Jane Brody, the health and aging columnist for The New York Times, looks at the healthy, hilarious, social, and therapeutic benefits to having a two-legged companion in the article “Life With a Dog: You Meet More People.”
Hat tip to my mom for sending me this link.
Earlier this week, writer and graphic novelist, Neil Gaiman, wrote about the death of his dog, Cabal. His journal entry begins, “Sometimes, these things are hard to write. And sometimes writing them saves my life. This is one of those times I’m glad I have my blog here, and it’s still so hard to write…”
Click here to read his post about “The Power of the Dog.”
The Supreme Court upheld the constitutionality of the Affordable Care Act. By interpreting the individual mandate as a tax, Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. cast the deciding vote allowing for it. By rejecting the White House's argument that the mandate was legal under the Commerce Clause, Roberts also put to rest any worries that the government might make us eat broccoli.
Although short on efficient solutions to bring down the costs of a health care system run by corporations (not really a system but a cobbled-together-high-stakes-life-and-death-mess), the Affordable Care Act ruling is a landmark decision for our country. A giant step in the right direction.
Last week, I was in my doctor's office for my annual physical. I sat in the waiting room and watched as patient after patient checked in at the window and tried to pay. Each one was told, they didn't have to. Their visits were now covered. Every one of them stared in silence, not comprehending. How could this be true after years, decades, of paying more and more and more at every visit?
It's true because President Obama made it happen. News pundits are yammering about what Obama "gave up" by making concessions that mean the ACA must roll out over the next two years. Don't listen. For myself, who had my own uncomprehending moment standing at my doctor's window holding my wallet, and every single person who has put off preventative care because it's not in the budget, the ACA is already here.
If you are overdue for a physical or a mammogram or any of these screenings, call your doctor and make an appointment. These preventative screenings must be covered with no copay and no decutible within a network provider. If you can't afford health insurance and have given up hope click here. Many low cost and free programs are being improved under the ACA. This is big. Embrace it.
Change has come.
Here is a partial list of what the Affordable Care Act means to you:
1. Insurance companies can no longer impose lifetime limits on the amount of care you receive
2. Insurance companies can no longer discriminate against children with preexisting conditions.
3. Insurance companies can no longer drop your coverage if you get sick.
4. Insurance companies can no longer jack up your premiums without reason.
5. Insurance companies are required to provide free preventive care like check-ups and mammograms.
6. Young adults under the age of 26 are able to stay on their parent’s health care plans.
7. Seniors receive a discount on prescription drugs.
8. New approval pathways for generic biological drugs.
9. More community health centers and grants for nursing and other medical education opportunities.
10. Nearly 13 million of us will receive a rebate from our insurance company because it spent too much on things like administrative costs and CEO bonuses, and not enough on your health care.
In case you missed it, watch President Obama use the verb "jack up." How cool.
Visit Healthcare.gov for more information on the Affordable Care Act, its easy-to-navigate website alone is cause for celebration.
Be well.
I was going to write about something else today. Then, Kathryn Freeman Vita sent me this Washington Post article by Joe Yonan, “The Death of a Pet Can Hurt as Much as the Loss of a Relative.”
I read the article and the tears started. I took a shower and they kept coming. I have been doing better. An increase of my Lexapro helped the sobbing. A new dog is getting me out of the house. I adore Tyler and have much to share about this new precocious partner. But, I miss Darby and it’s difficult not to compare.
Why doesn’t Tyler lick my ankles when I step out of the shower?
Why doesn’t he smell like warm milk with honey and fresh-baked sugar cookies?
Darby was as beautiful and soulful as a Romantic Poet. His long, brown, wavy hair amplified his sensitive persona. People always thought he was female. I liked that. I liked that they saw his tender nature because it was real.
Every holiday I tied a different colored ribbon on Daby’s collar; red for Christmas, pink for Valentine’s Day, etc. Yesterday, I was cleaning out my studio and I opened the box of ribbons.
“I am not going to be tying any bows on Tyler,” I thought.
Tyler is a dog. Darby was a Dachshund. Sleeping with Tyler is like sleeping with a field hand. He smells like he’s still in his work clothes. I volunteer at a farm. I know this smell. It’s testosterone, and sweaty leather, and dirt (or soil if there’s something growing in it), and wet canvas, and broken pine needles.
Many of you wrote to me about loving a second dog. You told me about this strange overlap of grief and joy. I had planned on waiting until I was finished my Darby Calendar before I got a new dog. I wanted to be able to focus on my second muse once I had completed the tribute to my first one. It didn’t work that way. There was nothing rational or ordered about adopting Tyler. I looked at him and he was my dog.
As my friend Allison described my experience saying “yes” to keeping Darby when I had plans to travel and be free, “You got knocked up.” Well, I got knocked up with Tyler, too.
Anyway, I am so grateful to Joe Yonan for writing about grieving the loss of a pet. When Darby died I looked around a lot and couldn’t find anything that so eloquently describes the loneliness and unbearable sadness of losing one’s animal companion. As you can see by the comments that keep coming in to Joe’s article I am not alone. I needed for someone to spell out with experts, I always like experts, what my friend Barbara said when I told her I was worried about how much I was crying.
“Moira,” she said, “When I lost Lenny I was really f#*ked up.”
Read the full article, “The Loss of a Pet Can Hurt as Much as the Loss of a Relative” by Joe Yonan.
There is also a lovely slideshow tribute to Red. That is where I found the illustration by Eammon Donnelly.
There is also an informative Q + A with Joe Yonan and Sandra Barker, the director of the Center for Human-Animal Interaction at Virginia Commonwealth University.
Many of you mentioned receiving signs from your dogs after they had passed away; rainbows on cloudy days, guidance to a new pet, a feeling of them with you in spirit even after many years. Although I come from a long line psychics and witches (my grandmother set the room on fire twice and scalded a woman's hand at her own wake), I dismissed the idea of Darby still with me in another form. The emptiness and chill in my house were so overwhelming, it would be like believing that a car with no battery could get you to town.
Every day last week I would try to explain to people what I was feeling. On Friday I used the analogy of drugs. Darby was the perfect drug for every moment of my day. My cup of coffee in the morning. My mood stabilizing Prozac. My painkiller. My glass of wine in the evening. My sleep aid. And then, once again, my cup of coffee in the morning… I am going through withdrawal from them all at once, I'd say. And it is unbearable. I must have repeated this at least four times on Friday.
That night was a full moon. I went to sleep early but woke up a little after midnight. It was the one-week anniversary of Darby's death. I got up and went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. I leaned against the counter and stared through the window at the yard glowing in the moonlight. Then, with a click and a red light my coffee maker turned on. It doesn't have a timer. No coffee set up, ready to go for the next morning. Empty. But on. A power surge. Or something. It's never done that before. And even when I want to make coffee I have trouble getting it to turn on without a Fonzi bang or two. I stared at it. I flashed on my Darby-as-my cup-of-coffee analogy, and I smiled. He always was a clever dog with a sense of specificity. If he was human I'd call it wit.
I walked over and shut off the coffee maker and went back to bed. The days get easier and harder. Grief doesn't go in a straight line. But so many of you were right. Darby did send a sign. And it helped.
Talking to friends this weekend, the first question asked has been “What happened?” I wanted to let you, my online friends, know too, especially since my miracle dog with almost nine lives looked so spry in his birthday video last month. He was doing great, bossing me around and continuing to discover new passions until the end, like delicata squash, which we had almost three times a week, every bite being the most exciting thing that ever happened to him judging from his are-you-tasting-what-I’m-tasting expression of ecstasy every time he ate it.
But I had been seeing changes too. He was having more accidents. He was never a long walker, but he barely wanted to walk at all. On Thursday, he started having shivers. I swaddled him, hoping he was just cold. I took him on errands with me and cranked up the heat in my car. I put him in his Sherpa to take him into some stores and when I checked on him he had had and accident. He had never done that. I took him home and gave him a bath. And called my sister. I knew I had to take him to the vet. I didn’t want to. I wanted to go through a different door. One that is not an option to pet owners. One with no conversations about quality of life or sleep as a euphemism.
But I went, and there was a new, young vet on duty named Dr. Mario Dinucci. I had been sobbing since I arrived, but he still looked me in the eye and said straight out “They just don’t live long enough.” It was honest and I was grateful he was going to engage with me as a doctor and a person with empathy — in my experience these skills are not always linked, often with brutal consequences.
Then, the two days of hope began. Darby didn’t have a fever. He felt ok (I’m not sure what they feel when they feel your dog’s tummy but that checked out — no wincing.) He’s old, though. So he must be in some pain. He also had a significant heart murmur and only one kidney. The other one was removed three years ago with a cancerous tumor. And last January he was peeing blood. At that time, they sent me home with a probable diagnosis of untreatable bladder cancer and small supply of painkillers to “make him as comfortable as possible.” I thought that was the end then. But he recovered.
This time, Dr. Dinucci gave Darby an anti-inflammatory shot. I took him home and he improved. I dried my eyes and cooked him some squash. He was himself, underfoot, poking his nose too close to the hot stove, circling the kitchen for more until the last dish was washed and lights turned out.
We had a good night.
But by Friday afternoon something had changed. His breathing was ragged. Dr. Dinucci called with the results of his tests. Darby had a bladder infection and elevated white blood cells. Antibiotics should help, and a targeted culture that would take a few days to get back would help ensure that he get the right treatment. More hope. But I brought him in anyway.
Something had changed. They did an x-ray of his lungs and saw they were filled with fluid. But there was still hope. A shot of Lasix and nitroglycerin for the heart. He showed signs of improvement. He peed. The fluid was moving out of his system. If he could stabilize that would give the antibiotics time to work. His breathing seemed better. I took him home with six prescriptions and optimism.
After a few hours his breathing worsened again. I made him eggs and rice and squash. Dr. Dinucci’s orders were to spoil him. He didn’t eat a thing. He didn’t pee. I called an emergency vet, an anonymous 24-hour line, someone who didn’t know me or my dog, but who answered the phone in the middle of the night anyway. Increase the Lasix. That should help. Hope. He worsened. Another vet, hours later. Calculating the weight, the age, the pill dosage I had on hand. You can give him more Lasix. That should help. Hope. He worsened. His lips were cold. I called again. Another stranger. Is this it? Is my dog dying? It could just be the air passing over the lips. Hope.
By the early morning, I knew I needed to let him go. We don’t have an all night vet here. The closest one is almost and hour away. I wasn’t going to strap my dying dog into the car on a cold December night and drive into the dark to a unknown place. I could do this. I could get him to the morning. Then I could give him peace. The vet opened at 9am. I held him for hours, his little head on my shoulder.
I called my parents at 7am. Hysterical. Telling them it was time. But I still had to wait. I hung up. Swaddled him in his blue blanket and took him out to see the sun rise. He jerked in my arms. His head rolled strangely. I ran inside and put him in his bed. I called the emergency vets. I needed someone to tell me what to do. I was so afraid he was in pain. I called my sister. Could we call our friend who was a vet? I hovered over Darby. I put the phone down. His breathing changed. He peed. There was blood near his mouth. He’s gone. I howled in the phone. He’s gone.
I hugged him for a long time. Still not putting the full weight of my arm on him, because he never liked that. I held his little paw and inhaled his scent, desperately trying to imprint it, even though it is with me and gone forever. I cleaned him up and changed his blanket.
The vet opened. I called and discussed “remains.” My sister picked me up and we brought his body in. It was not Darby. The waiting room was filled with the Saturday morning bustle of dog lover errands; vaccines, prescription food, grooming. The staff was very discreet, ushering me and my bundled dog to the back. My sister paid the invoice. I gave him one last kiss. Then another. And left him with the tech. She was very gentle. Then I tried to exit the front door to the parking lot with discretion too. No one wants to see this moment I thought, especially people with their dogs. But I was wrong. They didn’t turn away. They didn’t let me go. A tall woman in a beautifully tailored white trench coat grabbed me, yelled at me, “Come here.” She pulled me to her. What she gave me was not just a hug. That word is not enough. I felt like I was inside her. She wouldn’t let me go. I sobbed and sobbed on her beautiful coat. And she held on. And would have stayed there, it seemed, so I finally released. A man was waiting with a tissue. Another lady said something about angels. About my dog the angel. The whole staff came forward to the front desk. They could have hidden in the back or in their computer screens and paper work. They didn’t. Thank you, I said. Tell Dr. Dinucci thank you. Darby did ok for a few hours, but then he got worse. He passed this morning. But Dr. Dinucci was great. Thank you all. You were all great.
It was a surreal acceptance speech.
My sister and I got in the car. She had warned me that leaving the vet without your dog is the worst feeling in the world. She was right. The only word I could manage was “Jesus.”
We drove home in silence.
Later when she called to check on me, we talked about the vet’s office. That was unbelievable, I said. I know, she said, people are awesome. And there, I realized, was another life lesson given to my by my dog Darby.
I wanted to let you know that your condolences have been a continuation of that massive waiting room hug. Sometimes you don’t know if writing a few lines matters to people in their grief. I know I never know the right thing to say or if it is meaningless to the recipient. I am telling you that for me it has mattered. It is saving me. And I am so appreciative of your stories of loss and the names of pets you have shared and your prayers and your commiseration. Death is horrible. And shocking. I had never seen it before. Connecting to you who have experienced this and survived and can look back with sweetness at the life or your pet, not the loss, gives me hope that I will get through my own dark night. Thank you so much. Dog lovers are a very special breed and I am honored to be one of you. With deepest gratitude — Moira
New Zealand Pedigree asked the ad agency ColensoBBDO to come up with an idea to generate buzz about their adoption drive. The ad agency developed Doggelgänger, human to canine pairing software that uses serious anti-terrorism face recognition technology developed by NEC to analyze people’s faces and find their canine match. It’s a brilliant concept based on scientific studies that show dog owners often look like their dogs. Now, by partnering with shelters throughout New Zealand, Doggelgänger has the largest database of homeless dogs in the country.
Sonia Zjawinski, the force behind the I Heart Tripod T-shirt designed to raise money for osteosarcoma and starring her beloved Lulu, had some fun testing the software over at Pawesome. I know it’s easy to be cynical about corporations “doing good” to sell more pet food. But when you see this kind of technology creatively used to trigger that all-important first meeting between dog and human, that’s pretty cool.
Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to find your Doggelgänger. Click here to proceed. (Be careful, though, it’s only NZ shelters right now. You could find yourself on an unscheduled trip down under to pick up your dog.)
Here is Sonia’s match…
More matches I rounded up from the Internets…
The ColensoBBDO’s video describing their campaign here.
Via Pawesome. Thanks, Sonia!
Benedict Carey of The New York Times recently wrote about several new studies looking at how and why pets, referred to as companion animals by researchers, impact family dynamics so significantly…
Pets alter not only a family’s routines, after all, but also its hierarchy, its social rhythm, its web of relationships. Several new lines of research help explain why this overall effect can be so comforting in some families, and a source of tension in others. The answers have very little to do with the pet. –Read full article "Emotional Power Broker of the Modern Family."
There is also an interactive feature where you can upload a photo of your pet and share stories of your own little power broker here.
The New York Times reports that in several scientific studies, more than half the subjects were able successfully match breed to owner or even person to pet. Results were far better than chance. OK, there is one study that disproves the theory, but the Times’s slide show of readers and their dogs anectdotally makes a compelling case. Read the article. Click here to submit your photo.
Over at the New York Times, John Tierney looks at new research that indicates animals might actually feel regret. Then, at his TierneyLab Blog he asks for help compiling the list of Top 10 Pet Regrets. Submit your stories of animal regret and you could win The Parrot’s Lament; And Other True Tales of Animal Intrigue, Intelligence, and Ingenuity, or the new book by Marc Bekoff and Jessica Pierce, Wild Justice: The Moral Lives of Animals.
I love that the Times is getting all interactive.
BTW, as a Dachshund, Darby has no regrets. But I submitted this story about the day he made me regret my own behavior. It was stunning…
Several years ago, I threw a ladies-only wedding shower for my sister, Kathleen. Darby was very excited and greeted everyone with kisses – really turning on the charm. He didn’t know that I had arranged for Mark, my future brother-in-law, to take him out with him for the duration of the party. I felt it would be easier for me not having to worry about Darby licking food off people’s plates. When Mark picked up Darby and put him in the Sherpa carrier, Darby flashed me a look of horror and indignation.
Mark took him on various errands for several hours. When he came back to pick up Kathleen, most of the guests were still there. He said Darby had seemed happy and having a good time. When he let Darby out of the carrier, I called him to come over and say “hi” with a kiss as he ALWAYS does when we are reunited. But he wouldn’t even look at me. He bounded over to my sister and smothered her with kisses. I called him again. Nothing. My mother called him and he jumped up on her lap and kissed her with unbridled enthusiasm. I called him again and he refused to even acknowledge me.
Now, we could all see what he was up to. He was punishing me in a very public way. We all started laughing, and every single guest called out to him. He scampered from woman to woman kissing each one, and no matter how much I called to him, he pretended like I wasn’t even in the room. It was shocking and hilarious. As my mother said, “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed it.”
Eventually after all the guests had left and I settled down on the couch to watch TV, he came to sit with me, confident I had learned my lesson.
Click here to submit your pet regret stories to the Times. Let me know if you win. And remember, never EVER cross a Dachshund.