Author Archives: ij

Signs

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In the 2002 movie “Signs”, the character of Graham Hess at one point says “People break down into two groups. When they experience something lucky, group number one sees it as more than luck, more than coincidence. They see it as a sign, evidence, that there is someone up there, watching out for them. Group number two sees it as just pure luck. Just a happy turn of chance.”

For some reason, that idea stuck with me for a long time after.  I asked myself many times:  am I the kind of person who sees signs, or am I in group number two?  Many times in my life I saw bald eagles as some kind of sign of something more.  It was always when I had been struggling with a problem or had been having some kind of spiritual crisis when I would just unexpectedly see an eagle flying high above me.  I was sure it meant something.  I even wrote a song called “Eagle’s Eyes” where I connect spirituality and eagles.  As time went on and I began to explore my interest in Buddhism, I made the decision that I was, in fact, in group number two.  Human beings feel a strong need to attach meaning to things.  It gives them hope, it gives them comfort.  And who can blame them?  When difficult situations arise, we really do want hope and comfort.  But as far as I see it, “signs” are really only created by us.

A couple of days ago, I remember saying out loud to one of my daughters that I was looking for a sign from our cat, Picard, that it was his time.  I was looking for a signal that he was in pain or discomfort, when I’d know that we would have to take some action.  Our 17-year-old cat had been suffering from failing kidneys for several months and we knew that at some point soon, he was going to go.  He had gotten much thinner, and we had him on medication and special food, but he kept going.  This cat had almost died from getting his vaccinations once, and on another occasion he’d been hit by a car, which, among other things, knocked a front tooth out and left him with what we often joked was an “Elvis lip”.  His remaining tooth would push one side of his lip up in a kind of curl every now and then and it looked pretty comical.  He had also been the neighbourhood bully for a number of years, and he had been in so many cat fights over his lifetime that we figured if any cat could keep living with hardly any kidney function, he could!  But the last couple of weeks, he had become weaker and had several bouts where he wouldn’t eat for a day or two.  Last weekend he had another bout, and he stopped eating entirely.  I was hoping that he would simply curl up and die in his sleep, at home where he was happy.

I held off the notion of having him euthanized, but yesterday morning, he was so weak that he could barely walk.  He wanted to go outside and I wasn’t going to let him, but he was so insistent that I finally gave in.  I watched him for an hour or so as he would move from spot to spot on the back lawn, not able to get comfortable, not able to stay still or to sleep.  I came outside and he stumbled to his feet and walked towards me, and then I heard the sound of his voice.  It was high-pitched and so very weak.  And it sounded like a cry rather than a meow.  And that’s what made up my mind.

Before I could second-guess myself I made an appointment with the vet.  It was for 2pm.  My girls and I cried and cried and watched him for four hours as we waited to take him in.  At one point, I was coming from the livingroom into the hallway and he was sitting with his back towards me at the other end of the hall.  I stopped for a moment and looked at him because he almost looked normal the way he was sitting.  Over the morning, we would pick him up so gently, kiss him and pet him as much as he could stand.

When we finally brought him to the vet, it was a quiet, utterly sad and, thank heavens, a quick and painless end.  Then we tearfully brought him home and buried our old Picard in a spot in the flowerbed where he used to love to lie in the summertime.  Later in the day, one of my daughters and I went to a hobby shop to buy the materials we needed to make a garden stepping stone that we will personalize with his name and place over the spot that he is buried.

Today I went for my first long walk since he died.  One of the places I usually pass on my walk is the vet’s office and I was dreading it a little.  But as I passed it, I realized to myself that it was just a building and that even though it had been the last place he took a breath, it was just wood and plaster and glass and nothing more.  I thought again about signs and how I no longer really looked for them.  For one brief moment, I said to myself that if my beloved cat sent me a sign, I don’t even know that I would see it.  And then I brushed off the whole notion of signs.

As I walked further I remembered another cat.  Sometimes I see him on my walks, and on other days he’s nowhere to be found.  He has the same colouring as Picard, but is short-haired with a big belly.  I thought to myself that this would be a good day for me NOT to see him.  I wasn’t ready to greet another cat yet.

As I turned the corner, I caught my breath as I saw him.  He was sitting about 20 metres down the sidewalk, with his back towards me, in the same position as I had stopped to look at Picard a day earlier.  I almost stopped walking, it took me so by surprise.  This neighbourhood cat is usually pretty friendly and he often comes to me when I call.  But I didn’t really want to call him.  His ears bent back as he heard me approach and then he turned around and started to walk towards me, but instead of greeting me as he normally does, he seemed aloof.  I passed him, but then he started walking along with me.  I looked down at him and he flopped on his side, ready for a belly rub.  And that’s when I saw his tooth pushing up on one side of his lip.  I couldn’t believe my eyes, and bent down to give him his belly rub.

Nah.

I continued to walk, pondering the wonders of the last few minutes.  I saw people with their dogs, and realized I couldn’t say I had a cat anymore.  But then I said to myself that I’d always have Picard, whether he’s around or not.

Finally I got home and decided to visit the spot where we buried him.  I stood there for a minute and realized I was hearing something high above me.  A screeching noise.  I looked up and the screeching stopped.  And there he was.

Soaring high above me…an eagle.

Picard’s last time on the lawn

For The Love Of A Pet

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Evening walkImage by ~libby via Flickr

A few months ago I was walking near the boardwalk in Steveston where my parents live when I noticed a lady in the distance walking her dog.  As I got closer, I realized that she was actually half-carrying him with a harness that held up his back legs while his front legs propelled him along.  She gently helped him when he needed to do his business by taking him out of the harness and patiently waiting while he did his thing.  Then she cleaned it up and carefully put him back in his harness.  He was a German Shephard, so it wasn’t an easy task for her.

I continued to walk past them as this was happening, and kept looking back to see how they were progressing until the tears in my eyes made them almost invisible.  It was such a beautiful demonstration of love and compassion for a pet.  On another walk only about a month ago, I saw them again.  This time, the dog was in a wagon lying on a blanket as the woman pulled him along.  I guess his front legs were giving out too.  It gave a whole new meaning to taking the dog for a walk.

Now I’m not an over-the-top pet owner, and I scoff at how some people talk about their pets as if they were their children…but I understand the love behind it.  Last week our 17-year-old cat, Picard, who suffers from failing kidneys and a hyper-thyroid condition, became very sick.  I woke up on Saturday morning, realizing he had been throwing up all around the house.  His skinny body convulsed again and again even though he had nothing left in his stomach.  It finally settled down, but he did what all cat owner’s know is a bad sign;  he went down to the basement and hid away.  Taking him to the vet was out of the question.  Picard freaks out at the very sight of his pet carrier, let alone a ride in the car.  He has always been a difficult patient, and we made the decision long ago that we wouldn’t bring him there unless absolutely necessary.  So I waited to see what would happen.

My husband and I had a golf game to attend, and before we left I checked on Picard who was now sleeping in his little hideaway.  I had to work hard at not worrying about him for the whole afternoon, and kept checking in with my daughters who were keeping an eye on him.  Still sleeping.

The next day he came upstairs for a bit, but refused to eat.  Another bad sign.  I had to give him his medication, a little flavoured pill, and of course he wouldn’t eat that either.  Later on in the day my daughter suggested that we try sticking it in his favourite treat.  It was the last resort.  We cut a little piece out of the treat and pressed the little pill inside it.  My daughter went downstairs to Picard’s hiding place and gently offered it to him.  I couldn’t see what was happening because he was behind a mini-fridge, so I just stood and watched my daughter.

Much to my surprise, after a few minutes she said “Done!”.  He ate the treat and got his medication.  What a relief.

Very slowly over the next couple of days, he started to eat and spent more time upstairs with us.  I wouldn’t have believed it.  That cat has survived so many things over his lifetime that I was almost certain that he was out of lives.  He is still very weak, he is pretty much deaf and sleeps most of the time, but he is okay for now.

I do dread the day that he finally goes.  My daughters don’t remember life before Picard…they were four- and six-years old when when we picked him up from the SPCA as a nine-week-old kitten.  He has always been in their lives and they have been like little mothers to him, though sometimes not in a way to his liking!  He has endured being dressed up, hauled around in the most uncomfortable looking ways, and smothered with more smooches than a cat should have to put up with.  But I’m absolutely sure that the reason he has lasted for these past months with his condition, is that he has three mothers who love him more than anything in the world.

So today I’d like to say Happy Mother’s Day to all of the women and girls out there who have become like mothers to their pets.  It is great practice for caring and compassion, the very definition of “Mother”.

IJ

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Out For A Walk

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Steveston Fishermen's WharfImage via Wikipedia

One day when I was about 12 years old, I was about to be sent home from school because I had come down with the flu.  The nurse at the school tried to call my mother at home, but there was no answer.

I knew where she was.  She was out walking.  I didn’t realize at the time that the reason my mother had taken up walking was because of her cancer diagnosis;  she was out almost every day walking anywhere from two to four miles.  It was the only time I ever saw her wear pants and running shoes.  When I was five years old, my Dad’s car kicked the bucket, and since we couldn’t afford another one, we went without a car for about five years.  My Dad was a bus driver, so we either walked or took the bus anywhere and everywhere for those years.  The three of us walked to the neighbourhood grocery story every Friday evening and packed home the week’s groceries.  It was just our routine.  As a kid, Dad loved walking or hiking everywhere either alone or with a friend, and often walked up the famous Grouse Grind on Grouse Mountain in Vancouver, long before it became cool to do that!  As he got older, he never stopped walking, and would often choose to walk rather than take the car. 

Many years later I was out on my usual walk when I suddenly remembered my mother’s walks, and realized that we had both chosen the same activity as a health benefit.  At first, walking was something I did occasionally, especially when I was in Richmond visiting my family.  The boardwalk by the Fraser River in Steveston is a lovely walk, but my little Fernwood neighbourhood here in Victoria is also a pleasant route. These days, I try to walk four times a week and as the weather improves sometimes I walk pretty much every day.  In the last few months I’ve focused on it even more, especially after reading a few stories on the benefits of walking for at least half-an-hour at a time.  It keeps your weight in check, of course, but I’ve always thought of it as the most obvious form of exercise a human being can choose.  We were made to walk.

My sister runs.  I hate running.  It always feels like my innards are being pounded into mush, never mind the crunching sound my knees and hips make when I have to dash across a street to avoid a car, for instance.  I gloated to my sister once when I found out that at a certain distance, running and walking burn the same amount of calories.  Take THAT!  Yeah!  She just looked at me with her little smile, knowing full well that she’s in better shape than I am, regardless of any of my proclamations.  Good thing she’s OLDER so I can at least rub that in.  I win 🙂

A couple of months ago I found an About.com article all about walking.  I found out that your weight x distance = the energy consumed by walking, so I immediately opened Google Earth and used the distance tool to calculate how far my usual walks were taking me and how many calories I was burning.  Hmmmm.  Okay, so not that great.  I fiddled around a bit and adjusted a few blocks this way and that way and came to a new route that would burn more calories.  The other caloric element that wasn’t taken into consideration was the fact that I live on a hill.  No matter which way I go, I eventually have to go uphill to get home again.  That boosts the caloric numbers too, so I decided to find the street with the steepest grade, just to make it even better. The first time I attempted that street, I was wheezing by the time I had only gotten a quarter of the way up.  Holy crap.  Half way up and my legs were aching and my heart pounding out of my chest.  When I reached the top, outside of being completely winded, I had a hot flash.  Sheesh.  But I did it.  And I’ve incorporated that street into most of my daily walks since.  It’s gotten somewhat easier, but it still kills me.

Aside from gardening and golfing, walking is what keeps me sane and centred.  There is the physical benefit, to be sure, but the emotional and mental benefits are just as important to me, if not more so.  Some days when it’s wet and cold out there, it’s hard to get motivated, but once I am out the door, I immediately feel better.  Even though I go at a pretty good clip, I pay attention to trees and birds and gardens and to the people I often see on a regular basis.  I always say hello or good morning and serve up my best smile.  By the time I get home, I’m stress-free and at peace with the world.

When my cat became ill and started to lose his kidney function a few months back, I found a vet that was within walking distance so I could incorporate the visits to pick up his specialized food and medication.  And these days, instead of hopping in the car to go to the bank or to the grocery store, I stick on a backpack and walk it instead.  Fortunately we have a mall fairly close to us that has pretty much everything we need.  With some encouragement, I occasionally convince my husband to walk with me there and back, but for the most part I walk alone and enjoy every moment.

It has been on my mind in the last while that I should one day take you on a small, pictorial tour of my walk, just to show you some of the interesting sights I have come across.   If I can ever remember to take my camera with me, I will do just that.  Maybe you’d enjoy taking a walk with me :-).

IJ

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