Tag: compound

It always surprises me when I download photos from my camera to discover pictures that Tom has taken without my knowing it. Debby, clearly this little visitor to The Compound is for you.

Before Tim and I took our recent trip to Colorado, I purchased a couple of things for my camera–an extra rechargeable battery and a case for my 55/200 lens, because I knew I was going to want it to home in on faraway sights–I was sure I could spot a climbing goat or a ram on the hillsides, as every time Tom and I have traveled in that direction, we’ve seen lots of wildlife. Tim and I had to make an extra trip from Denver to Aspen (“had to,” like it’s a chore to go to OMG-so-beautiful Aspen), and Lynne told me to be alert to an animal observation point on that route. I swear we were just past it, and I was looking at the other side of the road, when Tim directed my attention to a group of mountain goats right next to us–too close for me to get even a quick shot as we went past them. Do you think I ever saw another damn goat or a sheep? I did not.

I did get a blurry photo of some elk as we whizzed by them.

And these are dinosaurs. I mean the toys on the cake, of course, not the ever youthful Rhonda!

Here are a few shots from the highway on the road to Aspen. I call the filter I was using “bug splattered windshield.”

But probably the best shots I could have taken didn’t happen because not only was I so rigid with fear that I wouldn’t look out the window, but I certainly couldn’t have captured those moments for posterity. I call it the Trail of Terror.

I grew up in the Appalachian foothills. I’ve driven through the Blue Ridge, Smoky, and Allegheny mountains. Though those mountains aren’t as soaring as the Rockies, it’s not like I haven’t had experience riding and driving along curving roads at impressive heights. I even rode up a mountain on the back of a motorcycle without a qualm. But I’ve been living as a flatlander now for so many years that mountain driving makes me edgy at best, and at worst…

See, there was no reason to go all the way back to Denver from Aspen, as we were heading toward home. The road that would have shaved some miles, Independence Pass, was still closed (and I’m probably glad of that, all things considered), but there was another route that took us through over some mountain the most terrifying ride of my life. I don’t know how high up we were, and I could tell you the road, but since I came home and mapped it and looked at the entire route via satellite photos, I can assure you that pictures do not do it justice. Poor Tim was driving an empty Sprinter van (very tall and light) along this winding goat path mountain road (two lanes) with a passenger who was having an all-out panic attack. And whenever I would tell myself, “This is as bad as it gets,” we’d happen upon another sign indicating Deer Crossing (“If you see a deer, Tim, hit that bastard; please don’t swerve!”) or Road damage ahead, which elicited, “You have GOT to be kidding” from me. Because he didn’t have enough to do just trying to keep us alive, Tim kept reassuring me, “It’s just a road, Becky.” Right. A road from which I CAN PLUMMET TO MY DEATH ANY MINUTE. But he was doing a truly heroic driving job and then I felt us going around another curve and suddenly from next to me I heard the quietest voice say, “I can do this.” I opened my eyes and saw a bridge and that was enough for me to close them again without checking out the Gorge of Certain Death. “You can do this,” I agreed.

I found some photos on the Internet and I know it probably doesn’t look like much when you’re safely in front of your computer. But imagine yourself a little bitty speck on that bridge near dusk with no idea how high up you are. NEVER AGAIN.

Deep breath. Look: more cute puppies!

On one of our gas stops, when I climbed out of the van, my camera strap caught on my purse and rolled out with me, hitting the concrete. I immediately grabbed it and took a couple of shots using both flashes, and everything seemed to be working okay. But I didn’t realize my lens cap had popped off and probably rolled under the van. So when I got home, I went to Houston Camera Co-op where the woman behind the counter found another lens cap, not a Nikon but one that will attach to my lens or camera so I won’t lose it again.

And she blew the dust out of my camera and lenses and sold me a new and better UV filter because mine was pretty scratched up. And it seems to be shooting good photos, including this box of goodies from Rob E and a couple of post cards from Marika. THANKS! It’s exciting to get mail. On the VERY FLAT RIDE from my house to the post office.

I’ve spoken before about what it’s like to see my dogs aging. I think I probably wouldn’t notice the differences so much if Tim’s younger dogs didn’t provide a contrast. For example, when my dogs go to the vet now for checkups, booster shots, etc., they come home and sleep for hours, as if the entire process has drained them. Tim’s Pixie and Penny recently went for their semi-annual visits, not many days after Margot and Guinness, and their energy levels never seemed to flag at all. And of course, Pollock, at about six months old, has boundless energy and is fazed by nothing.

Margot, Guinness, and Pixie have all had some kind of stomach bug that required antibiotics. Both Margot and Guinness are showing signs of arthritis pain, so now Margot gets the same chewable supplement that Guinness has been taking for a while. Both dogs love these and have no idea they’re healthy.

Guinness’s blood test results showed she probably has chronic kidney disease. It’s not curable or reversible, but it can be managed. For starters, she has a new dog food. The vet said it’s not very tasty and was worried that Guinness might not want to eat. She clearly doesn’t know Guinness, who thinks if she’s awake, it’s meal time. She hasn’t shown any reluctance to eat the new food, but we’re still mixing a little canned with the dry because if it’s all designed to be be easier on her kidneys, she may as well get some pleasure out of it, too. Canned food is like dessert to her.

One reason dogs might lose their appetite with kidney disease is that they have more stomach acid and can even get ulcers. So now Guinness gets a Pepcid every day. Since this comes wrapped in a ball of that same canned food, she thinks it’s an hors d’oeuvre.

She did have high blood pressure at her vet visit, but it’s hard to know if that’s just stress–she gets very anxious at the vet because she has separation anxiety–or part of her disease. We might eventually have to get a dog blood pressure monitor to use at home when she’s calm just to keep a record of her numbers. If it doesn’t improve, she might get medication for that, too.

One thing that recently surprised us is that Guinness began crying when we put her in her crate. She and Margot have always been crate trained and never minded being crated. What they discovered at the vet is that as long as Guinness and Margot were in the same crate, Guinness was fine. But when they separated them, the outcry began immediately. We checked it out at home, and they are right. Guinness is fine in the crate as long as her sister’s there, too. So we have upgraded from two smaller crates to one larger one. This will really cut into Margot’s alone time and her output of emo poetry, but we all have to make some sacrifices. I’ve told Margot that like any writer, she should consider this “material.”

Another challenge with kidney disease is that a dog will drink either too much water but still be dehydrated, or lose interest in drinking. We had noticed that Guinness was drinking more, and I’d talked on here before about how she was no longer allowed to sleep on our bed because of her “leaking.” Tom and I both accept that some canine incontinence comes with old age, but Guinness now has this additional challenge of kidney disease. This is where subcutaneous fluids come in.

In this case, I have discovered that I’m useless. I use lancets to check my own blood one or more times daily, and I used to stick Lynne’s dog Sparky with insulin shots, and none of that bothers me at all. But I find that I simply don’t want to stick Guinness. She doesn’t like it, and I flinch at the thought of hurting her. I can get everything ready, stand by with a sterile pad or towel to get any blood or leaking solution, and give her treats so she doesn’t pay much attention to the stick. But I can’t be the one who sticks her. Tom’s willing to do it, but so far, Tim’s taken on the task, because he’s administered sub-q fluids to other animals.

I hang the bag from a hook on my office doorframe where wind chimes from my sister-in-law Janet and my great-niece Morgan hang.

Tim gives her the fluids.

Afterward, Guinness will have a lump under her skin where the fluid sits until it’s slowly absorbed into her system–this can take eight or more hours. The lump moves based on what position she lies in. This gives us lots of opportunity to quote lines from the movie Young Frankenstein to her.

She can tell that when the three of us gather and Tim sits on the floor, it doesn’t augur well for her. I hope that in time, she’ll get used to the process. A few minutes after it’s all over, she’s snoring as usual.