Get Off My Lawn

Turning 50 was awesome.  There was a big party with lots of friends and despite said “friends’” effort, I managed to keep from being thrown into my own pool.

But turning 58?  Yeah … that one hit a different.

And not in a good way.

At 58, there’s probably more gray hair under those highlights than not.  The wrinkles are prevalent. And my hands look like that of an old person.

I’m officially in my “late 50’s” and 60 is just around the corner. 

No. Way.

Time seems to be moving rapidly.  I don’t know where the days go.  Or the weeks.  Or even the months.  Yes, that’s common when you retire, I know. But this. This is … different. Time seems to be FLYING.

I’m afraid I’m turning into one of “those” old people.  The kind that have lost touch with the younger generation.  The kind who uses “old” phrases. 

I won’t soon forget when a friend, who’s younger and much more hip than me, asked “Did you just use the word ‘britches’?”  Well yes.  Yes, I did.  And the sad thing is, I didn’t see anything wrong with it.

I’m still using phrases like “I know, right?”.  A phrase that probably went out in the 90’s.  More than 20 years ago!

No. Way.

And don’t even get me started on the vernacular used by today’s young adults. I’m totally lost.

• “Shipping” (are we suggesting two people go on a cruise?)
• “Someone’s ‘Agency’” (no clue. Bueller? Bueller?)
• “Spilling tea” (okay – I know what this means. But only because someone explained it to me)
• “Slay” (hey Gen X, we used that term too back in the day!)
• “Situationship” (it’s complicated. Why not just say that?)
• A “bop” (I literally just looked up the top phrases used by Gen X’ers in 2023 and have already forgotten what this means)
• Being “rizz” (apparently, this describes Pete Davidson because he must have charisma. What’s wrong with just saying “charisma”?)

Yeah, I was once hip too.  I think.

I’m also becoming (or maybe I’ve just always been – don’t answer that – it’s a rhetorical statement) that cranky old person.

You want to talk pet peeves?  Like thingamabobs, I’ve got 20!

Interestingly enough, I once read that adults who talk like teenagers can be considered a pet peeve. I don’t consider it one of mine, but at least I’m in no danger of being someone’s pet peeve (reference my ignorance of today’s slang words as noted above).

My biggest pet peeve is, without a doubt, line cutters.  And variations thereof.

Keith has even said to me, “You REALLY have an issue with all types of line-cutting, don’t you?” We’ve been together almost 15 years and he’s just now figuring that out?

People who cut in line at theme parks.  Now wait just one damn minute, you hooligan, you!  If I have to wait in line for over an hour for one stinkin’ three-minute ride, then you should too! 

I’ve heard that Walt Disney World is cracking down on these little heathens and I must say, I’m not sad about it.  Eject them from the park, for all I care.  That could reduce my wait time by 10 minutes!

Drivers who “cut the line”. Oh, this is a BIGGIE! 

I completely despise when traffic is going to narrow to one lane and some a-hole zooms up to the “front of the line”. Why? Because they’re “special” and don’t need to use the the zipper method like the rest of us law-abiding citizens.

Medical care.  I could probably write an entire blog post on this one alone.  And honestly, I don’t think it’s because I’m old and doctors want to put me off.  I think our medical system is broken.  Badly.

Both my husband and I have needed to see a variety of doctors over the last year.  After calling for no less than two weeks to try and get an appointment, each of us have had to literally get in our respective vehicles and Drive. To. The. Doctor’s. Office. TO. MAKE. AN. APPOINTMENT. 

Some of you might be thinking … we could do this through a patient portal.  Nu-uh-uh. Not if you’re a new patient. If you’re a new patient, you have to be seen by the doctor before they’ll invite you to YOUR patient portal.

And getting prescriptions refilled, don’t get me started!

My primary care physician moved to a different practice earlier this year.  Yes, I am technically a new patient, even though I’ve been seeing her for the last 11 years.  The office’s auto-attendant reminds its patients that the best way to get a refill is to request it through the patient portal. 

The same patient portal that you can’t get into because you haven’t seen the doctor.

OK.  Next step:  call to schedule a new appointment.  Here again, they don’t answer and kindly remind you that you can schedule an appointment through the patient portal.

The same patient portal that you can’t get into because you haven’t seen the doctor.

So I drove to the office to schedule an appointment. 

But … she can’t give me any prescription refills (Which. She. Previously. Prescribed!) without seeing me.  Six weeks from now.

Luckily, I had other doctors (specialists, a second PCP) who graciously agreed to write the scripts for my refills.

But if I hadn’t had multiple PCPs or another doctor to prescribe the needed meds?  Yeah.  Screwed.

This level of “customer service” is not relegated to doctors offices.  Oh no!

There seems to be a prevalent issue with either customer service agents or phone systems in general.  Not sure which.  I’d be surprised if someone reading this hasn’t experienced the joy of being on hold, only for the call to get disconnected just as the customer service rep appears to answer.

We had one just like this!

I was helping my mom with an issue regarding a lost driver’s license. She wanted to call the toll-free number, so we did. The wait time, we were told, was 52 minutes.  Yes, she wanted to wait.  I get it, she was driving with a now-expired temporary license and was anxious to get the issue resolved.

One hour and three minutes later … and the system announces, “We’re sorry, there’s an issue with our system.  Please call back another time.” And. Disconnects. Us!!!!! Do better, Texas Department of Public Safety!

I’m not 100% cranky.  Not just yet.

I was recently told by someone who worked in a restaurant that I was “so smiley” and that it had made her day.  See? Not totally cranky.

Age comes with special benefits such as the body reminding you of how many years you’ve been on this planet.

Despite my efforts in the gym, the body is showing signs of aging.

I mean … does anyone else get cramps in their shins? Not shin splints. Cramps. The kind that wake you up from a dead sleep at 3:20 a.m., leaving you sleepless the rest of the night. Just me? Okay.

Random joint pain is a thing and that’s no fun either.

Earlier this year, I would wake up in the morning and had to practically use a pry-bar to unfurl my fingers – the pain in my hands (and what I thought was my joints), so bad.

So bad, that I made an appointment with a hand specialist who x-rayed my wrinkled hand and said there’s no inflammation in my joints, I have very little arthritis, but hey! “Did you realize you broke your finger? Looks like an older injury, but it’s healing up nicely, so no worries.”

Um … what?

Thanks to genetics, my skin is thinning at a more rapid rate than most. It doesn’t take much for me to bruise or for (what I call) wine stains to appear on my arms or hands from a simple scrape.

I have a couple of age spots too. When I asked my dermatologist if there was anything I could do, she smiled sympathetically and said, “those are wisdom spots, honey”.

Thank goodness our high school reunion is being held in the fall.  And I can cover up my wine-stained arms. My mission is simply to avoid scraping my hands in the next 36 hours so that they appear bruise-free when I see my classmates.

Has it really been 40 years?

It seems like just yesterday we were lighting our Senior Bonfire in celebration of homecoming. And crossing the stage at graduation. Having field parties and drinking Boone’s Farm. And taking our Senior Trip to Six Flags over Texas where one of our friends had somehow convinced a bakery to make a cake in the shape of a penis for us to enjoy. (I hope my mom isn’t reading this!)

I think about being a part of Student Council that ran for (and won!) president of the state’s Student Council Association using a theme of “The Best Little Council in Texas” (The movie “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas” came out that year. I’m not even sure I knew what a whore was.)

Side note: the town square in the tiny town where my father grew up was used prominently in that movie. But I digress …

And Red Ribbon Week during our Senior year. And wonder why in the world my friends and I thought black garbage bags made for a good punk rock costume.

I’m at an age where “classic rock” is the music I listened to while in high school. Hey! I resemble that.

When the opening strands of Rush’s “Limelight” starts, it immediately reminds me of the opening of our Senior Slideshow. The slideshow I’ll be watching with my classmates in just a few short hours.

Don’t know what a “slideshow” is? Look it up!

Or when “Don’t Stop Believin’” blasts out of the speakers. The song that I had lobbied my classmates to name as our “class song” (it didn’t win the vote and honestly, I have no idea what our “class song” ended up being – because “Don’t Stop Believin’” will always be the CHS Class of ‘83’s anthem in my mind.) (Just a Small Town Girl)

I also find that I quite frequently ask Alexa to play “70’s Rock” while I’m getting ready in the mornings.

In an instant, a song will take me back to riding in the back seat of my mom’s car (Blondie’s “The Tide is High”). Or a John Denver song that I remember hearing from my sister’s record player (we had vinyl first!)  I also frequently request Alexa the DJ to play John Denver nowadays.

And while I’m momentarily taken back to my childhood, I look in the mirror. And see wrinkles.

And I’m reminded that I’m due for a visit to the aesthetician.

Getting older means treating yourself on the regular. Massages and pedicures are my go-to.

And enjoying every little moment or milestone.

I’ve always loved a good sunset (Blue). But in the last year or so, I’ve learned to appreciate sunrises too.

As my husband and I sit on our pool deck each morning, enjoying our coffee, we watch the sun rise to yet another beautiful (if sometimes scalding hot) day.

We’re more into experiences than “things”.

He loves Ricky Martin’s music.  For his birthday this year, I’m taking him to see Ricky, along with Enrique Iglesias and Pitbull.  It’s a win-win as I love Pitbull and have been wanting to see him for a while. 

Maybe I am still hip.

I have to ask, though, do people even use the word “hip” anymore? (And not in the sense of the pain in their hip or a hip replacement.)

We’ve gone glamping for his birthday and hiked the Great Wall of China for mine.

We’ve gone ax-throwing, floated the river, and chased the waves at the coast with our Grands.

Experiences. Core memories.  So much to treasure.

We’ve just taken the Grands to a nearby pumpkin patch. The wagon was filled and re-filled with all of the different pumpkins they chose. The largest one they could find. A white one. One that was just right.

Pumpkins that we’ll carve in time for Halloween.

Halloween. Where hopefully hoards of kiddos will trample across our yard, setting our dogs off by ringing our doorbell, and asking for candy.

Candy which I hope they’ll take because I don’t need another inch added to my waistline. (The “battle of the bulge” takes on a whole new meaning when you hit your 50’s, that’s for sure!)

Wait. There’s going to be people trampling across my yard?

Get off my lawn!

 

The Making of an Author - Part 1

I’ve always wanted to write.  Write what, I wasn’t sure.  A book? For a newspaper? For the 6:00 news?

While I hold a Bachelor of Journalism degree, my journalism career never got off the ground. I did find something else I love and spent my career doing it:  Social Services. 

While I wrote a lot during my 27-year career (reports, presentations), I wasn’t “writing” in the way I had imagined. The closest I came was writing a monthly newsletter.  But it just wasn’t giving me “dream” vibes.  You know?

Fast forward several years. Keith, Evan and I made a hop across the pond to surprise one of our family friends for her 90^th birthday. She was surprised, yes! And it was awesome! But snapping photos in London gave me an idea.

I loved our rescue pup, Bentley, dearly.  The sweetest little dog with a demanding appetite.

Can you spot Bentley?

My idea was to put Bentley into my photographs.  And let Bentley travel the world.

I started to play around in Photoshop to enhance my photos.  Then to enhance pictures of Bentley and place him into the pictures. And there, my idea came to a halt.

The facial features (along with other details) of black dogs, no matter how cute they are, are very difficult to see in pictures, unless they’re close-ups.

And so stalled my dream of becoming a children’s book writer.

Fast forward six years.  Keith and I are both retired and thanks to Covid, we bought an RV (We Be Trippin').

It was during one of our camping trips that I had a dream about a frog who wanted to be a pufferfish.

I’m not one to try and interpret dreams, but ... What. The. Heck?!?!

And then it hit me!  I had it!  The book I’d been wanting to write!

Upon our return from said camping trip, I sat down to write.  I wanted a gender-neutral name beginning with “F”.  Why gender-neutral?  Because my initial intent was to conceal the frog’s gender until the end. A quick search of gender-neutral names beginning with the letter “F” and my frog had a name: Finley.

Google is your friend.

I drafted half of the book before life just got busy. (Yes, it happens in retirement!)

Before shelving my project, during our annual trip to the lake, I read the partial draft to my Grands, who all fell into my target audience (3-7) at the time.

They were restless. Anxious to pick up a different bedtime story.  And I couldn’t understand why.

I LOVED what I had so far!  Finley was visiting all the animals in the zoo because she wanted to be something other than a frog.

So why weren’t my first beta readers engaged?

“Grams!” they said, “where are the pictures?”

Well of course!

Several months went by and I found some time to start working on my project again.

I invited a fellow children’s book author to breakfast (can I really call myself an author yet?).  I pummeled her with questions about all things self-publishing. An omelet, a cup of coffee, and lots of notes later, Elizabeth had started me on my way.

Among other things I learned that day, I learned there was a Facebook group for Children’s Book Authors and Illustrators.  In fact, there are several! After I accepted Elizabeth's invitation to join said group, I spent a few hours perusing the page. 

So. Much. Info.

I saved posts on everything from illustrator’s work to how to layout pages to how to market your book.

Elizabeth suggested I visit a library to see what appealed to me in a children’s book. I had something different in mind. My Grands' collection of children's books would rival any library. So I started there!

I discovered I liked full-color pages and certain fonts.  That white borders were okay, but for this particular book, white pages not-so-much.  I also found illustrations which I found visually appealing and those which I didn’t.

When I thought the draft was nearly complete (remember this statement), I started looking for an illustrator.  One of the illustrators in the Facebook group offered consultations and it was SO much more than just talking through illustrations.

I sat down with Alexandra, who lives in Cornwall, England, via Zoom, on a sunny, Sunday afternoon.  (Technology.  Am I right?)

She was a wealth of knowledge and a breath of fresh air all in one! 

We talked about my goals, my favorite children’s book (“The Very Hungry Caterpillar”), what kind of illustrations I envisioned for my book (bright and colorful!), and the self-publishing journey.  She suggested I create a website, if for nothing else, then to serve as a “landing page” where I can share links or list stores where my book could be purchased.

She also suggested that I publish under a name other than my own. My own “publishing company” if you will. 

Alexandra suggested I make a book from paper, folding each sheet of paper in half.  “This way,” she said, “you can visibly see that each sheet of paper = four pages in a book.” Therefore, when printing, you have a page count that’s divisible by four.

This would be one of the best pieces of advice I received.  But also the one that caused me the most heartburn.

Based on her portfolio, I was pretty sure I wanted to use Alexandra as my illustrator, but she also suggested I request samples from multiple illustrators.

I was invigorated and energized after our call.  And had a ton of homework ahead of me.

I knew exactly who I would outreach to request another sample illustration:  a member of that Facebook group who did paper collage. I did mention that “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” is my favorite children’s book, right?

The challenge for both: illustrate Finley’s encounter with Pauly the pufferfish. Where it all began.

While I waited for Alexandra (water color) and Ashleigh (paper collage) to provide me with samples, I familiarized myself with the basics of self-publishing: publishing an eBook, who prints hardcover books, printing in bulk, and POD (Print-On-Demand). 

In a nutshell, and I’m sure they are not the only game in town, but eBooks can be published using Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP).  Bulk printing is primarily done by one company in the US, IngramSpark. And POD means the (hardcover) book can be purchased on Amazon and printed after purchase by IngramSpark.

I always knew I wanted to do a hardcover book rather than paperback.  I love the feel of a hardcover book and I think it’s less destructible than a paperback.  Because … kids.

If you’re reading this, you know I have a blog, Pequeña Vida Loca, and you may even remember I have a photo blog, Pequeño Mundo Loco.  I created a landing page using the same service as my blogs. 

The question was: what to name it?

I thought maybe something related to being a Grams. Or something related to my dogs. But the answer was right in front of me.  Literally.

It made sense to add my publishing company to the Pequeña family.  Thus, Pequeño Books was born.

With Keith’s encouragement, I decided to actually buy the domain for Pequeño Books and now, I somehow … inexplicably … have a website: Pequeño Books

Never stop learning.

I had fun setting up the website but felt that it was almost as basic as the free service I used initially.   Over the course of several months, I’ve added to it – just a little at a time.  And I gotta say, it looks pretty professional.

Both Alexandra of Cornwall and Ashleigh of Zimbabwe (technology!) were due to return their samples to me by the end of January. So I imposed a deadline of the same date to “finish” the draft.

Once the draft was done, I needed to put it in front of some more beta readers that were over the age of 18. I tried to select carefully, considering my friends’ backgrounds.

They consisted of a retired school librarian, a pre-school teacher, a former high school teacher who now tutors students for the SAT/ACT, someone whose second language is English, a good friend who also loves to write, a grandfather (my husband) and someone I used to read to (my son). 

My mom wanted to wait to read it until she’s holding the book in her hands.

I received some really great feedback and they all provided something a little different.

One focused on grammar and punctuation, one cautioned about the number of words I used, while others noticed I had used capitalized letters where I shouldn’t have - capitalized letters that I still didn't see until my chosen illustrator pointed them out many months later.

Many of them actually counted the number of animals that Finley encounters on her overnight adventure.  The number was 13.  Why 13?  No other reason other than the story needed to be 32-pages long, the industry standard for children’s books.

But something was nagging at me. And I couldn’t figure out what it was.

Both Alexandra and Ashleigh provided their samples. Seeing my characters come to life was very emotional. In the absolute best way.

I was so torn. Alexandra had been a great help. But I immediately LOVED Ashleigh’s version of Finley and Pauly the pufferfish.

I shared the two samples with my husband, mom, and son, asking their thoughts. My son reminded me I have a ready-made panel of judges in my grandchildren. 

From there, I shared the samples with one of my Grands who just happened to have spent the night, my friend the pre-school teacher (who shared the samples with her class) and a couple of other friends who have tiny tots.

"Which do you like best?"

Among the full panel of 2-4 year olds, the response was overwhelming: Ashleigh’s paper collage!

I outreached Ashleigh with the news, she readily agreed to illustrate, and we began sorting out contract details. It was difficult to inform Alexandra that I had decided to go in a different direction, but I did ask if I could hang onto her contact details in case I wanted to hire her for a different book. She agreed. Yea!

I read and re-read my story, envisioning each character in paper collage.

And there was that nagging feeling again. No matter how many times I read the story, I came away with the same question. Did the ending “fit” the beginning?

Enter: the editor. My step-daughter, Courtney.

When I announced I was writing a book, she offered to edit it for me and I gladly agreed; after all, her Masters of Education was well-earned and she has a teaching background. Not to mention, the three little people to whom she reads to nightly.

One Sunday afternoon, she and the Grands were over at our house.  She wanted to read the story out loud.  After all, we had an audience!  I had never had MY STORY read to me before.  It was surreal, to say the least.

But I caught a glaring mistake! 

Tree frogs are nocturnal, you see. Yet when Finley met Ernie the elephant, he was flapping his ears in the hot sun.

Courtney took the paper “book” example home (remember how Alexandra had suggested I fold pieces of paper into a book?), with the text printed and pasted on the respective pages.

When she returned it, she had many suggestions that helped to enhance the story. But then there was this:

“Is Finley having an existential crisis?”

I sat on this for a few days, feeling a bit butt-hurt, if I’m being honest. And lost a lot of sleep.

I read and re-read her comments. 

She also stated (something to the effect of), “It’s quite a jump from a bored frog going on an adventure, realizing she can’t do what the other animals do, then boom! Has babies and realizes her purpose.”

Her comments spoke directly to that uneasy feeling I had EVERY TIME I read the story!

Based on those comments, I removed one animal (deciding which one was no easy task but ultimately, Ernie the elephant didn’t make the cut), thus making the number of animals visited, a nice even 12.  I gave Finley a mate (because kids have questions!). And I expanded the ending to show Finley embracing her role as a mom.

The story had come full-circle.

But there was still one thing missing: I needed a title.

Alexandra had suggested that I search for the book title I chose on Amazon.  Not that there’s anything wrong with multiple books having the same title, but you want to be sure that there’s nothing out there that’s, in Alexandra’s words, “risqué”, with the same title as your CHILDREN’S BOOK.

I had long thought “Green with Envy” would be the perfect title.

A couple of my beta readers weren’t sure about using the word “envy” or any form thereof, given the negative connotation. Plus, there was already a children’s book with that title about a blade of grass.

And then it hit me! “Finding Finley”

A quick Amazon search yielded one result. And it was rated X. And included a same-sex couple on the cover. NOT the kind of title I need next to my children’s book.

There were several options, but none were giving me “THIS is it!” vibes. No matter. It doesn’t have to be done right this second.

Once Ashleigh and I signed the contract, she finished her current project and began sketching Finley’s story.

My part was done. Or was it?

For the Love of Bentley

It was September 14, 2014.  Keith and I were out running errands on a Saturday afternoon when we drove past a Petco.

Outside of that store, was a sign that read, “Dog Adoptions Today!” It had been more than three years since we had to help my pug, Dawson, cross the rainbow bridge.  And our shih tzu, Topo, was a little lonely.  Keith asked, “Do you want to stop?”

Well, of course, I did!

But … “It’s already 4:00.  I’m sure all of the goodest boys are gone.” Insert sad, but curious face.

He turned the truck around faster than Mario Andretti can take a turn. (There’s a family joke in here as we often refer to Keith, who likes to take turns on two wheels, as “Mario”.)

We walked into the Petco and right at the door was this little shaggy black shih tzu mix with the cutest underbite you’ve ever seen.  His foster mom picked him up and he snuggled right into her.  

“This one,” Keith said, “is a lover-boy!” 

We found out that the rescue had gotten “Grant” from Animal Care Services (ACS), they aged him to be about two, and initially labeled him a Pekinese.  Now … I don’t know what kind of dog lovers they have working at ACS, but it was clear that “Grant” was NOT a Pekinese.

His foster mom told us he was, in fact, a big cuddler.  He had some kind of allergy issue going on, which they were trying to address with diet. He was house-broken and walked well on a leash.  

“But,” she warned, “he DOES like to eat!”

We looked at the remaining pups, but kept being drawn back to “Grant”.

As I squatted down to pet the precious pooch with the perfectly adorable underbite, Keith asked what I thought.  And if I would like to take him home.

That underbite, though ...

A grin crept across my face.  Is this real life???

“Well YEAH!” in a most “what kind of question is that?” kind-of-way.

A little bit of paperwork, a walk-through of Petco to pick up necessary items to add a pup to our pack, and we loaded “Grant” into our truck.

We hadn’t even made it out of the parking lot, when both of our noses crinkled.  The stench, unbearable. And we rolled the windows down.

It was Grant!  He was the source of the stinkiness!

When we arrived home, introductions were made. Topo appeared excited to have another four-legged family member in the mix.  Grant could’ve cared less.  There was probably barking, of the “get out of my face!” variety.

First things first, and before anything else (including giving him a name), Grant needed a bath!

Bentley's first day home

We tossed around names until finally settling on Bentley.  After all, Keith had always wanted a Bentley.

I can’t recall the other names we considered.  I guess because he always just looked like “Bentley” to me.

Throughout the next several days, we discovered that Bentley’s foster mom was right – the boy had an appetite!

He also had an internal clock that would rival any military drill instructor.

At 5:00 p.m. on the dot, he started barking.  It was, of course, time to eat!  (Remember that voracious appetite?)

Who could say "no" to this face?

He certainly held us accountable, that’s for sure.  Not that we would ever forget to feed our pups, but wow!  He was so accurate, it was scary!

Until he decided that 12 hours between meals was more than enough and he started waking up at 5:00 AM for breakfast!

As two retired people with no reason to get up early, we weren’t his biggest fans.

And so it was decided.  Dinnertime (and thus, breakfast) would be changed to 6:00!

We found he was in fact, the consummate lover-boy.

He loved to snuggle.  To a point.

I’m one of those dog-moms who kisses all over their dogs.  In turn, Bentley would reward me with a guttural noise that sounded like Chewbacca.  

“Oh how cute,” I thought, “He’s talking to me!”

Until he nipped me on the cheek for having loved on him just a little too much. And his imitation of Chewbacca obviously translated to “get out of my face, woman!”

We were amazed that he really was well-trained. 

He walked on a leash like a pro.  And certainly not like Topo, who acted like a wild gazelle being chased by a lion when on-leash. Zig-zag. Zig-zag. Zig-zag.

Bentley sat when instructed (especially if we were talking about treats!). 

And to my recollection, he never had an accident in the house.

He spent most of his days lying in the living room and avoiding Topo at all costs.

Topo would request Bentley to play by way of putting his snout right next to Bentley’s ear and barking incessantly.  Bentley in return, barked back.

And laid there. 

Our housekeeper, who loves our dogs, would vacuum around him.  Because He. Would. Not. Move.  And she laughed.

Thus, earning him the nickname “slug”.

Bentley was also good at scratching.

He scratched. And scratched. And scratched some more. Until his hair came out.

Could it be?  Could Keith and I have just adopted a dog with mange?  Time to visit the vet!

The vet allayed our fears – it’s not mange.  But he IS allergic to something.

Over the next several months, the vet tried one treatment after another after another.

He finally suggested that rather than throwing darts to figure this out, we have a (very expensive) allergy test run.

A couple of weeks later, the good folks at Texas A&M sent the results. 

Dust mites. DUST MITES. Our dog was allergic to dust mites!

To say we were shocked is an understatement! 

Keith was one of 10 kids growing up and his OCD-mom would not allow their home to be dirty.  The house was spotless, every day, even during harvest season.

As for me, I did my fair share of chores growing up.  My mom made sure my sister and I knew what it meant to clean house!

But dust being dust, it does exist, despite ours and our housekeeper’s efforts.

And Bentley was suffering for it.  Our poor Boo-Boo!

Now that we had an answer, what’s the best course of treatment?  Our vet really must’ve liked playing darts!  Because he continued trying various treatments.  

We tried different meds, different foods, and different shampoos. 

Keith and I were tired of making his monthly house payments.

I asked a friend, who is also a vet, but whose office was too far away from our home, what she would suggest.  Her answer was quick: Apoquel.

That afternoon, I phoned our vet and said we would like to try Bentley on this medication.  Our vet balked, stating he still had some other ideas (read: “my kid needs braces”) and that Apoquel was going to be prescribed as a last resort. “No,” I demanded, “we want to try it now!”

He finally agreed, but with the condition that he would need to monitor him for cancerous cells on his body.

Dude.  Really?  Haven’t you grabbed enough of our money?

In about 30 days, and with the addition of an incredible shampoo aimed at treating itchiness, our Bentley-boy had stopped scratching and smelled so much better.

Bentley continued to tolerate Topo.  And by tolerate, I mean they learned to co-exist peacefully, even sharing a bed together.  But Topo didn’t dare ask Bentley to play.

Strangely enough, when we would travel and the dogs would stay with Keith’s daughter, Courtney, and her family, Bentley would literally play with their dog.  There’s even video-evidence of said playtime.  Because honestly, we couldn’t believe it!

He wasn’t completely lazy, oh no!

Mention the word treat, and you were greeted with excited barking and hopping!  Yes, hopping! Like a rabbit!  Hop, Hop, Hop!  And he knew exactly where in the pantry the treats were!

Can you say “food-motivated”?

When he was younger, we often walked into the living room on a number of occasions and found him lounging on the back of the couch or chair (more often the chair because it was close to the window and he liked to look outside).

Even better, was being outside and climbing the waterfall overlooking the pool!

He was quite nimble, apparently.

Until he wasn’t.

As the years went by, he started to show signs of aging.

His hips weren’t always working properly; specifically when he went potty, his left leg slid out a little further than the right – like a kickstand.

And gray hairs began to appear underneath that precious underbite.

The vet thought perhaps he was older than the two years the rescue had aged him at as cataracts were starting to form in his big, beautiful brown eyes.

As for his hips, the vet thought arthritis was settling in and moving up his spine.

But it never once stopped him from alerting us to the time of day.

In February of last year, our old man Topo stopped eating. And we knew it was time to say good-bye.

As any pet owner can tell you, this was an extremely emotional time.  Making decisions that break one’s heart often are.

As I struggled to say good-bye to my Topolino, my Topo, my old man, the one who was my companion after Evan left for college, I saw something happen with Bentley that compounded all of the feelings (because there weren’t enough tears being shed).

Bentley had developed a head bob. 

“That’s not normal,” I thought.

The head bob would occur a few times a week, usually at night. Until they became more regular.  I researched what it could mean and was quite sure there wasn’t much that could be done without an exorbitant amount of money being given to the vet.

A few weeks after Topo passed, we found the cutest little shih tzu puppy.  Again, my husband asked, “What do you think?  Do you like him?”

I mean … what’s not to like about a teeny-tiny little fluffball?

Encanto was a favorite of our Grands at the time, so we decided we most certainly wanted to talk about Bruno!

Introductions between Bentley and Bruno went well, or so we thought. Bruno kept wanting to get close to Bentley, but Bentley kept moving away from him. 

Unfortunately, Bruno became ill just two days after we brought him home. 

We decided we wanted to change veterinarians and a friend suggested we go see hers. “They’re incredibly compassionate and don’t take a bite out of your wallet,” she said.

Bruno’s well-puppy check became a sick-puppy check.

They gave us a pamphlet on Distemper along with prescription puppy food and milk that could be fed to him through a syringe.

Oh! And they aged him at about five weeks old – not the eight weeks that the “breeder” had told us.

After 13 emotionally-draining days of trying to syringe-feed him and staying up at night, holding him up in the mist of the humidifier, Bruno succumbed to the nastiest disease a puppy can experience.

It was heart-breaking.

And we had lost two dogs within a matter of weeks.

Bentley didn’t seem to be overly-concerned. And I can’t help but wonder if he had smelled something on Bruno.  As if he knew.

Shortly thereafter, we found another puppy.  Something to help our hearts heal.

We already had a Bentley, so why not add an Enzo (as in Ferrari) to the mix?

A full-on ball of energy, Enzo has spent countless hours trying to get Bentley to play with him.  He had even gone so far as to take toys to Bentley, placing them in between Bentley’s legs, Enzo lowering himself to the carpet in a show of submission.

And Bentley snarled and barked at him in protest.

By this time, Bentley’s head bob had begun to appear regularly.  And then not-so-regularly. And then regularly again.

A visit to our new vet (who we absolutely LOVE!) told us he believed Bentley’s head bob, along with his “hip issue” was more neurological in nature. He took so much time in watching Bentley walk and reading through and sharing a medical journal with me.

He did agree with our previous vet that Bentley was, in fact, much older than what we were originally told.

After discussing alternatives to treat him (involving a spinal tap and an MRI to the tune of $3000-$4000), we opted for making him comfortable and ensuring he gets his nightly treat right on time. (Though we did have to cut back on his table scraps – his triglycerides were high.)

Little by little, we watched him age right before our eyes.

He was falling often. He was eating less. And he started making these noises that Courtney described as him sounding like a seal.

On that cue, we ran down the checklist:

•          Has he eaten?
•          Is it treat time?
•          Is it close to dinner-time?
•          When was the last time he went out to potty?
•          Does he need a bath?
•          Maybe he wants some cuddles?

His internal clock, which had been so reliable over the last eight years, was now all-kinds-of-off.  He would wake up around 4:30 AM, demanding something (not necessarily food).

He began to have a hard time getting up after having laid on the living room carpet for so many hours at a time.  His little legs stiff and unable to support him. 

He eventually was able to raise himself, stand for a moment as we patiently waited for the wobbling to stop, before he made his move.

And then he would fall.

Towards the end, he was skipping entire meals.

And the falls were more frequent.

He would now spend hours in mine or Keith’s lap.

And he accepted my pestering him with kisses.  He even started kissing me back, something he had rarely done in 8 ½ years.

He even accepted Enzo sticking by his side or laying on top of him as the case may be.

It was time to make yet another painful decision.

From that point, Bentley enjoyed all of the table scraps: bacon, steak, fajitas, and chicken. Topping it off with whipped cream.  To hell with triglyceride levels, right?

And we spent time laying in the sun.  One of his favorite past-times.

After making the call and scheduling Bentley’s final vet visit, he seemed to perk up. He was eating. He was walking well. He wasn’t falling as much.

Once resigned to doing what was best for Bentley, was he proving to us that we had made the wrong decision? I asked Keith no less than 52 times whether we had.

To be honest, when Topo passed, we didn’t expect Bentley to make it to the end of the same month. Then, we thought we’d be lucky if he made it to Summer.  Then, we weren’t sure he’d make it to the end of summer. Then we thought we would lose him before Christmas.

We were lucky enough to get almost 12 more months with him.

Ultimately, we knew his quality of life had decidedly declined and we needed to do what was best for Bentley.

Our Bentley-boy. Our Bentley-Boo. Our slug.

We told him what a good boy he had been. And how much we loved him. We tussled his soft coat, gave him kisses, and said good-bye.

It’s been two weeks since we helped Bentley over the rainbow bridge.

The first few days, I swore I heard him doing his best seal imitation in the next room.  And I still find myself looking for him in his bed at night. 

It’s strange how they become such an ingrained part of our families.  These little balls of fur.  They give us such unconditional love. And comfort when we’re feeling down.

And while the good memories are starting to surface, little-by-little replacing the sadness in my heart, I know I’m going to miss Bentley for a very long time.

He was just one of those dogs. 

And for that, for all of the love he gave us in those short 8 ½ years, it was the least we could do.

A final act of love. For Bentley.