially one that couldn't walk. But the persistence of a mother's love, dogged determination and the help of good friends brought them successfully through all the challenges, and Sebastian grew into a beautiful, friendly, happy duck.

Sebastian in her go-cart

Alas, unlike dragons, ducks don't live forever. Sebastian waited just long enough to spend a last Christmas with her mom before crossing the Rainbow Bridge at the ripe old age of 12. Please visit her memorial page at HandicappedPets, because everyone deserves to be remembered. Even a little white duck who never knew the joy of paddling her legs in a pond, but managed to steal the heart of a full-grown human. And mine, I might add.

Here's a beautiful YouTube tribute to Sebastian's life here on Earth.

Splash on, Sebastian. Love endures.

Are your pets afraid of storms?

You know, I think it varies as much as it does with children and adult humans, whether pets are afraid of thunderstorms. But our recent rash of severe weather got me to thinking about how different it is for special needs pets--especially those with physical disabilities--to cope with this common fear.

Winkie and Boo Kitty often cuddle on the deep sill of our stone farmhouse

As much of a weather weenie as I am, I'll admit that I'm often still frightened by really close or intense lightning, or especially by very loud thunder. I don't think it's at all silly that I see Winkie's one eye grow very large as he leaps down from the windowsill where he loves to lay and then skitters underneath the nearest piece of furniture. The same happens with Weaver, if things get really loud, and with Boo Kitty.

But they have something of an advantage over Idgie, who is completely blind. Not only can they see quick escape routes from the window, which must feel tremendously exposed to the horrors of the storm; they can also see the nearest point of refuge. On top of that, their hearing is average, so the thunder is simply loud and frightening. Whereas Idgie's hearing is so incredibly acute to begin with, that this sudden onslaught of booming decibels must be absolutely terrifying.

Idgie is a constant fixture at my open office windows. Here, she sits in the front.

I've learned to pay attention to the animal signs just as I do to the cloud signs when it comes to forecasting the weather. Ever since 1991, when the annoying clickety-clicking of our two black Labs' toenails on the kitchen linoleum ended up saving us by keeping me awake long enough to hear the tornado coming when we received no other warning, I've known that they can sense things before we do. The restlessness those dogs instinctively felt allowed us time to reach the basement before that damaging storm was upon us. And this summer, I've paid attention to Idgie's physical attitude on days when there's a severe weather threat.

For the past three weeks, when most of it has taken place, it's been so hot and sultry that we've had the air conditioning on constantly. That means no window-sitting for the kitties, and it really shows in their affect. By early this week, I really believe Winkie (who enjoys this the most) had actually become depressed. So I was thrilled when I woke yesterday to temps in the low 80s and reasonable humidity levels that allowed me to open up the house for a while.

Even when Weaver, our tuxedo boy, does manage to find a window spot,
he rarely gets the solace he prefers. Winkie loves his big bro and
will do what it takes to get as close as physically possible.

Within moments, every cat had found a place in an open window. Even Weaver, our older boy whose heavier weight usually keeps him pretty sedentary and less inclined to the kind of leaping it takes to make the window. Even he was glad for the respite from artificial air, and managed to heave himself up onto the hallway ledge.

But when the storms come during a time when we don't need the AC on, I notice a change in the kitty's behaviors. They become more alert, more restive, even as they relax in the windows. I notice that as I track the storms on radar and they move closer to our area, the kitties, one by one, abandon their posts in the windows. Since these are much-coveted spots, I know something's coming that may be dangerous. The only exception to this is if the coming storm spurs an unusual amount of activity at our bird feeders. Then, that show is simply too tempting to keep even storm-shy kitties away from a front-row view!

Probably because she's so much more my constant companion in the office, I particularly notice this with Idgie. I also note that as the surface winds shift, she's more likely to move from the front window to the side and back, since this is a sensory stimulus she can read. So I've come to be aware that when she spends more time in the side, or south, window, we're probably in for a more potent southerly storm, bringing heat and moisture up from the Gulf.

Idgie at the side window in my office. She knows something's on the way.

But all this gets me to thinking: What's it like for critters with impaired mobility when a storm strikes and they can't move away from windows by themselves? Not that they'd necessarily be IN the windows to begin with, but I think the standard anxiety response is to dive under the bed or other furniture. What if they can't do that? What do people do who can't be home with their special needs pets all day, the way I'm lucky enough to do? Do you pay attention to the forecast and anticipate this need?

I suppose this is the kind of musing only a truly weather-obsessed person would wonder about, but I'd love to hear from parents of special needs pets to hear what they have to say.

Meanwhile, let me leave you with this absolutely stunning "concert" depicting a thunderstorm. All done without any musical instruments or voice. Enjoy!

Dear Deja: A Sad Farewell

A sweet memory: Deja at the beach

As I get ready to have a multi-day, out-of-office experience (read: a working vacation), I find I must sign off on a sad note today.

Four years ago, my sister and I took off for some bonding time alone, away from our families, to grieve the loss of our mom. We visited a beautiful, wonderful private retreat now called Villa La Bella. It's an American-owned bed & breakfast on Isla Mujeres, just off the tip of the Yucatan, a 20-minute ferry ride off of Cancun, Mexico.

Ashley and Curtis, our hosts, were the most gracious and kind people ever, taking always into account our rather fragile states of mind at the time. Though the circumstances were truly awful, I can't imagine another place that would have been such a balm on my psyche, and that place will forever be ingrained on my heart as a place of healing and restoration.

It so happened that a couple from a New Orleans 'burb, Jeanmarie and Dan Cozzi, were occupying the honeymoon suite at that same time. As VLB is not a large resort-type place, we couldn't help but meet them at breakfast and see them from time to time throughout our stay. As the week wore on, my sister and I came to look forward to seeing the Cozzis. They were such affable, funny and genuine people, and we so desperately needed such an influence to take some of the sting out of our deep sorrow.

By the end of our stay, we had all become friends, learning that we had much in common, including a deep love of our pets and animals in general. We swapped email addresses and have since kept in touch over the years. We maintained a cyber-vigil when the Cozzis had to evacuate during Hurricane Katrina, and were so relieved when we got our first email from Jeanmarie when they regained electrical power.

It happened again last year, when they took no chance with the approach of Hurricane Ike. This time, Jeanmarie kept in touch through her hotel's wireless connection. We were glad to be able to have more immediate news, and one of the highlights of that time was the photos she sent showing their two beloved Boxers, Bruno and Deja.

The pictures showed the handsome pair sprawled across the bed like they owned the joint, clearly avoiding any kind of deprived refugee life. Jeanmarie described a situation most of us are familiar with who just can't say no to our pets: the dogs taking over the bed at night, to the point where she and Dan sometimes had a hard time finding a place for themselves. I could only smile, so glad that this was one family whose beloved critters weren't left behind to fend for themselves, as had so often happened during the hell of Katrina.

Deja uses her beloved Bruno for a pillow in their last photo together.

Today, though, I got a different kind of post from Jeanmarie, and it just stopped me in my tracks.

"It is with much sadness that I write this note," her post began. "Our beautiful boxer girl, Deja, passed away last night."

My heart skipped a beat and I felt a lump rise to my throat. It's been just a month since my cousin lost her dear little Jack Russell, Nip, and I immediately recalled the wrenching sadness of that day.

"Many of you knew that she has been struggling with a demyelinating disease that has been slowly weakening her hind legs," Jeanmarie continued. "We knew it would eventually rob her of the use of her legs completely, but never wanted to think about that day. That day turned out to be yesterday."

Oh, no...here it comes, I thought.

"Through the day she struggled and gave such a valiant effort, but ultimately could not walk. She kept falling and stumbling and it was just heartbreaking to watch. She was so frustrated and nervous because she didn't understand why her legs would not work. She could not even get comfortable on the couch. We could not let her go on like this."

Yes...yes, I know, I thought. Oh, how can we bear these desolate moments, these wrenching decisions that we can't take back?

"We took her to the vet last night and along with the vet, Dan, me and Bruno surrounded her on a soft blanket and spoke softly to her as she slipped away peacefully. She gave us a look that let us know she was ready to go and to be free to run and play again. It completely broke our hearts and needless to say Bruno, who was her constant companion and best buddy, is completely lost without her."

By this time, the tears were coming. What do you say? What can you do? If you've been through the loss of a pet before, you know all you can do is listen and offer gentle thoughts.

"It is very sad," Jeanmarie said, understatement of the year. "Those of you who knew Deja, knew how special she was. She was just a pleasure. Sweet, loving, loyal, frisky and fun. We will miss her 'flying nun' ears and her 'singing' to us when it was time to eat. We will miss her prancing like a pony on the beach and her wiggle-butt when we she was happy or excited to see us."

I pictured that happy, wriggling boxer, with those big, brown eyes and those expressive "eyebrows" they all have, and my heart ached for the Cozzis' loss.

"Especially when Dan came home from work, that is when she was happiest," the post went on. "She was our girl, but she was especially close to Dan. He is just heartbroken. We all are."

I never had the pleasure of meeting Deja in person, but I feel I knew her through the loving portrait her mom painted for us. And so I'm posting this here for the world to see; an image of sweet Deja, as my way of sharing with her grieving parents the pain of losing her -- as they shared with us the loss of our mom. Grief is grief and loss is loss. It hurts, I don't care who or what it was you loved. And perhaps in this way, with this little memorial, I can say a small "thank you" to Dan and Jeanmarie for having reached out to people they didn't even know when those people so needed a kind word, a friendly smile.

It's said that grief shared is a burden halved, and so this is my way to try to take on some of what I know must feel overwhelming to Jeanmarie and Dan right now. I know all who read this understand that loss, and that we all, collectively, send our wishes for soft-edged memories and a reminder that those dear critters who pass over the Rainbow Bridge wait—always—for us, on the other side.

Run fast again in the glorious sunlight, Deja, and jump high without pain now. Your family will always remember, and they'll return for you one day.

Come. Sit. Stay!

What an original and excellent idea!

Artist Kimberly Kelly Santini is an artist, specializing in pet portraiture. She has been painting daily dogs (and cats and horses and guinea pigs and bunnies) since 2006. Proceeds from the sale of these paintings support Kim and often animal-related causes, as well. Anyone who knows what it takes to create ANY kind of work of art—much less skillfully accomplished portraits—will appreciate the immense amount of work and dedication it takes to keep up a commitment like this. And yet, she keeps on, with dogged determination (yes, pun intended).

Well into her third year of this endeavor, and inching toward 700 finished paintings, Kim admits that she often asks herself, What the heck!?

"Yeah, I ask myself that constantly," she writes in her blog. [It's] insanity, yes, but good times all around as well."

Certainly, you can't miss the joy she packs into her paintings—all you have to do is look at one. The images are powerful and impactful. The American Kennel Club was so taken with Kim's work that they used a colorful collage of her Dog-A-Day images to adorn its 2007 Eukanuba National Championship poster:

Kim's all about the animals and the art at her blog. She takes commissions for your own special pet portrait, talks about her works-in-progress, features an "In Memoriam" section for animals she's painted who have crossed the Rainbow Bridge, and even tells us what she's currently reading. Speaking of which—yes, you CAN buy a book containing her Dog-A-Day imagery!

There's more there, as well, my favorite part of which is the "Been Rescued by a Rescue?" section. Here, Kim invites visitors to share their rescue story with her, and your furry loved one may appear in a future Dog-a-Day painting. Now, I happen to know at least eleven ladies who have a story like this...

Get on over to PaintingADogADay. You'll be glad you visited this little corner of the blogosphere, I promise.