The Dogs

If you have children and you've told me a story about them, I've probably followed up your story about human children with one of my stories of my dogs. It's a problem, I know. A spit-up story about Noah, my best friend Jackie's adorable son, would undoubtedly be followed up with a story about when Barlie ate the field grass and then puked it up on my Persian rug. An endearing story about how our cousin Nancy Lynn's son's has trouble getting the puck on the ice rink could surely be followed up with me explaining how Molly has trouble fetching the ball then actually bringing it back to us so we can throw it again.

You get the picture. We're a little dog crazy. We're seriously blurring the lines between humans and K-9s. And to be honest, I don't really care. Barlie is my first born. She's my baby. Then we thought we couldn't get enough of a good thing and got Molly - who is a terrorist. But still so soft and sweet, we can't help but love her even though she puts holes in all our pillows.

So when I started to say, "I can't handle the dogs right now," you knew something was bad. Really, reflecting back on last week, it was me who was bad. I was tired and weak. I was in pain and couldn't move, no less react quickly. For days I was saying to Chris, "It's too much. I can't do them right now." The barking would give me an instant headache. It was no more barking than usual - the mailman, the dry cleaning pick-up lady, a squirrel right outside the window taunting them - but it just got to me more easily. And the people - there are so many of them - loved ones, friends, generous family members who stop by to help. It's just that you need to manage my dogs when someone comes in. It only take a moment, a treat to satiate them, a scratch on each head and then they are bored of you and collapse on the floor like they've been shot. It's just that I didn't even have it in me to do that much.

Then the tails. I'm not even sure whose tail it was the last time. But one of the dog's tail knocked over a glass of some liquid or another twice in 48 hours. The first time was a glass of chocolate Ensure that ended up all over Katie's latest needlepoint. She was so gracious about it and we spot treated as best we could. But I could see it was stained and I felt bad and then mad and frustrated. The next accident was just waiting to happen. There were five people in the den. I was sitting under a blanket on the couch. Hilary was happily eating a McDonald's hamburger. But I could see Molly eyeing that patty up. I could envision Molly disregarding Hilary and grabbing the hamburger right out of her hand. While I'm worrying about that on the inside, a dog tail does it's dirty work right in front of me, knocking a glass of water all over the electronics; my i-pad, my camera, I saved my phone at the last minute.

That was the point of no return. I just couldn't take it anymore. I cannot do everything and I certainly couldn't get rid of cancer and manage the dogs and the people all at the same time. Something had to give. It was the dogs.

We needed doggie help and I didn't know where to turn. But I knew I needed a break. While I'm trying to think of a plan, I'm simultaneously thinking about all the mothers who battle cancer. They're fighting the same disease and maybe have 3 kids at home. How do they do it? What am I complaining about? Do the moms send their children to a kennel? Does Grandma come pick them up and give the mom a break? Who knows. All I knew was I needed some help. Chris called AJ and Mary Ann and asked if they'd take the dogs for a couple of days. They refused. So we did what we always do - hire someone. And our team of helpers went to work. Angie Speitel had the name of a great kennel nearby. Marcia worked her magic and got the girls into that kennel - even though it was closed that day and not taking any dogs. And then Chris scooped them into the car and off they went. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Marcia and Katie rubbed my back and reassured me while I cried. I felt like the worst Mommy ever. Maybe this is why God took my uterus. I'm not fit to be a Mommy of dogs, how could I possibly care for human children?!?

They were really only gone for a day and a half. And I missed them so much. I realized the dogs behavior didn't get any worse. It was just my response to them that got worse. They are dogs; thousands - millions of people have dogs who are worse or better behaved than mine. I just have to learn to shake it off. I have to learn to relinquish the control. I have to learn to take a deep breath and know that it is all going to be okay. I have to learn to be calm. I keep wondering why God gave me this cancer, what am I supposed to learn from this. I just listed 4 lessons this cancer could teach me ... and even now, in Chemo Round #3, I haven't learned them yet. I'm trying. I really am. It's just really hard.

It was really hard being without the girls too. So on Monday morning, we picked them up from the kennel. Barlie was mad. Like really mad at me. She was barking in a different tone and sending her anger directly at me. Molly - as usual - was oblivious. It was as if she was just walking around muttering, "That was a fun field trip. Can I have a treat?" Barlie was looking straight at me saying, "I can't believe you did that to us! Don't abandon us again. I'm your first born, remember?" So, like all crazy dog people would, Barlie and I had a heart to heart. I spoke to her in normal English, no "doggie talk," and I clearly explained that Mommy is sick and she's tired and she needs you and Molly to be on best behavior. I said I'm sorry that I sent you away and of course a kennel is not as fun as the 10 acres you get to roam around on here. But I needed a little break. I promised not to send them away again and asked for Barlie's forgiveness. I think she obliged because the tone of her bark changed after our talk.

I felt bad, but did what I needed to do at the time. I've reflected on it and decided I can do better. I think Barlie can do better too and she promised to talk to Molly and convince her to behave better as well. We've come to an agreement. They're my babies and I won't send them away again.