I started Weight Watchers in January. The end of January, to be exact. I lost around 27lbs and am now back to having just lost 20. I feel like I am slipping and losing my commitment to making myself a better being inside and out.
I need some motivation; a kick in the ass. I am going to switch to the Core program on Sunday which is basically their version of no processed foods dieting. I am excited and hopeful this will be the kickstart I need.
Something's gotta' give.
ps - I am sorry for not posting more. Life is busy. I also got married.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
A Fond Farewell
Rusty was surrendered to the shelter where I work when the family suffered a fire and lost their home. They were forced to move in to an already full house with a relative and their two golden retrievers could not come with. Rusty was 13, almost 14, and his brother was 6. Now, in shelter life, a surrendered 13 year old dog doesn't have much of a chance. Their adoption probability is in the single digits. Rusty had many health problems; kidney, strange lumps, and he was unable to get up off the floor of our offices without yelping in pain. He was old and it showed.
I knew, from experience, that his brother would be adopted in a heartbeat even with his food guarding issues. Rusty, on the other hand, was a gem who met and surpassed all temperament quotas. You could do anything to this dog. I asked our director to pleasepleaseplease let me "foster" him, knowing full well he'd never leave my house. I saw a spark in his cloudy eyes from the moment I had the pleasure of meeting him and he'd been invading my dreams at night. We have a tiny house on the beach with two gregarious dogs, one coming from a similar circumstance to Rusty's, and three cats. We had no room, but we could make room.
Rusty came home to us just after the new year. His mobility was an issue as we have steps leading up to our house and into the backyard so we carried him. Our wood floors were a challenge for him and the tile floor seemed like a vast expanse to his almost blind eyes; we bought him an area rug and hallway runners. The other dogs were more mobile and would accidentally knock him over while eating; we bought a baby gate. These things were never an inconvenience or an issue to us.
Rusty quickly became very attached to me and I to him. He was on many medications for his pain and we added some supplements of our own to help him get around. Our efforts were rewarded because shortly he was getting up and down without an issue, taking the stairs, and even on 2 brief encounters of him being excited to see me did he jump halfway up on the couch. He slept a lot, but loved a good scratch. He always greeted me at the door, stumbling to get up to be the "first" to see me, waggling his old tail and shoving his white face towards where he thought my hands would be. Some days he would bark, a hysterical version of "woob woob woob" in his deep old-man's voice. His nickname produced itself, "Woobie".
We battled with him and for him. One mysterious setback of him limping for a couple days, always drinking a lot of water due to his kidneys, and for a short period of time he refused to eat anything but rotisserie chicken. We loved him. We would sit on the floor of the living room with chicken and feed him by hand when we had to. We bought him cheese, chicken, ham, liverwurst, and so many canned foods I can't even begin to name them. We just wanted to do anything possible to keep his gentle, amazing soul with us.
He ate well, and once he was feeling better physically even went for walks every morning. He was enjoying life and we enjoyed him. We had the pleasure of taking him to the dog park a few times which he was thrilled with. Everyone there admired him and he knew it. His face was lit up like a christmas tree from all the attention he was getting. He trotted around the park visiting everyone and looked like a younger dog again. These were miraculous times to us; we thought, maybe, we might have him for another year or so.
We had him for five and a half months when he started having accidents in the house. He slept more than usual. A toenail just fell out of his paw on a walk. His water consumption went up. He no longer was interested in going for a walk in the morning. He refused to go down the back steps so we started taking him out the front door which was closer to the area rug where he slept. His appetite faded, he urine turned clear from his kidneys failing, and we knew it was time.
We had watched Walter cringe in pain from this same ailment and wished none of that intense discomfort on our friend. We knew it was coming to that point where he would be hurting more, past what his pain medication could tackle, and voted to let him go.
His last few nights with us, furthering cementing our decision, he would tell us occasionally that he was ready. He would bark randomly at me, as if to tell me something was very wrong. He didn't need to go out, eat, or drink. He really was just telling me he was ready. We spent the last night hovering over him on the floor and hugging him until his fur was soaked in our tears. You could tell he was sad also, laying his front legs in my lap and his head in my hands. "Just pet me and love me" was the message.
The day of was terrible. When the end was coming my beloved new old friend turned away from the people injecting him and laid his head in my lap. I put my face against him as I cried, whispering to him what a great dog was and that it was okay to go. I told him I loved him and that I would look for him when the time came. He sighed, as if to agree, and was gone.
I imagine my Ruby up wherever he is every day. He is playing like a young dog at the dog park, sidling up to every person there and turning around as if to say "scratch me right here by my tail, please". My grief is still very fresh and if I think about it too deeply I cry again.
Ruby would have been 14 in the beginning of June. I bond with all my dogs, but I fell hard and fast for this one like none before. He was what some call a "lifetime dog" with his only fault being that he couldn't live forever.
love you, woobie.
I knew, from experience, that his brother would be adopted in a heartbeat even with his food guarding issues. Rusty, on the other hand, was a gem who met and surpassed all temperament quotas. You could do anything to this dog. I asked our director to pleasepleaseplease let me "foster" him, knowing full well he'd never leave my house. I saw a spark in his cloudy eyes from the moment I had the pleasure of meeting him and he'd been invading my dreams at night. We have a tiny house on the beach with two gregarious dogs, one coming from a similar circumstance to Rusty's, and three cats. We had no room, but we could make room.
Rusty came home to us just after the new year. His mobility was an issue as we have steps leading up to our house and into the backyard so we carried him. Our wood floors were a challenge for him and the tile floor seemed like a vast expanse to his almost blind eyes; we bought him an area rug and hallway runners. The other dogs were more mobile and would accidentally knock him over while eating; we bought a baby gate. These things were never an inconvenience or an issue to us.
Rusty quickly became very attached to me and I to him. He was on many medications for his pain and we added some supplements of our own to help him get around. Our efforts were rewarded because shortly he was getting up and down without an issue, taking the stairs, and even on 2 brief encounters of him being excited to see me did he jump halfway up on the couch. He slept a lot, but loved a good scratch. He always greeted me at the door, stumbling to get up to be the "first" to see me, waggling his old tail and shoving his white face towards where he thought my hands would be. Some days he would bark, a hysterical version of "woob woob woob" in his deep old-man's voice. His nickname produced itself, "Woobie".
We battled with him and for him. One mysterious setback of him limping for a couple days, always drinking a lot of water due to his kidneys, and for a short period of time he refused to eat anything but rotisserie chicken. We loved him. We would sit on the floor of the living room with chicken and feed him by hand when we had to. We bought him cheese, chicken, ham, liverwurst, and so many canned foods I can't even begin to name them. We just wanted to do anything possible to keep his gentle, amazing soul with us.
He ate well, and once he was feeling better physically even went for walks every morning. He was enjoying life and we enjoyed him. We had the pleasure of taking him to the dog park a few times which he was thrilled with. Everyone there admired him and he knew it. His face was lit up like a christmas tree from all the attention he was getting. He trotted around the park visiting everyone and looked like a younger dog again. These were miraculous times to us; we thought, maybe, we might have him for another year or so.
We had him for five and a half months when he started having accidents in the house. He slept more than usual. A toenail just fell out of his paw on a walk. His water consumption went up. He no longer was interested in going for a walk in the morning. He refused to go down the back steps so we started taking him out the front door which was closer to the area rug where he slept. His appetite faded, he urine turned clear from his kidneys failing, and we knew it was time.
We had watched Walter cringe in pain from this same ailment and wished none of that intense discomfort on our friend. We knew it was coming to that point where he would be hurting more, past what his pain medication could tackle, and voted to let him go.
His last few nights with us, furthering cementing our decision, he would tell us occasionally that he was ready. He would bark randomly at me, as if to tell me something was very wrong. He didn't need to go out, eat, or drink. He really was just telling me he was ready. We spent the last night hovering over him on the floor and hugging him until his fur was soaked in our tears. You could tell he was sad also, laying his front legs in my lap and his head in my hands. "Just pet me and love me" was the message.
The day of was terrible. When the end was coming my beloved new old friend turned away from the people injecting him and laid his head in my lap. I put my face against him as I cried, whispering to him what a great dog was and that it was okay to go. I told him I loved him and that I would look for him when the time came. He sighed, as if to agree, and was gone.
I imagine my Ruby up wherever he is every day. He is playing like a young dog at the dog park, sidling up to every person there and turning around as if to say "scratch me right here by my tail, please". My grief is still very fresh and if I think about it too deeply I cry again.
Ruby would have been 14 in the beginning of June. I bond with all my dogs, but I fell hard and fast for this one like none before. He was what some call a "lifetime dog" with his only fault being that he couldn't live forever.
love you, woobie.
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