Discovering Art.
When I was a very young lady(say, 19 or so) I had several classes at U.S.F. with Peter B. O'Sullivan, an intellectual, curious man with a build like a fattened longshoreman,(complete with full beard, and twinkling, light Irish eyes).In one of those classes where we discussed art and theories about artistic process(I was a Theatre Major), he contrasted the illustrator, Norman Rockwell, with the painter, Andrew Wyeth. His contention was that although Rockwell could record exact images of homespun Americana, Wyeth was able to reach some other thing, some other place.
Wyeth, I think, revealed, rather than "recorded". He showed the underside,the underbelly of America. Our absolute separate-ness, perhaps.
I grew to love Wyeth and his solemn, potentially depressing pictures.
In an excerpt from the bio I've pasted below, from the AP, Wyeth said:
"I do an awful lot of thinking and dreaming about things in the past and the future — the timelessness of the rocks and the hills — all the people who have existed there," he once said. "I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure in the landscape — the loneliness of it — the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show.
"I think anything like that — which is contemplative, silent, shows a person alone — people always feel is sad. Is it because we've lost the art of being alone?"
Enjoy a bio on him, below, and tell me what you think:
Have we lost the art of being alone?
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
American painter Andrew Wyeth dies at 91
By PATRICK WALTERS, Associated Press Writer Patrick Walters, Associated Press Writer
PHILADELPHIA – Artist Andrew Wyeth, who portrayed the hidden melancholy of the people and landscapes of Pennsylvania's Brandywine Valley and coastal Maine in works such as "Christina's World," died early Friday. He was 91.
Wyeth died in his sleep at his home in the Philadelphia suburb of Chadds Ford, according to Hillary Holland, a spokeswoman for the Brandywine River Museum.
The son of famed painter and book illustrator N.C. Wyeth, Andrew Wyeth gained wealth, acclaim and tremendous popularity. But he chafed under criticism from some experts who regarded him as a facile realist, not an artist but merely an illustrator.
"The world has lost one of the greatest artists of all time," George A. Weymouth, a friend of Wyeth's who is chairman of the board of the Brandywine Conservancy, said in a statement.
A Wyeth retrospective at the Philadelphia Museum of Art in 2006 drew more than 175,000 visitors in 15 1/2 weeks, the highest-ever attendance at the museum for a living artist. The Brandywine River Museum in Chadds Ford, a converted 19th-century grist mill, includes hundreds of works by three generations of Wyeths.
It was in Maine that Wyeth found the subject for "Christina's World," his best-known painting. And it was in Pennsylvania that he met Helga Testorf, a neighbor in his native Chadds Ford who became the subject of the intimate portraits that brought him millions of dollars and a wave of public attention in 1986.
The "Helga" paintings, many of them full-figure nudes, came with a whiff of scandal: Wyeth said he had not even told his wife, Betsy, about the more than 200 paintings and sketches until he had completed them in 1985.
Wyeth's world was as limited in scale, and as rich in associations, as "Christina's World," which shows a disabled woman looking up a grassy rise toward her farm home, her face tantalizingly unseen.
"Really, I think one's art goes only as far and as deep as your love goes," Wyeth said in a Life magazine interview in 1965.
"I don't paint these hills around Chadds Ford because they're better than the hills somewhere else. It's that I was born here, lived here — things have a meaning for me."
Paradoxically, he said, he loved Maine "in spite of its scenery. There's a lot of cornball in that state you have to go through — boats at docks, old fishermen, and shacks with swayback roofs. I hate all that."
Wyeth was a secretive man who spent hours tramping the countryside alone. He painted many portraits, working several times with favorite subjects, but said he disliked having someone else watching him paint.
Much of Wyeth's work had a melancholy feel — aging people and brown, dead plants — but he chose to describe his work as "thoughtful."
"I do an awful lot of thinking and dreaming about things in the past and the future — the timelessness of the rocks and the hills — all the people who have existed there," he once said. "I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure in the landscape — the loneliness of it — the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show.
"I think anything like that — which is contemplative, silent, shows a person alone — people always feel is sad. Is it because we've lost the art of being alone?"
Wyeth remained active in recent years and President George W. Bush presented him with a National Medal of the Arts in 2007.
Wyeth remained active in his 90s, but his granddaughter, Victoria Wyeth, told The Associated Press in 2008 that he no longer gave interviews. "He says, 'Vic, everything I have to say is on the walls,'" she said.
Wyeth was born July 12, 1917, in Chadds Ford, the youngest of N.C. Wyeth's five children. One of his sisters, Henriette, who died in 1997, also became an artist of some note, and one of his two sons, Jamie, became a noted painter in his own right. His other son, Nicholas, became an art dealer.
N.C. Wyeth, the only art teacher Wyeth ever had, didn't always agree with his son's taste.
In a 1986 interview with the AP, Wyeth recalled one of the last paintings he showed to his father, who died in 1945. It was a picture of a young friend walking across a barren field.
"He said, `Andy, that has a nice feel, of a crisp fall morning in New England.' He said, `You've got to do something to make this thing appeal. If you put a dog in it, or maybe have a gun in his hand,'" Wyeth recalled.
"Invariably my father talked about my lack of color."
The low-key colors of Wyeth's work stem partly from his frequent use of tempera, a technique he began using in 1942. Unlike the oil paint used by most artists today, tempera produces a matte effect.
Wyeth had his first success at age 20, with an exhibition of Maine landscapes at a gallery in New York. Two years later he met his future wife, Betsy James.
Betsy Wyeth was a strong influence on her husband's career, serving as his business agent, keeping the world at bay and guiding his career choices.
It was Betsy who introduced Wyeth to Christina Olson. Wyeth befriended the disabled elderly woman and her brother, and practically moved in with them for a series of studies of the house, its environs and its occupants.
The acme of that series was "Christina's World," painted in 1948. It was Olson's house, but the figure was Betsy Wyeth.
Another well-known Wyeth series was made at the home of Karl Kuerner, whose Pennsylvania farm bordered the spot where Wyeth's father was killed in a car-train accident.
Before his father died, Wyeth once said, "I was just a clever watercolorist — lots of swish and swash. ... (Afterward), for the first time in my life I was painting with a real reason to do it." The Kuerner paintings often have an undertone of menace, a heavy ceiling hook or the jagged edge of a log outside a sun-warmed room.
It was at Kuerner's farm that Wyeth met Testorf, a German emigre who cleaned and cooked for Kuerner.
"I could not get out of my mind the image of this Prussian face with its broad jaw, wide-set eyes, blond hair," Wyeth said.
Wyeth painted Testorf from 1970 to 1985, but said didn't show his wife any of the pictures until 1981. In 1985, he revealed the full series to her, and declared he wanted them sold. The buyer, Leonard Andrews, reportedly paid $6 million to $10 million for them.
The Helga paintings created a sensation when their existence was revealed in 1986, in part because many were nudes and because of Betsy Wyeth's provocative answer when asked what the works were about. "Love," she said.
"He's a very secret person. He doesn't pry in my life and I don't pry in his. And it's worth it," she said.
After 1985, Wyeth painted Testorf at least three more times.
The exhibition of the Helga paintings at the National Gallery of Art in Washington drew tens of thousands, but it renewed the dispute between Wyeth's admirers and his equally passionate detractors.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York pointedly refused to accept the exhibition. And it turned out that the original stories about the collection overstated things, since some of the Helga paintings had been exhibited earlier and Betsy Wyeth had been aware of some of them.
Andrews sold the Helga collection in 1990 to a Japanese industrialist for some "40 to 50 million dollars," dealer Warren Adelson said in 2006, when he was handling the private sale of some 200 of the works. Adelson didn't identify the industrialist.
"When people want to bring sex into these images, OK, let 'em," Wyeth was quoted in the catalog to an exhibition Adelson organized. "The heart of the Helga series is that I was trying to unlock my emotions in capturing her essence, in getting her humanity down."
Some critics dismissed Wyeth's art as that of a mere "regionalist." Art critic Hilton Kramer was even more direct, once saying, "In my opinion, he can't paint."
The late J. Carter Brown, who was for many years director of the National Gallery, called such talk "a knee-jerk reaction among intellectuals in this country that if it's popular, it can't be good."
"I think the man's mastery of a variety of techniques is dazzling, and I think the content is in many cases moving," Brown said.
___
Associated Press Writer JoAnn Loviglio contributed to this report.
___
On the Net:
Brandywine River Museum: http://www.brandywinemuseum.org
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Peace, kids.
Showing posts with label Anniversary of Death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anniversary of Death. Show all posts
Friday, January 16, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
IN MEMORIAM
January 15th.....today is the one-year anniversary of our beloved Australian Shepherd, "Frisco" 's death.
I have reprinted the posts about her(there are three, with the original dates shown, below. Read in REVERSE order--her death, then about her life, then her cremation.
I hope you have a hopeful, peace-filled, peaceful day. Treasure the animal companions in your life. As actor Mickey Rourke noted on the Golden Globes telecast(when accepting his award for Best Actor, for "The Wrestler").
"Sometimes, when a man's alone, his dog is his best friend."
We were honored to have "Frisco" for nearly 11 years, and she was a delightful best friend..
Peace, kids.
Here's the entries, reprinted below. If you wish to see PICTURES of "Frisco", please scroll down to "Archives" and click on "January, 2008", and you'll see see a photo of her, and one of both her, and "Louie":
Monday, January 21, 2008
THE CREMATION.
A post-script to the life and death of our beloved "Frisco" means letting you all know how HEALING it was us, to go to Christine Hunsaker's "Paws, Whiskers and Wags" Pet Crematory, located in Decatur.
The lavendar candles lit for calm, the large sitting area where we got to visit with our beloved--one last time-- before cremation, and the fact that we were able to stay during the process, was very reassuring.As is the patented device offered by this facility--an "id" bracelet which is numbered for your companion animal--the stainless steel is impervious to the cremation process, and so you are guaranteed that the remains are YOUR pet's, ALONE-- and no one else's.
We sat inside for a while, and I thought about the tiny bits of fur I'd secretly snipped from her, on Tuesday night, after she'd passed. I hadn't mentioned it to my honey, Hansoo, fearing I would look crazy.To my amazement, just before we released her to the technician, a pair of scissors with a small baggie was handed to me.Tearfully, I asked,"You mean?"
"Some people like to cut some fur, sometimes, from where they would pet them, on their head right behind there..."
the attendant gestured, as her voice trailed off...
"I did cut a bit of fur from there, last night; I thought I was crazy, but I would like a bit more..."
So I gently cut a few bits of Frisco's gorgeous white fur. I always thought it looked like rabbit-fur.Like those jackets many of us, back in the 1980's-- used to wear.I thought how fortunate she never lived in China(where dogs' fur is prized, but dogs' lives, unfortunately, are not.).
I snipped, and then looking at her markings of brown, the technician said"Would you like more brown?" And I said "Yes." And I snipped until I had a little bag of fur.
Hansoo and I spent the next hour and a half discussing our love of dogs with Amy, a lovely, kind young woman, an employee whose job it is apparently to offer comfort. She hugged me numerous times as I broke down discussing our love for our girl, "Frisco".
Hansoo and I read a few newspaper articles posted at the facility, which described Christine Hunsaker, the owner, as a true animal-lover and a person who wanted to make a difference in the business of helping other bereaved "parents" of companion animals.
We met that owner, moments later, and we watched as she oversaw the entire process.
Hansoo and I looked at the choice of urns--all were gorgeous, but I wanted a simple container, something we could place a picture of her, in.
She was returned to us, her remains now sealed in a clear bag, looking like crushed shells, pearly, jewel-like.Dry, cold, white.
A bit scary, but pure. And true.
We decided on a medium sized mahogany box, a "Howard Miller". (our Grandfather clock is his design).
It turned out to be a gorgeous choice of color, given "Frisco's" own reddish-brown coloring...
Hansoo placed a picture of her in the space for just that, once we returned home. Big amber eyes are looking out at us, from the cover of the box.Inside, on top--a poem written for our sweet girl, (provided by "Paws, Whiskers, and Wags"), and underneath the inside cover, her ashes--still sealed in the bag--along with her red collar and heart-i.d.-tag, which Hansoo lovingly placed there.
"Louie" misses "Frisco".He still sniffs her sofa every day. He wags his tail. Looks around. And he jumps on her sofa often, to lie there.
I think he's keeping it warm for her.
Maybe he thinks she's coming home.
I feel like she already has.
Posted by Lisa Allender at 11:21 PM 2 comments
Labels: MLK Day;Atlanta;Paws, Whiskers and Wags; Ms. Christine Hunsaker
Thursday, January 17, 2008
"Frisco"
April, 1997 (ours, as of May, 1997) - Jan. 15th, 2008
I wanted to detail a bit about "Frisco" and her LIFE, since you all have learned about her death, in my previous post.
We received her into our lives in Lithia Springs, from a working farm where several puppies were for sale, and we were delighted to see several healthy, gorgeous little loves to choose from.
The farm featured a huge male, who was Frisco's Daddy, who safely and lovingly herded chickens(!!) in a large cooped-area.
Hansoo selected the largest one, a reddish 5-and-a-half-week-old female Aussie with clear blue eyes(they later turned amber).Although under 8 weeks is not considered a great time to obtain a dog(their social-skills with other animals are developed between the ages of 6-8 weeks), we did not know that, at that time, and so, we scooped up the most "alpha" one of the pack--she had freely walked away from her siblings and mother-- and jumped with joy when she saw us!
She rode in our laundry basket 'til we arrived at our then-home, a small apartment in Dunwoody.
We set up a small crate with an alarm-clock(simulates a beating heart, like their mother's) and stuffed animals, and she whimpered a tiny bit the first night. Then she started chewing the table legs, the blinds on the windows, etc.
This ended quickly:
See Quick safety note: keep ALL hanging cords OUT of a toddler(or pet's) reach.It's a real hazard.
And freeze a few clean, wet socks for when a pet is "teething"-once they are out of the freezer, it SOOTHES their gums, and is an easy "toy" for them to enjoy, safely!
Training her with newspapers lasted only a day.I put papers down, and grabbed her when she appeared ready to do her "business".I placed her on the ground, and after she finished, praised her with pettting, and my high-register, "good girl, good girl, Frisco" voice.
The very next time she had to go, she simply strolled up to the door,looked at me, and barked(I never taught her to let me know).She was only 8 weeks old.
I trained her to use her crate for sleeping.
I had more than a few cuts from her nips, and severe scratches from her jumps on me-- her "herding" instinct, acted out on own tender calves and heels!
After a few more months, Frisco was becoming a bit heavy for me to easily carry her up and down the stairs outside. Hansoo asked "Why are you carrying her?"
"Well, she can't walk down, honey, she'd fall."
"You mean you're STILL carrying her up and down the stairs?"
It turns out, Hansoo was letting her walk up and down herself, and she was fine with it.
The instant I walked out onto the landing, with her in front of me, she looked up at me, made no move to continue down the stairs, and whined for me to pick her up.
She loved being "babied" by me, but from then on, I tried to walk side-by-side.
Frisco continued to be a bit of a challenge. She would pull on the leash when I was walking her, or simply sit and stare at me, until I gave in and went in the direction SHE chose.
I got no respect.
So, we called a "dominance expert".
Mark S. worked with me on how to reduce Frisco's dominance with me.
He had strong suggestions, but guaranteed they would work, and they did:
I had to stop feeding her FIRST. Instead,I was to eat MY meal, do dishes, etc. let her watch, then prepare her food, and after she quieted down, feed her.
Next, I could not play with her when SHE brought the ball to me. Instead, I had to "initiate" all play, so I would be viewed as being 'in control' of the toys, and hence--all play.
And I had to place all toys OUT OF REACH, where she could see them, but not get them.
I was appalled.
And I balked. "I can't do that, it's cruel--she's my baby, and I want her to play with me."
"Right now, she's training YOU, Lisa.".
was Mark S.'s stern reply.
Oh--and I was advised to--whenever she got too "assertive" with me(trying to jump up on me, or nip my heels)-- to straddle the dog and move back-and-forth in a "humping" motion.
Of course, this was fine in the privacy of the apartment when I had to correct her, but of course, the inevitable occured-- outside one day-- as we prepared to go for a walk...
We were at the bottom of the stairs that led to my apartment, in broad daylight, around noon, I'd say. Suddenly, she began jumping into the air, resisting both the leash, and me. So....I sprung into action. Carefully placing one leg over either side of her, I began a slow and rythmic "humping" motion, in an effort to be perceived as "dominant", and "alpha" in her eyes. Unfortunately, at this exact moment, one of the many other apartment-dwellers came out, looked at me strangely, and said nothing. I quickly explained to this young(in his 30's, conservatively dressed)man:
"Oh--I have to do this; I'm showing her who's boss."
"I beg your pardon?" was his polite reply.
"You know, the Domination-expert told me to do this."
"Sure, okay." He said, looking rather frightened of me.
"I'm training her."
"Where's your boyfriend?" he began."Is he away on business again?"
"Oh, yes--that's why I have to do this."
He stared at me.
"I mean, because he's the Alpha, but when he's not here, I have to be Alpha."
"Look, I don't judge anyone," he said, clearly deciding I was some sort of raging pervert.
"You don't understand. We paid the Domination expert--it's $100.00 for an hour of his time. He's an expert. With dogs."
" Okay, you have a great day, Miss."
Although I saw him several times after that, he never said another word to me....
Shortly after this, I had gone to the dentist for a sore mouth/hurt tooth. I was given pain meds. I was careful to tuck them away, high on a shelf in a closet, so Frisco could not possibly get them, if she were to suddenly become interested. The next morning, I readied myself for work(at the time, I worked at the fab Border's Books in Dunwoody)and when I stepped out of the shower, I heard a "crunching" sound--Frisco had jumped on a shoe-box, and sniffed her way around, tipping over the box at the top of the closet, and knocked the pain pills onto the floor.
The BOTTLE is what she was crunching on, and when she looked up at me, she looked like some kind of cocaine-freak. Wild-eyed, with white powder all over her nose. I screamed, called the vet's and explained. I read them the description of the pain medicine. "Please bring her in immediately." they said.
I was shaking, crying, screaming for Frisco to "Get in your crate."
It's the ONLY time she appeared frightened of me, and she definitely did what I said.
My Mom happened to live just minutes from me.She offered to drive Frisco for me.
I called work, hysterical.
"What's wrong, Lisa?...Calm down..."Were you raped, or attacked?I can't understand you.."
"It's my dog--she ate pain medicine. It may kill her."
I was wailing now.
"Take the day off, no problem. Good Luck, Lisa."
I met up with a dear friend, Dave S., who took me over to the vets' and I waited 'til they told me most of what came up(after being examined) was raw-hide bits. I'd been lucky. Her curiousity had not killed her.
After that, all doors shut & locked. No exceptions.
The tennis ball obsession began at this time, too. There were the obligatory suburban-Atlanta tennis courts everywhere, and lots of players would cheerfully toss a ball to Frisco, and she would fetch immediately.
Later, when we moved to Suwanne-- and a house with a huge backyard-- she found a mound where she could literally "pitch" the ball to me, by holding it with her paw on the ground, and then while watching me, decide WHEN to let it roll down to where I stood.
Anyone who watched her do this, was amazed, as it truly appeared that she was "considering" when to best let the ball roll, often letting it loose, then grabbing it suddenly to stop it, mid-roll, with her paw, hence "feigning" a throw to me!!!
Alas, she was ALWAYS the pitcher, I always the receiver.
Frisco, despite my best efforts, would always be an "alpha" dog. At least over me.
When we adopted "Louie" from the Golden Retreiver Rescue Association,(previously named "Chewy", but we felt that a bad omen), she welcomed him--but only as a subject to 'herd' .
Because she had few skills with other animals, she was MOST comfortable with humans only.
Although Louie loved "the Frisk" very much, he was baffled every time he performed the ritual known as the "play-bow"
(meaning every move after that is "play", not serious)
and tried to nudge her with a sock or toy into active play. She would turn around quite annoyed, and snarl a bit, or simply bark 'til he left her alone.
It would be akin to someone I know approaching me in a pub, patting me on the back, or hugging me, and my returning the affection by suddenly biting them.
But they grew closer. Louie would whine when Frisco left the room. He'd cry when she was away for a day at the vet's for an occasional itch on her cute paws.
When we moved here to Alpharetta, a little over two years ago, Frisco was thrilled with the new location--a Greenway to run/walk on, and a pond nearby, too! She cheerfully went on walks with Louie and me.
Neighbors have been amused with her "bouncing" the tennis ball on her nose, a la a seal(which we never taught her to do).
Often, I saw her nudging the ball from the ground, into the air, and then catching it for her own private amusement.
Her last "big" performance was her appearance, with "the Lou" at our wedding, last February. Her fur was shaved-down(she seemed to like it that way), and everyone thought she looked like a puppy.
Both entered the ceremony courtesy of Danny M., family friend, as the rings were about to be exchanged.
We just wanted her to be a part of it. A part of our love, our life. And so she has.
Posted by Lisa Allender at 1:56 PM 4 comments
Labels: Frisco;Wedding Ceremony;Dominance Expert; Dog Behavior;Alpha-Dogs;Dog-Training;Safety with Pets and Children;
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
A DAY IN THE (END OF) THE LIFE OF "FRISCO"
We knew something was wrong when the greeting from one of our dogs was a mere stare.No butt-wag(our Australian Shepherd, "Frisco", had a docked tail when got her), no excitement, just a stare and a slow walk towards us. And she looked "swollen", was drinking LOTS of water... It was Sunday afternoon, and we called our veterinarian's office, and went in the very next morning(Monday).
Tests were run, but there were still lots of questions. We let our wonderful vets, Dr. Karolyn and Dr. Mike take her home, to keep an eye on her.
They thought there could be "blood in her abdomen", but had no explanation(yet).
The tests(including a needle-biopsy which revealed BLOOD in her abdomen on Monday night) on Tuesday revealed a need for "exploratory" surgery, which Dr. Mike explained could mean a tumor in the spleen(the area swollen), or a ruptured spleen.
We gave permission for surgery, and even went back over-- just to see her-- to see how she was doing, and we were delighted to see she looked much improved(less swollen, due to iv's flushing her system) from Monday, and felt confident she could withstand any surgery, and would thrive after having her spleen removed.We gave permission for surgery, and hoped.
Unfortunately, her spleen had "a tumor the size of a honeydew melon" as Dr. Mike(he is such a talented surgeon, that he has done a successful hip-replacement for a client's gerbil.Really.)put it.
"Frisco" also had numerous nodules spread throughout her body--liver, kidneys, intestines--apparently, a cancer of the spleen, which had spread quietly, with NO symptoms at all.The prognosis:
she MIGHT live up to six days, but the next three would be i-v's, intensive-care, with the possibilty of death by seizure, or blood-loss(she had lost almost 3/4 of all her blood, due to damage to her organs from the cancer--we saw her nearly WHITE gums).
There is virtually NO chance it was NOT cancer(and even if the numerous nodules were NOT cancer, they would still kill her--painfully-- by cutting off her organs, possibly causing more internal bleeding, and seizures, within days!).
I chose to see the surgery photos, and the removed tumor itself(I could not believe it could live inside a medium-sized dog! It was not sickening to see, but certainly, it was scary--and necessary-- for me, as I was still in denial about this, having had only a few hours to absorb all this information.)
We had to make a choice of euthanasia--ending her life, by use of a tube inserted, or letting her suffer, and see if she would get lucky and die quickly.
We had a "paw-print" made(her right paw), which this vet's office does as a kindness when a pet is near death.It is on a piece of ceramic, and needs to dry for a month, and then the "print" can be painted, if you wish...
We chose to euthanize her.But I did NOT want it done at the vet's.
It's not her favorite place, and it is not home...
I wanted her home, and said so.This meant taking our chances that she'd live until Dr. Mike could bring her to us(we went in-person to fetch her home, but he could not release her to us, as the possibility of a seizure or other cause of death was so great, it would've been dangerous/painful for her, and hurtful for us, as we would be unable to help her in any way).
So, he agreed to put her in his vehicle, and drive her over to our house before going to his own home(and imagine how tired he must have been, several surgeries all day, and now this. It would have been completely understandable if he'd said "no" to my request, but he said "yes.")
We would do this final act of care, together. He finished working at the animal hospital with his other furry patients, and arrived at our house at around 8:45 P.M....
I'd been petting "Louie"--
the Golden Retreiver we adopted from the Golden Retreiver Rescue, just about a year-and-a-half after we got "Frisco"(we wanted her to have a playmate--I think she wanted someone to "herd")--
telling him what a good boy he was, and preparing "Frisco" 's bed for her:
extra towels(practical, as there is "release" of all kinds(yuck-y kinds)in death, and extra towels would be comfy and cozy for her, too), laying out my silky-robe that I usually wear when I put her to bed every night, and sprinkling a bit of peppermint oil around, so the scent she loved would be there for her.
I brought the hand-puppet "santa-doggie" downstairs(it barks when you press it)and put it near her sofa(if you've been to our house, you know each dog has their "own" sofa, in the basement, to sleep on).
Hansoo and Dr. Mike carried "the Frisk" as we called her, downstairs.She was groggy from pain-medicine, but perked up a tiny bit when she saw us.
"Louie" greeted her, but seemed to sense something was wrong."Frisco" was adamant, as she usually is, that "Louie" not pester her.He kissed her face submissively, and left.
I put my silky-robe on, over my jeans and t-shirt.
She was in a large laundry-basket, which felt very circular to me, as when we bought her from a working farm in Lithia Springs, in May, 1997, she was 5 and a half-weeks old, and curled up in a laundry basket we'd brought with us.
I think Dr. Mike thought he & Hansoo would simply place the basket on the sofa, but I told them I wanted her to feel "...like she's just going to bed, to sleep, like always.This is her home."
And as if on cue, she tried to stand up, and looked over the edge of the basket, at her sofa, trying to step out of the basket, and into the bed she's slept in for the past several years. They scooped her up, placed her on her sofa, and I sqeaked the santa-doggie-puppet whereupon she perked her ears up, and then began to close her eyes. I tried once more. This time, no reaction. She tried to doze off. Hansoo placed her favorite tennis ball next to her mouth, and she did that "Frisco" smile, lips curled up, sheepish grin....
"Louie" went outside to do his "business", as I asked Dr. Mike if I could lower the lights("Of course--do what you need to do.I went to one client's house, and they had candles burning everywhere;it felt like a seance."
That was a nice moment of levity, which I dearly needed)
I said:
"Please don't laugh, but I sing to her at night--lullabies--
He replied he wouldn't, and I began:"Rock-a-bye, Frisco, in the treetops, when the wind blows, the Frisco will rock..."." and I stroked her warm, very wavy brown and white fur, told her what a good dog she is, how grateful I am to have her, how she taught me how to love, how to give more."
I saw Dr. Mike insert something "Oh? Are you starting?" "No, it's just a saline flush.."
"Oh."
I asked Hansoo to come pet her, touch her "..last chance.."
He sobbed, but sighed, and said "We love you Frisk, you're a good girl."
Her eyes were half-closed. She was falling asleep as I sang to her. Her eyes closed. Dr. Mike inserted the sodium pentathol(I think that's the correct concoction) and she passed very quickly(less than 20 seconds, or so it seemed.)
Dr. Mike stayed near me. It struck me that we were both kneeling at Frisco's feet. She was a kind of dog-altar, I think.
Dr. Mike wandered off for a moment, for Hansoo & I to hold her.
We had thoughtfully decided to put "Louie" outside. He was walking around, occasionally watching through the glass doors.
I thanked her for being a big part of my life, for nearly 11 years.
I asked Dr. Mike how I could have her eyes shut "all the way".He told me "After rigor, in about one hour.Just hold her lids closed for about one minute.That should do it."
I thanked him for "giving us a gift."
"I think you gave a gift.", he said.
I started to cry, but didn't. I didn't cry.
"Frisco" passed at 9:11 P.M. tonight, and we wrapped her in towels, and she's still warm. I dislike the "antiseptic-ness" of modern-day-death-dealing, and so I had already explained to Dr. Mike that I'd spend a bit of time with her after her death.(my Mom, when I told her on the phone what I had planned for tonight, warned "...that's kind of creepy.." but I responded, confidentally, "Well, everyone grieves in different ways. I want to hold her, after she's gone, too. I want to know she's gone."
Rather defensively, I added, "I'm not crazy."
I visited her three times, and I'm glad I could.
Compare it to a "viewing" for humans--which is often necessary for what we weakly term 'closure', and you'll get the idea.
She's still warm, and she is becoming rigid, stiff, no longer my dog.A shell of her former self.
"Louie", who sniffed her, kissed her face with his pink tongue, and then scampered outside with me, was next to me, in the dark, as I gazed up at the moon. A half-moon, like half-closed eyes, somewhere between this world, and the next.
I love you "Frisco". Good girl. And goodbye. Thanks for loving us.
Posted by Lisa Allender at 1:41 AM 6 comments
Labels: "Frisco, our dog";Euthanasia for Companion Animals;Cancer of the Spleen in Dogs;Grief;
I have reprinted the posts about her(there are three, with the original dates shown, below. Read in REVERSE order--her death, then about her life, then her cremation.
I hope you have a hopeful, peace-filled, peaceful day. Treasure the animal companions in your life. As actor Mickey Rourke noted on the Golden Globes telecast(when accepting his award for Best Actor, for "The Wrestler").
"Sometimes, when a man's alone, his dog is his best friend."
We were honored to have "Frisco" for nearly 11 years, and she was a delightful best friend..
Peace, kids.
Here's the entries, reprinted below. If you wish to see PICTURES of "Frisco", please scroll down to "Archives" and click on "January, 2008", and you'll see see a photo of her, and one of both her, and "Louie":
Monday, January 21, 2008
THE CREMATION.
A post-script to the life and death of our beloved "Frisco" means letting you all know how HEALING it was us, to go to Christine Hunsaker's "Paws, Whiskers and Wags" Pet Crematory, located in Decatur.
The lavendar candles lit for calm, the large sitting area where we got to visit with our beloved--one last time-- before cremation, and the fact that we were able to stay during the process, was very reassuring.As is the patented device offered by this facility--an "id" bracelet which is numbered for your companion animal--the stainless steel is impervious to the cremation process, and so you are guaranteed that the remains are YOUR pet's, ALONE-- and no one else's.
We sat inside for a while, and I thought about the tiny bits of fur I'd secretly snipped from her, on Tuesday night, after she'd passed. I hadn't mentioned it to my honey, Hansoo, fearing I would look crazy.To my amazement, just before we released her to the technician, a pair of scissors with a small baggie was handed to me.Tearfully, I asked,"You mean?"
"Some people like to cut some fur, sometimes, from where they would pet them, on their head right behind there..."
the attendant gestured, as her voice trailed off...
"I did cut a bit of fur from there, last night; I thought I was crazy, but I would like a bit more..."
So I gently cut a few bits of Frisco's gorgeous white fur. I always thought it looked like rabbit-fur.Like those jackets many of us, back in the 1980's-- used to wear.I thought how fortunate she never lived in China(where dogs' fur is prized, but dogs' lives, unfortunately, are not.).
I snipped, and then looking at her markings of brown, the technician said"Would you like more brown?" And I said "Yes." And I snipped until I had a little bag of fur.
Hansoo and I spent the next hour and a half discussing our love of dogs with Amy, a lovely, kind young woman, an employee whose job it is apparently to offer comfort. She hugged me numerous times as I broke down discussing our love for our girl, "Frisco".
Hansoo and I read a few newspaper articles posted at the facility, which described Christine Hunsaker, the owner, as a true animal-lover and a person who wanted to make a difference in the business of helping other bereaved "parents" of companion animals.
We met that owner, moments later, and we watched as she oversaw the entire process.
Hansoo and I looked at the choice of urns--all were gorgeous, but I wanted a simple container, something we could place a picture of her, in.
She was returned to us, her remains now sealed in a clear bag, looking like crushed shells, pearly, jewel-like.Dry, cold, white.
A bit scary, but pure. And true.
We decided on a medium sized mahogany box, a "Howard Miller". (our Grandfather clock is his design).
It turned out to be a gorgeous choice of color, given "Frisco's" own reddish-brown coloring...
Hansoo placed a picture of her in the space for just that, once we returned home. Big amber eyes are looking out at us, from the cover of the box.Inside, on top--a poem written for our sweet girl, (provided by "Paws, Whiskers, and Wags"), and underneath the inside cover, her ashes--still sealed in the bag--along with her red collar and heart-i.d.-tag, which Hansoo lovingly placed there.
"Louie" misses "Frisco".He still sniffs her sofa every day. He wags his tail. Looks around. And he jumps on her sofa often, to lie there.
I think he's keeping it warm for her.
Maybe he thinks she's coming home.
I feel like she already has.
Posted by Lisa Allender at 11:21 PM 2 comments
Labels: MLK Day;Atlanta;Paws, Whiskers and Wags; Ms. Christine Hunsaker
Thursday, January 17, 2008
"Frisco"
April, 1997 (ours, as of May, 1997) - Jan. 15th, 2008
I wanted to detail a bit about "Frisco" and her LIFE, since you all have learned about her death, in my previous post.
We received her into our lives in Lithia Springs, from a working farm where several puppies were for sale, and we were delighted to see several healthy, gorgeous little loves to choose from.
The farm featured a huge male, who was Frisco's Daddy, who safely and lovingly herded chickens(!!) in a large cooped-area.
Hansoo selected the largest one, a reddish 5-and-a-half-week-old female Aussie with clear blue eyes(they later turned amber).Although under 8 weeks is not considered a great time to obtain a dog(their social-skills with other animals are developed between the ages of 6-8 weeks), we did not know that, at that time, and so, we scooped up the most "alpha" one of the pack--she had freely walked away from her siblings and mother-- and jumped with joy when she saw us!
She rode in our laundry basket 'til we arrived at our then-home, a small apartment in Dunwoody.
We set up a small crate with an alarm-clock(simulates a beating heart, like their mother's) and stuffed animals, and she whimpered a tiny bit the first night. Then she started chewing the table legs, the blinds on the windows, etc.
This ended quickly:
See Quick safety note: keep ALL hanging cords OUT of a toddler(or pet's) reach.It's a real hazard.
And freeze a few clean, wet socks for when a pet is "teething"-once they are out of the freezer, it SOOTHES their gums, and is an easy "toy" for them to enjoy, safely!
Training her with newspapers lasted only a day.I put papers down, and grabbed her when she appeared ready to do her "business".I placed her on the ground, and after she finished, praised her with pettting, and my high-register, "good girl, good girl, Frisco" voice.
The very next time she had to go, she simply strolled up to the door,looked at me, and barked(I never taught her to let me know).She was only 8 weeks old.
I trained her to use her crate for sleeping.
I had more than a few cuts from her nips, and severe scratches from her jumps on me-- her "herding" instinct, acted out on own tender calves and heels!
After a few more months, Frisco was becoming a bit heavy for me to easily carry her up and down the stairs outside. Hansoo asked "Why are you carrying her?"
"Well, she can't walk down, honey, she'd fall."
"You mean you're STILL carrying her up and down the stairs?"
It turns out, Hansoo was letting her walk up and down herself, and she was fine with it.
The instant I walked out onto the landing, with her in front of me, she looked up at me, made no move to continue down the stairs, and whined for me to pick her up.
She loved being "babied" by me, but from then on, I tried to walk side-by-side.
Frisco continued to be a bit of a challenge. She would pull on the leash when I was walking her, or simply sit and stare at me, until I gave in and went in the direction SHE chose.
I got no respect.
So, we called a "dominance expert".
Mark S. worked with me on how to reduce Frisco's dominance with me.
He had strong suggestions, but guaranteed they would work, and they did:
I had to stop feeding her FIRST. Instead,I was to eat MY meal, do dishes, etc. let her watch, then prepare her food, and after she quieted down, feed her.
Next, I could not play with her when SHE brought the ball to me. Instead, I had to "initiate" all play, so I would be viewed as being 'in control' of the toys, and hence--all play.
And I had to place all toys OUT OF REACH, where she could see them, but not get them.
I was appalled.
And I balked. "I can't do that, it's cruel--she's my baby, and I want her to play with me."
"Right now, she's training YOU, Lisa.".
was Mark S.'s stern reply.
Oh--and I was advised to--whenever she got too "assertive" with me(trying to jump up on me, or nip my heels)-- to straddle the dog and move back-and-forth in a "humping" motion.
Of course, this was fine in the privacy of the apartment when I had to correct her, but of course, the inevitable occured-- outside one day-- as we prepared to go for a walk...
We were at the bottom of the stairs that led to my apartment, in broad daylight, around noon, I'd say. Suddenly, she began jumping into the air, resisting both the leash, and me. So....I sprung into action. Carefully placing one leg over either side of her, I began a slow and rythmic "humping" motion, in an effort to be perceived as "dominant", and "alpha" in her eyes. Unfortunately, at this exact moment, one of the many other apartment-dwellers came out, looked at me strangely, and said nothing. I quickly explained to this young(in his 30's, conservatively dressed)man:
"Oh--I have to do this; I'm showing her who's boss."
"I beg your pardon?" was his polite reply.
"You know, the Domination-expert told me to do this."
"Sure, okay." He said, looking rather frightened of me.
"I'm training her."
"Where's your boyfriend?" he began."Is he away on business again?"
"Oh, yes--that's why I have to do this."
He stared at me.
"I mean, because he's the Alpha, but when he's not here, I have to be Alpha."
"Look, I don't judge anyone," he said, clearly deciding I was some sort of raging pervert.
"You don't understand. We paid the Domination expert--it's $100.00 for an hour of his time. He's an expert. With dogs."
" Okay, you have a great day, Miss."
Although I saw him several times after that, he never said another word to me....
Shortly after this, I had gone to the dentist for a sore mouth/hurt tooth. I was given pain meds. I was careful to tuck them away, high on a shelf in a closet, so Frisco could not possibly get them, if she were to suddenly become interested. The next morning, I readied myself for work(at the time, I worked at the fab Border's Books in Dunwoody)and when I stepped out of the shower, I heard a "crunching" sound--Frisco had jumped on a shoe-box, and sniffed her way around, tipping over the box at the top of the closet, and knocked the pain pills onto the floor.
The BOTTLE is what she was crunching on, and when she looked up at me, she looked like some kind of cocaine-freak. Wild-eyed, with white powder all over her nose. I screamed, called the vet's and explained. I read them the description of the pain medicine. "Please bring her in immediately." they said.
I was shaking, crying, screaming for Frisco to "Get in your crate."
It's the ONLY time she appeared frightened of me, and she definitely did what I said.
My Mom happened to live just minutes from me.She offered to drive Frisco for me.
I called work, hysterical.
"What's wrong, Lisa?...Calm down..."Were you raped, or attacked?I can't understand you.."
"It's my dog--she ate pain medicine. It may kill her."
I was wailing now.
"Take the day off, no problem. Good Luck, Lisa."
I met up with a dear friend, Dave S., who took me over to the vets' and I waited 'til they told me most of what came up(after being examined) was raw-hide bits. I'd been lucky. Her curiousity had not killed her.
After that, all doors shut & locked. No exceptions.
The tennis ball obsession began at this time, too. There were the obligatory suburban-Atlanta tennis courts everywhere, and lots of players would cheerfully toss a ball to Frisco, and she would fetch immediately.
Later, when we moved to Suwanne-- and a house with a huge backyard-- she found a mound where she could literally "pitch" the ball to me, by holding it with her paw on the ground, and then while watching me, decide WHEN to let it roll down to where I stood.
Anyone who watched her do this, was amazed, as it truly appeared that she was "considering" when to best let the ball roll, often letting it loose, then grabbing it suddenly to stop it, mid-roll, with her paw, hence "feigning" a throw to me!!!
Alas, she was ALWAYS the pitcher, I always the receiver.
Frisco, despite my best efforts, would always be an "alpha" dog. At least over me.
When we adopted "Louie" from the Golden Retreiver Rescue Association,(previously named "Chewy", but we felt that a bad omen), she welcomed him--but only as a subject to 'herd' .
Because she had few skills with other animals, she was MOST comfortable with humans only.
Although Louie loved "the Frisk" very much, he was baffled every time he performed the ritual known as the "play-bow"
(meaning every move after that is "play", not serious)
and tried to nudge her with a sock or toy into active play. She would turn around quite annoyed, and snarl a bit, or simply bark 'til he left her alone.
It would be akin to someone I know approaching me in a pub, patting me on the back, or hugging me, and my returning the affection by suddenly biting them.
But they grew closer. Louie would whine when Frisco left the room. He'd cry when she was away for a day at the vet's for an occasional itch on her cute paws.
When we moved here to Alpharetta, a little over two years ago, Frisco was thrilled with the new location--a Greenway to run/walk on, and a pond nearby, too! She cheerfully went on walks with Louie and me.
Neighbors have been amused with her "bouncing" the tennis ball on her nose, a la a seal(which we never taught her to do).
Often, I saw her nudging the ball from the ground, into the air, and then catching it for her own private amusement.
Her last "big" performance was her appearance, with "the Lou" at our wedding, last February. Her fur was shaved-down(she seemed to like it that way), and everyone thought she looked like a puppy.
Both entered the ceremony courtesy of Danny M., family friend, as the rings were about to be exchanged.
We just wanted her to be a part of it. A part of our love, our life. And so she has.
Posted by Lisa Allender at 1:56 PM 4 comments
Labels: Frisco;Wedding Ceremony;Dominance Expert; Dog Behavior;Alpha-Dogs;Dog-Training;Safety with Pets and Children;
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
A DAY IN THE (END OF) THE LIFE OF "FRISCO"
We knew something was wrong when the greeting from one of our dogs was a mere stare.No butt-wag(our Australian Shepherd, "Frisco", had a docked tail when got her), no excitement, just a stare and a slow walk towards us. And she looked "swollen", was drinking LOTS of water... It was Sunday afternoon, and we called our veterinarian's office, and went in the very next morning(Monday).
Tests were run, but there were still lots of questions. We let our wonderful vets, Dr. Karolyn and Dr. Mike take her home, to keep an eye on her.
They thought there could be "blood in her abdomen", but had no explanation(yet).
The tests(including a needle-biopsy which revealed BLOOD in her abdomen on Monday night) on Tuesday revealed a need for "exploratory" surgery, which Dr. Mike explained could mean a tumor in the spleen(the area swollen), or a ruptured spleen.
We gave permission for surgery, and even went back over-- just to see her-- to see how she was doing, and we were delighted to see she looked much improved(less swollen, due to iv's flushing her system) from Monday, and felt confident she could withstand any surgery, and would thrive after having her spleen removed.We gave permission for surgery, and hoped.
Unfortunately, her spleen had "a tumor the size of a honeydew melon" as Dr. Mike(he is such a talented surgeon, that he has done a successful hip-replacement for a client's gerbil.Really.)put it.
"Frisco" also had numerous nodules spread throughout her body--liver, kidneys, intestines--apparently, a cancer of the spleen, which had spread quietly, with NO symptoms at all.The prognosis:
she MIGHT live up to six days, but the next three would be i-v's, intensive-care, with the possibilty of death by seizure, or blood-loss(she had lost almost 3/4 of all her blood, due to damage to her organs from the cancer--we saw her nearly WHITE gums).
There is virtually NO chance it was NOT cancer(and even if the numerous nodules were NOT cancer, they would still kill her--painfully-- by cutting off her organs, possibly causing more internal bleeding, and seizures, within days!).
I chose to see the surgery photos, and the removed tumor itself(I could not believe it could live inside a medium-sized dog! It was not sickening to see, but certainly, it was scary--and necessary-- for me, as I was still in denial about this, having had only a few hours to absorb all this information.)
We had to make a choice of euthanasia--ending her life, by use of a tube inserted, or letting her suffer, and see if she would get lucky and die quickly.
We had a "paw-print" made(her right paw), which this vet's office does as a kindness when a pet is near death.It is on a piece of ceramic, and needs to dry for a month, and then the "print" can be painted, if you wish...
We chose to euthanize her.But I did NOT want it done at the vet's.
It's not her favorite place, and it is not home...
I wanted her home, and said so.This meant taking our chances that she'd live until Dr. Mike could bring her to us(we went in-person to fetch her home, but he could not release her to us, as the possibility of a seizure or other cause of death was so great, it would've been dangerous/painful for her, and hurtful for us, as we would be unable to help her in any way).
So, he agreed to put her in his vehicle, and drive her over to our house before going to his own home(and imagine how tired he must have been, several surgeries all day, and now this. It would have been completely understandable if he'd said "no" to my request, but he said "yes.")
We would do this final act of care, together. He finished working at the animal hospital with his other furry patients, and arrived at our house at around 8:45 P.M....
I'd been petting "Louie"--
the Golden Retreiver we adopted from the Golden Retreiver Rescue, just about a year-and-a-half after we got "Frisco"(we wanted her to have a playmate--I think she wanted someone to "herd")--
telling him what a good boy he was, and preparing "Frisco" 's bed for her:
extra towels(practical, as there is "release" of all kinds(yuck-y kinds)in death, and extra towels would be comfy and cozy for her, too), laying out my silky-robe that I usually wear when I put her to bed every night, and sprinkling a bit of peppermint oil around, so the scent she loved would be there for her.
I brought the hand-puppet "santa-doggie" downstairs(it barks when you press it)and put it near her sofa(if you've been to our house, you know each dog has their "own" sofa, in the basement, to sleep on).
Hansoo and Dr. Mike carried "the Frisk" as we called her, downstairs.She was groggy from pain-medicine, but perked up a tiny bit when she saw us.
"Louie" greeted her, but seemed to sense something was wrong."Frisco" was adamant, as she usually is, that "Louie" not pester her.He kissed her face submissively, and left.
I put my silky-robe on, over my jeans and t-shirt.
She was in a large laundry-basket, which felt very circular to me, as when we bought her from a working farm in Lithia Springs, in May, 1997, she was 5 and a half-weeks old, and curled up in a laundry basket we'd brought with us.
I think Dr. Mike thought he & Hansoo would simply place the basket on the sofa, but I told them I wanted her to feel "...like she's just going to bed, to sleep, like always.This is her home."
And as if on cue, she tried to stand up, and looked over the edge of the basket, at her sofa, trying to step out of the basket, and into the bed she's slept in for the past several years. They scooped her up, placed her on her sofa, and I sqeaked the santa-doggie-puppet whereupon she perked her ears up, and then began to close her eyes. I tried once more. This time, no reaction. She tried to doze off. Hansoo placed her favorite tennis ball next to her mouth, and she did that "Frisco" smile, lips curled up, sheepish grin....
"Louie" went outside to do his "business", as I asked Dr. Mike if I could lower the lights("Of course--do what you need to do.I went to one client's house, and they had candles burning everywhere;it felt like a seance."
That was a nice moment of levity, which I dearly needed)
I said:
"Please don't laugh, but I sing to her at night--lullabies--
He replied he wouldn't, and I began:"Rock-a-bye, Frisco, in the treetops, when the wind blows, the Frisco will rock..."." and I stroked her warm, very wavy brown and white fur, told her what a good dog she is, how grateful I am to have her, how she taught me how to love, how to give more."
I saw Dr. Mike insert something "Oh? Are you starting?" "No, it's just a saline flush.."
"Oh."
I asked Hansoo to come pet her, touch her "..last chance.."
He sobbed, but sighed, and said "We love you Frisk, you're a good girl."
Her eyes were half-closed. She was falling asleep as I sang to her. Her eyes closed. Dr. Mike inserted the sodium pentathol(I think that's the correct concoction) and she passed very quickly(less than 20 seconds, or so it seemed.)
Dr. Mike stayed near me. It struck me that we were both kneeling at Frisco's feet. She was a kind of dog-altar, I think.
Dr. Mike wandered off for a moment, for Hansoo & I to hold her.
We had thoughtfully decided to put "Louie" outside. He was walking around, occasionally watching through the glass doors.
I thanked her for being a big part of my life, for nearly 11 years.
I asked Dr. Mike how I could have her eyes shut "all the way".He told me "After rigor, in about one hour.Just hold her lids closed for about one minute.That should do it."
I thanked him for "giving us a gift."
"I think you gave a gift.", he said.
I started to cry, but didn't. I didn't cry.
"Frisco" passed at 9:11 P.M. tonight, and we wrapped her in towels, and she's still warm. I dislike the "antiseptic-ness" of modern-day-death-dealing, and so I had already explained to Dr. Mike that I'd spend a bit of time with her after her death.(my Mom, when I told her on the phone what I had planned for tonight, warned "...that's kind of creepy.." but I responded, confidentally, "Well, everyone grieves in different ways. I want to hold her, after she's gone, too. I want to know she's gone."
Rather defensively, I added, "I'm not crazy."
I visited her three times, and I'm glad I could.
Compare it to a "viewing" for humans--which is often necessary for what we weakly term 'closure', and you'll get the idea.
She's still warm, and she is becoming rigid, stiff, no longer my dog.A shell of her former self.
"Louie", who sniffed her, kissed her face with his pink tongue, and then scampered outside with me, was next to me, in the dark, as I gazed up at the moon. A half-moon, like half-closed eyes, somewhere between this world, and the next.
I love you "Frisco". Good girl. And goodbye. Thanks for loving us.
Posted by Lisa Allender at 1:41 AM 6 comments
Labels: "Frisco, our dog";Euthanasia for Companion Animals;Cancer of the Spleen in Dogs;Grief;
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