When you came into this world, you were someone else's inconvenience.
When you first started sleeping on my doorstep, you became an unexpected, infested mess with which I didn't know what to do.
When you looked into my eyes, you became a reminder of the 18-year old dog I had just painfully lost to a failed liver--a dog who, like you, had also shown up on my doorstep many years before.
When you decided to stay, and insisted on this point, you became my responsibility.
When you learned to ask for nightly walks, you became my companion. (And a terror to all of the neighborhood rabbits.)
When you crawled into my lap, you came my snuggle buddy.
When you learned to sucker me out of food, you became my funny old FatDog.

And, over these years, you became my best friend.

I couldn't have asked for a better dog; you gave me more wonderful years than anyone could fairly ask for. Coming home to your wagging tail and bouncing each day made the world seem a little better.
Thank-you.

Rest in peace, old friend. I will take things from here.

Hard Candy (2005)

Occasionally there is an artistic film which slips through the cracks--be it through poor marketing, competing release times, or simply because it does--that really deserves attention. If this movie received much notice and acclaim outside of Sundance (and the occasional horror community, where it is awkwardly placed as it is not a horror film by traditional terms), or even vocal disapproval, then I was oblivious.

If you want to try something a little different, and aren't slaved to delicate sensibilities, then I highly recommend that you rent the independent film (branded by Lions Gate) "Hard Candy." The movie broaches a situation where an older man, a photographer, contacts a 14 year old girl--a very bright, animated girl who seems especially mature for her age--through instant messager and they begin to playfully flirt. They agree to meet at a diner, and this is where the movie truely begins. The situation may sound like a Dateline-exhausted cliche, but in my opinion, it was anything but.

Although it probably won't be regarded as the best film ever produced, and it isn't, this independent film is simply remarkable and, so far as I can see, has remained woefully unappreciated. It is smart and compelling, yet uncomfortable. Being an independent film, there is an artistic license you just don't see explored as deeply in your average, mass-market movie.

It is also the antithesis of most successful films:

It is in no way fast-moving, and the progression of the story will not be diagrammed out for the viewer through extraneous, obvious dialogue. It does not shy away from the taboo and can get rather gritty, although you won't feel dirty (or at least, I didn't) after watching the film. (That is important to note. Despite the subject matter, it was approached smartly.) It doesn't throw its controversial subject matter in your face in a distasteful "look what I can get away with in my film" sort of way. It has no obvious political or religious message. It does not boast of any terrorists with their fingers on the device that will end the world, nor of any explosions, and hasn't a single car chase. It is not a funny movie. It may make you shift in your seat at times. The film will leave you with few answers, but you probably won't feel robbed of an ending or as though you were being set up for a sequel. (It would be difficult to pull off a sequel.)

By the usual standards of Hollywood, you probably shouldn't enjoy this movie, but will likely find yourself at the end thinking of how well-done the film actually is. You just have to be able to suspend expectations of the above things, which this one movie was better off without. This film was a pleasant suprise; when I first received the recommendation of a friend to see this film, I was dubious, but now I am glad that I rented it on this rainy Saturday. Be advised, however, that if you dislike "psychological thrillers," (not that you have to like them, but be aware if you dislike them) you probably won't enjoy this film. It is also R-rated for good reason. (According to IMDb, the MPAA rating is Rated R for disturbing violent and aberrant sexual content involving a teen, and for language.) While I grew up on R-rated films, this is not one of those films whose subject matter you want to have to explain to an especially alert five year old.

As gritty and uncomfortable as the film might get, it is also beautiful. The lighting, camera angles, and color use was masterful. Each shot seemed to be taken with artistic purpose so that, in spite of what is going on in each scene, be it innocent or disturbing, it could make a very artistically sound photograph. In light of the subject matter, perhaps that is disturbing and ironic?

If you want to get a taste for the movie, I recommend viewing the trailer here, although the trailer hardly does the movie justice and may be a bit deceiving.

It is rare that I go out of the way to recommend a film (since tastes vary so widely), but I figure there are a few of you in my readership for whom this film is within their tastes, and who might appreciate the recommendation for the next time they wander into a rental store without an idea of what to rent. If you're interested, pick up the white DVD featuring a little girl in a red hoodie standing inside of a huge-mouth bear trap.

My FatDog

!!! This runs on about six printed pages. I don't expect any of you to read the whole thing, and wouldn't be offended if you skip it completely. I at least owe an update, and so to spare you from reading my brain dump, I will just state here that I think my dog is going to live. And now, for the brain dump. !!!

Should I keep him alive?
Returning to the animal hospital each night, my dog looked markedly better in some ways, but terrible in others. He gave people--including myself--very little recognition, never looking them in the face, but bleating and vocalizing for them nonetheless. Because of his blank stare, the veterinary hospital at one point suggested that he may be blind. He would rapidly breathe three or more times to a normal dog's one, pitiful, loud, and painful looking as his breathing was. He also began to drool on one side of his face, admittedly a stereotypical doggy type of thing to do, but something my dog had never done before.
I kept coming to visit, regardless of the hour, and sometimes even after they said that they would prefer that I wouldn't. I called for updates. I suppose that I was probably annoying. Slowly, though, my relationship with the staff at the clinic seemed to shift; I believe that we both saw each other's genuine concern for FatDog, and I began to trust them a little more while they acknowledged that I cared for my dog. I am very attentive to my dogs, although I admit that I could probably do even better, and that perhaps shifted their view a bit about how dog ownership could be, at least where it concerned FatDog.

My dog had up to four veterinarians (three that I spoke to), covering his continuous care. My dog didn't look very good. At one point, I looked the acting veterinarian in the eye, the veterinarian with whom I had the original, uncomfortable conversation about his living arrangements, and asked if she thought he was in pain. He looked in terrible pain, and I was willing to euthanize him to take that pain away.
I also guiltily admit that money was beginning to weigh on my mind. Money shouldn't have been a consideration; indeed money doesn't replace life, and I am fortunate in that I have a savings that means that I could pay the medical expense. (There is no payment plan or billing; payment is due at the time of treatment at this clinic.) However, I admit that having a very old dog in such a tenuous state, barely alive but through the fluids pumped into him, he possibly lying there in terrible pain, played on my mind. The first shocking expense, while it made my eyes widen in disbelief, was a necessary and acceptable thing, but now the accumulating expense, with no end in sight, was making me shift in my seat. How much longer would he continue to barely exist like that, possibly costing thousands of dollars, only to die after days of pain in a clinic while other dogs passed away around him?
Additionally, the vet began questioning my dog's mental state, as he would stand (an improvement in just that act) and stare at the wall, wagging his tail, but barking relentlessly and loudly for hours and hours. I am sure he was having a negative effect on the other dogs and cats there, and just listening to it in the time I was there was agitating. He would vomit continuously, at one point every 20 minutes. Keeping fluids in him was a challenge, and they had to add a dextrose drip.

I was torturing myself, wondering if I was keeping him alive when he shouldn't be. But was I considering putting him down because I looked at him and saw one big, long term inconvenience were he to live and need that constant care? Was it the expense driving my thoughts? Or was it truly only out of concern for him? I have seen a lot in life, situations much worse than this. I pride myself in being able to handle them gracefully, to stand strong while others crumble, to make the right decision where others cannot...so why is it that this situation has reduced me to be so weak and doubt myself? Perhaps it was my weakened immune system. Perhaps it was any number of things weighing on me. Perhaps I was just being human. There are far worse things that can happen in life, as recent events in the journal circle show. I normally stand up and take it on. Feeling this way is foreign to me.

Learning to trust
The veterinarian admitted that FatDog was uncomfortable and not very stable, although his vitals came back surprisingly satisfactory. No one could figure out what turmoil was going on inside my dog's body except that his abdomen was a bit sore, he couldn't seem to catch his breath, and his expression was that of a vegetable. A bit of good news, though--when they offered him food he consumed it ravenously. The vets couldn't believe how quickly my dog vacuumed up the food; they had never seen anything like it. But I am all too familiar with my dog's appetite. He can consume a bowl full of food in less than a minute, which doesn't do much to help with his stomach issues. But it was a much-needed sign of normalcy. The veterinarian's opinion was that we should give him more time. It was a real challenge for me to overcome my suspicions of the vet; they of course stand to benefit in no small amount of money for my keeping a lost cause alive even longer, but I made the decision to accept that they were in the business of helping animals, and that is borne out of real, honest care. People don't usually work in a field which requires that they exist amongst blood, feces, and vomit, a field that requires them to watch grown, gruff men reduced to tears as beloved companions are put to a final sleep, unless they care. I have wanted to become a veterinarian and in different circumstances likely would have. I had to readjust my perception and give the vet the respect that they deserved. That doesn't mean that I would allow myself to be taken advantage of, but there are times in life when you can't be the pilot and have to hand the controls over to someone far more trained than you, and sometimes that takes blind trust.

He needs to be home
In accordance with the vet's recommendation, I didn't come around for most of one day. This gave me time to think and to settle down, and to tend to my own health. I was sick before all of this happened and had been looking forward to the weekend to repair. Amidst the panic and concern, I had allowed myself to go without eating, drinking, or sleeping very well, if at all, and the toll showed. In that time, I considered that my dog has been sick in the past, nearly dead in fact. My trustworthy old country vet, believing the dog was a gonner but not ready to give up, sent him home with the idea that he would be much more comfortable at home, and much more likely to heal; were he not to heal, at least he would die comfortably in a familiar place. I finally called the vet and made a judgment call that I seemed like a big risk at the time, but I knew in my heart it was necessary. Perhaps it was a feeling for the wellbeing of my dog, perhaps it was the lingering money concerns, I don't know--but I told them that I wanted to bring him home. I really believed that bringing him home would help; he hates cages, he hates being around a lot of other dogs, he hates things sticking in him, he was...he was unhappy. And, if this is a case of neurological problems, it was probably best that he reclaim whatever normalcy I can offer, to help him remember. Were I to run into trouble, I could bring him back to the clinic. The vet asked that I give them a day while they tried to wean him off the dextrose treatment. At nearly midnight that night, enough time to bring him off of his drip, I showed up. There was another dog in the waiting room going through similar symptoms as my dog, only their puppy was diabetic to boot. I gave the owners my best wishes. You may be surprised to know that I agreed that they too were making the right decision to admit their beloved ScrappyDo. Their dog, like mine, needed to be there for a while and receive the care that we can't offer. I don't have IV fluids to give my dog, and were he left at home that first day, he would have died. No way around that. But now he was leveling out. Now he needed a new treatment; it was time to bring him home. The vet did one last test of my dog's sugar levels, I paid the bill, and they brought him out. I don't know what I expected when he emerged. Well, that is dishonest. Part of me really thought he would come around the corner, breathing alright and wagging his tail. But he didn't. He couldn't really walk very much. He still didn't seem to recognize anyone, and he was rasping. The vet said that he had paralysis of a valve in his airways, something that has probably been building over the years and that was aggravated by this incident, and surgery would probably be necessary for him to breathe right again. She also said that his mental state might be permanent. But she admitted that she didn't know...she didn't have any more answers and only time would tell. A vet tech came out of the clinic with me, petting him and wishing him luck. That fat dog has a way of growing on people.

A rough night...did I choose to do the right thing?
That night, I gave him his meds. He vomited every hour on the hour and tried consuming so much water that it caused him to...well, vomit. He could barely sleep. He couldn't breathe. He wouldn't eat. He could barely walk. I really thought I might lose him. I considered that I may have made a huge mistake by bringing him home early.

The next day, I bought some Pedialyte. For those of you who don't know, this is an electrolyte solution that they give to babies who have problems with diarrhea. It is nasty tasting stuff, but the dog seemed to like it. I slowed his drinking by only giving him a little bit every half an hour, and the rest of the time having him lick ice cubes. He still wouldn't eat, and he still could barely sleep. I wished that they would have sent him home with some sedatives. The country vet always did. Maybe it was best that they didn't, though.

FatDog didn't bark for most of the night. Maybe once or twice, but not the incessant, blank-stare barks he was doing before. The next day, I noticed that within a half an hour of giving him one of the meds, he would throw it up and act uncomfortable. I stopped giving him that med, and his stomach began to stabilize. He only threw up once that day. He still refused food. Fat dog never refuses food, nonetheless boiled chicken. I was worried. I kept diligent with his other meds.

A turn
There have been some big changes over the week.
Sometime while I was on the phone with my mother, giving her updates on his progress and worrying because he wouldn't eat, he consumed the plate of chicken that I left for him. He has since been able to stomach other foods, including a bit of his dry food. He doesn't ravenously consume the food, and he eats much less than before, which has led to weight loss, but he is eating.

His breathing occasionally gets a bit raspy, but it has slowed to the same speed as before. It sounds much improved from the night I brought him home. In fact, when he sleeps, it is better than before he got sick! He has had breathing issues for a while, as do many older dogs, so I feel good about his breathing and am no longer worried that he will have a heart attack as a result of his quick breathing. It is slower now. Will surgery be necessary? I don't know.

He asked for a walk one night, and since then he has been building up his distance to include the park down the road. He begs to go, although the going is slow. He has gotten strong enough to push his way out of the enclosed area in which we were keeping him. He is getting strong enough that I make him walk up the steps now. His hind leg control has improved drastically. Once, I had to make him go back inside by nearly dragging him up by his harness. This might sound awful, but wait a moment. He was laying down on me out of stubbornness rather than a lack of energy. He had no problems running those stairs earlier, and now he was simply voicing a want to go where he wanted to go, and planned to achieve this by laying down on me. He knows that he is FatDog, and regardless of weight loss, he is still quite a burden to have to pack. He has become strong enough to become opinionated. :)

He has peed in my house several times, to my aggravation. I admit that I yelled at him when he raised his leg to mark his territory rather than to pee honestly. He didn't seem to mind. He never really understood the word NO, nor the utility of raising one's voice. Taps on the butt are met with wrestling and tail-wagging. The only correction that has ever really worked with him has been small cups of water tossed onto his back, but I didn't have one of those handy and sometimes he doesn't mind the water, either. I admit that it is frustrating. He pees, and then he runs off and then lays down and scratches his back on the carpet, leaving dog hair for me to vacuum. He managed to jump up on my couch one night, if that is any indication of his strength. (The couch is taller than he) He recognizes us and wags his tail. His barks aren't blank-stare barks, but plaintive, demanding barks. Walk me. Let me out. Let me In. Let me Out. He is milking it now. He didn't bark this much before. He wasn't a poorly behaved dog before (although he wasn't the most obedient one, either), but we had an understanding. He is being a little opportunist now. He is taking a lot out of me, and I am being a sucker for it. The constant in and out, cleaning up pee, waking up to give him meds, giving him managed bits of water, and being woken up in the middle of the night because he is on an opposite schedule of the rest of us and thinks everyone should be up too, and cleaning up the stuff he has gotten into, is trying. But I love my dog and he is worth it. Even if his ass is going back outside as soon as it gets cool out. haha Sorry good buddy, you don't realize it but I am out of hamburger buns now (more on that in a minute) and so you're going to want to stay out anyway.

The other dog, our smart dog who has made herself out to be a royal pain in all of this, wants to be in with him now, so she has been sleeping inside. She figured out potty training this week. One week, and zero peeing from her. If only FatDog could learn the same. While we are home, she is a dream dog. Surprising from a dog that likes to be out in the open, and who likes to chase cows. Wow, she has impressed us by becoming a lap dog. While we are home. While we are away, on the other hand, she has figured out how to knock down my sick dog's barriers, and to let him out. So he can mark his territory in my living room. She went into the kitchen and pulled down our full bag of hamburger buns, a bag of hotdog buns, a pack of pig ears (her treats), our garlic bin... all to share with FatDog. He has a regular partner in crime now.

They both want in-out-in-out-in-out. I suspect that since it has cooled down a bit outside, the choice would be out, but I think the lure of the hotdog bun acccessibility in the house makes their wanting in stronger right now, and I would like to see the temperature stay a few degrees cooler. Today, I have put them both outside. FatDog hadn't moved his bowels since Monday that I had seen, and I thought that being outside this morning while it is cool might help. I also gave him pumpkin pie filling last night because my experience is that it makes, at least for dogs, the soft hard and the hard soft. It worked. (Keep those two gems in mind, folks--Pumpkin Pie filling and Pedialyte!) I plan to put him back out tonight. He wants back inside (surprise), but I think its best that he goes out for part of a day. This time, it's by my choice. In typical overcompensation, I have put about five water bowls out there, his swimming pool, a shade canopy, and have moved his fan so its blowing on him. I will keep going out and checking on his temperature. I think he can handle it, though. We were struck by one of those rolling blackouts that lasted all evening and well into the next day, of course resulting in no air conditioning, and he handled the heat raise fine. This will be good for his healing. And give me some time to myself.

He will be okay. He is well enough that I didn't feel too bad about leaving him home while I went out with friends this week. I don't think I have much longer with him, though. He probably won't live to be 18 like my previous dog. Within a year, I suspect he will down again, probably for good. But at least when I look at him now, he doesn't look like some alien dog. He is my dog again, minus a little eating and plus a bit of tolerance for being inside. I am glad we waited it out. And who knows, he might live to be 20. He has surprised us several times in the past. And a dog with a bullet in his shoulder has to be tough.

In the future, despite my other entry, I may bring my dog back to that clinic were he to get sick again. They have the resources that I can't access, they are open 24 hours, and I think that now they see that I am not some evil, abusive dog owner. Their bedside manner wasn't pleasant in the beginning (they weren't mean...there was just this lingering feel), and that it drastically improved with time doesn't make those first days sting any less, but you know...I was a hypocrite. While I was there, a family came in carrying a little dog. It was dripping pus, smelled like it had been rotten for days, barely had hair, and its eyes were rolled back. I was shocked when I saw its little chest moving up and down. I am not proud of this, but I immediately labeled the family as abusive. I didn't know their story, much as that vet clinic didn't know mine. Even realizing this, and knowing that I too tearfully carried in a dog (albeit in better condition) who looked to be on death's door for no real cause of his own, part of me still holds contempt for the condition of that family's dog, even now. Lest ye be judged, indeed.

He will be okay. It is amazing how quickly they bounce back. From death's door to being a pest in a week--I couldn't ask for any better a resolution.

Thank-you all for your kind words and encouragement. I can't thank you enough.

In 2000 a stray dog showed up to my door. He was in terrible shape, covered in mud and his ears so full of ticks that he couldn't hear. He was tender to the touch and very hungry. He wasn't the youngest thing on the block, either. But I took him in and have loved him since. He is now probably 15-20 pounds heavier...my tubby old puppy. That is your backstory. Now to today.

I came home and sat down to check my email, and thought "I really ought to go say hello to my dog." I was sick and slept most of the day yesterday, so I didn't get to see him (that I can remember) except through the window. I was told that he was fine, though, and had been fed. I think I faintly remember going outside in the middle of the night to check on him and pet him, but again I felt horrible yesterday and most of it is a blur. I go to work today and am the first one home. I step outside, and I see no wagging tail. I look across the deck, and there lays a hairy, muddy mess. I call for him. He doesn't move. He is breathing very hard, though. His leash is wrapped around something white. Somehow, the cable has come loose from the house and he has managed to get his leash tangled in it completely. I still haven't figured out how he managed this feat. His water bowl (one of many, but this happens to be The Favorite) was sitting on the steps. I don't normally put one on the steps. I put one at the top of the steps. No one knows how it got there. I try tipping the bowl to him and he drinks at it the best that he can. I notice that he has dug a hold in the ground. He isn't usually much of a digger.

SIDEBAR: Now, why is my dog on a leash? He has always been an outside dog (except when it is especially hot or cold. I bring him in.) In his old age, his bladder control is less than skillful and he gets antsy when he is inside. He is a hunting dog at heart, and outside is where he lays. He doesn't leave the porch deck much, so we have rigged him a setup on the porch so he can leave the porch to use the bathroom in the yard, and then return. He has a bowl of water on each side of the porch, a baby pool full of (now dirty) water so he has something to cool him off, a fan (which wasn't on today because it has been sprinkling and I worry about electrocution, and it wasn't overly hot today), and a setup so I can make him a shade canopy. He also has the dog house to beat all dog houses...an elevated cedar getup big enough for a saint bernard, that is warm in the winter and cool in the summer. I take care of my dog. However, we moved to a place with no fence around the yard. We tried indoors for a while, but he was more unhappy and we were unhappy. So, seeing as he loves the deck, we configured the aforementioned setup, gave him about 20 foot radius of running room, outfitted the end with a soft leash so that if he lays on his leash, he would be comfortable, and happily my tubby dog has lived outside since.

Back to the story. Now my dog can't stand up, so I pick him up, see that he was laying in feces and puke (all fresh) and I carry him inside, all the while getting covered in the mess. I pack him upstairs and lay him in the tub and turn on the cold water and begin covering him in cold, wet towels. Even though it wasn't terribly hot (just humid), I worry that he might have overheated or something. His nose is warm. He drinks at the water. He still can't stand up. He shakes and falls over. He is already looking better, though. I call Petsmart and they refer me to an emergency clinic. I look in the bathroom and he has puked up all of the water I have given him. He doesn't look in pain, just in shock. I grab all of his paperwork, bundle him in a towel, and run him to the clinic. They take him to the back. They won't let me follow. This is contrary to what I am used to. They ask, "Who is his usual vet?" I tell them that we haven't picked one since moving here, but he had a regular veterinarian back home who saw him last on January 31st, and I have his health certificate from that date. They look at me almost accusingly. I hadn't picked a new vet yet because my dog isn't due for shots for six months, and he was recently (in January) given a clean bill of health. I suppose people take their dogs in for checkups more than once a year? I don't see the doctor that often. I had a good old country vet who would deem constant checkups and pet insurance as nonsense. My most expensive bill, when the dog was knocking on death's door, had to be treated and medicated, and had tests run, was $109. When my dog's leg was sprained? Cost even less. My wonderful vet warned me that my fortune would change when I moved away. They don't make vets like him anymore. He was right...It cost nearly that just for me to carry my dog through the door. The way that they approached me was certainly different as well. And they didn't have the same diagnosis-on-sight connection that my aged, wonderful, country vet had with his patients. They didn't care about his history. What was I to do? I was losing it. I normally don't lose it over things, but the tears were starting to come. This is my tubby old dog...Fix him! Please!

"How old is he?" About 14-16. I explain that we aren't sure because I acquired him as a stray who was in very bad shape, including his teeth which is one way they tell an animal's age. The best the vet could do at the time was estimate the dog at 10 years of age. "Why was he on a line?" they ask. I explained the above. "Why is he outside at all?" Because he is an outside dog. "By your choice or his?" Well, to be honest, it is probably more by my choice; he is not unhappy outside and when he is inside he tends to ask to go outside every hour or so, even at 3 am, 4 am, 5 am...you get the idea. In his old age, he is progressing to where sometimes he just simply goes to the bathroom...even if it means on his own bed when he sleeps. He isn't walking around losing his bladder. He just has a short tolerance time between feeling the need and going, and in his sleep he just sometimes pees. He just rolls with it. But this made me unhappy, and thus him unhappy as well. So he gets antsy. Plus, the flooring isn't his favorite thing to walk on. So, he ends up laying in the corner when he is inside, and he sleeps. He can do the same thing on his porch where he can see what the neighbor dog is up to, what the birds are talking about, etc. It's a happy solution for both of us. I just have to be diligent about giving him attention.

I ask what is going on, and am getting no answers. Later, they bring me paperwork to authorize emergency treatment. I demand to know what is going on. They finally tell me a bit. More satisfied, I sign that I am willing to drop a substantial amount of money on my dog. They give him oxygen and apparently start an IV. After an hour or so of sitting there, they bring me into a room. The lady is nice but I have to go over everything again with her. I am in tears. As soon as I say that both of my dogs are outside dogs (I am NOT against inside dogs and have had one...but it was an inside dog and these are not), she gives me a look. She starts asking about my other dog and its living arrangments. Wait, we're talking about my sick dog. Why are we talking about my happy, healthy dog's arrangements? It almost seems accusatory. What are these people getting at? She turns nice again, and we start going over his test results...she doesn't know what is wrong with him, but he has some issues. She rings a few bells with some symptoms he has had and has been successfully treated for in the past. I try to tell them to her...but she talks over me and isn't listening. He is highly dehydrated, and that is his major new problem, but the rest seem familiar. He was successfully treated for this in the past! It was... But the vet gave him... No one listens.

Then the new revelation. Sometime in the distant past, my beloved stray was shot. No one knows how it happened or when (not recently, though), but he has a hunk of metal in his shoulder. He also has a smaller than normal liver and heart. Who knew. But my worries (his liver and his kidneys) test just fine. The other issues (small organs, hunk of metal) seem to be non-issues, mostly. But...shot? SHOT? What other stories do you have behind those big brown eyes, old friend?

She hands the bill estimate across to me. Add up all of my dog's previous vet bills in the years that I have owned him, and I don't think it would touch this number. Still, it was within the threshold of not thinking twice. I was going to get a new computer, but I would rather have my fat dog. A few more years of his love is worth so much more. (Did I mention that my animals tend to live long lives? My last dog, which I had euthanized due to liver failure, was eighteen.) I sign the papers and break out the checkbook. They may have to keep him on IV and observe him for 24-48 hours. 24 hours, and I get the low estimate. 48, and I have to dish out the high.

They let me see him finally. He still can't stand. While there, one of the machines starts beeping an alert. The vet techs just stand there, talking. I look at them, waiting for them to do something. Nothing. I point it out. Oh! One of them comes and looks. Oh, it is alright; shifting just caused something to pull and set off the alarm. Whew.

I leave. I called them later during the night to check up on him. They hadn't fed him yet, but they had tried giving him water. He puked it up, and the puke had blood in it. Apparently he had some potential respiratory damage and maybe something abdominally, but nothing to get too worked up about at the moment. Of course, the doctor seized upon that opportunity to mention that these problems will get worse if he is an outside dog. Apparently my frail outside hunting dog should have been and should in the future live inside. Again, the tone. Why is it so horrible to have an outside-loving dog (to whom you give attention and walks and ground turkey and chew bones and love) that is just...an outside dog? It's not just because he is sick. When I told you the big cow-chasing, tractor-pulling (okay, not quite. but almost!) dog was a healthy, happy outside dog, you gave me that same look. Alright, I say. No sense in arguing about that now. If it is medically necessary for him to be inside, then inside he shall be. But I have my doubts that he will need to be confined inside for the rest of his days. But wait--let's go back for a second. Abdominal problems? I told her that I had details about his previous problems...abdominal problems...which left him in a much worse state than now, and for which he was treated and recovered. No interest. *sigh*

Good news, though. He was sitting up. And standing. And wagging his tail. He couldn't do it earlier. I was told to call back tomorrow at 1. Its too early to tell what the night may bring, but they say he looks tons better. I figured he would. Put IV fluids in a sick animal, and its amazing what it does. Here's hoping that I can bring him home tomorrow. Despite it all, if he gets better, I will give them a huge hug regardless of the accusatory tone. I guess this is what parents feel like when their friends give opinions about how they should raise their own children. Sometimes you just have to agree to disagree.

These folks were overall very nice, especially the desk lady. They dealt with my break down over the hours.
However, my biggest complaint that I have with my own physicians remains the same with my pets' new caregivers: An open ear makes a huge difference on customer happiness. They are nice. They are helping my dog. But they aren't listening. And that is upsetting. I have paid a lot of money, and should have the benefit of an interested ear. Frankly, had I paid nothing, should I not deserve the same courtesy?
And my other complaint? The accusing tone. Not every dog is a couch dog. Some dogs like grass over berber carpets, wood decks over hardwood floors, and birds to the television.

But if my fat dog comes home wagging his tail tomorrow, you bet I will be forever grateful. And its okay that some people think I am crazy for trading my new computer for a 15 year old dog. But my old buddy, as long as he is kicking and not in pain, deserves a few more walks and rabbit chases before his final day. I know he is looking forward to the turkey burgers I am planning to make. I can't wait to bring him home. But if I have to make that Difficult Decision, he is not the first good buddy that I have seen pass into that good night.

I know he is "just a dog," but if you could keep good thoughts for him, it would mean the world to me.

And thanks for reading this.

I thought I would expand the reach of my /. friend tmasssey's journal entry by reposting it here, since I figure one of you probably have some relevant experience with GPS solutions similar to the one desired here.

Respond in the original entry, please.

From the entry:

Welcome to my first journal entry! I need some gadget advice, and I thought I'd turn to the /. horde for some help.

I'm looking for an inexpensive GPS receiver to carry with me when I'm mountain biking. I don't think I need any fancy features: I'm not looking for navigation, or even maps. I just want something that will track where I've been and when exactly I was there, with minimal fuss. In fact, I'll probably never look at it while I'm out.

Of course, the other part is that I will dump the data into my computer when I'm done, so that I can track my biking: where did I go, how fast did I go over specific areas, etc. *That* is where I'd like the features. The fancier the software for managing all of this, the better. But the GPS device just needs to be simple. And cheap.

Does anyone have any suggestions on a device that would work well for me? Or even devices I should stay away from? Also, any suggestions on software for working with the data? I'm open to both Windows and Linux software. Even OS X would work, though the only Mac I've got is a G3 iMac running Jaguar.

Thank you very much for any help you could give me!

...of ponies, I like the new April Fool's Day look. (Assuming that the splashes of green and lack of titles on Amigos pages were fixed.) But I am weird like that.

It is certainly nicer-looking than some of the other theme pages.

Can we keep it as an option? Perhaps ponies.slashdot.org? :)

It's that time again. Just like last time, I ask you:

Tell me something good.

Preference is that you tell me something good in your life, but if you want to just say something good in general, that is fine as well. I like to read about the good going on in people's lives.

I will go first:
-Geckofood's earlier entry inspired me tonight to make my own pizza. Although my pizza didn't look as wonderfully delicious as his, it was a hit.
(And, as a funny side note, in running down our missing, newly-purchased ingredients, we discovered that someone didn't check the bag of freezer food before putting it into the deepfreezer, and so I am now the proud owner of frozen produce, including one rock hard tomato. :)
-I am really loving life. My friends and family are in good health, I am in excellent health, and all of the things I worked hard for are coming to fruition. The weather is turning, and is proving to be nicer with each passing day.
-I have been able to relax in a way that I haven't since childhood, and everything is falling into place like it should.
-I have a renewed hobby/interest in photography that is going much better than I hoped for, and I am about to set up my own home art studio, something that I have wanted for years. Next is a new camera, but only after I find that perfect model that does everything I wish it to. So far, I haven't found it.
-I have been eating healthy food and sleeping better than I ever have. (For those unaware, I have strange sleeping habits, and used to rely fairly heavily on fast food.) I attribute to this (and lots of handwashing) my missing the bug that seemed to be hopping around to my various acquaintances.
-I have removed myself from my phone and IM again (although, to my buddies, I am still online occasionally), freeing up time to throw myself into other things like cooking, reading, and affection with my loved one. :) And to that end, here's signing off for the night.

Hello everyone. How are you? I am great. I also have a lot to say, so if you aren't looking to read a lot, I suggest you skim through the subject headings for just those things that interest you, or skip this entry entirely. This entry is several pages long (four, I believe, actually) and so I apologize for the length; were this livejournal I would have used the cut feature.

TOPIC: They Clean Up My Messes and Call Me Sir (or Ma'am)

First, I want you to click here and think about that image for a moment.

Background
Technolust recently wrote an entry about a young woman friend who is having relationship woes. As I understood the entry, the short of it is that she and her boyfriend were unable to reach each other, and she protested that she cannot accept phone calls at work, to which he replied "It's not like you have a real job." The young woman is a waitress. Well, in good Slashdot fashion where we like to be contrary, the contrasting position was that she, in fact, does not have a real job. This happens to be something about which I mostly disagree. Not wanting to miss out on the contrariness, I wrote out this long reply, and must admit that I got rather nasty, and fully intended to make rare use of that Anonymous Coward button...to fortunately be stopped by Technolust's judicious use of the "Friends Only" option. Pausing to reconsider, I thought it better to write my thoughts down here, less sharp in tone, and sign my name to it.

They Do Everything But Wipe Your Butt
I believe that someone that cleans your nasty dishes, clears your children's snotty napkins from the table, clears your cold-germ-infested forks and spoons, vacuums from the carpet the food you just dropped, takes every demand a customer makes with a smile, fills up your cup before you even finish, and deals with being treated as though they don't have a "real job," and they do these things with hardly a complaint (at least, in front of the customers), has a real job. Hopefully, most of us exhibit better table manners than this in a restaurant, but in reality, a lot of people don't. I watch kids who make absolute messes of tables with toppled drinks, dropped food, and who scream bloody murder, and the parents will get up without tidying anything and leave hardly a tip for what was better service than they deserve. I see people who act as though they had a silver spoon protruding from their asses, looking down their nose on a hard-working tax-paying person. It bothers me.

I am Terrible
I am going to admit right now, that I am a bit hypocritical in this...I know what is right, but that doesn't mean that I haven't thought or done the same as these people I am admonishing. Just the other day, I was mildly inconvenienced by some gentlemen who worked jobs very important to what I intended to carry out, but happened to also be a job that doesn't require the same credentials as that of others I was dealing with, and although they were doing a fine job, I called them "idiots" when referring to them out of earshot. I could make excuses about having a bad day and whatnot, but there really is no excuse. The truth is that they walked in, I made an assessment of them based on my perception of pecking order, and so they weren't worthy. I transformed them, in my mind and to the others with whom I spoke, into uneducated, incapable dolts we should pity. I am sure that my attitude unintentionally showed through when I dealt with them, too. And yet I was happily accepting their capable services, and would have been even more inconvenienced in the future without them. I was very wrong in my attitude, but it was there nonetheless. I should be ashamed, and those who try to tell someone who just came off a 12 hour shift waiting tables that they don't have a job should be ashamed as well.

Not Everyone WANTS to be an Astronaut When They Grow Up
Remember that image I asked you to look at? Most people probably don't grow up dreaming of making the food or drink service industry their career, and most people probably won't make it their career. It is also true that a lot of sixteen year olds use the industry as a springing board for what we perceive as bigger and better things. It is also true that most of us ("overqualifications" forgiven) could get hired into a food service position somewhere. But not everyone can be good at it, and some people do make it into their career. It is what they are good at, and what they want to do. Where do we get off telling them it isn't a real job? Not everyone has the fortune, education, and/or personality to end up in a high-paying executive position. Many people wouldn't want to. Some people, through poor decisions in their youth, may be relegated to waiting tables for a living, and dislike it intensely and yet never do a thing about it. I think this is how many of us incorrectly perceive adults who hold these jobs. However, we should remember that some people made these plans because waiting tables was what they were happy doing. Consider also that there are the highly-educated people who choose to work these positions regardless of what you or I think--I know of one technology-oriented masters graduate who put off some lucrative offers because he wanted to learn to be a bartender while serving drinks.
No, not everyone gets to be an astronaut when they grow up. But you know what? Not only can't everyone be an astronaut, but not everyone wants to be an astronaut. Should they expect to be paid the same as an astronaut to serve drinks to people on the weekends? Of course not.

Like It or Not, You Probably Benefit When Someone Takes a Minimum Wage Job
It is to your advantage that not everyone in this world "Gets to be an Astronaut." We can argue about class systems all we want (and I am sure we will), but for those of you in the middle sixty percent of the workforce, and especially those of you in the upper twenty percent of the workforce in terms of jobs and salary, remember that the world continues to turn because of that other, lower 20%, who bust their tails to make your life more convenient, who may work even harder than you in a day (some of the highest paying jobs in this world are only so because of the stress or exclusivity...but often involve work that, frankly, could eventually be taught to more people than those that currently hold those jobs...medicine and such professions excepted), yet accept minimum wage for what they do. If everyone had what it took to be in the upper 20%, it still wouldn't be a luxurious utopia. The economy doesn't work so that everyone would make $100k a year and prices would remain the same. You stand in the upper middle class or the upper class because someone in the lower class took the job that they did, and you have profited from it indirectly. Keep in mind that everyone being rich is just the same as everyone being poor (to today's standards.) Just because someone makes less than you doesn't mean that they mean less than you, either. In so many cases, they are the wheels that run the car and allow you to be the driver. Appreciate that. Without them, you'd be stuck on the side of the road, dumbfounded as to why it isn't as easy to get from point A to point B as it was when you had your wheels.

Perceptions: Idiots Versus Experts
A lot of people who go into high paying programming jobs work through college or high school by manning help desks. This is their "temporary job." When it is your friend here on Slashdot who works that position as their career, we crown them technical gurus who provide a real service for their companies whose stupid engineers make messes that they have to craftily fix by helping their unappreciative customers reboot their machines. When that tech person is the unknown person that we, the unappreciative customers, are dealing with on the phone (who, through no fault of their own, might not have been properly trained, or who really do know better than you think that you do), they are deemed "idiots" who "couldn't get a real job" or "couldn't cut it to be management and didn't bother getting engineering degrees." When the "stupid engineers" who make the messes for these companies are our friends, they are "highly technical people with a real gift for design." It is all perception.
When our friends take a job waiting tables, be it as something temporary between jobs or as a career, they are making a life for themselves, doing something respectable instead of going after "free money" or crashing in their parents' basements for life. When it is an unknown thirty-something waiting our table or someone we don't like, they cleaning our messes and calling us sir, they are somewhat of a joke to us...they "don't have a real job."

They Aren't Unemployed
People who don't have real jobs are unemployed. Waiters are employed. Waiters pay their taxes on the scrapings they make (although some do make good money. Some do, some don't.) This might be bitterness at my disapproval of someone's life choices, but I have to say it: at least they aren't sucking off of the government teat.
I think it's a fine job for what it is, albeit definitely not a path to getting rich and living in the lap of luxury. There are plenty of single, unemployed people I would like to see go get a job serving food. I have far too many acquaintances who have the attitude that they can't get a job, and fall into real financial hardship as a result. They buy into the attitude of real job versus greasy-faced teenager job, and then their only real accomplishment ends up being their ability to stand in line for welfare, vote to tax me more because of the choices I made, and complain about a slow economy. They have bought into the idea that the only real job is one that pays lots of money or has an office setting.

Other Historically Disrespected Jobs
Some people don't find the work their garbageman or plumber does (even though, odds are those people make more than many in society ever will) a very "respectable job," either. Nor do they appreciate the work of their "grease monkey" mechanics (but sure enough, when they are too lazy to change their oil themselves, they pop in line and hand over their cash to someone who will.) Nor do they respect the work of the secretary who slaves to an idiot boss with "a real job" who shovels all of the "real work" off onto her and pays her 1/4 of what she's worth.

I have heard the "not a real job" comment in reference to food service people from someone I perceive to be a "fulltime motherhood is a real job!" club member. What are your thoughts on this particular case?

In the Case of Technolust's Friend
In the particular case of Technolust's friend, I think it fortunate that the boyfriend is so open about his thoughts, so perhaps she can evaluate if she can be happy with someone who thinks so poorly of her chosen line of work. Perhaps she was being dramatic and could have indeed called him back, but that is something that you and I don't know. I also have to wonder what sort of job that he has. I admit to being curious, but whatever choices they make is none of our business; my opinion is that this slip-up is fortunate in that she knows his thoughts, and if they prove incompatible, they can both do each other a favor and end the relationship before investing too much into it. They just happened to provide a platform off which to launch a rant that has been boiling for quite some time now.

Conclusion
Serving tables probably isn't on the list of most people's most highly coveted jobs, but no one should put down someone coming off of a 12 hour shift who has made that their career, especially those who don't have jobs themselves. I am young and maybe I am more attached to the lessons of my parents and their parents' generation than some, but I was taught that just because I wouldn't want to do a job, does not mean that the person doing that job is "stuck" doing that job. Some people wait tables for a career because that is what they are good at, and it is what they want to do. If it takes not answering their cell phone to keep their job, then why ask them to do so? And for those who don't want to make it their careers, but have taken those jobs, I believe that sometimes you just "suck it up and do what you must to get by," looking for a brighter tomorrow. I know one or two of you here can appreciate that sentiment, as I know a few of you with children who found themselves on the unfortunate end of layoffs during a slow economy, and did just that. I also don't think most of us would have the gall to tell any one of them that what they were doing wasn't a respectable job, when it put food on their children's table. And for those who have made certain choices and are "stuck" doing this job that they dislike, reflect for a moment all of the fortunes you have had and look at this poster once more, less with humor and more with the serious message that it carries:

http://www.despair.com/potential.html

As long as they are working hard, contributing to society, and paying their taxes, then they have earned respect.

Who are we to look down on them?

Disclaimer: I have never worked in the food service industry in any capacity.

Does anyone reading this still play Nationstates? I have a region that could use some new members.
(Yeah, yeah. Call it lame, but the game takes me a minute to play, and it's not every day that one can safely refer to a populace as "my little playthings," Ms. Dragon excepted)

Mr. Petrazickis: they purged your nation seven days ago. If you're still interested in playing, I believe you can write the moderators and ask for it to be restored, although I am not sure if they do this for nations that are purged for 28 days of inactivity. The Goats are waiting!

Dexterpexter is ranked 1st in the region and 7,583rd in the world for Most Corrupt Governments.

How to get married for $110.50 cash, or: One Crazy Friday

1) Come to a decision on Thursday that you are going to get married on Friday. Call and invite your parents and siblings.
2) On Friday morning, arrive at the court house. Pay $5.25 per car to park.
3) Decide that the elevator is taking too long, so take the escalators instead.
4) Surrender $50 to a disinterested civil servant type who is obviously disappointed with a buggy computer system and who is anticipating lunchtime. Complete paperwork, and then wait until the lady behind the cigar-reeking desk files everything.
5) After this is accomplished, inquire where we might locate a judge to sign our paperwork. Down the hall? Downstairs?
6) Get strange looks. "You want to be married *today*? And not by a minister??"

Yes, that would certainly coincide with our earlier answer ("Today") to the question, "And when is the marriage expected to take place?" ;)

(Note: I am not opposed to being married by a minister. However, in this state, the greater part of the churches to which anyone I trust has a connection, require one year of concentrated, in-church marital counseling, and also oblige you to pledge some very uncomfortable things to which I am unprepared to commit. I recognize that a good number of couples do not live up to these promises, but a pledge made in any church, regardless of denomination or religion, is not something that I take lightly.
Also, when you have dated the same person in a very open, honest relationship for almost 9 years, have been engaged for over a year, have worked together, and have shared a residence for part of that time, that one year of counseling doesn't sound so appealing, especially when you will have moved before it is completed.
Also, given that in 2001, a study revealed that for every 100 marriage licenses issued in this state, 76 of those end in divorce, I think that I will stick with my own means of doing things, and the peace I feel and the support I have been given in this decision encourages me that this is right for me. :)

7) Find out that your state (or at least this city) does not have any judges who are willing to sign those papers. I kid you not.
8) Give a forlorn look to the lady behind the desk, who then hands you two business cards for ministers who will sign the papers.
9) Drive to locate this "chapel," which turns out to be a couple's living room, filled with fake flowers, Christmas lights, music, candles, and pink furniture--the paper bells hanging in front of the house completed the picture. Pay $50. ("Cash. No checks, no money orders, no plastic of any kind. Just cold, hard cash.")

Marriage total cost so far: ($5.25 x 2) + $50+50 = $110.50

10) Have the cutest reverend in the world (this older gentleman who was so endearing and passionate that I almost couldn't believe he was for real) perform the unanticipated ceremony. This gentleman made any reservations I had about marrying in this setting simply disappear--he was that wonderful.
11) Take the reverend's business card to hand out to interested friends, and while shaking his hand and noticing his ring, realize that this intriguing character is also a Mason.
12) Have pictures taken in front of the paper bells, and almost literally roll on the floor laughing out loud from the absurdity of the day.
13) Go to lunch, come home, and...

14) Live happily ever after. :)

-----
EDITS/UPDATES:

-Image changed for Johndii.
-I would like to thank you all for your well wishes. I intend to thank each of you, but tonight Slashdot is forcing me to wait several minutes between posting (The Taco thinks I am a Cowboy, apparently) and so I will have to respond tomorrow, perhaps.
-To answer a few comments:

-We did not exchange rings, although I believe that we have decided that we will, once we find something that both of us like.
-I do post on /., but I tend to post on other people's journals rather than my own. I do have several text files of things I have intended to post, and never got around to, so I suppose I will have to do so shortly. This might explain why several people have unfriended me. :-/

Thank-you all once again.

Hi Hi!

I am posting in "Plain Old Text" (as I have for ages.)
I can still use HTML, despite selecting "Plain Old Text," and it will still display properly in Firefox (and I imagine every other browser.)

Furthermore, I can hit enter-enter and avoid the whole p versus br fiasco that everyone is going on about. (And wouldn't have known about had I not read about it 5,235 times. Not that I mind. I like being informed and all.)

I just wanted to let you all in on my Enter-Enter secret. G'day.

Break down of events:

-I resigned from my job.
(EDIT: On good terms. We had a party the day I left, and my supervisor made me a shirt. It was difficult leaving, but I knew I would do so before I even started, and they knew so too. I will not, however, return to the same position, although I have no regrets of working there.)
-Left the east coast.
-I am back in school finishing one of my degrees.
(EDIT: As I knew I would, so this is not a case of my freaking out about the "real world" and hightailing it back to school. This was in the plans all along.)
-I am not married yet.

I am doing well, so worry not. I still read journals and post comments, but just haven't gotten around to updating my journal. ::Edited to sound less flaky and flighty. hah!

Let me preface this by saying that I think I have become addicted to walking/hiking. That said, it was pouring outside today and I, being antsy and wanting to visit my deer friends that I always, without fail, see on my walks, just had to go walking.

Now, some weird aspect of my brain allows me to assume the belief that as long as I am under many trees, I am alright (falling branches excepted) because I am the smallest thing around many better options. (Now, I know better than to go for a walk while it's lightning. It just seems worth the risk to me.) Well, on one part of my walk, two woods are separated by a powerline throughway which forces me to walk across an open field (where today my deer friends were playing. BTW--haha Koria! I have deer!), and while the towers for the lines are obviously the tallest things there, I realize that my chances of being struck by lightning are probably increased here.

So, I started on my walk while the rain was only at a sprinkle. I saw two does and a billion frogs. I didn't walk as far as I usually do, but decided to try a different path (the paths branch many times and take you all over the place) that I had not taken before. It took me up a pretty large hill and, by the time I walked most of the way up it, it was almost dark and I was in the middle of the woods, so I decided to turn back.

On the way back, I once again had to cross the field. I walked the winding path across the field, and right as I was under the power lines, lightning struck the powerline "tower" and, in a beautiful, dangerous display, danced and crackled down the line in brilliant colours, right over my head. I ducked and dashed forward toward the woods.

Afterward my head hurt a little, but I think that was more self-inflicted by fear that I might not be alright (even though I was obviously unhit.)

I made it home fine, having thoroughly enjoyed my (eventful) walk. :)

All I can say is: whoever was throwing the bolts tonight missed!

I am drawn (for some reason) to a song that is a part of an Animal Planet commercial, and I am hoping that one of you ladies and gentlemen can tell me the title and artist of this song:

Animal Planet Commercial Audio (933 KB)

Thanks in advance! This has been driving me nuts for a week, and I finally had the sense to record it.

EDIT: Thank-you everyone who responded. Brownie points and gold stars to everyone!

Wow. This is equestrian tv weekend. Yay!