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Hey, deviantwear! How about it? Great design, huh?

(previous update)
After a month and a lot of debating, we took in another dog. Her name is Amelia ("Emmy" for short) and she's a ??? (mastiff/pit mix? We dunno.) Her profile is here: Shelter Diaries profile back when she was called "Becky." We think "Amelia" is a good old-fashioned name. Right now she's a bit under the weather and we're hoping its just allergies (lots of mold right now) or perhaps a cold. After losing Buster, we're very concerned about our dogs' health so she'll be getting a thorough check-up at the vet as soon as the insurance kicks in.

That's it for now! Enjoy the new featured art below!

(Written 8/13)



Buster was the perfect dog. He wasn’t some exotic pedigree or AKC-worthy purebred. He didn’t know any tricks or excel at any doggie duties. He wasn’t even a particularly good watch-dog. What he was, however, was gentle, dignified, loving, patient and so eager to please. He endured the juvenile machismo of our other dog, Rufus, yet found his position in our little pack without problem. He never disobeyed when he could figure out what we wanted him to do. He learned “sit” and had almost figured out “lie down.” When it was time for a walk, he waited for his leash and then patiently sat at the edge of the entryway with Rufus for us to say “Okay, let’s go.” The night before he died, we were going to leave him to rest while we took Rufus for a walk, but little Buster clambered shakily off of the futon and wobbled over to us, as if to say “Hey, I’m still part of this family. I’m supposed to go with you.” We took him down the block just a bit until he flopped down in a yard. Then we walked him slowly home.

He was a part of our family from the moment we let him into the backyard to meet Rufus. Rufus is happy all the day long, so rather than treat this new dog like an intruder, he sprang about playfully, trying to determine the parameters of our new dynamic. Buster was at first quite all right with letting Rufus be “top dog.” But Rufus, having so little doggie-sense, wouldn’t let it go. So Buster, over the course of the next few days, put the little brat in line and enjoyed a little more respect, (off and on.)

One thing Buster liked was to wade around in our little plastic kiddie pool. Rufus uses it as a glorified water dish, but Buster would climb right in and slosh around. After a particularly hard rain, I poured the water out into the yard so I could refill it with clean water. Oh boy. The mud puddle was epic and both dogs ran around in it like lunatics, and then chased each other through the house, leaving a trail of mud across the livingroom, onto the futon/couch, and all over both bathroom floors. It was impossible to be upset about it: they were having so much fun.

When we took Buster to get neutered, the vet noted he had an upper resperatory infection and gave us some medicines to give him. Three different pills, twice a day. Well, Buster was one of those dogs that could eat peanut butter from around a pill and spit it back out. We tried just shoving the pills into the back of his mouth but his jaws were so strong. And he had no appetite so it was hard getting him to eat. The first couple of days, we just pulverized the pills and slipped the powder into Yokult (Google it) and squirted it into his mouth. Once his appetite kicked in—and did it ever—he gulped all three pills down inside meatballs made of canned dog food. When the wet dog food ran out, peanut butter and then hot dogs did the trick. (And then we bought more wet food!)

He never finished off his prescription. Never even finished off that last can of dog food. Never even got his stitches taken out. He blew into our lives and we were making plans for years and years of belonging to each other, but he was sicker than we realized.

Yesterday morning I noticed the muscles in his head and neck twitching continuously. We had no idea what it was and so later that day we asked Doc. She said it sounded like distemper. We weren’t sure if that was a death sentence or not, so I planned to go online and find out what I could about it. As proof of an indifferent universe, the power supply to our connector box was fried and we could not find a replacement anywhere. Our provider promised to send one within a couple of days. So we were left to call a friend and ask him to tell us what he could find. Still, there was nothing we could do but keep him as comfortable as possible until morning, when we could take him to see Doc.

It got worse last night, (yet he still wanted his walk) and by this morning, he was having seizures that left him frothing at the mouth. We both knew this was probably the end, but kept trying to hold on to whatever sliver of hope there could be. When we got to the shelter, Buster was so scared he tried to run away. I don’t know if he thought we were going to abandon him there or if it was the disease making him panic. We wanted to be with him to the very end, but because of city ordinances, we had to leave him with the vet and vet tech. We walked out and just stood there, holding each other and crying in the parking lot. He was our perfect dog. He was the missing piece that we didn’t know was missing until he clicked into place and made our lives so much happier.

Just a handful of days ago, as we were lounging around on the futon with our two sleepy dogs, Tim said “It’s stupid, I know, but right now I’m so happy, it kind of hurts. I’m not used to it.”

Preparing for the worst, we spent that last evening giving him every ounce of love we could. He could hardly sleep through his tremors so I gave him a midnight buffet of hot dogs, yogurt, wet dog food and water. He still had his appetite and still loved meatballs. He seemed unable to walk so I carried him into the bedroom to sleep with Tim one last time.

On the way to the vet, he sat up in the back seat, in spite of his seizures, and looked out the window at the world he was leaving. Trees in bloom, blue skies with thick white clouds, cars, people, buildings, all in colors that seemed so bright, painted especially pretty just for him. He seemed to savor his time here and was filling his eyes with a last look at his world. He didn’t know what was happening, I know. I’m aware of anthropomorphising our pets, but I want to believe he was still full of doggy curiosity and wonder, up to the end. I just wish he hadn’t been afraid, those final minutes. I wish we could have stayed with him. But in the end, death is death and he’s not scared or suffering anymore.

We hardly had time to make memories, but my favorite one, the one that will stay with me the strongest, was one afternoon when I came home from a day out with Tim. I flopped down on the futon and Buster came in the room, looking perky. I opened my arms wide and said “Buster!” in a cheerful voice. He suddenly sprang onto my chest, laying his forelegs around my neck and resting his head against mine. A perfect cuddle, a wonderful surprise. I honestly didn’t expect that reaction. It made me laugh and call Tim in from the other room to see. He lay on me like that for a while, just “hugging” me. I would give the world for that moment one more time.

I kept his collar and tags. His id tag is on my keyring for now. I think I’d like a more fitting tribute to him, but I’ll have to figure that out later. Maybe a photo with his tag attached to the frame. Simple and classy, like my Buster.

There was a meteor shower last night. I think I saw a meteor but it went by so quickly I’m not sure it wasn’t just a trick of the light. Buster was like that: a brief, bright, beautiful light that was gone before we could blink. He was the perfect dog for us and there is a huge hole where his piece of the puzzle used to fit. But we got a glimpse of the whole picture, and it was wonderful.

It had been a particularly bad week at the shelter. One by one, dogs were falling ill or else simply running out of time as the spaces filled up, and so many of our little pals were being put to sleep. Buster was the last of the "oldies" who'd been there the longest. We loved him but knew that there were and always would be dogs we loved but we certainly couldn't save them all. However, he just seemed like the right dog for us. The right personality. And, with the week as horrible as it had been, maybe this was our last chance to pull something good out of it all:

Buster's Last Stand

That was yesterday. After he and Rufus hashed out who was going to be alpha (Rufus, apparently) it's like a final puzzle piece of my life has suddenly clicked into place and I haven't stopped smiling. I think I even fell asleep smiling, one dog on the floor beside me, the other one curled up by my feet on the futon. The cats even seem more relaxed now that Rufus has someone his own speed and species to roughhouse with. Even though this will make things tight, financially, I have to say I have a strange contentment now that I really can't explain. He was the right dog and though we may not think so, this was the right time for him as well.

I love my fuzzy family.

Speaking of fuzzy family members, =RTyson's new doggie needs surgery soon, to the tune of around $3,000. She's having an art sale but donations are always appreciated. Please check out the art for sale here: [link] and if you want to donate, the paypal address is aggieslegs@live.co.uk
Every little bit helps, so don't hesitate if you have even $5 to spare.

Have you hugged your pets today?


Stamp by ~cyrano82

Have you ever googled your own name, just to see what, if anything, would come up? Well, I did. Not the name I go by now but my "old" name. My "real" name. And I caught a glimpse of the girl I used to be. Just some really old fanfics I wrote about 18 years ago or so that someone had posted on a fan site. Most of what I saw filled me with a good dose of embarrassment but I also came to miss that part of me. The writer. The young girl who dreamed of being an artist/writer and fully believed in those dreams. The girl who never saw herself doing anything but that and I wonder what she'd think of me now. I kind of miss feeling that sort of confidence and ambition. I'm nothing that I wanted to be other than having the sexy husband and house full of cats. I know she'd be pleased about those things. But I wonder when exactly it was that I finally put down the pencil and stepped away from the word processor (yep, these were the old days) for the last time.

So yesterday, after Tim cleaned out his old art studio (and therein lies a REAL story of dreams gone wrong... but that is his story to tell if he wants to) I asked him for one of his unused sketchbooks and some pencils. I miss that girl and I know that it'll be like trying to stir up half-set cement, but I'm going to try and find some of those ideas and some of that artistic enthusiam in me once again. I was way better as a writer than an artist but I have to start back somewhere. The stories I used to write... well, I may have become much too self-conscious to share those with anyone, but who knows?


PS. If anyone is interested, I might post some of my really old art on my ~vkacademy page. Maybe.

Well, we all survived our first night together. Beanie is still hiding but the other 3 cats are being slightly braver although not really happy about him being here.

Here are a couple of photos to give you an idea of what kind of puppy we're fostering. Isn't he cute? But man, his breath is STANK!!!