Facebook has a time machine that shows you items you interacted with in the past. Today, my memory was of sweet Libby. Sure do miss her!
Dharma makes me smile every day… but I sure miss my Libby girl.
Our sweet Liberty passed over the Rainbow Bridge yesterday… she’s probably already chasing sticks with her buddy, Sara (who passed last week). Rest in peace, Libby, you were loved so very much, and we will miss you like crazy.
Thank you, St. Francis Pet Hospital, LLC (Dr. Paul Rennekamp) for taking good care of our baby.
The “Life with Libby” category here will remain as beautiful memories with the BEST DOG EVER.
First of all, “swoopy” isn’t really a word so how am I supposed to take this survey thing seriously? What haircut should you actually have? Click away and fill in blanks, but please note — even if you prefer lunch with Lady Gaga over Oprah, you may not get the end result you expect.
Libby took the same test (indicating that her most satisfying “feel” was pooping) and her results were:
What Haircut Should You Actually Have? You got: a bowl cut. You’re eccentric and forever imbued with a childlike sense of wonder. Your friendly and adorable personality needs a haircut that’s just as cute to match.
While it’s true that Libby is imbued with a childlike sense of wonder and has an adorable and friendly personality, I personally don’t think the bowl cut is her best option.
Real photographers spend a ton of time post-processing photos before showing them to clients while others outsource the chore. Obviously, most everyone who takes pictures — either by phone or with a camera — want to do some post-processing too. I know this because of the vast number of phone apps created specifically for that purpose and because bajillions of people buy them. Why?
We want the memories we’ve captured to make others feel the way we did that very moment the shutter closed.
Following are 2 photos taken seconds apart:
- In the first photo I used the natural light coming from a window and set the camera’s aperture wide open for the lens I was using (1.8 — to effect the blur and depth of field). I wanted to accentuate Libby the Diva’s softer, feminine (heh) side. Post-processing, I simply muted the color just a touch and added a slight vignette.
- To create the second photo I pushed the aperture up allowing everything to be in focus and used almost direct flash. For post-processing, I ripped out all the color, bumped the contrast, and added a stark vignette. It’s definitely a more “artsy” look and the one I personally would choose to frame.
The end result is two dog portraits that look totally different even though both were shot at the same place and the same time — nothing more than my favorite hound dog resting on the kitchen floor. Anytime you’re capturing memories — just take two (like cookies… always take at least two).
I’ve been thinking I should do some regular weekly addition here. Like ‘Facebook Friday’ where I share the craziest status post I found for the week. If there was a day of the week starting with an “I,” my new category would have the name ‘Idiot’ in it someplace and would be a whole lot catchier. I would share stuff like I read yesterday…
This dude wrote a long letter and tagged some of my FB friends in it. He used the ‘F-word’ 4 times to start the message. Then he explained that he had feelings for a member of their family — and had hidden said feelings for years. He poured out his heart in hopes that the family would not think less of him, and wanted to publicly announce what he had already shared with his secret love in private. What a horrible time he’s had throughout his life pining silently away for this woman who didn’t (until now) know how he felt! He said, “Get married and have kids toss around a couple girlfriends always wondering why they never lasted… What would it take for you to finally say BLEEP IT! and tell her.”
Then, dude named the chick and linked to HER FB page so I troll it and find she’s married. So I troll her husband’s page and find that he only has 5 friends so he will probably never, ever find out. And then… she liked the dude’s post and all the family he tagged gave him ‘high fives’ and mentioned they wondered what took him so long to profess his love. (All this reading and trolling took about 5 minutes and BARELY made 1st place over one friend whose husband has his eye on some floozy — her words, not mine — from a neighboring county.)
So again, what do you think about ‘Facebook Friday’ here on whatifitdid.com? Next week, I might get to tell about chick’s friendless husband going to jail for battery or worse… or… you might get to see photos of a wedding. Cool, yah?
Or maybe you have the same thoughts about my brilliant idea as Libby. She remains unimpressed.
Gracie made her home with us over 4 years ago. She still has baggage from the short period of her life that wasn’t what it probably should’ve been. In the past 4+ years, she has never been spanked, hit or slapped. Scolding comes quietly as not to make her afraid. Still, every single time I reach down to stroke her, she flinches. Sad really. I guess humans are more skilled at hiding their fears.
Gracie brought other baggage with her too. Like a fear of thunderstorms so horrific that she pants, paces, trembles and tears up rolls of toilet paper (something she would never do otherwise) until the last raindrop has fallen. The second clouds start rolling in — even before the first clap of thunder — she finds a hiding spot to quiver (always under something, usually behind a chair).
We’ve tried everything from tranquilizers to a crate and nothing helps really. We just know ahead of time that if a storm comes at night, there will be no sleep for humans. Like tonight…
I ended up in this furniture store one day late last week and now I spend almost every waking moment thinking about this one certain bed. I’m in need of a new mattress. The one I have feels like heaven the second you crawl in bed — but in about 3 hours, I’m wide awake and crawling out… my back feeling like it belongs to someone twice my age. The down pillow-tops (yes, there are pillow-tops on both sides of the mattress) makes it so high off the ground, I almost need a stepladder to get in. It’s like sleeping on this huge, fluffy, feather pillow. I’m thinking I need something like a sheet of steel instead.
So I walk in this furniture store to meet someone else to help pick out a couch and the second I’m inside, I walk like a zombie to the bed section of the store. The beady-eyed salesman spotted me right away. Mr. Beady Eyes immediately directed me to this fabulous (and fabulously expensive) set-up and instructed me to lie down. He clicked a remote control a few times and the pressure I was feeling in my back disappeared. For only a couple bucks a night, I would certainly be a new woman. A couple bucks a night, he explained… for the next 10 years! 10 years? Oh my.
I talked to Libby about this investment and her concern was primarily reference budgeting and monthly expenditures for treats and bacon.
On the plus side, it sure would be easier for the ole’ girl (HER — not me… ok, me too I guess) to get in bed at night. We’ve decided to read and investigate this whole new bed thing a little more before plopping down that much money. Because how on earth could I explain to this face that there’s no bacon in the house?
The best dog on the planet (Libby) is a senior hound, no doubt about it. Her eyes over time have become a bit cloudy, but nothing out of the ordinary says the vet. The old girl can see good enough to spot Freda eating a snack beneath the tree in the front yard.
And here’s how I know with 100% certainty Libby spotted the rodent too…
Obviously something very interesting occurred right beside the tree in my front yard. Both Libby and Gracie thought it was so important it should be investigated, but they took turns so they didn’t have to interact with one another. These two dogs can’t even SMELL together. They harbor no hatred. Only indifference. I’ve known some people like that — living under the same roof, doing their daily routines and basically ignoring one another — but never dogs.
Libby won’t even STEP where she thinks Gracie has been. Where’s a dog whisperer when you need one?
Libby has an appointment today with her favorite doctor. It’s time for the removal of her stitches and I can’t hardly wait to get there. The first week and a half she didn’t touch the dressing. The last couple days she’s totally torn the bandage off twice and raveled the edges a bajillion times. I’m guessing it’s itching like crazy under there.
Still, mention going to see Dr. Rennekamp and expect the cold shoulder. Proof that dogs have selective hearing too.
It’s been 6 fun-filled months since we were told Libby should be euthanized (click here if you don’t remember), and every day that we’ve been able to spend with her causes me to be a bit more disappointed in the care she received on that day. This voluptuous diva still has couches to warm and bacon to eat before heading to Rainbow Bridge.
I saw a photo yesterday that was an obvious fake. One person standing in front of a modified background with a second person pasted/cloned in to look as if the photo was a shot of the two people together. Fiction… not reality. Heck, a piece of the poor dude’s ear was even missing! Still, the fake was being passed off as a real life memory frozen in time. Ewwwww!
Have you seen that viral wedding photo where it appears as if the wedding party is running away from a dinosaur? OooOOoo — and so cool! However, that too is fiction. (If you missed it, you can find it here on the Huffington Post.)
The difference is — the photographer is not trying to pass it off as “real!” The photogrpaher’s creativity and style resulted in an image that not only brought smiles to their client, but thanks to the Internet, many of us throughout the world.
How about that cool “photo” up there of Libby and her boyfriend and Sissy Mammy Grammy? Right out of the camera, you guys! I’m sure you believe me… (at least Libby isn’t missing a portion of an ear!)
Libby prefers that her doctor NOT be referenced as a ‘veterinarian’ (and also that she not be called a dog). Her last doctor spoke to Perry and me about euthanasia BEFORE the tests they ran on her were even complete. I remember the words, “Oh, you can go ahead and have her nails trimmed, but you need to be thinking about putting her down.” I was tore up like a train wreck. Come to find out, the tests were fine and Libby was safe from the needle.
Libby’s new doctor didn’t sugarcoat the fact that she’s old or say she was going to be around for 20 more years, but he did say she was pretty darned healthy for an old girl. She had surgery yesterday and although it’s obvious she feels a little rough, she did just fine. While she was asleep, he also removed those warts on her nose. Like a doggie facelift! If she only had some hair color to wash away the gray…
Wouldn’t you think that if you chose to be a veterinarian you would be compassionate and understanding and especially sensitive when it comes to pet owners (THE PARENTS)? Yah? Me too! That’s what I expect — and that’s what I found. If you’re local and looking for a dog physician (veterinarian), check out St. Francis Pet Hospital in Seymour… ask for Dr. Paul Rennekamp. He rocks!
If this ole’ girl could talk… the stories she would tell…
The best dog on the planet posed for a photo yesterday. Well, as you can see by her expression, she didn’t actually pose WILLINGLY, but she tolerated the camera in her face. Libby is 12 and that’s about 84 in dog years, or so they say. For a large breed, that’s a long life — and hers has been filled with lots of love and excitement. She used to be the most photographed dog in the world, but now… not so much. She’s tired of such frivolous activities! That translates into photos of butts and tails and yawning expressions at my every attempt to get a shot. Her muzzle is now white and she has warts on her WARTS for crying out loud, but she’s still beautiful to me.
Libby struggles getting on the bed and is slow getting up and down. Her arthritic body doesn’t cooperate like it used to. But you go for a ride in the car and she can hop from the ground into the back seat like she’s a pup again! And don’t think for a second that you could sneak up to her house — she might not be able to see so great anymore, but she can hear a gnat buzz five miles away. You’ll know she means business when you see her bristled back and watch her stomp her feet.
Getting old sucks out loud, you guys — but growing old with grace and style is a lesson that could be taught by this brown hound. If she could talk… the stories this ole’ girl could tell…
If you find that you’re floundering through a non-productive day filled with frustrations galore all you need is 10 minutes with a 3 year-old to change your attitude.
Collaborating with my son on a project, Coco was pleasantly entertained and didn’t interrupt our work once she was handed a retired Blackberry phone. She encouraged Perry to push random letters on its keyboard and would exclaim, “Excellent choice!” no matter the results of his pecking.
So this phone “rang” (amazing phone, you guys… so magical it rang without a battery), and I answered the”call,” passed the phone to the smarty-pants 3 year-old and told her that it was for her.
Coco took the phone, placed it to her ear and said in her best executive voice, “Hi. Yesssss. Well, I’m very BUSY right now.”
Guess I wasn’t listening. The call was actually for Libby.
I HATE it when Facebook friends share links that are about tragedy. Especially dog tragedies. I’m scrolling quickly through all the new stuff added since my last visit (which is a LOT when you have several friends and only log in a couple times a day) and then…
A photo of a pitiful starving dog. Or one hogtied with duct tape. Or one maimed by other dogs. Or a sick dog on death row in California that has 8 hours to live if I don’t get there.
And then I look at my Libby… who just had a big birthday (she’s 12 — for a lab, that’s ancient) and who is failing more every single day. And it makes me depressed. And then I cry. Please, PLEASE, stop sharing that heart-breaking crap. Something like ANY ONE OF THESE would be soooo much better!
Give us softies a break. Wontcha?
[box color=”yellow” icon=”wand”]If you do not change direction, you may end up where you’re heading.
While the above quote is inspiring and one I remind myself of often, it just doesn’t work across the board. For example… the ‘Escape the 80’s House Project.’ My primary problem there is that I haven’t a clue where I want to end up. And now, I’m at the point that I don’t know that I care anymore.
I’m still struggling with where I want to live — and I haven’t even been to the Seymour house in over 2 weeks. My fabulous contractor is now 2 weeks late with his estimate and I figure if you don’t have time to provide that, you probably aren’t going to show up to start on time and you certainly won’t finish when you told me you would. Back to the drawing board in that regard. Blah!
Libby is waiting on a sign. Something that will jump out to make the moving decision clear… but all she can see is the old visiting rooster (that to her looks like moving drumsticks). No. Help. But I appreciate the effort.
But that quote/reminder to change direction does apply when it comes to the photos I’ve been capturing lately. You’ve probably noticed that everything I’ve been sharing here are nothing more than iPhone photos. That’s because I’ve not pulled out a ‘real‘ camera in ages. That’s about to CHANGE, you guys! My favorite brother is in Indy for a short time and we’re meeting up tomorrow for some photo/video fun. I’m pretty excited to pull out the equipment, dust it off and see what happens next.
Raise your hand if you remember Hugo the Abominable Snowman. If the photo to the left doesn’t do it for you, let me provide a couple quotes from this lesser-known Looney Tunes character:
“Which way do we go, George?”
“Just what I always wanted. My own little bunny rabbit! I will name him George, and I will hug him, and pet him, and…”
Dude was ignorantly, perpetually happy.
And, Gracie is a female version of Hugo — with different hair and four legs.
When working in or on the house in Seymour, Libby and Gracie get to ‘ride in the car’ because leaving them home alone for such long hours would be traumatic. Not for them most likely — but for me when faced with the predictable mess that any dog would leave if left alone for 10 or more hours. Big dogs leave really big messes, you guys. After a couple weeks of going “bye bye” they’ve figured out that getting in the car doesn’t necessarily mean a trip to the vet, so both hounds get crazy excited the second I even LOOK at my shoes.
It’s gotten to the point, however, that Libby gets really ticked off every time she goes outside and the car isn’t waiting on her. She puts her head down and angrily steps toward the door. Gracie/Hugo just stays ignorantly, perpetually happy.
“Which way do we go, Libby? Which way do we go?”
A cause is WHY something happens. An effect is WHAT happens. I’m not talking about karma here, you guys — I’m referring to the philosophical concept of casualty or causation. I figure it’s best explained by images.
This kitten is homeless (unless the neighbors decided to claim him/her). When a tame kitten appears on your doorstep wanting in, it probably had a home and was dumped by some
asshole jerk. Said kitten is now identified as “CAUSE.”
When a homeless kitten is within sight of brown hound dog and is touching said dog’s possessions (little blonde girl, sidewalk, and grass), dog stands distressed in window barking maniacally. This would be identified as “EFFECT.”
Please note that the EFFECT may transform into a CAUSE which produces another EFFECT. This poor kitten needs a home ASAP.
It’s all about polarity. You got this one positively charged thing and this other negatively charged thing and then chemistry takes over and the result? Libby and Gracie are exactly like trying to mix oil and water. It’s like this…
Libby is water. She’s smart and electrically charged — her molecules are like a Mickey Mouse head for sure.
Then you have Gracie. She’s a lipid. All clumped together and clingy. She’s always happy but has no clue why. Although really made of non-polar molecules, Libby swears that means she’s bipolar.
Try putting the two of them together and they will separate every single time. They don’t hate each other or bicker. No! Libby usually ignores and only tolerates her blonde adopted sister. They simply don’t mix. Just like oil and water.
And THAT is why I rarely share photos of them together… because they rarely are.
My favorite dog EVAH woke up yesterday morning sick. She got sick on the floor three times before hitting the grass and I don’t know how many times she heaved once outside. Straightaway, I call the vet and they were so kind to get her in immediately.
Once in the examining room, I couldn’t help but notice the distinct differences between the experiences received when I go to the doctor and what it’s like for a human with 4 legs…
- On the wall I see a chart that shows weight, age, and expected life of the patient. Libby is a large dog, is 12 years-old, and was in the RED geriatric condition category. This would be like setting in the examining room of your favorite physician and in your face is a huge poster indicating you are too fat and too over the hill to get any worthwhile treatment. The bottom of the poster would read, “YOU ARE ALMOST DEAD ALREADY!“
- I didn’t see the vet until after Libby had been taken into another area. The “assistant/nurse” told me the procedures that would be performed back there, but I found it interesting that the person determining these actions was someone with a lot of hands-on experience, but not a whole lot of professional training.
- BEFORE the test results were complete (x-rays and blood work), the “vet/doctor” came in to speak with us. She indicated that she suspected a tumor on an organ that would require chemo to live or euthanasia. At Libby’s advanced age, euthanasia was something she suggested we discuss as chemo wasn’t a viable option. Then she was gone.
I admit I was
tore up like a train wreck a little anxious as we awaited the results that would determine if my best bud for the past 12 years was going to live or die. About 20 minutes passed when the “vet/doctor” came in the examining room to let us know that the x-rays were clear, the blood work came back normal for an aging girl, and Libby had Gastroenteritis (a stomach bug).
A shot to help with nausea and prescription for a bland diet, Libby’s nails were trimmed and she was released. From death row to a mani/pedi, you guys.
I’m not stupid. I know that I don’t have a long time left with Libby. Still, I have to wonder if vets shouldn’t be a little more like physicians insofar as their bedside manner with the families of patients. Below is evidence that Libby agrees.
I know from experience, getting old is rough on a girl. Slower to think, slower to move, and the eyesight isn’t what it once was. Still, Libby is beautiful to me. Thinking about every pet I’ve had throughout my life to date, there isn’t one that could hold a candle to her. She’s funny, but wise. She’s a tease, but doesn’t mess around when strangers enter her yard. She sleeps with a pillow. On the bed. Just like a people. Think she’s one lucky dog? Me too. But I also think I’m lucky to have found the perfect hound.
She’s so self-confident that she doesn’t even request the white/gray hair be covered with ‘Loving Care’ but prefers that she be called voluptuous rather than chunky. Because no matter how much self-confidence you have… aging is rough on a girl.
Sound asleep early this morning I am jolted awake by barking dogs. Our hounds bark like crazy when someone pulls in the driveway… and after a late night and on my Saturday morning off, that’s just what happened.
This car pulls all the way back to the garage and stops. I look out the window and see two younger guys talking, but making no effort to get out of their car. After about 5 minutes of wondering why some strange car is parked right beside my bedroom window, I walk out the front door in my pj’s, trudge down the driveway to stop and stand at the passenger side window. They don’t even notice me! So with my grumpy scowl and just out of bed attire, I peck on their window and restrain from putting my hands around the throat of the first dude I could reach the second the window rolled down.
The driver, still chatting on his cell, reaches in the back of his car, pulls out a stinky, hairy dog and shoves it toward me. My expression must’ve changed so much it warranted a response… “You ‘da groomer?”
Do I look like a dog groomer,
Gracie is so dedicated to those who hold the strings to her heart. No matter which of us leaves, she waits — watching out the door for the first sign of our return.
Author: Stan Rawlinson
Dog Ten Commandments
1. My life is likely to last 10 to 15 years. Any separation from you will be painful. Remember that before you get me.
2. Give me time to understand what you want of me.
3. Place your trust in me- it is crucial to my well being.
4. Do not be angry at me for long, and do not lock me up as punishment.
5. You have your work, your entertainment, and your friends. I only have you.
6. Talk to me sometimes. Even if I don’t understands your words, I understand your voice when it is speaking to me.
7. Be aware that however you treat me, I will never forget.
8. Remember before you hit me that I have teeth that could easily hurt you, but I choose not to bite you because I love you.
9. Before you scold me for being uncooperative, obstinate or lazy, ask yourself if something might be bothering me. Perhaps I might not be getting the right food, or I have been out too long, or my heart is getting too old and weak.
10. Take care of me when I get old; you too will grow old. Go with me on difficult journeys. Never say: “I cannot bear to watch” or “Let it happen in my absence.” Everything is easier for me if you are there, even my death. Remember that I love you.
Coco was about to doze off. She was using her best friend, Gracie, (a.k.a. Gacey) as a pillow when I quietly snuck into the living room with my trusty camera to grab the most adorable photo ever…
Roused from almost-slumber, Coco decides she would simply love a “best buds” photo complete with smiles for the camera. Gracie wasn’t keen on cooperation. Obviously.
I am of the opinion that God created mild-mannered Golden Retrievers specifically for 2 year-olds. Gracie is such a sweet girl… even Nana’s wouldn’t appreciate manipulated lips.
Yes, that is my poop in the floor in your bedroom. This is going to be hard for you to hear, but I’m not your dog.
You do know the Jimmy Buffett song that references the weather channel girl with her perfect weather curl — right? Well, I have three girls to help Coco and I outnumber the boys around here: Libby, Gracie, & Wanwan. Three spoiled hound dogs with unique personalities that are so very different. Put snow on the ground and there is even more evidence of their unique qualities…
Gracie is a slug. The second she gets out the door she does the ‘drop and roll’ maneuver. She doesn’t care if her rolls are on the plush green grass of summer, the mud holes created by spring showers, a blanket of wet, dead leaves in the fall, or the cold, wet snow of winter.
Libby is an explorer. Not crazy about even getting her feet wet most of the time, Libby picks each step with care. She smells to see who or what has crossed the path she chooses and will often walk around areas that she thinks stink. Snow on the ground makes her feel like a puppy again. While you would think the cold would cause her old bones to ache and stiffen, it has totally the opposite effect.
Wanwan is a prude. She’s starchy and prissy and prefers to keep her small body in the warm confines of the house — especially when there’s snow on the ground. She would much rather be curled up on a pillow. In the sun (if there is any). With her schoolmarmish nose in the air. She will occasionally go the window to yap, yap, yap (which is annoying as all hell!) at the two other girls.
I’m pretty sure we could ALL use a holiday!
Holiday… Jimmy Buffett
The weather channel girl with her perfect weather curl
Is talkin’ cold, cold, cold.
You can’t get out of bed, you can’t remember what you’ve said,
You’re feelin’ old, old, old.
Is it a fever or depression, anger or obsession,
What’s the remedy?
We’re not talkin’ rocket science, the answer to your question’s
Very plain to see.
You need a Holiday, (you need a holiday) take a Holiday (take a
Find a far-off wonderland where you might regain
Command of your life today.
Take a Holiday, (take a holiday) you need a Holiday (you need a holiday).
Grab a pack and hit the trail, take a sail
And wind up in some moonlit bay.
I’m thinking that taking down the Christmas tree is a viable option to remedy the latest discord around here. The frosted icicle ornaments have become tools for jabbing the television. When I confront the culprit, I get a look that indicates I have 3 heads. At least 3.
Libby remains unfazed. She could care less about the TV (she’s not a fan of Pocoyo anyway) or the Christmas tree. She prefers to warm herself in rays of sun that filter through the windows and onto her favorite spots and rolls with the flow so long as that part of her world is intact.
Libby is approaching 80 years-old in dog years. I still think she’s beautiful. She may be gray and her skin may hang a bit loose — and she may have a hard time getting on the bed now — but she’s still a puppy at heart. She has what most humans dream of… a family that loves her, and someone who still likes the way she looks at her age.
Nobody grows old merely by living a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul.