Cedar Waxwings

 Sometime in March or April about a dozen or so years ago, I watched a gift fly into view from my kitchen window in Chicagoland. A flock of the most beautiful birds suddenly swooped into my sightline, attacking a crabapple tree in the backyard. Attacking might not be the correct word, but it’s how it initially looked. They were actually feasting. Perhaps the words frenzy, frenetic, frenetically could be applied, but hopefully there’s the visual. Out of control.

First, I had never seen such a bird so I had no idea what was going on or why, not to mention a flock of feathered beauty acting a little crazy; secondly, as a photographer, I automatically grabbed my camera wondering how I could get outside without scaring them away. And third, the Original Best Girl was suddenly at my side ready to join me. You see, she was my canine supermodel and my camera meant she and I were going outside for adventures. So I couldn’t resist her soft brown eyes and go without her. Believe it or not, my girl and I went outside and stood about four feet from all of the activity and it didn’t phase the party at all. 

Getting a clear and good photo of them proved difficult, however, regardless of how close I was to them. They were moving around the tree so quickly, tossing back the berries and passing them around. I had no way of knowing where they were going next. Fluttering times a thousand. Even Lily, Original Best Girl, sat there mesmerized. Our presence did not bother these gorgeous birds. And just as quickly as they arrived, they departed as a flock. Done. Gone. Never to be seen again. 

My dog looked at me as if to say, “What just happened?” Even she had forgotten about the camera. The really only clear photograph I got that day is shared here. The image can be found on my Fine Art America/Pixels site. 

It took a bit of searching to find what type of bird had briefly entered my world that day, but they are called Cedar Waxwings. Described as social songbirds with pale yellow bellies and black masks, they travel in flocks following fruit sources (the berries left on my crabapple tree). They are also known to get intoxicated on the fermented berries they eat. Check. So I concluded that’s what I saw that day…it explains the way these birds were acting, and how oblivious they were to me and to my dog. They imbibed a little too much, and now I affectionately refer to these stunning birds as Little Drunk Bandits (note the black masks). Just for fun though.

That day was the first and only time I have ever been in the presence of a Cedar Waxwing. Right place, right time, gift sort of thing. At the time, there were two other crabapple trees in the yard so I wondered if they had hit those trees, as well. If not, I got lucky that day because the tree they chose was the only one visible from my kitchen window. Bird’s Eye View. Sorry, couldn’t resist. And call it a lucky gift if these beautiful birds ever decide to visit, however briefly it might be. 

Rainbow Bridge

 My best girl, Lily.  July 3, 2008 - December 11, 2021.  Over thirteen years, full of love and happiness.  I miss her so. 

Almost Thirteen...My Best Girl

Last week, I had to take my sweet dog to the emergency veterinary clinic. Ongoing issues mostly attributed to the fact she is in her senior years were the reasons, but as I was driving her there I worried it might be the end for her. Antibiotics, an anti-nausea injection, plus an IV helped her recover and 24 hours later she was resting comfortably at home by my side, as if nothing had happened. But it has been a little difficult to focus on much of anything else, as I worry about when the next episode will happen.

Lily will be thirteen on July 3. This sweet golden retriever has been my beautiful dog since she was about six or seven weeks old.  She has been such a relevant part of my life, being there while I completed and published all four of my books, and readily obliging me in being the canine subject model in many of my photographs. She cares very little about being photographed these days, but she used to be this pose-for-anything-supermodel. I've written about her here more than once in this nine year old blog; she's earned many nicknames as I've shared, but the one now is Best Girl, the companion. That's what we become in our older years, and that title is earned. 

Almost thirteen. My patriotic dog. 

Man's Best Friend Could Do Without All the Fireworks

July 3rd marks the sixth birthday for my best canine friend.  If you believe Merriam-Webster, she has finally hit middle age.  Maybe that's why the fear of sudden and loud noises seems greater this year than in the past.  In addition to crawling under any piece of furniture that will support her golden retriever's frame (something she has always done), a new sign of stress for her seems to be excessive panting and drooling during these times.  Other noises will cause panic, too, such as thunder and loud trucks, and when we had our roof replaced, she spent the entire time in her crate (a place she feels safe). It's the July 4th celebrations, however, that do the most damage.

Our sweet dog has always been afraid of the fireworks associated with the July 4th holiday...going into sheer panic and running aimlessly and wildly throughout the house.  We call it bouncing off the walls and sometimes it literally takes a wall to stop her.  She's terrified and I'm terrified of her ever getting out of the house during these times.  Too often our pets get lost this way because they take off when hearing these sounds and there are no walls to stop them. 

I'm certainly no Fourth of July Scrooge, as I love to see fireworks to celebrate the holiday.  It is symbolic, after all.  However, I could do without some of the pre and post celebratory bangs.  When you hear loud booms from dusk throughout the night, everyday, for about two weeks prior to the big event, well, that's a bit much.  Add a week or two of winding down and our pets could use a prescription for Xanax.  We might need it, too, simply for dealing with them.  Of course, the normal concerns arise, such as fireworks legality (depending on where you live), fire, safety (kids can get hurt, after all). Yet, the celebrations continue for weeks.  Maybe I'm just getting old.  According to Merriam-Webster, I've been there awhile.

So, have a safe July 4th holiday, everyone.  Take care of your pets, keep them as calm as possible.  I have a feeling my girl will be secured in her crate for the evening.  If she could understand me, I'd tell her we were all just celebrating her birthday.  If she could talk, she'd just say a new can of tennis balls would suffice.

More Fine Art America Photographs While We Wait

I'm using this post to share some more of my photographs from the Fine Art America site.  My next book, Daniel's Esperanza, is close...very close...to being published.  It's been a long wait and I see myself dedicating a post at some point in the future to this whole process.  I'll be posting excerpts soon.  However, I shall be happy to share these photos from a hobby I enjoy.  These images, and many more, can be found in greater resolution at veronica-batterson.artistwebsites.com.  I don't specialize, but take photos of things that interest me.  Nature, landscapes, travel, side trips, dogs (particularly golden retrievers)...there's a bit of everything.  Browse and if you decide to make a purchase...many thanks!  As always, I appreciate all who read this stuff.

Living with Cato

Just before Lily entered my life, I wasn’t sure I wanted another dog.  We had recently lost our previous pet to illness and it took a lot out of me.  I was drained emotionally.  Something about bringing another dog into our home so soon after a loss seemed wrong, too.  And disloyal.  I felt as if we were betraying our beloved dog’s memory and it just hurt too much.

But my husband was insistent.  A Sunday afternoon drive in the country was in order.  He knew of a place that had some golden retriever puppies for sale and he was determined to change my mind.  I grabbed some old towels as an afterthought, but forgot the small dog crate in the basement.  Then we hit the road.

I should say that our last dog was a golden retriever, too, and our family loves the breed.  It doesn’t mean we aren’t willing to adopt a rescue or look at other breeds.  We just know the golden well.  It is an obvious choice for us at this point in our lives.

Lily was born on a farm.  When my husband and I drove up the long drive to the farmhouse, I knew we were going home with a puppy.  I had no more doubts.  All it took was to see a large litter of pups lounging and playing under a huge tree to change my mind.  And she stood out from the rest.  All were friendly and exuberant, but Lily was fearless and curious, too.  We knew she was the one.

On the drive home, she sat on my lap on top of the towels I’d brought.  I realize this isn’t the smartest way to travel with a pet (she should have been secured in the dog crate that we forgot), but my husband was driving and I held her closely.  I’m glad I remembered the towels, however.  She piddled on me a couple of times during her first car ride.  The towels saved my jeans and the car seat.

The first year with Lily was an adventure.  It had been a long time since a puppy lived with our family and she kept me moving.  Puppy classes were important to us for the conditioning, so we enrolled her (and us) to refresh us on the beginning basics.  She was easy to train but a terror on a leash.  Housebreaking?  No problem.  I think she had one accident in the house, otherwise, she knew right away to go outdoors.  But walking with her on a leash?  I liken it to walking the Tasmanian Devil, that Looney Toons character.  Pulling, jerking, stopping, dragging.  She was all over the place.  It made no sense to her.   Being outdoors meant adventure and freedom to that farm dog.    And she didn’t want it any other way.  Commands didn’t faze her when on a leash, and she knows and obeys commands very well, otherwise.  Even the instructor was at a loss, murmuring, “I’ve never seen such a thing.”  I knew then walking with her might never be a pleasant thing.

Home life was an experience, too.  Lily has earned many nicknames over the years, but one that perfectly describes her personality is “Stealth”.  Or “Cato” (Kato Fong from the Pink Panther movies), as my husband affectionately calls her.  The manservant and martial arts expert hired to keep Inspector Clouseau on his toes had nothing on our hound.  She’s the master stalker and while her toys are often the target, we are always her prey.  The little girl is always lurking, ready to pounce.   Think she’s sleeping in the other room?   Just turn around and she’s at your feet staring you down, standing very still, with narrowed eyes and that stalking face.  We rarely hear her coming, that’s how quiet she is.  What she chooses to do next depends on her mood, but it’s always playfulness.  Another personality trait. 

The hound feigns hearing loss when it’s to her advantage.  She absolutely hates being brushed, which usually means I have to wrestle with her to do a little grooming.  So if she’s resting in another room and hears the word “brush”, then she remains very still, pretending to sleep.  But if a piece of food hits the kitchen floor, Stealth is suddenly there from two rooms away in search of an unexpected treat.  The word “groomer” is in her unspoken vocabulary.  She attempts to hide when hearing it.  She’d be the ragamuffin of goldens if we allowed it and just as happy.  But anyone who has a golden knows the importance of brushing because of the breed’s tendency to shed.  A lot.  So she’s out of luck with that one.  And I continue to wrestle.

Lily’s “business”…where to start?  I think she views it as a necessary inconvenience.  She would much rather explore, chase tennis balls, sniff the air, look at the birds, bark and roll in the grass or snow.  So she waits until she can’t put it off any longer; until she’s checked out every single shrub and chased every leaf that’s blown in her path.  Then it’s as if she’s thinking, “Okay, gotta take care of this.”  I’m sure she would sigh if she could.  And most dogs chase their tails.  I’m not sure why, but I know what’s about to happen when Lily chases her own.  Because she pushes the “business taking” to the limit, her tail chasing is an indication.  It’s usually a few chases and she stops, ears up and alert, eyes wide and staring at us, as if to say, “THIS HAS TO HAPPEN NOW!”  We get the message and out she goes.  It’s funny how our dogs communicate with us.

I do believe we have the only dog that suffers “business attacks” as a result of car rides.  That old story comes to mind of getting a cranky baby to sleep by taking it for a ride around the block.  You have a dog that needs to do its business?  Take it on a car ride.  That’s our hound.  And she’s turned into a difficult traveling companion because of the incessant stopping we have to make for her.  We usually visit family in Iowa on Thanksgiving and take Lily with us.  We’ve stopped more for our dog along I-88 over the years than we’ve ever stopped for ourselves.

As with all dogs, her barks have meaning.  I’ve learned what’s going on with all I hear.  Ceaseless barking, while looking out the window, usually means she sees something…squirrel, rabbit, neighbor.  Barks will end once target is out of sight, but I’ve had to shoo off a squirrel or two that dared the dog through the window, driving Lily (and me) crazy.  Announcement barks are reserved for the doorbell ringing, the UPS delivery truck, the mail carrier and any variety of noisy vehicles (trash and recycling trucks, snow plows, etc).   The one lone “RUFF” bark means she’s saying to one of us, “Now, wait a minute.  Look at me."  Then there’s the single “Whoop”.  This happens when she’s lounging in a semi-sleep state, snoring happily.  A loud noise induces one of these when it brings her back to consciousness.  I’ll just say I’ve been startled senseless when she does it. 

There’s so much I could share about this wonderful creature.  She loves the camera, probably because I’ve trained her by taking endless photos from the moment we brought her home.  She’s confident she can catch anything that wanders in her yard (squirrels, birds, rabbits, ducks) even though she never has.  Her beautiful instincts came into play last spring when she bugged a poor nesting duck under some shrubs by our house.  Tracking, flushing and chasing continued every time Lily went outside until we had to build a temporary fence around the shrubs so she’d leave the duck alone.  The two coexisted until it was time for the new mama duck and her babies to vacate. 

She loves snow, still thinks she can sit on my lap (even though she weighs about eighty pounds), sometimes uses her toys as pacifiers and has an internal clock for when it’s time to eat.  I’ve never forgotten to feed Lily because she won’t let me forget.  She has me trained well.

Age is catching up to our sweet girl, as it does with all of us.  She’s much whiter in the face but just as beautiful.  Her agility isn’t what it used to be and due to a leg injury she suffered a few years ago because she was so physically active, her retrieving days are over.  She plays with tennis balls now, instead of chasing them.  I’m her retriever as she’s happy to hide her favorite toy for me to find.  But most importantly, she makes me happy.  She’s loving and nurturing; a companion to have around and she makes me laugh everyday.    

As for those walks we never thought would happen as a puppy…I’m happy to say she did learn how to walk on a leash.  She does have an aversion for small dogs, however, as a couple of times she was bitten (once on her ear and once on her belly) as these dogs became aggressive with her while we walked.  Why is it that most folks think “small” can’t hurt “large”?  Now if some pet owners could learn dog etiquette, those walks with my sweet hound would be much nicer (but that might be another blog post). 

You'll Just Know

About four years ago we faced a decision that any pet owner dreads. Our family dog was ill and it was "just a matter of time".  No one really explains what that phrase means. You know the outcome...one day you'll no longer have that sweet family member by your side.  But it's how you get to that time and what it involves that have no instruction manual for guidance.

When Charlotte, our previous golden retriever, became sick, the veterinarian tried easing our worry and delaying the inevitable with suggestions of changing her diet and trying various "specialty" prescription medications. We became acquainted with the Compounder, a pharmacist who creates specific prescriptions in doses and consistency geared for individual patients. This patient just happened to be a canine.  I lost track of the number of times I drove to the Compounder's office building, located in an industrial area of town, picking up refills and new medications to try.  Often, the meds were as "hit or miss" as the food concoctions. They seemed to work for a while but it was never constant.  We tried all of the over the counter food the vet suggested and when that failed, we resorted to cooking bland food for her...chicken, rice, anything to give her sustenance.  She often refused eating from her bowl so hand feeding became the norm.  We were determined to get her to eat, so that didn't really matter to us.

Each visit to the veterinarian was always the same. The latest symptom was documented but there wasn't anything that could be done to stop the progression. At one of our last visits, when explaining how difficult it had become to get her to eat, I broke down in tears saying that I knew she had to be hungry. The doctor looked at me with sad eyes, and I wondered how many times he'd repeated this same scene in his long career.  His response of "As long as she's still drinking water..." gave me hope.

After receiving the terminal diagnosis, the one question we always asked of our veterinarian was, "How will we know when it's time?".  The response never changed. "You'll just know," he'd say.  That answer frustrated us.  How could we possibly know? The struggle became one of keeping our pet with us as long as possible versus preventing her from being in pain. She couldn't tell us she was hurting. And we were selfish. We wanted our dog with us forever.  What if we ended her life too soon?

I'll never forget the day when the time did come. It was the slightest little whimper that spoke volumes. I couldn't remember when she had last eaten and it had been days since she'd taken any water. Mobility was rather non-existent by the time. She had lost so much weight that we were able to pick her up and carry her, very telling since, at her healthiest, she'd weighed around 80 pounds. But her coat was still glorious and she remained beautiful...yet she spoke to me that day. The little cry that I hadn't heard until then and I knew. She told me she was hurting and I couldn't bear it. "You'll just know," the voice said, and I did.

Getting through the following weeks were difficult because everywhere we turned we saw our precious dog. Her toys, dog bed, collars, tags, leashes, dog food and medications were reminders. Those were easily remedied, as the meds and unopened dog food were donated to the local humane society and the rest disposed of.  But the intangibles hurt.  The memories were there.  Her enthusiasm, love and companionship filled our hearts with such joy that her physical absence made us feel empty.

We've since invited a new golden retriever into our home and Lily's capacity for life and love is as great as Charlotte's was.  There are times when "you'll just know" replays in my mind.  Now I'm certain anyone who has ever faced such a decision did know, in some way, when the time came.

The Joy of a Dog in the Snow

What is it about snow that makes most dogs act giddy and as excited as a young child who gets to build a snowman instead of going to school?  Lily, my sweet Golden Retriever loves snow.  If I didn't know better, I would swear she'd been born in the middle of winter and her first introduction to the outdoors had included the white flakes.  But, she wasn't and it didn't.  She made her entrance in July, a middle of the summer pup.  She's a "lounge under the shade tree hound" on a nice warm day.  When snow appears, however, she kicks it up a notch.

Upon receiving our first measurable coating of the white stuff this winter, Lily seemed a little confused.  Bounding down the back porch stairs, she stopped suddenly.  Ears and tail up, she was alert.  She stared at the whiteness, as if to say, "Wait a minute. This wasn't here the last time I was out, but something about it seems familiar".  Then recognition spread across her face and the body language screamed, "Oh, yeah! This makes me happy!".  Then off she sprinted, running around like a mad dog on the loose.  This would not have happened on green, unadorned grass.

Her agility is spectacular.  Dodging trees, the deck and me, she zooms within inches of either smacking head-on into wood or taking my legs out from under me.  I suddenly regret not pursuing the agility training I'd thought about when she was a puppy.  When the running has appeased her, she practices "Stop, Drop and Roll" as if her life depended on it.  Finally coated like a fury snowball, she figures burying her head a few times might bring some sort of satisfaction that only a dog understands.  Then she reclines and finds some frozen snow, settling in to enjoy a treat while thinking she's hiding it from me.  It's sort of difficult to hide the frosty delicacy since it sticks out of the side of her mouth, but she thinks she's being successful.

While reclining on the snowy carpet, ice sticking out of her mouth as if she's smoking it, I wonder how she couldn't be cold.  But her demeanor is one of contentment.  Life is good and she's happy just where she is.  Coaxing her indoors isn't easy after the frolic but the promise of a treat and anything else I can come up with that sounds good to the canine ears eventually works.

The dry-off takes time.  The snow is now small, frozen pellets sticking to her fur.  Digging the accumulation from between her paw pads is a challenge.  In harsher temperatures, we velcro the Orvis dog coat on her, which she is fine wearing. (I shouldn't mention the dog booties I once purchased for her that she hated.  When I finally got them on her, she was as mobile as a stubborn mule, refusing to budge.  I returned them to the store.)

Even after all of this, she is happy.  It's a snow day for Lily.  I enjoy snow days too unless I have to drive in them during rush hour, or shovel after blizzards...and that's another story.