Rough weekend for Dasha

I just glanced back at my last post, which, ironically enough, had to do with Maddie having a rough weekend. This weekend, it was Dasha's turn. This weekend was a bit more dramatic.
I decided to take Dasha jogging Friday night - not something unusual as I had also taken Dasha jogging on Saturday, Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday of this very same week. We've taken the same route every time we've gone jogging for the better part of 3 years. Nothing unusual has ever happened, except maybe a trashy guy honking at me, but that's something that can be ignored.

I guess your luck has to run out sooner or later, which for Dasha and me, translates into 2 very large, very aggressive Rottweilers chasing you down the street and trying to kill you. I had seen the dogs the day before. We jogged by, they growled and almost pulled their owner out of his lawn chair, and we kept going. I was a little concerned, but the owner seemed to be intent on keeping them in his yard. Friday, the larger of the two dogs (I assume the male) was tethered to a tree with a tow cable. Yeah - those things you use to tow cars and trucks when they break down. Evidently, this cable was no match for a blood-lusting junk-yard dog.

We had just passed the house when he busted loose from the cable and came tearing down the street. I panicked, but didn't lose my head. I remembered a friend of mine telling me about being chased by a dog. He jumped in the back of a pickup and avoided the altercation altogether. It just so happened that we were next to an old F-150. The dog was bearing down on us and my hands were shaking, which wouldn't have mattered anyway - the stupid tailgate was stuck. If it had worked, I could have gotten Dasha into the back of the truck just in time, but as luck would have it (or just as out-of-luck would have it, in this case), the tailgate jammed just as the dog tackled Dasha. In retrospect, I should have hoisted her over the gate and jumped over after her. But even at that, there's nothing saying that the dogs couldn't have come over the gate after us. Talk about your real-life Cujo. . .

Back to the story - The owner was running down the street with the smaller of the dogs on his heels. By smaller, I mean she probably outweighed me by 25 pounds instead of by 50. By now, the male had my poor puppy on her back, jaws locked around her throat. She was screaming, I was screaming - I didn't know I was related to Jamie Lee Curtis, but damn I have some lungs. . .

The guy grabbed the male just in time for the female to pick up where her evil cohort left off. She elected to go for Dasha's torso.

Bad boy! he's telling this dog, like it gives a flying flip. I'm still screaming - They're killing her! They're killing her! I didn't know what else to do. I realize now that I shouldn't have screamed, but what was I supposed to do? They would have outrun us and I was no match for either of the dogs. I was kicking them and hitting them, but it did no good. Those dogs were after blood.
The owner finally gets a hold of both dogs. As soon as they were secured, I was running like I haven't run ever in my life. The guy's wife was in the street, terrified. She was really concerned about me, but I was just worried about getting Dasha home and away from those dogs. Five more people tried to stop me on my way through the crowd, but I just wanted to get home. It was all I could do to keep the tears from pouring down my face, but somehow I managed.
We sprinted the rest of the way - I was desperate to get home. I fell into the doorway and broke into hysterics. Doug had no idea what was going on and I couldn't gain enough composure to tell him. When I finally choked down a full breath of air, I started to relay the story to him. He was headed out the door to go kill the dogs, but I managed to talk him into staying with me. We compromised - I'm calling animal control in the morning.

Later that evening, I noticed that Dasha was bleeding. I checked her over when we got home, but I guess I missed the puncture wound in her chest. It was rather difficult to see through the blur of tears. . . Anyway, aside from being a little skiddish and the small scab on her chest, she's ok. I think I've suffered more from the attack than she did, but with a little time, the nightmares and my jumpiness will pass. . .

Rough weekend for Maddie

Doug and I took off on Thursday for a long weekend in the hill country. Sounds great, right? It was. Mostly.

I called my mom on Friday (which, by the way, happened the be the thirteenth) to tell her that I ran into a long-lost softball buddy at the San Antonio Zoo. She sounded strange - more than just, "How funny that you ran into someone you haven't seen in 15 years 200 miles away from home," strange. I asked her what was going on.

"Well, we didn't want to track you down, but Maddie's been sick."

What do you mean, "sick?"

"Well, she threw up a bunch of clear, frothy liquid. A bunch of it."

I wouldn't worry about it - she's done that before. She probably just drank too much water after playing too hard. She'll be ok.

We left it at that. A few hours later, I called my dad to check on her. He was at the vet.

I thought you weren't going to take her in. . . ?

"Well. . . she threw up again and she's having trouble breathing."

First instincts said, "Get in the car and go home." Logic kicked in and said, "Dad got you through to adulthood - let him handle it at least through the vet appointment." I hung in there and waited for the diagnosis. Pancreatitis. They drew blood and you could see the fat floating in the blood with the naked eye before they centrifuged it. Cholesterol count - 402. Cause - over eating on an unfamiliar diet.

They started her immediately on a saline drip with antibiotics. Dr. Parker's partner's comment - "Oh my God. . ." - with her jaw hanging open. Maddie went back Saturday morning for a second IV, just in case. She pulled through fine and is going to be ok. Dr. Parker's comment - this could have killed her.

Lesson learned - don't put your dog on a low calorie diet and then send her to Gram and Gramps' house for the weekend without her own doggie bag.

Home again, home again, jiggity, jig, jig

The flight on the way to Tucson was long, loud, and otherwise, not so bad. Doug had a terrible neighbor who smelled not-so-fresh and didn't understand the concept of letting your neighbor read. Doug was reading Eragon.

Neighbor: Have you seen the movie yet?

Doug (not looking up): No.

Neighbor: Oh. Well, . . .

Doug: Well, I heard bad things about the movie.

The neighbor got the hint and left well enough alone. The tiny hole in the fuselage, however, did not get the hint. The highest pitch detectable by human ears roared for the majority of the flight, threatening to deafen all of us by touchdown. Thankfully, we changed air speed or altitude or something and my hearing was spared.

We arrived in Tucson safe and sound, even if we did smell a little like Doug's neighbor. I met a new friend in the airport while waiting for Doug to use the men's room.

New friend: Excuse me, ma'am, but were you reading Atlas Shrugged back at the airport?

Me: Oh! Yes, I was.

New friend: I just wondered, because I'm reading The Fountainhead and I wondered what you thought about Ayn Rand.

Me: Well, I haven't read any of her other books, but so far, she's very thought-provoking. I really like her.

New friend: Yeah. . . I'm kicking myself now because all through college, people kept telling me to read her books and I just figured she was one of those people intellectuals were told they should like. I wish I would have listened then. I just saw her name on Wikipedia the other day and decided I should give her a try. I'm sure glad I did.

That was the gist of it, but it proves the point that I can talk to anyone, anywhere, about almost anything. How do I, of all people, meet a new friend in the airport based off of the book I happen to be reading? Who is John Galt?

So. . . back to our trip. . .

Doug and I spent the weekend amongst family and had a good time catching up on things. Olivia gave a very touching eulogy that had all of us in tears. I didn't even really know Lilly all that well, but I was still sad she was gone. We met new wives and husbands, new grandbabies and puppies. We ate a lot and laughed a lot. We comforted each other and generally enjoyed the good company.

On the way home, however, I sat in front of the most vile human I have ever come into contact with. He was somewhere between 16-20 and hadn't bathed in a few days to be sure. Somewhere over El Paso, I noticed that the scent of BO somehow blended delicately with ammonia. Hmmm. . . Never mind the source of his stench.

I felt something bump my elbow and moved my arm to see what it was. A yellow-socked foot was touching me. It wasn't yellow because the kid was wearing an argyle sweater in shades of beige – it was yellow because it was filthy. I cringed, withdrew my elbow, and tried not to think about it. He wiggled and kicked and dug his toes into the underside of my seat. Most unpleasant.
Evidently, the vile creature was warm on the flight. The next time something bumped my elbow, I turned to see what it was and was greeted with a yellow, fungus-ridden big toe – sockless and touching me. I shuddered, scowled, and vowed not to look again. Somehow or another, I looked and almost vomited in my tiny bag of pretzels. I managed to endure the rest of the flight without turning around, but the image of that toe haunted me until I was safe in my scalding shower, killing the tiny germs that had invaded my personal bubble.

All things considered, even the fungus-ridden toe, the trip was well worth the effort. Perhaps, sometime in the near future, Doug and I can take a trip that doesn't involve smelly neighbors.

Quick and dirty version

Doug's grandma passed away on Tuesday night. The bizarre thing? My friend's cousin had a baby Tuesday night. The really bizzare thing? Both are named Lilly. Twilight zone.

We had plans to drive to Carlsbad this weekend - 10.25 hours each way. I wasn't excited about it, but I was prepared for it. Then Doug's mom called last night and offered up her Continental miles - praise God. Plans changed in a fat hurry. The upside? I don't have to spend 20.5 hours in the car this weekend. The downside? We won't get to see the S fam in SA, Doug's cousins Sonya and Tonya, or Doug's dad.

Mom went to the oncologist on Wednesday. He thinks it could be:

a.) A severe case of aenemia, treatable with iron infusions and B-12 shots.
b.) A "very treatable" form of leukemia.

His words? "Take your family off of high alert." I've settled down, but I'm still wearing the LiveStrong bracelet in honor of those who fought cancer and continued to acheive amazing things. I'm still talking to God. I'm still worried. But I am off of high alert.

Our plane leaves tonight at 8:45. We'll be home Sunday at 8:04. Like I said, quick and dirty.

Had a bad day again

Well, maybe not again, but I definitely had a bad day. I knew when I walked in the door that my schedule was maxed out. I was right. Thirteen hours solid - no lunch, no dinner. But that's not why I'm so glad to close the book on February 20, 2007.

Doug's cousin sent me an IM early this morning to let me know that Grandma Lily wasn't doing so hot. That's an understatement. They've called hospice, she's breathing shallow and rapid, and they've got her on Xanax and Morphine. I'd say she's doing pretty terrible.

I called my mom to see if our pups could stay at their house while we're gone to Carlsbad for the funeral. She was acting a little off and I managed to pry out of her that her endocrinologist referred her to an oncologist today. My chest is still tight. I never understood people who had anxiety issues. I do now. Of course I cried, but that wasn't cathartic enough. I felt like I needed to scream, to cry, to completely and totally freak out.

My entire life, well, the last ten years or so, I've worried about dad. Heart surgery, back surgery times 5, issue after issue. I haven't ever stopped to worry about mom. Sure she's been tired for four years, but I chalked that up to a few minor disorders and depression. Never in a million years did I think that something this serious could possibly be wrong.

She'll go for her first appointment tomorrow at 1:30. Needless to say, I've talked to God a lot more than usual today. I would pretty much count on me being pretty worthless tomorrow, which accounts for the 13-hour day today. I know we won't know anything tomorrow, but I still feel like my chest might implode with the tiniest nudge - physical or emotional.

Resolution

This was on my home page, but I liked it enough to keep it:

2007 has arrived and so has the Carey household resolution - to live every day of 2007 taking advantage of the fact that we don't have children. Sleeping in, drinking myself into oblivion, staying up until whenever i feel like, and obsessing over things I don't need are current examples of this mentality. The countdown is on. 2008 is just around the corner. Before too long, Carey party of two will not prompt us to get up and head to the hostess stand. Carey party of two-and-a-half? You've got roughly 359 days plus 40 weeks to wait for that.

I've been doing well so far. I had a little too much to drink twice last week, I slept until almost one last weekend, and I've been working at my kitchen table for the last three hours. Wait. That's not any fun! What have I been doing?? Here it is two weeks into the new year and I'm already blowing my resolution!

I think I have a bottle of tequila in the freezer. I better go check into that...

Actually, the most important part of my resolution is healthy. I have no idea how often I'll be able to take care of me once a bouncing bundle of joy comes along, so I'm taking this opportunity to go to the gym as often as possible. Sure they have a little day care, but who wants to pick their brand new baby up from one day care and drop the poor little thing off at another? I've determined that Doug and I are going to have to get one of those jogging strollers. I'll take the dogs and he can push the baby. I'd push the baby, but Doug is smarter than me and won't run with both puppies. I wonder when I'll catch on to that...

A renewal of faith - read with caution

I was on the way home from the hospital today. I don't know what song was playing on the radio and it's not really important. It occurred to me today what revitalized my faith. When my uncle passed away in May, my cousin Nita and my Aunt Bev were amazingly strong through the whole thing. They relied on their faith 110% to get them through the pain. Of course, I thought to myself, "If only I had faith like that." But that's not what started my personal revival. During the eulogy, the preacher said that when Adrian reached the gates of Heaven, God would smile proudly and say, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

I didn't realize it then, but that's what started working on me. I got to thinking, "What will God have to say to me when I reach the gates of Heaven? Have I done anything for His Kingdom?" Since then, I've realized that if my time had been up instead of Uncle Adrian's, God would not have said those words to me. He may have said, "Thanks for praying in a crunch – you know, in the middle of tests or when you thought the world was coming to an end – but what about all those other times? When did you ever thank Me for a blessing? When did you ever spend time in My Word? When did you ever serve Me?" I could hear Matthew 25:45 ringing in my ears, but I didn't know then that it was Matthew speaking to me. Better yet, it was the Lord.

I know a lot of you who have never known the spiritual side of Sheri are probably thinking, "What on earth happened to our tequila-drinking, uninhibited, fun-loving maniac of a friend?" It's probably scaring the hell out of you to hear (or read) me go on like this. That same old Sheri is still here – she just finally figured out what was missing. She finally woke up and said to herself, "What's the point of all of this?" The answer was simple, and maybe a little scary, but abundantly clear. We were created to worship. We were created only for God Himself. My point on this earth is to love the Lord with all my heart, all my soul, and all my strength.

Again – this "psycho Jesus babble" is probably way too much for a lot of you. And that's ok. I just put two and two together this evening and I needed to get that off my chest. So… a tiny bit of the divine plan was suddenly clear to me. In Adrian's death came life – everlasting life for me and for Doug. It's amazing that it takes something so dramatic to wake us up and something so tiny to change our lives.

I'm ready to hear those words one day. It'll be the sweetest atta girl ever spoken and won't it be sweet to smile and say thanks for that? Yeah – Douglas Adams had it all wrong. 42 ain't got nothing on the meaning of this life.