A horrid eve at the Vet's.

No quiet rundown of today’s events, I fear. Not enough normal relatively positive things to report, just a horrid day that started out like any other and then suddenly turned…well: Horrid with a capital H.

I wake feeling weird (in hindsight anyways) finding it hard to get out of bed, and knowing up front that I won’t be able to get myself to do the workout I’m supposed to do this day. The dogs are restless, the weather dark and ominous and time seems to be pressing in everything that needs to be done before big brother and I need to leave for our bi-weekly lessons.

Yadzia needs to be fed, laundry should be hung–but can’t, due to the fact that the batches from the previous days haven’t dried properly yet–and breakfast seems to go down like a brick before I settle behind the computer to get some work done at least.

I manage about four pages before time’s up and we need to get moving, fast, in order to make it to town before the telephone shop closes. Luckily acquiring a new phone, to replace one that’s broken, takes only little time due to the large amount of points we have and allow us to get the mobile for free.

Afterwards, we hurry on over to school and get down to business with stupid tests that have to be done on paper once more, because the darn computers still weren’t fixed.
We spend about an hour and a half with only three tests under our belt, but with the satisfactory result that had we been doing exams, we would have passed.

By the time it is closing time for the school we head on over to the home improvement store to get some more wood for the last supply closet that still needs to be build. I am actually looking forward to starting on it by the time we get home.

We are just barely home, having just finished the pasta and fresh tomato sauce dinner little sister has made, when big brother appears with the disturbing news that Bala isn’t doing well at all.

Bala’s one of our old Golden Retriever, who’s been with us for more than ten years. He was supposed to have been a troublesome dog when we first got him from the animal shelter. We never noticed as much, however. He’s always been a cheerful dog, who loved to swim, play, fetch, and jump into a fray like it was the proverbial bar fight. A true alpha male, who, up until his lost his sight a few years ago was exactly that in our pack of ninety…something dogs.

But I get sidetracked, I tend to do as much on practically every occasion and today seems to be no exception.
As I was saying, big brother came with the news that the Retriever wasn’t feeling well, so I call the vet’s emergency number and inform him that we’ll be at the hospital in twenty minutes and if he can be there by the time we arrive.

Five minutes later we are on our way, Bala, whose entire chest looks swollen, and whose gums are rapidly turning blue when breathing obviously is a problem for him. The poor fellow’s overweight, what with getting very little movement over the past years since his eyes went, but he’s bravely keeping himself up straight as he stands there on the back seat, wagging his tail sluggishly.

He actually manages to walk on his own as we head to the vet hospital and are greeted by a young vet, who apparently is today’s on-caller. We know her as the vet’s girlfriend, and though she is competent enough in emergencies, we are a little annoyed about the fact that our regular vet isn’t there.
He is the expert nonetheless, and his competence always manages to reassure us.
Alas, no such luck today.

The young woman goes through the motions of checking all the things we’ve already summed up. It is a nasty thing about vets that don’t know us well, I fear. They need to check everything before they decide to believe that which you’ve already been trying to tell them since the moment you walk in.

I’m pretty sure, from the moment we depart that this is Bala’s last day with us, and this slowly gets confirmed while the vet tries to biopsy his bloated stomach and chest, confirming that it is filled with liquid, rather than air. That his heart can barely keep pace, that his lungs are working over time without effect and that he has a bad fever.

The X-Ray, she insists on taking, is useless, due to the amount of liquid gathered in his chest, and by the time she starts pocking the poor Retriever with a needle, big brother and I make the dreaded decision of euthanizing him…even though the vet will not give us an educated guess about whether or not treatment, surgery and whatnot, will improve the quality of his life enough to make the trauma of such measures worthwhile.

It is a horrid choice and it is ours to make, whether we like it or not.
It was horrid the first time we had to make it, the second time, third and all the others that followed. And I am sure that it will remain thus with all those that are bound to come in the future.

So we make it, declaring that we don’t want to put Bala through a battery of tests, which are likely to lead to this conclusion anyway, and hug him tight as the vet nods and starts preparing.
She takes so very long. I hate it when they do that while we’re standing there, petting our old friend over and over, telling him it’s fine and that everything will be okay. I know that the vets do this to give us time to say our goodbyes, but in all honesty, in most cases I wish they’d hurry through it.

If I didn’t find it so cruel to leave the dog alone with the vet, knowing full well that the poor animal would never understand, I would not stay there during that final injection. But I feel that this is something any animal deserves: Them not being alone in that final moment is much more important than any emotional discomfort I experience every time we are forced to go through this process.

I admit that I always expected that having a dog put down would get easier as time passed and experience prepared me, but it doesn’t. It hurts every time, in a variety of degrees that wobble with every different dog.

With my hands on his chest, big brother’s over his neck and head, the vet injects the pink anesthetic. The moment the syringe is empty, I can feel–and see–Bala release his final breath, announcing that things were pretty bad, for him to go that fast.

Usually there is a slow decline in respiration; the head drooping steadily before it comes to rest on whatever surface the dog is lying on, until the overdose takes them gently away. For all the ways to die, this one definitely has a lot of pros.

Two seconds and he is gone. He doesn’t even need that final shot designed to stop his heart, or so the vet explains, even as she plays it save and inserts the needle once more.
Bala is gone, just like that, after just three hours of real illness. I still can’t encompass it entirely, but there it is, reality in all its brutal glory, I suppose.

Though big brother sheds a tear or two–it surprised him too–I don’t cry while we leave the hospital carrying Bala with us for burial at home. I’m more angry than I am sad at that point, frustrated too, since I find it so grossly unfair that animals such as dogs have such a terribly short lifespan.

I have had the thought a millions times before, but it keeps returning like a pesky ache, much like that of a loose tooth that one keeps prodding at.

Heading home the atmosphere is morose and quiet, the younger sibs meeting us at the carport and then the kitchen for a full report. They give sad nods, understanding full well how such things go, since they too have lost dogs this way.

Not much talk is exchanged for the rest of the evening, which I bleakly sit out in front of the pilot of “the Mentalist” which was recorded yesterday. Though it is good, I can’t really muster up any enthusiasm about it. Probably not the best idea to watch it tonight, but we’ve got to do something to get through the remainder of the night.

I feel nauseous and tired when I finally head on up to my cabin, the dogs around me strangely quiet when I feel something inside my chest pop all of a sudden.
“This sucks,” is the first thing that comes out of my mouth when tears suddenly start streaming down my cheeks, followed by, “what a horrid, horrid day,” which keeps spinning through my mind, over and over as Bala’s death reminds me once more that for the next few years this is going to be a very familiar feeling.

Most of our pack were gathered during the time Bala came to us, and they too are rapidly advancing in age, making their demise an inevitability that looms in a quite near future, I fear.
This thought, of course, sets me into a genuine sob fest that has the dogs look at me with a mixture of alarm and confusion, as they gather around me, jump on the bed and try to lick my face.

Deciding that I might as well get it all out, I don’t bother fighting the crying jag, and just let it all out until I finally calm down enough and find myself writing today’s Blog.

I want this day to be over, and I want it over fast, preferably.

Time, it goes by so fast.

I wake to a wonderfully warm day on the Costa Del Sol. The sun’s shining, the temperature is pleasant, and the monsters have let me sleep ‘till fifteen minutes before the alarm usually goes off. It’s nothing less than a miracle, I tell you. My Gawd, a night in one piece. It’s been ages.

I’m still tired, of course. I was dreadfully late again last night so that was pretty much expected, but I get so caught up on the chats that I find it hard shut down when I should.
Going through the morning rituals, chucking into clothes and shoes, and even deciding to go all out by donning hoop earrings for a change, I’m ready to chase the dogs from my cabin and start the day.

Once I head down the house, I have the faint hope that laundry will have dried during the night, but alas this is not to be. I only manage to take down a fifth, at most, that’s dry to the touch. Luckily there is no new batch to hang, so it really doesn’t matter.

That done, and folding what little I’ve managed to scrounge from the lines, I have breakfast and set up behind the computer. No time for messages today either. I need to catch up due to yesterday’s lapse, and the fact that tomorrow our workday will be interrupted again is pushing me to speed as well. Drat. Hate lesson days for that reason alone.

But anyways, I slowly get dragged into the story once more, the trials and tribulations of the Lady Joanna becoming ever more prominent as the “evil” Lord Simon slowly, but steadily seduces her with his patience.

Sometimes these old-fashioned tales have a wonderful feel to them, in writing as much as in reading, as a matter of fact. They remind me of when I first started out reading romance novels.
Kathleen Woodywiss, Victioria Holt, Madeleine Brent and even some Barbara Cartland, hah. They’re a wonderful way for a pre-teen girl to roll into reading. They got me addicted, actually.

The sweet effect is lost a bit, regretfully, when I add a little more graphic “love” scene, which appears to be a prerequisite these days. Not too much, though. Keeping it sweet and in-style with the main theme it comes out rather nicely in the end.
Just five more pages to go and the writing of this particular story should be done. Now if only I didn’t need to go to town tomorrow I might actually manage it then.

Big brother’s distracted today, due to a documentary he saw on discovery about time, so he’s talking my ears off again, outlining the theory of his thesis in great detail, while I’m trying to focus on the pages in front of me. Still, I work well past sunset and by the time I decide I’m done for the day–a wooden butt is nothing to smile about–I have added eight pages in total. Not my record, but certainly a good workday when all’s said and done.

Since no one is in the mood to cook today I make myself some fries, of which big brother selflessly eats half, while I coat cauliflower, carrots and onions in dough and fry them as well. That takes care of today’s nutritional needs, and since today a stand up comedian the entire family enjoys on the tube, I lounge in front of TV for an hour and half to digest an enjoy.

The show’s good, pointing out a variety of issues that have been discussed between the lot of us quite a bit these past few months.
It’s brought in a poignant, yet funny fashion, which makes it a successful show even though I can barely keep my eyes open throughout.

Rather than risk falling asleep in my seat, I get up by then and head for the kitchen to do the dishes and make room to put the second layer of paint on the latest cupboard.
With “Stealth” playing on TV, I finish the task, and proceed to finish cleaning the rest of the kitchen before I settle back behind the computer and quickly go through my messages, rather than save them for later.

I know that if I don’t go through them now, I’ll be late again, so I get up-to-date on the latest chats and download a book from Amy Lane, which I’ve promised to review.
I admit I’m quite curious about the story, so that should be fun in the near future when I manage to scratch out a bit of time to go through it.

At long last, after bugging the younger sibs who are making their evening snack for treats, the eve is drawing to an end. We talk a bit, going over the day’s events and plans for tomorrow before I gather my things–and dogs–and head out of the house for the night.

Once in my quarters, I find the temperatures to be quite pleasant, allowing me to put my heater only on one heating element as I feed the dogs and do my nightly reading of an old Amanda Quick novel.

Around two in the morning I set up the computer to start on today’s Blog. I’ll undoubtedly get distracted again, but who cares?
Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day. I just know it!

New Year cleaning.

I’m rather frustrated this morning when the monsters wake me out of a wonderful dream where I was just signing a major contract with a publisher. Drat! They always are at their worst when something good’s going on.

It was a rather turbulent night; with too little sleep hours, of course–nothing new there–announcing the new day with a better mood than I’d anticipated when going to bed. I guess the dream did have a positive effect, in that fashion.

I hurry through the morning rituals, wanting to get to the house a little early since I know there’s a really huge load of laundry waiting for me. I’m right too, finding three over-full baskets and then proceeding to hang them until only a single line of the thirty available are left. The weather just isn’t cooperating with drying everything in the usual 24 hours, leaving three days worth of laundry on the lines when this big batch still needs to be added.

But anyways, it takes me quite some time to get it all up, just finishing with the second basket when grandpa arrives and brings out the third.
It’s almost ridiculous, the amount, but then there is laundry for six people, along with blankets that are used on a daily basis to offer some warmth to the dogs. The cold tiles simply won’t do for them this time of year, so it really is a necessary evil.

I know I have little time to write today, and for that reason I once again circumvent the messages–leaving them for tonight–as I set to the story as soon as I’ve had a quick breakfast.

Only two pages get added to the ten from yesterday, which makes me chagrined about the plans that have been made. We need to do some quick bargain shopping in town, before the New Year starts and I don’t particularly look forward to the interruption.

We get to the store around sunset. Little sister, big brother, mom and me: All of us roaming through the sales sections until we find an item of clothing for everyone in the family.
Grandpa is in need of new trousers and a couple of warm sweaters. Little sister picks out tops for her and the younger sibs, and I end up with a new flannel shirt and three pairs of socks. Success for a bare minimum of money, can it be any better?

We split up for the check out, and I head for the shoe store next door to buy sneakers for middle sister, along with a new family wallet, since the zipper of the old one’s shot, before we all gather by the truck and head on home again.

Once the dogs are greeted and have calmed down enough for relatively free movement, I start on dinner. I asked grandpa to buy red beets last night and after some discussion whether I’m going to bake them with potatoes or rice, the latter is decided upon.

It takes little time, really, adding only salt, sugar and pepper to the onions and leek I fry, prior to mixing it all together with a nice batch of rasped cheese that’ll make it into the concoction that will literally make the entire family salivate.

When making this particular dish there usually are only two problems. Is there enough? And eating too much of it!
Unless I want to end up with pain in my stomach…never a good thing with a stomach like mine, if I’m not careful it’ll come right out again…I refrain from eating more than a single portion.

It is a problem everyone shares, really. Both mom and big brother are complaining about wanting more, while already being full, which is of course a wonderful thing to hear for the cook. Hah.

I’m feeling a bit restless again tonight, so after digesting the food for about an hour, I get up to paint the closet we made last night with primer, only to find myself at loose ends when I’m done.
Coffee’s going down at a rapid rate–I know better, but I’m not thinking straight–as I get a bucket and fill it up with soapy water so I can clean the wall behind Tika, our parrot. The wall’s covered with fruit flies and by the time I finish with the wall, my eyes fall upon the pillar lights on either side of the entertainment center.

I’m horrified at the dirt they’ve accumulated since I last cleaned them, and I end up sweeping through that part of the room once more before being at loose ends again.
The fourth mug of coffee’s consumed, and my stomach is showing some signs of discomfort by this time.

With music blasting in my ears, I get the ladder from the courtyard and attack the spider webs I missed the other day, balancing on it rather nervously when midnight nears and the dogs get frisky at the sound of fireworks going off all over the valley.

By then I’m cleaning a thick layer of dirt off a closet and finally finish the evening by straightening the kitchen so little sister won’t have to do so tonight.

Miraculously, I have worked up a bit of an appetite during the cleaning and have a piece of bread with peanut butter and honey before settling in a chair and taking a breather…with a much deserved cigarette, naturally.

The fifth coffee of the day goes down–and falls on my stomach like a brick. Drat! It’s just plain stupid, I know, and while I head up to my cabin–the dogs nervously circling around me with the final blasts of fireworks still coming from the city on the shore, pounding through the air–I know I won’t be able to keep the last snack in.

I make it to the bathroom just barely in time, uttering a sigh of relief when that last cup of coffee is flushed with the late night snack, and I feel instantly better. I brush my teeth and change into my pjs at last.

Next comes feeding the dogs and setting up the computer.
There are several positive responses to the book trailer, which is of course thrilling, along with some nice messages that keep me distracted long enough to make this Blog a hasty job at the very least.

Another day has come to its conclusion, along with the year 2008. Let’s hope tomorrow will allow for more writing, with the start of a good year.

Happy New Year!

Ten pages and the new fan book trailer. Yay!

I am so tired this morning that I decide to reset the alarm for forty minutes, after letting the dogs out of the cabin, and promptly fall back to sleep. I’m in the midst of a rather interesting dream about a bunch of chimps that I’m spending time with for some reason, when my nap’s over and time to get up arrives.

It was really a kind of funny dream. Those chimpanzees were definitely incredibly clever and were helping me wash a bunch of dogs with remarkable aptitude. I don’t really see how that’s going to work in real life but the concept was incredibly funny. There were some baby chimps too, real cute and sweet, but they were pestering Mosha–in the dream–who started barking at them and woke me up since the real sound mixed with that off the dream. The ludicrousness of the dream actually made me smile when smack at the alarm to switch it off.

My dogs are not at all happy with my impromptu nap, either, and are making a racket when I’m trying to get dressed and go through a speedy morning ritual in order to get down to the house within reasonable time.

Today’s workout day, so even though my eyes still feel filled with lead I change into my exercise outfit and get to it. I go through most of the motions by rote, actually managing to get into a semi-doze until finally the punching bag’s up. That finally does get my blood pumping, and by the time I’m done, I feel a little revived.

After my habitual shower, breakfast and coffee, I settle down behind the computer to write. Since the Internet’s too distracting, both big brother and I have decided to forego it today and focus on work instead. It is a hard addiction to break, but for days now we’ve noticed that once we get online little work actually gets done.

What with our recent activities concerning short stories, we’ve picked out two of my older stories, historical romances that were written in first person style almost eight years ago, and we want to rewrite them in third person, because that really is the preferred format for readers.

While going over the old material, I’m a bit surprised at how good it actually is. I know, one isn’t supposed to say as much about their own work, ‘cause it lacks a certain humility, but I gotta be fair to teenage-me in this regard. “She” wrote a wonderfully romantic historical novella, and it will do really well in the new style, too.

I delve into the 1300s while big brother has opened the gangster story in the 1920s to see if it will suit a rewrite as well. I’m pretty tickled when several pages into the story he interrupts my writing and exclaims that it’s great…even if it is in first person style, which he usually hates to read. That certainly is a compliment.

We work for hours on the project and I manage to get down the wonderful number of ten pages of the historical, while big brother gets four pages of the gangster story done. He wants to try the conversion to 3rd person too, and since it will certainly save me time, I’m all for it. It will be good practice for him at the very least.

While we are working, little sister made a wonderful dinner for us to enjoy, and by the time I’ve finished my share, I put my computer away and move to the kitchen to clean up the counters and prepare to get to work on the kitchen.

Last night, after realizing that I didn’t like not doing something constructive in the kitchen, I reasoned that I could easily build another storage closet from the spare materials still lying around, so while I gather them, I start to measure everything out that’s available for use.

By using the large MDF board that once served as the backdrop of the old counter, I figure I should be able to get everything I need from it. I cut the unmanageable size in two long strips, measuring exactly the width of the future closet, and find that the remaining piece will be just enough to allow me make the two sides high enough for the intended closet.

It takes some creativity on my part, but while I’m figuring out how to make the two-part sides solid, middle sister joins me to sand down the boards, which have suffered considerable damage during previous use.

The house, which I’d been cleaning for the past two days, fills up with sawdust once more, thick layers settling on shelves, walls and even windows as slowly the new closet begins to take shape.

Once I have the walls done, the shelves cut and sanded, big brother comes over to help me put it all together, along with the metal drawers that be bought specifically for this purpose.

By the time midnight passes, I’m pleased to see that my calculations were correct and that everything fits, right up to the door we’re going to use for the closet once it’s done. The structure, now solid because of sturdy shelves and the metal drawers, has a millimeter to spare in its appointed spot beside the passageway leading into the corridor, even allowing for the light switch to stay in place. Wonderful! I love it when a plan works out like that.

Pretty darn weary from the long day, and hungry to boot, I have a piece of bread with peanut butter and honey, OJ on the side and then gather my dogs to retire for the night.

Once in my quarters, after having fed the dogs and changing into my PJs, I settle behind my computer to get online. There I first see the new book trailer on Youtube, and I’m thrilled, spending quite a bit of time of showing it around online…even though no one appears to be around to see it, hah.

Still, it was done beautifully. Very different from the first for “Shape Shifter” this one: It is the second case of the W.I. Investigations, the Martyr, which has the honor to be put into actual imagery, and I look forward to hearing what my friends have to say about it.

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=ycphpjNIlY0&feature=channel

At long last the day’s over, I had have to hustle to get to bed in time.