Still Here

For several days, after her passing, a black and blue butterfly would often flit about me when I was outside.

I always felt a sense of recognition, and one of peace, in its presence.

That was last fall. I haven't seen any this spring, though I've been trying to pay attention.

Throughout my life, when I've seen butterflies, I only see the commonplace ones- the small ones that are yellow, or white. The orange ones that frequent my Passion vine and lay their eggs nearby for their larvae to feed on the vine once they hatch.

 This morning, I noticed Airlie sniffing intently at something on the back patio. My first thought was "frog poop". Honestly, we're quite accustomed to the dogs finding (and eating) frog poop, though I haven't yet seen any frogs at our new place. She just kept sniffing at it, though. Not pawing at, or trying to eat it.

I went outside.

This caterpillar grows into the Tiger Swallowtail Butterfly. You've no doubt seen the black-and-yellow ones. The males are black-and-yellow. So are the females, but with blue tails.

Some females, however, are dark:

She's still here, she's just in a different form, at the moment.

Kansas, January 10th, 2014-November 13th, 2017

Susie was a six-year-old Australian shepherd. She was originally an anniversary gift (purchased in the local Wal-Mart parking lot) and given to Becky, a friend of mine who attended the water aerobics classes I was teaching back in January of 2004.

Blue was a one-year-old Australian cattle dog, also belonging to Becky (more specifically, to Becky's husband, Brandon, who had wanted a blue heeler for a long time).

In the fall of 2003, Becky and Brandon had penned up Blue and Susie (along with another dog, Jasmine), as they lived on a ranch, and wanted to keep the dogs safe during hunting season.

They thought all of the dogs just got fat during that time.

It wasn't until that January of 2004 that a friend of Becky's, visiting the ranch, stepped outside and remarked "I hear puppies..."

"Puppies? We don't have any puppies..." Becky started.

Sure enough, a litter of eight puppies had been born to Blue and Susie (who had never had a litter before, or even a heat cycle, that Becky was aware of).

One of the pups was either stillborn, or died shortly thereafter. Of the other seven, there was one (he would become "Moses" and live mostly wild on Becky and Brandon's ranch, for a time, where Becky sat on the front porch and tossed him pieces of cut-up hot dog) that was all black, except for his spotted paws, and the tip of his tail.

There was one, a pretty little black tri-colored thing, who would become Cassidy, and make her home with me for about three weeks, from February 21st, 2004, until March 14th, 2004 (four days after my birthday), at which time she choked on her puppy kibble and passed away suddenly.

A lovable, fluffy, red-and-white fella, the pick of the litter, the one every visitor favored, picked up and carried around, would be the most social of the bunch, growing up to be Jax, the pup my parents' went back to the ranch and got after they decided they wanted one of their own.

There was a little black-and-white thing, with a pink nose (and an umbilical hernia). She looked more like a guinea pig than a dog...

Three other pups favored their dad, sporting the mottled blue ticking with various large black patches. One of these stepped on some bare wire in the ranch's pump house and died of electrocution early on.

Of the other two, one was later adopted into a family, but panicked and ran into traffic upon exiting the car en route to his/her new home.

The remaining blue pup was Kansas. She caught my eye when I went out to Becky's to see the pups (knowing I would end up acquiring one even though I was "just looking"). I can't explain it. Something about her...

My husband wasn't really keen on the idea of getting a dog, and wasn't in a good mood, knowing we'd end up with one if we saw them and that there was nothing he could do about it.

"She's ugly." he said, and proceeded to tell me a tale of a kid he grew up with, who had had a similar-looking dog.

It wasn't a positive story.

I did end up choosing a dog that day. I opted for the pretty black-tri, figuring my husband would like her better, that she would grow on him, rationalizing that she reminded me of a friend's Australian shepherd, whom I adored.

I knew nothing about cattle dogs/blue heelers, but I'd done my research and I figured, two herding dog breeds, I had experience with raising our family's German shepherd... I could manage the mix ok.

I went back a couple of weeks later, when the pups were 6 weeks old (too early to leave the litter, but I didn't know such things back then). Mostly, I was afraid my pup would be gone if I wanted too long. Having lingered, again, over the patchy, blue female, that day I brought Cassidy home.

Cass was a lively pup who never met a stranger, was go-go-go all of the time, very happy-go-lucky. She slept in her crate calmly from day 1. She learned sit -so proud of herself for picking the skill up quickly that she sat- when told- right in the water bowl that happened to be right behind her! We shared three weeks together, prior to her untimely passing. I only have five photos, from the first day I brought her home.

Devastated, I called up Becky, asked if she still had puppies, explained (terrified she'd decline) what had happened to Cass, tearfully asked, could I have another one? Becky replied that yes, they still had puppies, yes, I could come get another one. I'd have to wait a few days, but I could come out that weekend. I really didn't want to get another puppy while I was still grieving, but I knew if I didn't do it right away, I'd never get a dog ever again.

Three days later, my mom and I drove back to the ranch for the second time. The remaining puppies were feral by then, having been allowed to roam the property with litter human interaction. If you were interested in a specific pup, you had to catch it (at which point they all screamed horribly), and if you wanted the one you caught, best not let it go, because you wouldn't catch it again.

She was still there, the little mottled blue girl. I don't remember much about catching her, except that I had to make sure she was the pup with the black patch on her right eye, rather than her mirror-image sister.

She cried horribly, looking over my shoulder out the window, as we drove away. We drove to my parents' house, as we had with Cass, and spent some time getting to know each other. She mainly hid behind the recliner in the living room, and then under my chair at the kitchen table as we dined on burgers, eventually bonding with me over a few shared French fries. That night, at the trailer house I was sharing with my sister at the time, she howled, heartbroken, and I cried right along with her. Her little baby heart was just as broken as mine, and I honestly didn't know how we were going to make it together.

She refused the crate. Vehemently so. No matter what I did. She took to spending her nights in the bathroom, putting herself to bed behind the toilet, where it was cool and she could curl her body up around the base. I had to compromise and just leave her there, thinking she may just know best what she needed and that I should trust that. Every night, in the wee hours, I would awaken to tiny paws reaching as high up on the mattress as she could stand, panting in my face- letting me know she needed to go out. She would be up and ready to play after that, and I took to tucking her into bed beside me, my body curled around hers, scratching her belly until we both fell back asleep.

Day by day, we got to know each other. We enjoyed the typical herding dog antics like tugging at my pants legs when I was trying to get dressed, and nipping at my heels while I was attempting to make the bed. She was more laid back and calm than her predecessor. She really was a very steady pup.

Our routine consisted of driving to my parents' house every day, where Kansas stayed while I was at work, playing with Jax. My parents decided they liked Kansas so well, they wanted a calm pup of their own. Mom initially wanted the mirror-image sister, but when we went back to the ranch and caught that puppy, she was terrified and refused to look either of us in the eye. Meanwhile, Jax, who had previously been spoken for, was still there and available, and if you  picked him up, then put him down, he'd stay right there at your feet, waiting to be cuddled again. Then I'd pick Kansas up again at the end of  my workday, and we'd return to the trailer for the night.

She pretty much went everywhere with me for that first year. She wasn't too keen on men, in the beginning, but as I learned her language and figured out that she liked to take her time getting to know new people from a distance without having her space invaded, she grew more confident and friendly, and became a great judge of character.

In 2005, we relocated across the country, and she and I were all each other had. We were also living in a bad part of town, and I relied on Kansas a lot to show me which people were ok to socialize with, and which to avoid. If she happily approached an interested party, I did, too. If she hesitated or indicated wariness, I stayed away. In these early days, she refused to approach anyone who was smoking, or who had clearly been drinking.

She and I both became so cautious (and me, terrified) that, upon returning to Texas six months later, I had to really go out of my way to be friendly to the people at our new apartment complex, because she was reacting so badly to all of them. I learned that if I smiled, made conversation and ignored her, she would relax and happily allow herself to meet new people and be petted. Eventually, we both relaxed and had many new acquaintances in our new surroundings.

In 2006, my husband and I bought our first house- and acquired another puppy. Kansas was happy to have a friend and took to the role of big sister naturally, enjoying his company and showing him the ropes.

In 2007, my husband lost his job, and we returned back to my hometown, where I remained for about a 18 months, while he worked out-of-state.

In 2009, the dogs and I returned to Houston, to an apartment on the third floor, where we lived for a year plus, instead of the home we still owned nearby.

In March of 2010, we were finally able to move back into our home, where we remained for 4 more years. We even added a third pup to the family in the fall of that year.

In July of 2014, we relocated again, to the D/FW area. September of 2015 saw us moving to Oklahoma City, where we resided for two years (losing Leo in 2016, and gaining Kal), before returning home again in June of 2017.

As you can see, Kansas has led an adventurous life, including being diagnosed with hip dysplasia and arthritis at the age of 6, undergoing surgery to remove a growth on the inside of her eyelid (twice), and the removal of a broken tooth. She helped me raise 11 foster puppies, and got to love my nephew and four nieces and watch them grow from babies to middle school-aged children.

This past Monday morning, at 12:15am, Kansas suffered a third episode like the two mentioned in a previous post, waking up panting heavily and unable to move her back legs. I knew that time that, if she didn't rally in an hour as with the previous two events, I would be taking her in to the vet for the last time. She seemed to calm quickly, but then proceeded to cycle through bouts of stress and struggle. She vomited at about 1:30, then finally seemed to rest, after being unable to settle. I finally laid back down at 2:30, after ensuring she was resting and would remain still.

I awoke frequently during the next two hours, listening to her breathing, and was just dozing off to decent sleep at 4:45am when I was awakened by a sharp bark from Kal. Kansas was having another spell (having never regained the use of her legs from the earlier one). I knew at that point. It was only a matter of waiting until the vet clinic opened. I told my dad as much, a couple of hours later, when Kansas and I waited in the living room after I had carried her out because she needed to potty and was insisting on trying to get up on her own. Both my parents were off that day, at least, and were able to sit with us, accompany us, and be with us in those final hours.

My husband and I sat with her until it was time for him to get ready for work. He wasn't going to be able to just call in, he had to drive the entire hour in to the school, prepare a lesson plan for his classes, and make other arrangements, and then drive back.

My intention was to just get to the clinic first thing, so she wouldn't suffer and struggle the way Leo had. I hadn't expected my husband to want to be a part of what was to come. He's always been very much against euthanasia and I'd had to endure the process alone once before, when we had to say goodby to Macie. As it happened, he did want to be present, which was nice, but also very frustrating as it meant all of us, Kansas included, had to wait an additional two-and-one-half hours, while my husband made the drive to work and back.

It was 11am before we finally arrived at the vet clinic. Mondays at such places are very busy, so we had to wait for them to see us in between appointments. My mom had already called earlier, so they knew we were coming.

We opted to stay in the car. I had ridden with Kansas in the back, to keep her still. She had originally struggled, then, on our way down the street, she calmed and looked up, looking out the window, as if stressed about where we might be going, but also maybe taking one last look at the home she's known for so long.

I thought my husband would be annoyed with the process- the waiting in the car with the back hatch open while traffic charged noisily down the highway behind us. Kansas settled, though, seeming to enjoy the breeze and the smells, watching other dogs as they made their way to/from the clinic.

It was 30 more minutes before the vet we'd seen on Friday was able to come out. Kansas went quickly once the injection was administered. I didn't even notice a change in her at all. She was so very tired by that point, and ready to go. She went immediately, without any sign of struggle. My husband later said it was much more peaceful than he expected. He had never attended an actual procedure, just seen horrible pictures of animals fighting the drug.

I admit that, as soon as they pushed the plunger, I wanted to stop. I wanted her back. I know I did the right thing, but... she has been such a constant in my life for so long. I got her when I was 26. Next year, I will be 40, and she would have turned 14. She has never not been there.

Her procedure was attended by two sweet border collies my mom noticed waiting patiently in the outdoor kennels for whatever procedures they were due to have that day.

When we went into the clinic to pay the bill, two joyful Shih-Tzus, each sporting topknots, greeted us.

Shih-Tzus were her favorite. She never met one she didn't like. Something about their exuberant personality always drew her to them.

An older woman was also there, with her blue merle Australian shepherd, Anna, who had suddenly lost her sight that morning.

The clinic has a place where they bury animals that aren't cremated. Jax and Mollie are both out there. Kansas will join them.

I just want her back.

As It Turns Out...

The vet appointment went well. I ended up taking Kansas to the old clinic in neighboring town. I took Airlie there for vaccines a couple of months ago. I took the cats there for vaccines and health certificates back in 2005 when we were moving cross-country. My parents take their dogs there. The senior partner is the head of the county rabies board, and is very knowledgeable.

We lucked out and got to see the young lady vet who went to school with a fellow dog-person friend of mine in the neighborhood. She was really great. She examined Kansas while I explained what we'd been dealing with over the past week, and as I talked about the lump on Kansas' neck.

The one we had biopsied via needle aspiration back in early 2016.

The one that was "just blood and saliva" when viewed under a microscope.

The one that was "a ruptured salivary gland, leaking into the surrounding tissues."

The one that, even when it was still new and small (the size of my thumb) wasn't recommended for surgery because it was too close to so many nerves that are critical to proper function of the eyelid and other things.

The one I took her back in for later that same year, at DH's repeated nagging, because it was then the size of my fist, and he was afraid it was going to compress her carotid artery, or interfere with her breathing.

We were told it wasn't, and that, for her age, leaving it alone was still preferred.

I agree (just sayin'). It was never a surgery I would have put her through, regardless, due to her age, and my recent experiences with old dogs recovering from such things.

That's what we've been going on all this time.

Well, while Kansas is still very healthy, and everyone just loved her and was so impressed with her...

that lump is actually most likely a carcinoma.

Not a ruptured salivary gland.

I had my suspicions, having experienced handling Macie's fibrosarcoma for longer than I would have liked.

I knew, based on the hardness, shape, size, growth, etc...

She called the senior vet in just so he could see it. He showed us some photos of other dogs he has treated- both successfully and unsuccessfully. Two with similar masses in similar places. Two with masses similar to the one Leo had (which makes me certain Leo's "fatty tumor" was really something else).

The vet said he'd "try to be the hero" and do the surgery, if we wanted, but neither vet recommended it, plus he could only say she'd have a 30% chance, "Meaning a 70% chance I'd be wrong. That means it's a NO!" (He really was against any surgery.) "... and even then she may only live 6-8 months, if she didn't die on the table."

I wouldn't go that route, anyway, and the other vet had already agreed with me, that, at Kansas' age, if it was her own dog, she wouldn't take any action.

I wouldn't have done anything over the past year and a half any differently, even if we'd known that it was cancer from the beginning.

She has 2-3 months, at best. Less if her RBC and platelet levels decline any more than they already have. If they do, she could very well develop a blood clot and pass that way.

I kind of think that the two episodes she's had this past week might have actually been due tosmall clots, already.

The blood work indicates her organs are all healthy and unaffected, thus far, meaning the cancer hasn't metastasized.

"If she goes 4 days out of 7 without eating IT'S TIME. If she starts walking in circles, because the tumor is compressing the carotid artery, IT'S TIME. If she's in a lot of pain and pain meds aren't helping, IT'S TIME."

I can try to increase her iron intake, to offset the anemic stage she's already in, and maybe help increase her RBCs and platelets, rather than having them drop anymore. I'll just start adding liver to her meals and we'll see how it goes. That, and keeping her comfortable, and allowing her to enjoy her life, while monitoring her eating, drinking, mobility, etc... that's all I can do.

She enjoyed her vet visit immensely, at least. She made it her mission to meet and greet every person/dog that came in the door. Normally, when we see a vet, everyone keeps to themselves. This clinic's waiting room is very small, fills up quickly and everyone is on top of everyone else. People are talking to each other, petting each others' dogs, opening the door for clients who are departing with their hands full... When she was younger, one of our former regular vet clinics had such a bad experience with her, that they insisted on muzzling her forever afterward, and her file was full of warning notes. When we moved to Houston, the vet there (whom I adored) insisted on giving her a chance, waiting for her to warm up, taking her time- and never had an issue. Not even when she left to start her own practice and another vet stepped in. Same thing in Oklahoma. No problems whatsoever.

Kansas was hamming it up, begging for treat after treat, even got to play with a sweet pair of heeler/lab mix puppies. I don't think I've ever seen her have so much fun-  it was quite an outing.

New Un-fun Things

Last Friday evening, Dad and I were outside with the dogs.

The city has been doing a lot of work burying existing utilities, and, thanks to selfish, grumpy neighbors, Mom and Dad's yard was the only option with regard to digging the trenches. At this point, it's been two weeks of daily jack-hammering, digging, they brought rock saw, several small earth-movers... removing two existing poles, installing in a new one... they finished re-wiring everything yesterday, but haven't begun on the guy-wires yet. Trees have been trimmed- or cut down. The back fence was removed two weeks ago and a temporary fence put up, cutting the dogs' space in half.... The workers had spent the day laying conduit and then burying it for the weekend, so that the dogs could have full use of the yard.

Dad opened the back gate. My three dogs trooped out into the part of the yard that is separate from the patio.

Kansas fell.

I didn't see it, I just heard Dad muttering "Well, now she's doing what Molly used to do..."

I looked around. It looked to me like Kansas was doing this thing she does where she rubs her chin on [usually] the kitchen floor- only outside, in the dirt. She can't use her hind legs to scratch anymore, so, this is what she does.

Then I thought she was rolling in the dirt, til I realized Kal and Airlie do this all. the. time. - but Kansas never does.





She couldn't get up.

Dad thought she was having a seizure.

It was pretty clear she had use of her front legs, was clawing at the ground, trying to pull herself up.

She had no use of her back legs.

I went to her, and held her still for a while. She was very frantic and scared.

Eventually, I carried her in the house, and continued to sit with her til she calmed down.

It started at about 6:15pm, and, 45 minutes later, she just hopped right up like nothing had happened, and walked off across the house, down the hall and to her bed. She seemed tired, but rested for a couple of hours and had a normal night. 

Not seizure activity at all. No stiffness, staring, lethargy, etc...

It's been about a week since then.



Kansas had another episode this morning. She woke me at 3am, panting, which she does sometimes, wakes in the night feeling too hot and takes a little while to settle back down. She does the same thing if she needs to go out and potty in the wee hours. In this case, it was cold last night, and DH had turned her personal fan down low, and I'd left it that way, since she seemed ok, knowing I'd probably have to get up and turn it to a higher speed at some point.



I did just that, and got back in bed. She seemed to settle...then she didn't. I used the light from my phone to look, in case she was sitting up, which typically indicates she wants to go out.



She was sitting up, but struggling to support herself, and unable to use her back end, again. I turned on a lamp, and tried to calm her down. DH finally woke up, and got really agitated, as he was not there to witness the previous event. He has experience with seizures, as one of his childhood dogs used to have them. First he thought she was stuck somehow, as her tail was completely through the bars of the crate and out the other side. I'm still not sure how her tail got back inside the crate, but that didn't seem to be the problem. She was getting more and more panicked, so I finally just pulled her out by her collar, til I could get my hands under her arms. Same as last Friday, just sat in the floor, holding her still, til she calmed down. It took about an hour for her to quit trying to get up. Then I put some lavender and copaiba oils on my hands and rubbed her with that, which seemed to help. I also put a drop of peppermint on my clothes, in case shew as feeling nauseous. DH spent the time reading up on vestibular disease/disorder- the same old dog thing Molly went through, with the vertigo, equilibrium issues, inability to stand, nausea, etc... We figure that's all it really is, though, in her case, she sure bounces back quickly, whereas Molly was down for three days and didn't fully improve til more like five days.



That's twice in one week that this has happened. I laid in the floor by her til 6:30 when DH left for work and it was time to get up. She was content to be still during that time, and didn't even try to get up anymore the two times that I got up to use the bathroom. I put Airlie out, went back to get Kal (Kansas was lying in front of his crate and moving her or shifting his crate to accomplish that was going to take some doing), but Kansas hopped right up, took herself through the house, and insisted on going outside to potty with Airlie. Then she proceeded to go about as usual, looking at the rest of us like what was wrong with everyone, why were we all staring at her.


I wasn't going to walk her, but she insisted on that, too, and even tried to chase a buzzard. She's resting now, but I feel like Kevin is forcing me to try and do something about whatever. I honestly do not want to take her to the vet. I'd almost made an appointment once this week, already, at his urging, but didn't when they didn't have a time where he could actually attend. She doesn't travel well, anymore, and I think the car ride would just make her more uncomfortable and further stress her out. Plus, what are they going to say/do? Same thing her vet did last year in OK- charge me $50, say she's old, too old for surgery, that the lump isn't bothering her, and to leave well enough alone.


I feel like, as long as she is eating/drinking, relieving herself on her own,and still enjoying the things in life that she likes doing, that should be enough. She's eating fine now that I quit putting Turmeric on her food (Saturday, Sunday and Monday, she really wasn't inclined to eat her morning meal, though she would do so if I removed all of her pills (which she's been picking around or spitting out on occasion for a while, now, and wet it down. She ate her afternoon meals just fine, though). I'm not going to force any medications on her, or deal with drain tubes again, or anything like that. I don't want to put her in a cone again, either, at this point. Heck, she's been spitting out her glucosamine on occasion for a while now, and I've had to start squeezing the fish oil pills onto her food because she ignored the same one three days in a row. I'm not going to force those on her, so why do something that would result in even more meds? We did it with Macie, Tess, AND Leo, going out and buying special food, supplements, etc... just to get them to eat/drink, or take their medication. All that did was create more stress. I'm not going to do something that makes her miserable, for the sake of prolonging her life if she isn't miserable right now. I get that he just wants to help and would do/spend anything to keep her around longer, but that's not what I want. I feel like what I want is somehow not good enough for him. If she hadn't gotten up on her own this morning, and had stayed unable to use her back legs for much longer today, I would have taken her in and had her put to sleep. I was prepared for that.

Probably she will have more of these episodes. Probably more frequently. I did call the vet, even though I didn't want to (should have taken the one available appointment they had for today when I called on Tuesday). They are booked til next week, but will work us in tomorrow afternoon if I want to just show up and wait. On one hand, its been a year since she last saw a vet, and so she's due for an exam, and maybe vaccines, though I probably won't do them. On the other hand, I don't want to go. I could wait til January, when it' s her usual time, if she's still alive, and worry about it then. Sure, I'd like her to make it to 14, but I realized the other day that that is a really sill, arbitrary "goal" to have. She doesn't care about such things. Why should I?

I really don't know what to do. I know what I DON'T WANT to do, but I'm feeling pressured and criticized.