What a year. Plans made, some executed, some abandoned.
A son sent off to college, now home for the holidays and easily mistaken for a man. I'm flabbergasted by how much more him he is - his good characteristics are even stronger.
The dogs had another banner year. Dot and Jake were retired, and Gin entered the field. Many trials were attended, the hounds earned some titles and national rankings, and much fun was had by all. I'm proud of them.
This time last year Bugg arrived, it's been a pleasurable education overall, having her here. We lost Mac and Junior this year, but have been joined by puppy Trek. Our pack is a compatible if diverse lot.
And although we lost my Uncle Doug in the spring, overall the family is happy and healthy and everyone's on affectionate speaking terms - a blessing.
Deepest appreciation to my many friends for a wonderful year. May 2010 be even better.
Showing posts with label Mac. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mac. Show all posts
Thursday, 31 December 2009
Friday, 13 February 2009
Follow-up: Mac's histopathology report
FINALLY, we have a diagnosis: Adenocarcinoma
Infiltrative mass originating at the stomach; a thin flat mass on the outerwall. Metastases to liver, lymph nodes, and mesentery. Interestingly, the pancreas was unaffected.
Overall, good news it would seem. Not known to be painful (but certainly uncomfortable) and NOT heritable. We have a 1/2 brother, Jake, so this is a relief.
Just 14 weeks ago Mac's blood work, including liver numbers, were normal... so either this spread like wildfire or he was able to cope with it well. Due to the originating mass's form and location, only an MRI or exploratory surgery would have found it (the examining vet said that maybe *somebody* could have seen it on the ultrasound, but since two Internal specialists did the sonograms that's pretty remote). The stomach was was not perforated, so endoscope wouldn't have found it either. And, even had it been diagnosed, the recommended margins are 8 cm so it was inoperable anyway.
It is impossible still to believe that a week ago yesterday (Thurs) Mac was cantering in the pasture. Our days are emptier without him.
Infiltrative mass originating at the stomach; a thin flat mass on the outerwall. Metastases to liver, lymph nodes, and mesentery. Interestingly, the pancreas was unaffected.
Overall, good news it would seem. Not known to be painful (but certainly uncomfortable) and NOT heritable. We have a 1/2 brother, Jake, so this is a relief.
Just 14 weeks ago Mac's blood work, including liver numbers, were normal... so either this spread like wildfire or he was able to cope with it well. Due to the originating mass's form and location, only an MRI or exploratory surgery would have found it (the examining vet said that maybe *somebody* could have seen it on the ultrasound, but since two Internal specialists did the sonograms that's pretty remote). The stomach was was not perforated, so endoscope wouldn't have found it either. And, even had it been diagnosed, the recommended margins are 8 cm so it was inoperable anyway.
It is impossible still to believe that a week ago yesterday (Thurs) Mac was cantering in the pasture. Our days are emptier without him.
Sunday, 8 February 2009
Mac: 1/5/96 - 2/8/09
UrieBay MacPhearson CGC, RTD, HCT, JHD, HTD
A few weeks after we got him, age 7. A near-perfect working border collie, with a coat like a yak.
Also known as Mac-maniac, Mac the Knife, and Mac-a-roni noodle pie.
From the moment I met Mac, and the moment he met the rest of our family (he came to us at age 7) his supreme, quiet self-confidence infused everything he did. Just three months after coming to us, Mac earned his CGC with Anthony (then 11). Before long, he'd accomplished much more.
Born in Maine, Mac grew up in Boston, riding the subway and attending doggie day-care. After a brief stint in Chicago, he was a California-dog for a summer before we relocated to New Mexico. He liked everyone except toddlers; eating snow was a winter-long joy.
Mac's first true love, Amy. She came to visit when he was 10, just before moving out of the country. Amy's tears join ours and his breeder's, Whitney, today.
Rick and I were laughing through the tears on the way home from the vet: Mac jumping in the pool at our old house; exchanging cheap-shots with his nephew, Jake; being teased as a "golden retriever" in a BC suit during therapy dog testing; teaching me to trust him because he always knew more about pressure and stock that I ever will. Stock respected his power but didn't panic.
Mac's perfect "a-wee" flank; quiet, confident, effective.
The last three months have been a roller coaster, with many more good days than bad. Friday was the last hurrah; this morning we sent him over the proverbial Rainbow Bridge with our tears and our hearts. Post mortem found cancer "everywhere". Tissues have been sent our for histopathology; preliminary diagnosis is lymphoma concentrated in the digestive system's lymph glands. Bloodwork was always normal, and the cancer was too dispersed to show on x-rays or ultrasound. Only exploratory surgery would have found it (and he was too weak for surgery).
If there's a heaven for dogs, Mac is now getting all the sheep in the pen the first time and his flanks are perfect. Even better, there's an endless supply of tennis balls and he can eat all the cat food he'll ever want.
That'll do, Mac, that'll do.
A few weeks after we got him, age 7. A near-perfect working border collie, with a coat like a yak.
Also known as Mac-maniac, Mac the Knife, and Mac-a-roni noodle pie.
From the moment I met Mac, and the moment he met the rest of our family (he came to us at age 7) his supreme, quiet self-confidence infused everything he did. Just three months after coming to us, Mac earned his CGC with Anthony (then 11). Before long, he'd accomplished much more.
Born in Maine, Mac grew up in Boston, riding the subway and attending doggie day-care. After a brief stint in Chicago, he was a California-dog for a summer before we relocated to New Mexico. He liked everyone except toddlers; eating snow was a winter-long joy.
Mac's first true love, Amy. She came to visit when he was 10, just before moving out of the country. Amy's tears join ours and his breeder's, Whitney, today.
Rick and I were laughing through the tears on the way home from the vet: Mac jumping in the pool at our old house; exchanging cheap-shots with his nephew, Jake; being teased as a "golden retriever" in a BC suit during therapy dog testing; teaching me to trust him because he always knew more about pressure and stock that I ever will. Stock respected his power but didn't panic.
Mac's perfect "a-wee" flank; quiet, confident, effective.
The last three months have been a roller coaster, with many more good days than bad. Friday was the last hurrah; this morning we sent him over the proverbial Rainbow Bridge with our tears and our hearts. Post mortem found cancer "everywhere". Tissues have been sent our for histopathology; preliminary diagnosis is lymphoma concentrated in the digestive system's lymph glands. Bloodwork was always normal, and the cancer was too dispersed to show on x-rays or ultrasound. Only exploratory surgery would have found it (and he was too weak for surgery).
If there's a heaven for dogs, Mac is now getting all the sheep in the pen the first time and his flanks are perfect. Even better, there's an endless supply of tennis balls and he can eat all the cat food he'll ever want.
That'll do, Mac, that'll do.
Monday, 5 January 2009
Happy 13th Birthday, Mac!
We weren't sure you'd make it - glad you're still here!!
MacPhearson CGC, RTD, HCT, JHD, HTD - this incredible dog did it ALL: obedience, therapy work, and was the best herding instructor ever. A wonderful communicator with reactive dogs, Mac was a tremendous partner for seminars. Unfortunately his vision deteriorated, so he was retired one Q short of another herding title. Old age has caught up with this magnificent dog, but death is still at least one step too slow.
MacPhearson CGC, RTD, HCT, JHD, HTD - this incredible dog did it ALL: obedience, therapy work, and was the best herding instructor ever. A wonderful communicator with reactive dogs, Mac was a tremendous partner for seminars. Unfortunately his vision deteriorated, so he was retired one Q short of another herding title. Old age has caught up with this magnificent dog, but death is still at least one step too slow.
Wednesday, 29 October 2008
Star light, star bright...
Q: Name one benefit to a dog with a 13 year old bladder?
A: the Milky Way.
Age is fast catching up with Mac; lately he's having difficulty making it through the night without needing a trip outside. If I'm lucky, he wakes me up for door service. If I'm unlucky... well, let's just say brick and tile floors have significant benefits in the ease-of-clean-up department.
Last night he woke me around 3 a.m. I got him safely into the potty yard - canine cognitive dysfunction means sometimes he gets lost - and soaked in the stillness. No vehicle noise, not even the miles-away interstate. No dogs, no roosters, no coyotes, no breeze. Nothing. Totally silent. I looked up. In my head I heard Carl Sagan saying "billions and billions" - it was hovering around 30 degrees and I was in my jammies, but oh my... "it's full of stars." The new moon means there's no extraneous light; the silent hulk of mountains to the west was the only line defining the horizon.
Years ago, my friend Whitney and I talked about soul-scapes. She would curl up and die without the ocean, and so she lives in a coastal city. She loves the desert, but doesn't need it the way I do. I love the ocean - the smell, the sound, the way the salt sticks to my legs, the way it tastes... but I don't need it. We visit each other and treasure the landscapes, but each of us is happiest at home.
I am so lucky to live here, the one place on earth that completely fills me with peace and beauty. Mac neither sees nor remembers the night sky, so I treasure the rising winter constellations and the bright band of the universe itself for both of us.
A: the Milky Way.
Age is fast catching up with Mac; lately he's having difficulty making it through the night without needing a trip outside. If I'm lucky, he wakes me up for door service. If I'm unlucky... well, let's just say brick and tile floors have significant benefits in the ease-of-clean-up department.
Last night he woke me around 3 a.m. I got him safely into the potty yard - canine cognitive dysfunction means sometimes he gets lost - and soaked in the stillness. No vehicle noise, not even the miles-away interstate. No dogs, no roosters, no coyotes, no breeze. Nothing. Totally silent. I looked up. In my head I heard Carl Sagan saying "billions and billions" - it was hovering around 30 degrees and I was in my jammies, but oh my... "it's full of stars." The new moon means there's no extraneous light; the silent hulk of mountains to the west was the only line defining the horizon.
Years ago, my friend Whitney and I talked about soul-scapes. She would curl up and die without the ocean, and so she lives in a coastal city. She loves the desert, but doesn't need it the way I do. I love the ocean - the smell, the sound, the way the salt sticks to my legs, the way it tastes... but I don't need it. We visit each other and treasure the landscapes, but each of us is happiest at home.
I am so lucky to live here, the one place on earth that completely fills me with peace and beauty. Mac neither sees nor remembers the night sky, so I treasure the rising winter constellations and the bright band of the universe itself for both of us.
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