Half of our recent vacation story is now up for your perusal: Tourette's: A Journey.

My hockey name is Shane McDoughtychuk. Thanks Amyfritz!

Sometimes I just want to say exactly what I'm thinking. But then I realize people wouldn't like me very much.

"I have a headache now and I think I'll go be a drunk."
My mom

Sometimes, Tourette's is funny. Sometimes it's annoying. I'm not embracing anyone's Tourette's today. Try me again tomorrow.

I think this week has caught up with me and I'm just ready to pack it in, starting over again next week. The good news is I'm taking an Introduction to UNIX systems administration class for much of next week so I can come back to the office talking like a geek, then promptly forget it all. Hopefully I'll retain one or two kernels of knowledge.

MKDIR!!

I have no great stories today.

The full names of all of Rainie's littermates, Ellie the basset's pups:

• Ellie's New Year's Celebration (Newman)
• Ellie's Funny Valentine (Valentine - or Valwinkle as I'm calling her since Rocky moved back in)
• Ellie's St. Patrick's Day Parade (Patrick)
• Ellie's April Showers (Rainie)
• Ellie's Maynard (we couldn't come up with anything - any suggestions?!)
• Ellie's Alexandrite (Lexie)
• Ellie's Fourth of July (Indy)
• Ellie's Peridot (Dottie)
• Ellie's Labor Day Edition (Edie)
• Ellie's Rocky Horror Picture Show (Rocky)
• Ellie's Pumpkin Pie (Pumpkin)
• Ellie's In the Nick of Time (Nick)

Anyone planning an orgy (or perhaps Swingstock must see the all-important BUDGET ORGY CALCULATOR. Thanks John.

Just when rescuing dogs seems too much to bear, that I can't save enough of them to make a difference, here's why I won't stop: I Want To Quit!

Here's one way to avoid paying for your lunch: TIME Magazine -- My Day With The Stanley Cup.

Reading The Tin Man's post about losing his childhood dog made me think. Ellie died over 7 months ago and I haven't talked about that day and the days leading up to it, though I've re-lived them more than I care to admit.

We adopted her on April 1, 2000, after I'd heard about a senior beagle with a tumor on her leg who had been found on the side of the road. She was taken to a shelter where her chances of adoption were slim. I got up early that day and drove to Berkeley (passing the brand-new IKEA that hadn't opened yet, and commenting to myself that it would probably be the only time it had an empty parking lot). Berkeley Animal Services is the city's smaller shelter, everyone I met was very nice, some folks looked like they were going to cry, they were so happy I was taking her.

We'd thought that we'd just foster her, hoping that the tumor was benign. 6 days after she came home, she fell into a slump, didn't want to eat, walk or do anything but lay curled up in a ball under the end table. We got the diagnosis, it was hemangiosarcoma, a tumor that would eventually spread to other parts of her body. She also had high calcium levels that hinted at a second tumor, inside her body. That day, I was ready to let her go but we tried some Rimadyl and deli turkey as a last straw. She ate the turkey and the Rimadyl gave her valuable time with us.

In some ways, those 6 months are a blur. Eating was a daily struggle, we tried baby food, turkey, roast beef, cheese, wet dog food, hot dogs and finally, in July, McDonald's hamburgers. She loved those, barking like a madman every time I rolled into the drive-through. She came to work with me a lot at the end, sleeping under the extra chair in my office and making friends with my co-workers. Twice last summer, she freaked out (we called them Carol Ann episodes, she seemed absolutely possessed), yelping and running around, chewing everything in sight (casualties included a Dreamcast controller, a remote control, the fan cord and my family's antique chair) and rubbing against anything she could find. It was like she was trying to get out of her skin. The first time, we got it under control with cortisone, the second time, it worked it's way out, but the third time...

Saturday, Oct. 7, 2000, 11:00 a.m. Carol Ann returned. I was standing in the kitchen when I heard her yelp and start the Carol Ann routine. We gave her a few minutes but called the vet to see if they could squeeze her in. We headed out the door with her but 1/2 way down the walk, she seemed to feel better so we turned around. As we went back into the house, I heard Alice baying like she's never done before, and hasn't done since.

3:00 p.m. She's not getting any better, running around, panting, chewing, not seeing me through the pain. I rush her to the nearby open vet clinic, where they tell me she's blind (she wasn't until 11 am that day, I think the pain did it). They shave a huge spot on her belly and give her a narcotic patch, hoping to alleviate the pain. They wrapped the area in some stretchy ace-bandage like stuff but warned me that it probably wouldn't stay put. I put part of an old t-shirt over the bandage and secured it with hockey tape, hoping that would help.

That night I went to a movie with my brother and his wife. We stopped at my house on our way to dinner afterwards so I could check on her. When I walked in, I was in a panic, I couldn't find Ellie. I ran outside to our patio, where I saw the t-shirt and the bandage hanging from a rose bush branch, but no Ellie. A closer look showed her in the farthest corner under a bush, panting miserably and hiding from me. I brought her inside and held her (this was a girl who I couldn't hold, I think the pain was too great until the end) as she whined. I cried to Chris and Marci that there was nothing I could do, Marci told me there was.

Ellie didn't really sleep that night, choosing to pace frantically instead. We didn't sleep either, listening to her pace and worrying about her. I had a band concert the next day but I cancelled it, knowing somehow that this was Ellie's last day with us and I wanted to be with her. We hoped she could make it through the day so we could put her to sleep at our own vet's office Monday morning. A friend suggested that maybe it was just a toothache, that gave us hope for a few hours.

I laid down for a nap around 5 pm and woke up an hour later, as Andrea yelled to me that Ellie was pooping blood. I ran downstairs while we put Ellie outside. I cleaned up her indoor poop as well as the outdoor. I knew I didn't want to see that when we came home. We gathered an old towel and Alice and ran to the car. For the last 6 months, I'd put off making this drive but in the end it couldn't happen faster. Andrea drove while I sat in the back with Ellie. She was crying so loudly, Alice cried with her.

When we got to the emergency vet, I stood there holding her while we checked in. They didn't find her in the computer because she'd never been there. I shouted that "She's never been here!" over her cries. They finally let us into a room, the vet had to shout over Ellie's cries while Alice hid under a chair. The vet thought it might be colitis and suggested treating it. While she got the medicine, Ellie freaked out even more, pooping more blood all over the room. By the time she returned, I had cleaned up that poop and we knew that it was time.

We went into a different room and they explained the procedure, they'd give her a sedative and then when she was good and relaxed, they'd give the final shot. She fought the sedative hard for 30 minutes (it was supposed to work in 15), but just as they were ready to give another one, she fell asleep, snoring abruptly for the first time in days. It was comforting to see her so relaxed after so much pain.

Finally, at 7:50 p.m. on October 8, 2000, Ellie died in my arms. She took one sigh and left us. We stayed with her for a long time afterwards, covering her with the blanket they gave us. Finally, we left her there and went home. I cleaned out all her medicines right away, gathered up the baby food and the wet food to give away.

I let our regular vet know the next morning, they cried too. Less than a week before, we'd had x-rays done that showed the arthritis in her spine but no confirmed tumors. I thought that meant she'd be with us longer, but no. Our vet had long suspected a lymphoma in her liver, she believes Ellie's death was from a large piece of that tumor breaking off into her bloodstream. That also explains the Carol Ann episodes. We'll never know, but in the end it was so clear that she was already gone that it doesn't matter how it happened.

I'm grateful for the 6 months, 8 days we shared with her. While I may knowingly adopt a dying dog again in my lifetime, it won't be anytime soon, my heart is still broken.

Today, our house is full with Alice, Zeus (who came unexpectedly on Dec 22), Bagel, a sweet foster dog and our newest arrival, Rainie the basset hound. Rainie's mom was saved from a puppy mill last fall and is named after Ellie. The day we picked up Rainie, I was surrounded by 4 of the pups from Ellie the basset's litter and Ellie herself. It was sad and sweet, I never would have imagined that my sweet Ellie would bring me to the place where I'd adopt a puppy, but in many ways Rainie is Ellie's granddaughter and it's wonderful.

Ellie McBelly April 1, 1987 - October 8, 2000

Day 2 of the server outage at work and I'm running out of non-server stuff to do. When 90% of your work happens on the server, that doesn't leave a lot of other stuff.

However, my inbox is no longer over it's size limit.

What's been going on
Zeus broke out of the house this weekend, flying out the open window like a sneaky madman. He nearly gave Andrea a heart attack but was returned safely but a neighborhood ruffian.

Bagel visited the nice doctor and was found to have arthritis and allergies. His bloodwork was normal, he's on asprin and antihistamines and is a new man, chasing toys like he just discovered them. Hell, maybe he did.

Rainie is still silly and fabulous, Alice is withholding judgement on the whole puppy situation until further notice. She did, however, stop growling at Rainie as much.

Our Internet connection at work has been down all day, leaving my entire group unable to work. It would be fabulous if I didn't have a bunch of stuff to do.

More of my fabulous hockey-playing ass, this time waiting for a face-off.

Look! There's my butt, playing hockey!