Guys, where is my brother?  I looked for him for days. He was here, and then he fell asleep and they let me come up and see him and it looked like him but it didn’t smell like him. They took him away, I just sorta thought he would eventually come back.

The house is quiet and I’m a little afraid because everything looks different when I’m not following Melvin. I feel small. For the last few weeks I’ve just wanted to be close to doors, in case Melvin comes back home.  She spends a lot of time in the office during the day but I found it hard to be in there without Melvin.  I mean, what’s the point? But in the last couple of days, I have come to check on her and it seems to make her happy.  I mean, even though I love Melvin (SO MUCH), I love her so much too.  When I go check on her, she stops what she is doing and gets on the floor with me.  Now I’m trying out taking a few naps in the office with her.  It’s not so bad.

I will give it to her, she does not give up easily.  Even during moments when I go far away from the office, she yells out ‘I love you, Jakie’. I guess it’s just me and her now.  We go on different walks than we used to, that’s pretty fun.  And some lady comes over and she makes some click noises and gives me treats.  Treats are good. Apparently I’m a ‘terrible watch dog’, Is that good?  I have no idea what that means.  I think it has something to do with the fact that someone can come in the house and I don’t even notice for a long time.  What the…? It’s not my job to greet people. I’m not the butler.

She says we are going to be OK.  I believe her.  She is a very honest person.  When she says dinner, boom food shows up.  When she says potty, boom the door opens. When she says walk, I climb into my buggy!  See that folks, I’m learning words!

We are going to beach next week. She says I will hate the beach because it’s so hot but that I’ll love the beach because awesome people are meeting us there and I am the only dog going so that means I get all the treats and all the attention!  Yipppppeeeeee!  For the trip she bought some bright orange contraption with a handle on it.  She said it’s so I don’t drown but I think it’s so she can turn me into her new purse. Anyway, I’ll be sure to take some selfies of me in my speedo.  I’m a sexy beast and the beach is going to love me and my hot body.

For now, here I am in the office making all her dreams come true.

I have heard a term used before that I don’t fully understand.  “Annual vet visit”. What is this singular visit in one year that you speak of? HOW IS THAT EVEN A THING?

Max went to vet about 20 times a year. He had some thyroid issues, arthritis and sensitive digestive system.  He also had some funky anal glands.

Jake goes to the vet more than Max did.  In addition to his legs, Jake gets a lot of skin infections, he is prone to nail injury (I don’t know why) and he gets stuff like feathers and frog legs stuck in his throat.  In the two years I’ve had Jake, he’s had an MRI, a spinal tap, teeth pulled, nasal passage widening and four ER vet visits.

While I have not officially counted, I am fairly certain that Melvin went to the vet HUNDREDS of times. Best I can estimate it was more than 400 but less than 500.  There were his allergies, that took up at least half of those appointments.  Skin infections, ear infections, yeast infections, giardia, mange, colitis.  He had diarrhea at least 200 times. He threw up fairly regularly, was nauseous more days than not and got monthly medicated baths.  He went to the ER at least 30 times.  He aspirated acorn throw-up into his lung lobe and almost needed an emergency lobectomy. He had a tail amputation (that refused to heal) and he too had an MRI and spinal tap. He had seizures. He had countless x-rays, several CT scans, and many, many, many ultrasounds. He had a mystery tick disease. He took ~20 pills a day (prior to the cancer)(some were supplements for the arthritis and pre/probiotics for his wacky stomach).

There is no way I could have done Melvin’s life without our vet. She was there every step.  Every challenge, every mystery, every success.  When something presented that she was not sure about, Melvin went up on chat boards to have other vets weigh in. This happened right down to his last week. She is the second phone call that I made in the parking lot after we got the ultrasound done that turned up the cancer. Not for her to comfort me, although she did, but to have her on the case as soon as possible. I have her cell phone number. During Melvin’s illness, I’d text her when I was overwhelmed and confused and she would gently bring me back to the medical reality.  She and I, together, got Melvin to ten.  And she came to the house to help me send Melvin onward. We’ve laughed together and we’ve cried together. We championed Melvin together.  And now we do the same for Jake.

There are some vets who believe in traditional veterinary medicine.  There are others who go holistic.  Some vets meet in the middle on approaches.  Our vet, well our vet was the best of them all. She just wanted Melvin to have the best life he could.  She believed in our journey of joy. While I drove that joy bus, she was the compass that kept us moving in the right direction.

So while you may be one of these elusive ‘annual vet visits’ households or you might be of the ‘can’t go to the vet enough’ variety — find a vet that champions your pet’s joy.  They exist and it’s amazing!  And at the end, you will be so glad you have someone next to you who knows how lovely your journey was.

There have been some realizations in the past three weeks.  One is that, Jake and I are out of sync. Even though we are both mourning the same thing, our needs are very different. Jake is lost during the day, whereas I am sad at night. I try to come up with new things to do with him during the day but he usually seeks out space alone. I’d love for Jake to snuggle, or hang out with me (say int the office during the day), but he doesn’t want to do either.  Despite not seeking me out, he does not want me to leave the house, he is having some pretty severe separation anxiety when I go.

I think our current differences make us each miss Melvin even more. When he won’t come into the office with me, I miss Melvin. When I try to snuggle with him, he is more like a cinder block than a dog. I’m not his brother. Melvin followed and loved on me. Jake followed and loved on Melvin.  I love them both, very much, but without the Melvin puzzle piece, he doesn’t seem to see the bigger picture of our family. It’s a lot like when you are in traffic behind a big truck and you have no idea what is in front of the big truck.  Melvin was Jake’s big truck.  I don’t think he noticed I was in front.

When our trainer (who has worked with Jake before) asked me what I wanted to achieve. Some of it was about his prey drive, which has kicked into overdrive since Melvin died. Some of it was how to get him to learn to focus on me (lack of focus combined with his prey drive is a challenge).  But when I answered her out loud I said: I need you to help Jake and I communicate.  Our translator died.

I was surprised I said that but it was true.  I love Jake, completely and unconditionally and beautifully. There are just some dogs that would rather be with another dog than a person (Jake). There are other dogs who want to be with their person over any dog (Melvin).  I know that Jake can’t go too long without another dog in the house, for one just out of sheer loneliness but also, he will slip quickly back to old, grumpy, lash-out-at-my-siblings Jake. No one wants that!  Since I’m not ready yet, for now, we train and we figure out how to re-connect without our shared, soulful glue.

And I pray he learns to like snuggling!  For cripes sake, I shower! This is the sleeping stance of a dog that does not want to hug:Ahhhhhh, but I love this monkey so of course I’ll keep trying!

There are currently two ways I think about Melvin, before we knew he was sick, and after. I don’t think it will always be that way. In thinking about the before, those memories are easier, I think mostly because I don’t have to associate the fear of him being sick with any of them.  The memories of him after we found out about the cancer are a little jumbled.  It’s odd, those days were filled with so much love yet it’s impossible to not attach the fact that I knew time was short to their memory.  Anyway… I’ve started letting little moments and details of his last few weeks into my thought process.

There was one day, towards the end, that was quite possibly the most beautiful day anyone could ask for. Blue skies, just the right amount of warmth, spring smells in the air. The boys grazed, we laid on a blanket and just existed.  No agenda, nowhere to go. It was perfect in every way.  A day that brings a smile to my heart for sure.

Wishing you each a day like this over the weekend!!

On laundry day, he wears pink. But the skull collar keeps it manly. 

Dude jazz-splits, even in his sleep. 

He is very serious about his private time. 

The face I love! 

Happy hump day!!!

The Melvin and Jake days went like this, I’d give a verbal command (dinner, sit, potty, upstairs, inside) and Melvin and Jake would come/go running.  It was always Melvin, then Jake.  I just figured they both took off running at the same time but Melvin’s legs were longer (and his legs worked) so he showed up first.

I was wrong.  As far as I can tell, the day we lost Melvin was the very first day Jake ever heard my voice.  I guess it had always been Melvin hearing me, he’d move in the appropriate direction and then Jake would be like ‘oh yay, I love this game, he always leads me to such wonderful things’. Melvin was Jake’s hearing-ear-dog.  (For the record, Jake is not deaf, we checked).

In the current day, when words noises come out of my mouth, Jake just tilts his head and looks around for Melvin.  He. Doesn’t. Know. One. Command.

For example, in this video (and this is not a training session, I just wanted you to see how I got to this realization), I say the word ‘potty’ or ‘go potty’ about 7,690 times in the span of forty seconds. (Had this been Melvin and I said ‘go potty’ this many times, he would have spun around and ran back and forth to door and pee’d right there our of excitement explosion. Jake would have mimicked his every move). When saying it in this video, I’m pointing, gesturing, motioning to the door. Jake has (supposedly) heard me say ‘potty’ 4 times a day for two-and-a-half-years.   Melvin was running for the door if I even said ‘pa’.

So this week he is learning three things. The first is POTTY.  The next is ‘sit’.  It’s actually not easy for Jake to sit because of his legs but sit is crucial to many other things he will need to learn so he is learning a modified sit.  He is also learning ‘stop’, because 85% of the things he does, he should not do.

It’s interesting training Jake, he’s smart but he’s also indifferent about it.  While he loves food (LOVES), and he likes that you are holding food for him, he does not always understand the food needs to be worked for.  Like sometimes in our training, he’ll just go lay down and give me the look of ‘please bring that food to me’.  He’s not really food motivated, he just wants to eat it.  I have never had a dog like this, so training my little karate kid (reference to the tittle of the post) is a lesson for both of us.

Many of you have emailed and messaged, asking how things are going (thank you!). While I have always shared an honest view of our life, and even though the last month of sadness was unforeseeable, I don’t want to spend much time writing about grief.  We all grieve deeply and differently and there is a part of it that is so sacred.  But I DO want to update you on where my head is (this post) and then I want to move on to what’s going on with Jake (Monday’s post) and his new life learning words. I don’t want to make people cry, most of all myself!!  I am ready to get back to the (still honest) look at how wacky our dog days are! Our posts will still include memories of Melvin, there is a ton I’ve never even told you about him, but it will also take a focus on Jake.  And one day…on the next rescue. 

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The day the oncologist told me that Melvin was terminal, I asked how I was supposed to manage a cancer that could take him at any time. Her answer: If you want to control it, you’d have to let him go now. I asked, how do you put a a dog that is (seemingly) healthy and happy down? She said: it’s one of the things that makes this cancer so hard. But then she said… There is a window, and it opened with his diagnosis. That window is going to close, but there is a chance that it won’t slam shut, that you will sense the closing. That may come with his physical behavior, with minor internal bleeds and him not feeling well. Or it might be something else. But if there is no rupture (and she wholeheartedly felt there would be), you will feel the window closing.

I felt the window closing.

I knew with absolute certainty that this part of our journey was coming to an end. I knew it in my heart, I saw it in his eyes, I felt it in every part of who we were. If there is one thing in life that I know, it’s Melvin. After all the years of getting him healthy, I couldn’t let a sudden, quick decline take his mind or body back to those early days of his life. So for Melvin, there was no rupture, no suffering, just love. His window is forever left open, to let the beautiful breeze blow through. Melvin was happy and full of joy up to his very last moment. He ate food he never knew existed, he went for a delightful car ride with his body hanging out the window, he was wrapped in love by his favorite people and his brother. We felt his love for us, in every moment.

I miss Melvin as much as I love him; infinitely. The nights are hard. I allowed Jake to sleep in the bed one night to see if it would help.  He poop’d. It’s OK, you can laugh. I did.

During the day, I’m less heavy-hearted.  During the day, Melvin’s love wraps around me. It gives me so much strength. I can’t explain it. I wake up and his love fills me up.  Even though throughout the day he would be at my feet (as all good velcro dogs are), I don’t look for him there because I feel him so deeply in my heart. I stare at his photo in my office and I feel tremendous joy that he was mine. I have so much gratitude for all things him.

I had Melvin for seven years. Seven magnificent years. When tears show up, I just breathe. I try to keep my eye on the joy.  He was meant to be mine. I was meant to be his. He could have been put down at three, but we found each other. The force that brought us together…powerful and true.  We had the best life together.

Here is the reality, Melvin had cancer. He was always going to have this cancer, he was always going to die at ten.  His cancer was genetic, it was a part of his code.

It’s heartbreaking but that is how life goes sometimes.  So I have stopped saying ‘he was supposed to live to 14’ (and I have no clue why I always thought he’d live to be 14) and have started accepting, he was only supposed to live to ten. And I was supposed to get him to ten and even though he died at his most healthy (minus the cancer), I’m so proud that we healed all of his crazy ailments. He left this life knowing what healing felt like, his skin was healthy, his fur was soft and thick, his seizures were minimal, his colitis didn’t rule our every day and his joy was at an all time high (as proudly shown by his wagging nubbin). We went to the vet fewer times in his last six months than at any time before. We’d won! We didn’t need more time to do it right.  While extra years would have been my every hope and dream, more time wouldn’t have changed our story. When I’m sad that I didn’t get his golden years (PEOPLE, OLD DOGS ARE LITERALLY THE BEST DOGS), I realize that his golden years WERE spent with me, we just didn’t know it at the time. I was there when his forever life began and I was there at his end, and in between…well in between was beyond anything I could have ever wished for. If someone had asked me seven years ago if I wanted to know how long he’d live, I’d give a resounding ‘no’. I was his forever, no matter how long that was. This path is ours and lovely and this grief is part of that beautiful journey.  When they say love lives on, they don’t always point out that learning to carry it in a new way can take some time, some tears, some perspective.

He left this earth having known the truest love imaginable. He changed me forever. He left knowing his work here was beautifully complete. He made me a better person.  Melvin expanded my capacity for love and it’s a wild love that needs to keep growing and giving. He loved me genuinely and delightfully and unconditionally. He gave Jake a brother to love and the patience Jake needed to learn to become a most awesome sidekick. He taught people how deep love can grow, how joy always wins, how perseverance reigns supreme and how choosing peace heals the soul. And together, our love made a difference. There is no greater feeling than saying that out loud.

Our love made a difference.

Melvin is a part of me. He didn’t take my heart with him when he left, instead, he left his with mine. Our hearts are bound together, forever. This past week, I’ve truly felt what one of my favorite poems means. In our new journey, Jake and I carry Melvin in our hearts. Forward, as he would have wanted.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

(poem by E.E. Cummings)

(love by Tracey, Melvin and Jake)

(Monday’s post is funny, trust me)

One of my most treasured pieces in the house is the Yellow Brick Home painting of the boys.  It is my true view of the two knuckleheads and everyone who sees it, swoons hard.  I mean it’s pretty much perfection.

So as Melvin’s big-10 birthday was approaching, I thought, what does he want most in life.? The answer: food to make me happy. So I ordered a painting of Melvin man.  In talking to Kim, goddess of artistry at YBH (guys, working with her is so fun and she really gets what you are saying)… I said that I wanted to capture Melvin’s Eeyore face.  He’s the happiest sad-face dog ever and I wanted that face on a white background.

Kim got working on it.  Then we found out about the cancer. The painting went from something I wanted, to something I needed.

When the package came, I was squealing with excitement and overwhelmed as all hell to open it.  With Melvin laying at my feet (he was still here when it arrived), I ripped open the package. It was a billion times beyond what I’d hoped for!  The expression, was perfection.  HIs jowls, his ears, his freckles. STOP!  AHHHHHHHHHHHH!  It is so amazing that I can almost feel his velvety fur when I touch it. It instantly became priceless to me. I hugged it.  I may sleep with it. Ok fine, I did sleep with it.

This week, it has been a place I can go to pause and stare at that sad-faced-happy-dog that I love so much.

And because Yellow Brick Home is beyond your wildest dreams of what awesome is, they are giving Oh Melvin readers a 15% discount!  FIFTEEN PERCENT!!!!  The code is good for the next two days (today and tomorrow) so act fast, your only regret will be if you miss out! (PS. you can do cats, dogs, horses, goats, chickens, iguanas, pet rocks) (OK, I’m not sure about all of those but you can ask!)

The site is HERE and the code is XOMELVIN15.  The code is good for anything in the shop, including the custom stuff and gift certs!. It’s only good Monday, 4/20 and Tuesday, 4/21.  WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!  GO!

Someone once told me that deep grief is the price you pay for great love.  To that I say, this grief I feel, is worth it.  Every ounce of it. I don’t want to write about Melvin right now, I don’t even think I could. What I will tell you is that even though there is sadness and tears, there are also many more moments when I feel Melvin wrap his love around me and I smile and I feel strong and I’m reminded to try to live life the way Melvin did. He always leapt forward, keeping one eye on the joy and the other eye on me, making sure I was coming along for the ride. Love leaps on.

Jake is mourning the loss of his brother. Even though Jake has barked a total of 20 times in two-and-a-half-years, he now barks all throughout the day. (And just so you know, Jake has a bit of a Barry White bark, it’s not he bark you’d expect to come from his body). He has been looking for Melvin in every room, corner and closet. When he does this, I try to redirect his energy, like I decided it would be a good idea to try a bath. I know a lot of you bathe your dogs at home and I’m in awe of your confidence. We all have our strengths, bathing others is not one of mine! I decided to bathe Jake in the kitchen sink with no thought of how to reel him in when he started flailing, mostly because I didn’t expect him to flip-flop around like that.  He managed to get water 20 feet away from the sink.  Somehow we survived and he ended up clean in the process. But to Jake it probably seemed a lot like this:  Monday, someone took my life partner away and Tuesday, my mother tried to waterboard me.

In other news, it turns out that Jake does not know a single command.  Not one! He was 100% following Melvin’s lead.  If I said ‘dinner’ and Melvin came running, Jake was the monkey of ‘monkey see, monkey do’. In fact, whenever I say anything to Jake now, even the word ‘sit’, he looks around for Melvin to decipher my words.  So now my little cheater is learning his own smarts.

Have a great weekend! We wish you much joy! Check back early next week for an AWESOME treat from Yellow Brick Home to Oh Melvin readers!

Lastly, thank you, for so many things. Each and every one of you, thank you.

Photo credit: Kate Juliet Photography

Melvin

March 2, 2005 – April 13, 2015

“I could make you happy, make your dreams come true. No there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do. Go to the ends of the earth for you, to make you feel my love.” 

I love you deeply and eternally and I am so grateful you were mine. You were the perfect dog, my best friend and a most awesome brother.

Until we meet again my love…

Photo credit: Kate Juliet Photography

Melvin sleeps on my bed (always has) but lately I have been putting puppy pads down and then his blanket on top of them.  In the morning, I have ‘must-make-the-bed-or-it-will-haunt-me-all-day syndrome’ so I pull the pads and blanket off and put them in his unused dog bed until the next night.

Came out of the shower and Jake was no where to be found. Then I located him.

Hemangiosarcoma gave us something that it does not give to everyone. Fair warning.

In the past month, I have laid on the floor with Melvin, several times a day. He glances at me and I stop what I’m doing and whisper ‘I love you’ into his ear. I have snuck surprises into each meal, I have allowed him to bark at whatever he’d like.  He no longer has to sit for treats.  When he won’t go outside at night without me, I gladly accompany him, even in the rain. I cheer on his every moment, I even applaud his sleeping, I mean could anyone be resting better than him?  Doubtful!  I have told him in a million different ways, how much he means to me. I’ll be honest, Heaven better be pretty spectacular because his last month has been pretty flippen incredible.

It’s easy to pretend that the vets are wrong, but that is not going to help Jake or I in the long run. So, I have taken time to say some things out loud to myself, so that the reality stays grounded.  When I say them, there is no gratitude but there is also no anger. I just thought (hope) the more I realize while he’s here, the less I’ll have to come to terms with once he’s gone. Little things like…

• I’ll be washing fewer bowls (you raw feeders know what I mean!).
• There will be less pills.
• It’s going to seem like a lot of leashes for just one dog (especially one that can’t walk!).
• The big Kongs will go unused.

And some bigger realizations, that are harder to come to terms with since they have become a part of who we are.

• It will be OK if food drops on the floor, Jake is not allergic to earth.
• I will be going to the bathroom alone.
• Without his food, the freezer will be empty.
• The bed is going to feel too big.

These are the little things that can overwhelm you when you lose someone.  The flood of missing everything all at once.  Maybe it will work, maybe it won’t.  But I’m a hopeful realist (yes that is possible)!

Cancer gave me time to do things right. And while it has been awesome for him, and harder on me, I’d carry a million of these moments just to know that he went weeks feeling he could do no wrong. Enjoying extra treats for no reason at all. Realizing that his glance is so powerful, it can beckon me to the floor. Each night, I tell him over and over how wonderful he is. I sing songs, I kiss his sweet face, I breathe him in.  I watch his nubbin wag the whole time. And every morning, I’m grateful for one more day.

Cancer gave me one thing that it cannot ever take away, the opportunity for time well spent.

A few more from our recent photo shoot..

Photo Credit: Kate Juliet Photography

Photo Credit: Kate Juliet Photography

Photo Credit: Kate Juliet Photography

Photo Credit: Kate Juliet Photography

The day I found out about Melvin, I reached out to the wonderful and oh so talented Kate of Kate Juliet Photography (Kate With a Camera) and asked if she had time to come snap some shots of Melvin and me (and Jake).  I have a million photos of Melvin, but with time running out, it didn’t feel like near enough.

She was at my house four days later.  Best, of all the best of all the people. My Grandmother was here and my sister-in-law came over with my niece.  There was no sadness, just so much love.

Here is a sneak peek. I am holding most photos back for now, keeping them only for myself for a little bit.  Ones that I have already had made into canvases and hung.  What a wonderful thing photographs are, I can look at these and remember that sunny day, with a bouncy toddler and two wiggly dogs. An afternoon where loved reigned supreme. Well, love and giggles and wags.

Photo Credit: Kate Juliet Photography

Photo Credit: Kate Juliet Photography

Photo Credit: Kate Juliet Photography

Photo Credit: Kate Juliet Photography

Photo Credit: Kate Juliet Photography

Photo Credit: Kate Juliet Photography

If you are in the Northern VA/DC metro area and need a photographer for your any-legged kids, call Kate.  She may very well the calmest person you will ever meet, toddlers and dogs running all about, she somehow captures the beautiful dance.

The quick update is, there is a lot of almost nothing going on with Melvin. The a lot part is that I’m consumed with worry and the uncertainty weighs heavy but we are making the most of every nanosecond. The almost nothing part is that, he is for the most part, the same. Much skinnier, and some discomfort, but pretty much the same. For that, I’m grateful. I will carry that load. Jake’s legs are super wonky lately and even trying to get his diaper on (with legs that drop during the process) could drive someone to need call the Betty Ford Clinic. I wonder if they deliver (ABC not Betty Ford).

I’d sum up the daily feeling as: gratefully exhausted.

Since sleep eludes me, I have had plenty of time to know what it is like to be a vampire come up with new decorating ideas. Like I decided we don’t need a dining room. We have a large table in the main kitchen/dining/living room so the other, more sectioned off dining room usually goes unused.  OK fine, it has never been used, not even once.  So I turned it into a lounge.  In doing that, the china had to be moved from the sideboard (that I was selling) to the kitchen.  I decided to put the pieces on the top shelf of the cabinets. I went to stand up on the stool and cracked my head on the wooden range hood and then hit my head on the granite island as I was falling off the stool.  Just thinking of the pain, even a week later, makes me cringe. There was nothing adorable about the fall. I think the dogs were even embarrassed for me.

When you are on blood thinners for a strange blood clotting condition, you are told OVER and OVER and OVER, head injuries can be very serious.  I called the hematologist who promptly told me to call 911.  I’m not one for drama (and logical thinking has gone out the window) so I just drove myself.  I said my new normal good-bye to Melvin (with tears) and headed over to the ER (which luckily is only one mile from our house).

Important to note here that I have installed cameras in the house so I can keep an eye on Melvin when I am not home.  Despite there being cameras everywhere, he is rarely on any of them. I swear he may be in witness protection.  So at the ER, as I was trying to find him on camera, and they were making me go get the CT without my phone, or trying to do head injury tests, I was pretty focused (dizzily) on WHY MELVIN WAS NOT ON CAMERA.  I mean common universe, work with me.

They said I had a concussion and due to the blood thinners they wanted to keep an eye on me for a little while.  To that I said: “no can do.  My dog is dying and is currently not on camera and I need to get home and check on him immediately’ (note, I have about 40 billion people who could and would have gone over to check on Melvin but for some reason the head injury was turning me into a CRAZY PERSON (yeah right, the head injury)).  The doctors and nurses just looked at me, trying to decipher what I was babbling about, and I high tailed it out of there before they could put a mental safety hold on me. I may or may not have still been wearing the hospital gown.

Love can drive you mad.

Here is the lounge, the only things that are new are the chairs.  The other stuff I had elsewhere or was already in the room. It turns out Melvin loves to lounge on these chairs so that makes it all worth it, and Jake really likes chewing the rug, so…

Today marks the 4th year of blogging on Oh Melvin (the yo Jake part came later!).  I am fairly certain that no one read my first post and I was totally fine with that.  Writing is my happy place, it’s how I decompress.  It makes me a better person, a calmer being, it brings me happiness.

Melvin was (and still is) my inspiration for this blog.  As the years have passed, Jake has provided his fair share of drama and humor (and meatballs).  As we move forward, it will still be a blog about Melvin & Jake, even if Jake stories start to take center stage. Melvin will always be an inspiration for us and I have no doubt that writing this blog will get us through the tougher days ahead.

But for today, four years is pretty fricken cool! Yay us! And both boys are laying at my feet as I type this so hot damn if we don’t have it all!!!!

Since Melvin’s diagnosis, I feel a little like I’m living a version of the movie Groundhog Day. In this version, I’m reliving the day before a known pending apocalypse (a bit dramatic but you get the point). Every morning when I wake up I wonder if today will be our last day and each night I go to bed I say a worthy goodnight to my boy, in the event that night is the night. It’s an unfortunate reality.

Each day, I move forward a little bit , I gain clarity and strength while still maintaining the sadness and fear.  It’s odd how that is possible, to still be as frightened as day one but to feel as if I can absolutely see him through this. And then I realize, that is what love is.  It can break you, in the same moment that it lifts you up.

I’ve been thinking about where I’d like to donate to, once Melvin leaves us. Melvin has a little bank account that I set up in the case something happened to me. I mean he’s an awesome love-bug and people were in line to take him but dude has some pretty pricey medical issues and I always wanted him to have the best care, even if I wasn’t around to get it for him. My first impulse was to donate the money to cancer research, specifically hemagiosarcoma. But that hasn’t felt right (not that we don’t want a cure, TRUST ME, we want a cure). Here is our truth… cancer will only be a label in Melvin’s life for a few weeks. It took his nubbin longer to heal from the amputation than cancer will be a part of him. For that, I’m thankful. I’d obviously rather he live a long life, but in terms of how devastating cancer can be to the body, Melvin will avoid most of that. And even though cancer will be the reason he’s gone, it is not what defines the time he was here.

Love defines his life. Love and perseverance. He has faced seemingly insurmountable health issues, all the while wagging and bounding into the day with happiness.  Each and every setback, his joy multiplied. So in terms of donating in his memory, Jake and I will donate in the name of joy.  That is how we will carry on Melvin’s legacy, by paying happiness forward.

Where his life is concerned, we’ve already won. He almost didn’t live past age three and since then, he has had the most remarkable seven years.  He has been loved more than some experience in 70 years.  He inhales happiness and he exhales joy.  Cancer can’t ever change that.  And despite this new reality where I am faced with the knowledge, well he just wiggles and wags. I get the opportunity to do his last days right.  To give him even more love than he could have ever imagined. To not let frustration or annoyance steal any moments from us. To give him the best day, everyday that we have left.  That opportunity is rare. I am thankful we know.  It’s so much more than others with this cancer get.

I also get to plan ahead a little for Jake.  Jake has never been an only dog.  He was the second dog in his first life, the first dog was a yellow lab.  He was a foster-brother, to another yellow lab.  And well, he is now the yin to a yellow lab’s yang. So even though there are no more yellow lab brothers in his future (there could never be another), for Jake, I have taken a few of our favorite t-shirts and I have had Melvin lay on them.  I have wiped Melvin’s drool with those shirts, I have violated Melvin’s parts with those shirts, all for Jake.  So Jake will have Melvin’s scent and it will fade slowly, even when the visual of Melvin disappears more quickly than we’d like.  And one day, I have to believe, Jake will be a sidekick again. It’s a role he is born to play. 

We’ve already won.

I’m still terrified, I’m still so sad (the messy, ugly sad where you give up on eye make-up and you let the tissue just hang out of your nose) — but our love always wins.  And these days with him, the love is palpable. The love is pure and endless and full of more love.

So at some point today, walk away from the interwebs, put the phone down, put the music on and dance. Let your dogs dance with you (or chase you like the crazy person you are)! And then, walk into the pantry, get the peanut butter out, smear some on your face and neck and lay on the floor with them.  I PROMISE you, happiness will ensue and love will win!

On that note, we are going to take a little break. In the meantime, I’ll keep you posted on our Facebook page. As always, thanks for following along!

With much love, Tracey, Melvin & Jake.

Yo.  It’s Jake, remember me?  With all that is going on with Melvin I was worried you may have forgotten the ‘yo Jake’ part of this blog.

So my brother smells sad, and I guess she can smell it now too cause it makes her eyes drip.  Normally if she gets on the floor with us I’m charging her so I can get a good spot on her lap, but lately I have been giving her and my brother time alone.  It seems important to her and that makes it important to me.  In return, she has been letting me come up on the big bed at night so I have some time with my brother too.  It’s been awesome to fall asleep next to him!  Although oddly, each morning I wake up in my own bed.  Maybe it’s a dream.

It’s not all sad.  Apparently Melvin needs to eat more so that means I get to eat more too! She says there is a diet in my future!  What is a diet? Is it delicious?  I can’t wait!

I’ve been training as a gymnast lately.  I can do full splits with my back legs! Sometimes I do a jazz split to mix up my routine. I still have not mastered getting out of the splits though, must need to work my core more.  I hope I get a leotard, I’d look so hot in a leotard.

Anyway, just wanted you to know that I’m holding down the fort over here.  And she still carves out time for me each day.  I’ve been going on my own walks in my stroller, I rule this hood like a boss.  She says just wait til I take to streets on my other wheels, I think she got me a motorcycle!  I am such a badass.

Over and out, Jake (the best little bro ever. modest too.)

 PS.  She said to mention that she is working the Pet Expo this weekend in Chantilly, VA.  If any of you are local, stop by the French Bulldog Rescue booth, she might be there.  I apparently will not be there since I am a menace to other dogs. Whatever.

The outpouring of support for Melvin and I has been humbling.  From the comments on Facebook and the blog, to the private messages and emails, the texts and phones calls. We are truly blessed.  It is impossible to feel alone in this, we are surrounded by the best of all the people.

A few shout outs..

• Chick’s person reaching out with complete empathy having gone several weeks thinking they had the same diagnosis.  I felt better knowing someone knew what I was feeling and she had great insight on dietary changes to implement.
• Turk’s person, who is still dealing with her own grief, checking in daily.
• Moby’s person, who knows all too well how hard a cancer diagnosis is, always reaching out at just the right moment
• Kate, who when I asked if she could come snap some photos of Melvin and I, didn’t waste one minute, she showed up only days later
• Another ‘Oh’ blog mom who is facing cancer with two of her dog reaching out to let me know she is here for me, so now we are here and there for each other.
• Jenn, our soul blog/dog/mama being there, always.
• Morgan, who doesn’t know it but her messages come in the exact moment i need a ‘ding’
• Deb, who doesn’t pray, but prayed for us.
• Jen, for sending support from the farthest away and always making it seem like she is right here.
• For Mazzie’s person, giving me pep talks at midnight
• and Kelly, for strategizing how she could help from three hours away.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.  I can never, ever, thank you enough.

There are so many more, if I neglected to mention you, know that it’s due to my brain not functioning properly, not because I don’t feel you holding me up.  I most certainly do.

Our story of kindness of today: The vet called in a prescription to a local pharmacy and I went in the next day to pick it up. For some reason it didn’t get filled and they were all trying to find out why.  Finally a woman came up to me, and in a low voice said, “the prescription costs $320 and since it’s for a dog, we didn’t fill it because we didn’t know if you wanted to pay that much”.

I paused and thought HOLD THE TEARS IN, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST TALK NORMAL.  I said, “he’s nearing the end, so there is really no amount I won’t pay to make him comfortable“.  My voice cracked, tears filled my eyes.  She smiled, whispered she was sorry and said they’d fill it right away.  I stepped aside and about five minutes later the head pharmacist came out.  I now the head pharmacist because when you have migraines and a strange blood clotting disorder, you stand in line at the pharmacy A LOT.

She said, ‘every week you are here, smiling, asking us how we are doing.  It breaks our heart to hear about Melvin and to see you so sad.  We are going to pray for Melvin and for you.  And in the meantime, we had a coupon for the medication’.  She then handed me the bottle and sent me on my way.

No words.  Just deep gratitude for you all.

From this guy too. 

And this guy, who just finished his shift at the meatball factory.  

One of the first questions the vet asked me when I brought newly adopted (hairless, itchy, allergic to earth, infection riddled) Melvin in was (and this was to gauge the medicinal road we would travel), do you want his life to be measured in quality of life or quantity of days. 

My response was, I want his life to measured in joy.

The past (not even) two weeks have been a nightmare. We wished him a happy birthday and the next day we were getting an ultrasound and I heard the term hemangiosarcoma for the very first time. As I was gasping for air, in utter shock, I somehow asked, how long does he have?

Could be days, maybe a month or two.

We got that CT 40 minutes from our house. I have no idea how we got home. I immediately googled it. I joined a support group for parents with dogs that have hemangiosarcoma. All of the words I read were terrible. Grave prognosis. My healthy dog collapsed suddenly and died. My dog lived one week post diagnosis. There were some dogs who lived a little longer, if it was found in their spleen.  Melvin’s started in his liver.

Please God, do not let this be happening.

The next week, I barely slept. I cried more in that week then I have in the last five years. I could barely take my eyes off of him. I was so terrified he’d…disappear. I would wait until he was tucked into bed and take the fastest shower. I would run out of the bathroom dripping wet to make sure he was still alive. I refused to leave the house. So many of the stories were ‘collapsed and then gone‘.

Hold onto him.

The vets said in all ways but one, this is the worst of the cancers. (In my opinion, they all suck the same). This one just happens to be the most aggressive, and unrelenting. There is no cure. There are barely any symptoms so by the time you catch it (if you catch it before death), your prognosis is short. The culprit, the tumors grow rapidly, they fill with blood. The tumors bleed and the cancer spreads. Eventually, the tumors grow so big, they burst. And the dog dies. The one thing that doesn’t make it the worst is that it’s not terribly painful, probably until it hits the lungs.

Why is this happening?

Eventually I had to leave the house. It was horrible. Not just being gone and terrified but coming home and having him wiggle with delight only for him to see me burst into more tears. The depth of emotion has been relentless. He’s lost ten pounds, despite getting a lot of extra food.  He tires easily and the tumor is pretty big so it takes a while for him to get comfortable laying down. But other than that, he’s pretty normal. It’s impossible for me to believe he could go at any time.

He still feels joy.

It took a week to get in to see the oncologist. In the meantime we had a chest X-ray done to check for metastasis. The lungs looked clear. The oncologist found two things to seem positive. One, aside from his liver values, his blood work was great. Two, his liver tumor was so big that if it was hemangiosarcima, they would have thought it would have ruptured by now.

I had hope. I felt capable again. There was finally something we could do. A CT scan to see if surgery could buy us more than days.

Hope is hope.

I got the phone call this past Thursday evening. I knew it was bad when she asked how we were enjoying the weather. She said the cancer had spread. Despite the X-ray saying otherwise, the CT showed it is in his lungs. And there are more, large tumors in his liver. There was nothing they could do. Melvin has terminal cancer. I felt as if all the air was gone. While she didn’t expect him to die this past weekend, there were no guarantees. That large tumor, the one they thought was too big to be this cancer, well it is this cancer, so… it will rupture. In the meantime, the lung part will eventually start to cause discomfort.

We don’t have much time. We have crisis pills on hand should he collapse, they could slow the bleeding down to buy us a little time to get him to the vet. Typing that does not make it more real. Our holistic vet got us some herbs for us to give him the best general well-being that we can, like energy and balance.  And we are continuing the daily doses of Yunnan Baiyao – the Chinese herb that promotes clotting.  The very first thing they tell you when you get this diagnosis is to stock up on that.

In the meantime, the support group fills up with stories all day of dogs that lost their battle. No one seems to win this war. I want to post on all those how sorry I am. But the truth is, I don’t want to be part of this group. But that is not who I am, I don’t run away.  So I post, and I feel their sorrow and shock and it’s heartbreaking.

The hardest part (aside from the thought of losing him) is that since day one with Melvin, we have been handed health issues and we have strategized and researched and fixed those issues. Time after time after time. We went to the vet 700 times to end up with a cancer with no treatment options. That hurts in a way I can’t put into words. But I know this, we didn’t go through all that to have his life end in crises. To have him collapse and watch as I panic and lose control and freak out. And I would never let him suffer. I just have to find a place between then and now to let him go.

This is my little family.

We chose joy.

For today, well for today both Melvin and I have to ‘live’.  I am trying to not worry so much about what I am supposed to do.  The only protocol right now is love. I have lifted all household rules.  Barking, bring it!  Stopping to turn back to see that I’m behind you and making me fall down, yes please! Regurgitating on my lap, thank you sir may I have another!  It’s actually amazing all the things I found frustrating and annoying when I thought time was on our side.

I’m happy that I have the opportunity to shower him with (even more) love and adoration and I’m certain that even if I didn’t say it, he feels it. It surrounds him like a cocoon.

And then there is Jake. Jake’s truest love in life is Melvin. I have to get them both through this. 

There are moments that Melvin looks at me and I know he knows.  I whisper to him that I’m here.  That is the best thing you can do in life, show up and be present. 

Here is the thing that you guys should know, hemangiosarcoma is not the end of our story.  Cancer is just a chapter towards the end of this book.  And although we didn’t get to choose this chapter, we sure as hell can pen the poetry.  Love lives on, and as sure as I am that Melvin and I will find our way forward through this, I also have deep and true faith we will find our way back to each another one day. And Jake and I will find a way to pay our love for Melvin forward. One day, probably not today though. Today we snuggle

Thank you to all who have prayed, sent good vibes, reached out and showed up. I am so honored that you save space for our story. I’m stronger for all of you. I’m better because of each of you. Melvin thanks you.  

We’ll keep you posted. And while it’s easier to focus on what’s to come, let’s instead remember what has led us to this day.  His beautiful life, his soulful existence, his delicious jowls, his giant block head and the love.  All of the incredible love.  Cancer can never rupture the love. Love always lives on. 

 He is my love. 

Because our oncologist appointment got cancelled due to snow, we don’t go until Tuesday. One week post diagnosis of a cancer who’s prognosis is given in days. Eternity.  So as worry and overwhelming thoughts take over and lack of sleep combined with so many answerless questions…well just insert lots of crying here.

Then yesterday I watched the boys hunker down for a nap together.  And I although I could have been sad that those moments are going to be few, I was actually filled with happiness and joy.  Because them snuggling up, we did that. We work at being a loving and happy family and not only was this moment I watched perfection, I had my phone with me, I pushed record and no one woke up. It was lovely.

Then all of sudden, Melvin lifts his arm up over Jake, I swoooooooooon!! PS: if you turn your volume up, Jake’s snoring should make you laugh (or at least smile!).