My first time...

Thought I would give this blog business a try. I can hear my dad asking, "What the h*!@ is a 'blog?' "  He loved gadgets of all kinds, but the Internet totally mystified him. But that's not why I'm here, although I could certainly fill volumes with stories about my beloved and much-missed dad.

Don't know how well I'll be able to keep up with this. I don't have much spare time these days, as my job as a paralegal keeps me very busy. I'll just have to see how it goes.

From the title and photos, you can probably guess that my plan is to write about our dogs. I've always said their lives are much more interesting than mine. They would probably write it themselves, but they have a hard time fitting their paws on the keys. And writing from a Blackberry is totally out of the question...no opposable thumbs to type with!

I'm actually hoping to get some cathartic value from doing this. The title of my blog is really a misnomer...we don't have three Pekingese dogs anymore. We only have two. On December 27, 2010, we tragically lost our beloved Shasta. She was our first Peke, and my very first dog ever. I waited 45 years to get my dog, and she was definitely worth waiting for.

She went to the vet for some minor surgery that day, to repair a torn tendon and a chronically dislocated patella on one of her hind legs. Shasta had previously undergone general anesthesia, when she was spayed at 9 months, with no complications whatsoever. This past December, she was 6 1/2 years old and in excellent health. Our vet, who is excellent and has cared for our pets for years, had gone over with me all of the precautions that would be taken with Shasta. General anesthesia is more risky for Pekes, who are "brachycephalic" (flat-faced). That causes their respiratory system to be compromised, so additional measures are taken to ensure that their breathing is monitored during surgery.

But, sadly, before the procedure even was started, Shasta had an unusual reaction to the anesthesia, and died of cardiac arrest. She had not just one competent veterinarian trying to save her life, but two, since the orthopaedic specialist was getting ready to do the corrective work on her leg. They tried everything to revive her, even opening her chest and performing intercardial massage in an effort to get her heart beating again, with no success.

We were out of town, visiting my hometown of Tucson, so we were 2,500 miles away. We'd left the Pekes in the totally capable, loving care of Kathie, our pet sitter, so she was the one who got the bad news first. Believe me, we would never have scheduled surgery for one of our babies if we didn't think it was minor; Shasta had been in a lot of pain because of the torn tendon and dislocated patella, and we didn't want to put it off just because we were going to be out of town.

To make matters worse, we were unreachable for a period of time, right when all of this was happening. The hotel we stay at is in the foothills of Tucson, and cellular service can be spotty at times. At one point, I looked at my Blackberry, and realized that I had three missed calls from Kathie, four missed calls from the vet, and even a post on Facebook from one of the staff members at our vet's office. I knew that couldn't be good news.

When I called the vet, the staff member who answered--I know all of them very well--said, "Hold on, I'm putting you through to Dr. Rose." My heart sank, and I knew what she was going to tell me even before she said it. Justin, my husband, was standing next to me, and hearing only my side of the conversation. He finally said, "Just tell me that she's okay!" I looked at him and said, "I can't. She's gone." And we both broke down, sobbing as we walked back to our hotel room.

We had five days left of our week-long vacation, and we were just devastated. Justin wanted to come home immediately, but I convinced him that we couldn't do anything, and that the folks at the vet would do what needed to be done, and we would take care of it with them after we got home. In the end, we decided it was probably better that we stayed in Tucson. We were surrounded by loving, close friends who shared the pain of our loss with us.

When we came home from our trip, we picked up our two Pekes from Kathie--and spent some time with her. She and her husband and family were just devastated as well. I was particularly concerned about how Rusty, our almost-4-year-old male, was doing. 

Rusty and Shasta were best buddies. She was his "touchstone;" he was a sad, abused, hurt shelter puppy when we adopted him, and Shasta, more than anyone else, helped bring him out of his shell. She taught him how to play, and how to trust us, and how to accept love and kindness. She taught him the joy of chasing a frisbee, and of playing tug-of-war with it. One day not long after we came home, we were watching him race around our house, and Justin looked at me and said, "Shasta accomplished her mission, and now she has moved on. She taught him how to be normal and happy." And so she did.

Rusty and Shasta playing with their beloved "soft byte" frisbee. It was her favorite toy, and she taught him to love it too.

Dogs are the epitome of stoicism. They live in the present, as Justin likes to say, and that helps them get on with it. Kathie told us that Rusty looked for Shasta for about the first day, and from then on, he just got on with it. There's a lesson to be learned there.

Rusty isn't lonely, exactly. I do worry that he's bored, though. He loves Lady, our 12-year-old, but she has no interest in playing with him. He doesn't really play with us, either. When Shasta was here, she would play with us; she always had. He would join in, but he was really playing with her, and the two of them played, and didn't really need us at all. Her version of "playing" got pretty rough sometimes; she spent a lot of time beating him up, and he loved it. He doesn't have that now, and may never have it again. She was the "alpha" in our pack, and let everyone know it.

So we have told Kathie to put the word out that we are interested in another young Peke--I like them about 9 months old--probably a male, who can be a playmate for him.

I think I'll stop now, and make that my first installment. Next time I'll write about the remarkable changes we have observed in Lady's behavior, now that we just have the Two Pekes. When we return to having Three Pekes, perhaps I'll turn this into an observation of how the dynamics of our small but strong-willed pack change with the addition of a third dog.

Please stay tuned!