Tarra and Bella: An Animal Love Story (Video)

Image Courtesy CBS News

 

You may have heard the story about the bond between an elephant, Tarra and a stray dog, Bella who lived together as friends in a Tennessee animal sanctuary.

The original story was reported by Steve Hartman on CBS's Sunday Morning:

They were so close, in fact, that when Bella got injured a few years ago and had to spend three weeks recuperating in the sanctuary office, guess who held vigil the entire time? Twenty-two hundred acres to roam free, and Tarra just stood in the corner waiting. Home video of their reunion shows how inseparable they'd become and remained, right to the end.

Unfortunately the end of the relationship came last week.  Fair warning, keep the tissues handy.

Here's the original story about the pair.

Y'all know I'm a sucker for doggies, but now I think I'm a sucker for elephants too.

Sometimes Out Of Death Comes Life: Happy Birthday Megan's Minute!

Sometimes out of death comes life. 

A month before I started Megan's Minute, a good friend of mine, I'll call him CR, had a stroke and died.  He was 59 years old.

He was a brilliant, funny, often infuriating man who lived and breathed, photography, film and literature.  He was proudly anti-social, unapologetically liberal and would have been as astounded as anyone to see that a black man was now President of the United States.

CR was also an incredible writer, but when he died, his novel was unpublished and his screenplays unmade.  Only those of us who knew him well knew what a wonderfully entertaining and imaginative writer he was.

The last time I saw CR was months before he died.  My last contact with him was exchanged emails the Christmas before he died saying how we had to get together soon.

After hearing of his death, I was devastated that the "get together" would never happen.  And mixed in with the grief of his loss was the thought that no one else would ever read his work.

Why am I telling you this?

It's simple.  I've always believed myself to be a writer.  I've written stories, screenplays, and portions of novels, but never had the courage or the commitment to jump in feet first and find out if I had what it took to make a living as a writer.

After CR died, I discovered I desperately needed for someone to read my work.  Even if it was only five people whose names I never knew.

I'd already been considering blogging thanks to my friend Island Girl.  And after CR died, that was the push I needed to get me past the fear of my work not being good enough, or perfect enough, or whatever.

I chose Valentine's Day 2007 for my first post because it was a Valentine to myself.  A commitment to myself, my work and what I hoped would be a new future.

So at 11:55PM--it took me until the end of the day to summon my courage--I clicked "post" and  my first Megan's Minute post went live.

Kids, Death, and Honesty: From One Generation To Another

As someone who grew up never being encouraged to talk about anything unpleasant or uncomfortable, I have to take note of a conversation I had with Milos and Cara a few weeks ago, after Daisy died.

Especially in comparison to the conversation, or lack thereof I had with my mother after Daisy died.

It was a bright Sunday afternoon when I took Milos and Cara to the Cradle of Aviation Museum, and in spite of the "I'm bored's" from Cara when Milos got to pick which exhibit we would see and the "Can we go now's" from Milos when Cara got to pick which exhibit we would see, we all had a good time and I got a wonderful dose Kiddie Frolics without the hard work of parenting.

When we came home, I decided to show them the nasturtiums that had sprouted in my backyard from the seeds they planted in the spring.  When we got past the gate, Milos said, "Look out for poop..." and then he stopped, remembered and said, "Oh...."

I said, "Yeah, no more poop to worry about."

He paused for a minute, gauging my reaction and then said, "Do you still miss Daisy?  Are you lonely without her?" 

"Yes, I still miss her a lot," I said.  "And it is lonely without her."

Goodbye To My Beloved Daisy

Four weeks ago today I put my beloved Daisy to sleep. 

Many of you know about Daisy from my Doggie Frolics, but for those of you who don't, Daisy was my wonderful cocker spaniel that I had for eleven years.

She was my girl, my baby, and my puppy.  She was the best little dog anyone could want, sweet, smart, and quite the independent canine. 

She was also very healthy.  In fact it wasn't until the last two years that she began to have senior issues like high blood pressure and kidney problems, but still, with meds, dietary changes and frequent testing to monitor her, Daisy lived very nicely.

That is until my birthday two months ago when she couldn't get up.  Luckily after an overnight visit to the vet and an infusion of meds, I was able to bring her home.

Then about a month ago, once again, Daisy couldn't get up.  It was a Saturday, and since she seemed her normal elderly self otherwise, I decided to increase the dosage of her meds and see how she would do.  By Sunday, she still couldn't get on her feet and though she was eating the boiled eggs and bread I gave her, she wouldn't eat anything else.

Daisy's Birthday Gift

I had a birthday recently and Daisy's present to me was an early morning visit to the vet's office and a $500 vet bill.

Don't get me wrong, I love my little senior citizen, but that was not how I'd planned to spend my birthday.

Daisy's been having issues with her spine and back legs.  When she's on a non-carpeted floor, she has trouble getting traction and supporting her weight.  Sometimes I've got to help her up but once she gets started, she's usually fine.  A little creaky, but fine.

In spite of that and her kidney, heart, blood pressure and pancreas issues, she's doing pretty well for a fourteen and a half year old cocker spaniel.

But when I woke up on my birthday Daisy couldn't get up.  When I helped her up, she couldn't stay up.  She didn't seem like she was in pain, but she was stressed from the frustration of not being able to get up.  It was about seven o'clock and the vet didn't open until nine, so I  bundled her in the car, brought along some coffee and we sat in the parking lot of the vet's office until they opened.

Daisy's usual vet wasn't in, but that was okay because the owner of the practice was there and he's like the oracle of pet care in my town.  He determined that Daisy had either a slipped disc or some sort of blockage to a blood vessel that was keeping her from supporting her back legs.  What was required were heavy duty steroid meds to get her back on her feet...maybe. 

Daisy Tells BlogHer To Stuff It

Daisy's not real happy about BlogHer '08. 

Or more to the point, the fact that I'm going.  You see Daisy's in her twilight doggie years and change of any kind in her routine is greeted with civil disobedience. 

Hunger strikes, sit-ins, candlelight vigils, she's done 'em all.

I've tried to explain to her the importance of this trip, but all I get for my trouble is maniacal barking and lasting views of her backside.

It doesn't help that I was away for three days last week on a trip with my mother and stepfather to Newport, Rhode Island.  Even though I enlisted my cousin as doggie sitter, Daisy was not amused.  When I got home, I'd finished unpacking the car, airing out the house, showering and changing before she even looked at me.

Then I told her about BlogHer and she had a doggie fit.  She was not impressed by my going to meet a bunch of women who sit around all day blogging while ignoring their families, friends and especially their long suffering canine companions.  She was quick to point out she doesn't go running off to Dogster Conferences at the drop of a doggie bone, leaving me alone to fend for myself.

Oh yeah, I thought, paying for Rena, her personal assistant, having my cousin stay over to sit with her, and then having no less than four other backups to take care of her every need...that's leaving her alone.

As you can see Daisy's a big believer in the power of the guilt trip.   But I'm not falling for it.  I'm going to BlogHer '08 tomorrow and Daisy will just have to deal.

And another thing...er, oh sorry...I gotta go, she's barking for me.  For those of you going to BlogHer, see you in a couple of days.

Daisy: The Doggie Alarm Clock

I haven't done an update on my girl Daisy lately and she's starting to resent it.  I can tell.  She gives me that look that says, "You haven't written about me in a while, have you?"

So here's a Daisy post, but she may wish I'd kept silent.  You see, Daisy's become the doggie version of a very reliable, yet unwelcome alarm clock.

Every morning, day in day out, weekend or weekday, she starts a torrent of barking at about 5AM and doesn't stop until I drag my sorry butt out of bed, turn off the house alarm, and let her out in the backyard.  Now, you have to understand, my real alarm clock is not set to go off until 6:30.  If I make the mistake of getting back into bed after our little morning ritual, I'm lucky if I open my eyes again before 10AM. 

If I don't go back to bed, I grab a bowl of Cheerios, turn on the wasteland that is morning TV and periodically shoot withering glances in Daisy's direction.

This has been going on for at least five months now, and though I've kind of gotten used to it, my love affair with sleep is seriously on the rocks.

One reason I'm so tolerant of Daisy's little ritual is because her 14, going on 15 year old bladder is not as reliable as it used to be.  And because of her kidney issues, I'm sure the majority of the time, she sincerely has to go out.  However, if after a night of blogging, I let her out at 3 AM, and she then does her doggie alarm clock routine at 5 AM, something's not Kosher in Denmark.

Nonetheless, there I am at the back door, watching as she does her thing, pining for the bed I left behind. 

Daisy's Disappearing Act

Daisy gave me a big ol' fright last night.

I got home from dinner at Kay's house around 9PM.  All evening it had been thundering, lightening and pouring rain, so I made my way home in between thunderclaps.  Though I know Daisy doesn't like thunderstorms, my little senior citizen's hearing is not what it was, so I didn't think the storm would bother her like in the past.

I opened the door cautiously as I always do now---for weeks, she's taken to sleeping directly behind the front door---and I walked in the house.  Well, she wasn't behind the front door.  Maybe getting hit in the butt one too many times had convinced her sleeping there wasn't such a great idea. She also wasn't in the wing chair by the door, or in her bed by the steps.

As I put my stuff down, I called for her.  No little cocker spaniel came trotting out.  I wasn't too worried because I thought she was either in the corner of the dining room or in her bed in the den.

I emptied my pockets, took off my shoes and looked around. I checked the corner in the dining room, I walked through the kitchen, I checked her bed in the den and I looked in the bathroom.  No Daisy.   I was puzzled because my downstairs isn't that big and she's not that small.  Where was she?

The mail was on the counter so Rena---the woman I jokingly refer to as Daisy's personal assistant---had been there to walk her.  Rena once told me Daisy had given her a fright by tucking herself behind the wing chair in the living room.

I went back there to look.  No Daisy.  She's not upstairs I thought, because a baby gate at the steps prevented that, and she's not in the basement because a door prevented that.

My breath caught in my throat and I got scared.

"Daisy?" I yelled...nothing.

I clapped my hands, she usually heard that.  "Daisy?"

Nothing.

I went through all the rooms again and looked more closely.

When I got to the kitchen I hit the blinking message light on the phone thinking Rena might have needed to take her to the vet and couldn't reach me on my cell. As the message started to play I expected Rena's voice saying Daisy was hit by a car and she was in critical condition.

Nope. It was a message from a friend asking me for a reference.

"Daisy?"  More clapping.

Now I was starting to panic.  Someone broke in the house.  Someone broke in the house and took her.  She'd been dog-napped!  Or someone let her out.  She was out in the yard, in the dark, with the thunder and the lightening...and the raccoons!

"Daisy!!"  I grabbed for the phone, about to call Kay when I hear the faint tinkle of dog tags. 

"Daisy?"  I clapped again.  The tinkle got louder and out she came...from the bathroom!

I'd looked in the bathroom.  I'd walked into the bathroom.  But I hadn't looked against the wall behind the toilet in the bathroom, where there's a cool doggie escape from a muggy house.

I exhaled with relief and took her little head in my hands, chiding her.  She looked at me like an awakened Rip Van Winkle, realized what time it was and immediately demanded her dinner. 

As I poured out the kibble, I realized what Rena had already figured out.  Daisy still had a lot of tricks up her sleeve.

The Queen Of The Vet

This is a Daisy medic alert, and the vet bills just keep on coming.

Last year I was cutting my hair with blunt scissors so that my $200 haircut money could go to a certain Cocker Spaniel's medical care. This year I may have to start selling my blood.

Two weeks ago Daisy had her six month follow-up exam to check her kidneys, blood, etc. We were finally going to find out if the Eukanuba food was keeping her protein loss down and also if her blood pressure was under control.

Daisy suffers through the vet visits very well. She whines and trembles just enough to makes me feel guilty, but not so much that she's unmanageable. In the reception area we visited with Daisy's personal assistant. She's a nice lady named Rena who works as a receptionist in the vet's office. Last year after rushing home from work late to let Daisy out, I'd had enough of the guilt of leaving her so many hours, so I hired Rena's daughter to walk Daisy once a day while I was at work. When her daughter moved to Queens last fall, Rena took over the job.  So for $12 a day Daisy has a personal assistant, and I have peace of mind.

After our visit, I took Daisy into the examining room and the vet did all the tests. The way they take a dog's blood pressure is fascinating. They listen on a speaker for the blood flow through an artery in her paw and then they use the gauge to check the pressure.  It's amazing.  Her blood pressure was normal so the $2 a day pills are doing their job.

Daisy’s Spring Cleaning

Cleaning Out The Cheerios

Daisy Of The Manor

Daisy and I were to the manor born last Saturday when we went to the Dog Days celebration at Long Island's Westbury Gardens.  The estate opens it's doors to canines twice a year and on those days visitors can compete in contests, check out dog rescue booths and roam the gardens freely with their four-legged friends.

Unlike last year, Daisy and I had to bundle up against the cold since winter hasn't taken a look at the calendar yet.  Daisy wore her pink, yellow and gray argyle sweater and since she looked quite fetching I entered her in the best dressed contest.  As we paraded around in front of the judges I checked out the competition and wasn't impressed.  There was a shaggy little black dog wearing a red and white Christmas sweater---didn't anybody tell that dog's owner she's a season behind?  There was a poodle with a fancy collar---big deal.  Finally there was a tiny white Pekinese wearing a studded denim jacket---garish much?  A couple of other nondescript pooches rounded out the field and I was confident we were headed for a win.

As we halted in front of the judges, Daisy decided sniffing goose poop was more important than winning some stupid stuffed toy, so I nudged her gently when the judges looked our way, forcing her to give them a good look at the total package on display.

Finally the announcement:  The winner is...the white Pekinese in the studded denim jacket.  What?  What a fix.

The Pekinese owner jumped up and down clapping her hands and then gleefully accepted the stupid first place toy.  Daisy didn't mind one way or the other but I was highly indignant.  I was all set to protest except my little senior citizen was now sniffing around the legs of a giant German Shepherd and since she has a tendency to try and take on dogs bigger than she is, it was time to get out of there.  Later away from the crooked judges hearing, two women came over and said they felt Daisy should have won easily.  Feeling somewhat vindicated I grasped Daisy's leash and we headed in the direction of the gardens.

We spent the next hour and a half briskly walking around the slowly awakening grounds, enjoying the solitude and freedom to roam where we wanted.

Although I brought my camera with me, I'd only taken three pictures when the battery died and of course I didn't have a spare.  So all the pictures here except the one of Daisy in her sweater are from April 2006.  In the fall, I expect to have a spare battery pack and a whole new set of judges.

Daisy Dog C.S.I.

Daisy At The Scene Of The Crime

Last Sunday morning, as I was about to let Daisy out, I saw a squirrel loitering around my backyard maple tree.  As always, I rapped on the door to give him a head start. Daisy may be 13 years old but she's still capable of showing those nasty little squirrels a thing or two.  The squirrel decided to ignore me so I was like, okay...I warned you.  Prepare to die.

I opened the door and Daisy bolted out, barking like the Hound Of The Baskervilles, and the nasty little squirrel, when he saw he was in Daisy's cross hairs, ducked behind the tree.  Daisy got to within a fur ball of his tail when he scooted up the trunk, out of reach.  Oh well, there's always tomorrow.

A Poodle On My Lap

I got my taxes done yesterday with a Poodle on my lap. What a kick! Luka, a little rust colored ball of fluff is my tax accountant's dog.  Because Jon's dog sitter cut out on him for a few days, Luka had to camp out at the office right in the middle of tax season.

When I got there, she bounced out to the waiting room, scooted around my feet and I was immediately smitten.  "Oh, what a cutie!"  I exclaimed.  Jon greeted me with a sweet smile and a warm hug, but I ditched him quicker than you can say Poodle.

"What a sweetheart," I said in my high pitched doggie voice, scratching behind a scruffy ear.  I asked Jon if I could pick her up and he said she would probably love the attention.  He was right, her eleven pounds of warm doggie fur snuggled right up to my chest.  When I went into his office, Jon was left to bring up the rear with my coat and bag since my arms were full of Poodle.

Daisy's Hunger Strike - Part 2

Hallelujah!  The strike is over. 

A couple of weeks ago, I told the tale of how Daisy and I were at a standoff.  Well, I blinked.

On Day 12 of Daisy's hunger strike, I caved.  I went to the vet's office and picked up a different brand of kidney formula dog food.  It's made by Eukanuba and though the vet warned that the formula was not quite as beneficial as the food Daisy hated I didn't care.  I just wanted her to eat.

Dinner time on Day 12, I took out one nugget of the Eukanuba and called my little senior citizen over.  Daisy stared at me suspiciously.

Daisy's Hunger Strike - Part 1

Daisy’s on a hunger strike.  This is Day 11 and I’m starting to worry.

And see, usually I’m the hard liner.  I’m the one who says, when people start complaining about their picky pets who won't eat, “They’ll eat eventually. No animal is going to starve themselves."  Well, my hard line is getting softer.

It all began last fall when during Daisy’s bi-annual checkup the vet found she was losing protein in her urine.  For a cocker spaniel of her advanced 13 years that's a bad thing.   After many tests, questions, and semi-satisfactory answers, the vet said Daisy’s kidneys were in the first stages of renal failure.  It's probably what will eventually take her from me.

That was really hard to hear.