Two Weeks...

I said goodbye to my best friend two weeks ago tonight.  At this time fourteen days ago, My Lovely Wife, Abby, and I were on our way to the Vet clinic on what would be the last truck ride of her life.  Abby had always loved going for a truck ride.  There were cows and horses to be barked at.  That was her job, but she just wasn't up for it that last time.

It has been a tough couple of weeks since.  However, time heals all wounds, and things here at home are getting pretty much back to normal.

I'm lying.

Things here at home are a shadow of what they once were.  For the feeling My Lovely Wife and I get walking around in our yard, we might as well be walking around Chernobyl.

Our legs and arms feel as if great weights are hanging from them as we force ourselves to go outside.  Any joy that we used to have in wandering around outside is gone.  The ever-present companion we had out there is no longer with us.  The deer come and go in our yard without fear of a four legged missile streaking towards them with bad intentions.

The gloom we feel outside is matched only by the cloud that hangs over us inside.  There is no barking whenever the slightest move is made towards the door.  Our house that once felt too small now feels much too large.  Popcorn night isn't popcorn night without Abby running up to get her treat for the evening as well.  The silence is deafening.

Those who have never had a pet might not understand how we would feel this way.  Those who have lost a pet they loved understand completely.  All of our friends have been very supportive as they knew how much Abby meant to us.  One couple very kindly invited us out to their new cabin at the lake last weekend to give us a much needed change of scenery.  We have also gotten many cards and wonderful words of support from our friends.  Some of these friends we have known for many years.  Others are friends that we've made over the net and have never actually met in person.  To all of those who have expressed your sentiments on our loss, please accept my heartfelt thanks with what is probably my favorite picture of The Pup.

A Very Photogenic Pup at That.

Much to our surprise, My Lovely Wife and I started looking for another dog very soon after Abby passed.  What we came to realize quite quickly was that it wasn't so much the physical attributes of the dog that was most important.  What we realized was that our next dog would absolutely have to have that same enthusiasm and zest for life that Abby had.  You see, we got Abby as a young pup from a pet store.  When we asked to see her outside of the box she was being kept in, she made the best of her opportunity and broke free.  She immediately picked a fight with a mop (and won!), and then tore off to chew the tips off the shoelaces of some innocent bystander.  All of this happened within the space of about 20 seconds.  She carried this enthusiam / bat-shit craziness throughout her life.  Where one dog might sniff around on a trail on the scent of another critter, Abby would crash through an impenetrable mass of underbrush to track that critter down.

This is indeed a tall order.  Many dogs don't have the spark Abby did, but it was this element that we'd miss the most if our next dog didn't have it.  We are reminded by everyone we've talked to that "there will never be another Abby", and we are well aware of that.  Abby was indeed one of a kind.

The search continues.  We have actually come close once or twice, but no cigar.  We'll have to be patient and wait until the dog that is right for us comes along.  Or, as the fellow we bought Abby from told us: "You don't find the dog.  The dog finds you."

Here's hoping...

Goodbye to My Best Friend

I type this and my heart is broken: My Lovely Wife and I are mourning the loss of our dear dog, Abby.

I wrote a post back in June about how we had a lump removed her abdomen.  We learned a short time later that this lump was a Mast Cell Tumor.  We had a second surgery done to have more of the tumor cells removed but it wasn't enough.  Another lump started growing back and got quite large after only a couple weeks.  The vet took a needle biopsy and determined that this lump was mostly fat but had some mast cells reorganizing to form another tumor.  He suggested that we consult with an oncologist at the University's Vet College to talk over subsequent courses of action.  That was only two days ago.

Yesterday morning we woke to find that Abby had thrown up downstairs.  She seemed otherwise OK.  She spent the day with me outside, wandering around the yard as I puttered.  Her energy level seemed a little lower than usual, but I was hoping that was just due to the heat.  Yesterday evening, she started pacing around restlessly throughout the house.  Then she threw up again.  We let her outside and she continued getting sick while keeping her distance from us.  Then she just laid down in the grass while clouds of mosquitoes buzzed over her.  Abby looked up at My Lovely Wife while she laid there with a look that said "Help me".  She was dying.

We got her into the truck at 10pm and drove her to the Vet College.  The half hour drive was quiet as My Lovely Wife and I were filled with the dread of what could happen next.  Abby lay there quietly, her head bobbing up and down.

We parked the truck at the front door of the Vet.  What happened next amazed us.  Abby jumped out of the truck and started sniffing around all over the place!  Her ears were up and she had a spring in her step!  It seemed like the sick dog we had just a short time ago was only a bad dream.

We debated what to do next.  Was this just a false alarm???  Maybe it was just something she ate and she was going to be fine?  We decided to have her looked at since we were there.

Sadly, the vet confirmed our fears.  Abby started fading again and the vet discussed our options.  None of them were good.  They brought Abby into a private room where we were able to hold her close and tell her how much we loved her.  We were with her as the vet helped her pass shortly after midnight this morning.

My only solace is that we did what we had to do and that was to put an end to her suffering.  Abby gave us eleven and a half wonderful years, a ripe old age for a dog her size.  And every day in every one of those years, Abby filled our hearts with joy.  Every.  Single.  Day.  When her day finally came, Abby used the last of her energy to trot into that clinic with her head high and ears up.  She epitomized pure grit.  I was so proud of her.

Grit

Throughout her life, I was always struck by Abby's strength, enthusiasm, and character.  She was a gentle giant around small children one minute, and a fierce protector of her owners and her property the next.  I've written about her adventures before, as has My Lovely Wife.  There always seemed to be so much to say.

We woke up this morning to a house that is too empty.  Too quiet.  We are reminded of her everywhere we look.  This morning, there is no one to take for a walk.  There is no one to chase the deer out of the yard.  There is no one to bring our slippers when we come in to the house.

Abby was my first dog.  She taught me the connection a man makes with his dog.  It wasn't something that happened right away for me.  Abby had a bad habit in the first months that we owned her of always jumping up on us.  One time she jumped up at me and I stuck my knee up.  She hit it hard and fell back in pain.  I felt terrible.  I knew then that I loved her, and I grew to love her more each day after that.

Abby was my psychologist.  We would go for long walks and I'd talk to her about things I wouldn't talk to anyone else about.  And I'm sure My Lovely Wife did the same.  Abby didn't understand, but it always seemed like she did.  That was all that mattered.

Abby was my companion.  We would get asked where Abby would stay, meaning if she was an "inside dog" or an "outside dog".  We simply answered that Abby was where we were.  She was at our side inside and out, day in and day out.

Abby was my bodyguard.  We would go for walks around the acreage and Abby would at times cut right in front of us and just stand there with her body physically blocking the path.  If we would try to walk around her, she would do it again until we turned around.  Now and then we'd catch a glimpse of coyotes or some other nasty critter on the path ahead.  We soon learned to put our trust in her and her nose for our own safety.

The Big Dog, On Patrol

Most of all, Abby was my best friend.  I would arrive home after work and My Lovely Wife would "release the hound", who would come running up to me with all the enthusiasm that only a dog separated all day from its owner can bring.  That would always and instantly melt away the earlier shit of the day and make me feel human again.  I am forever indebted to her for this alone.

Goodbye Abby.  You were the best dog we could have dared to hope for.  We were truly lucky to have had you in our lives.  I have shed many tears over you as I have written this and I will shed many more today and in the days to come.  We love you.  We miss you.  Rest easy, Pup.

Abby    January 2001 - August 2012

No Chalk at Your Gym? No Problem.

I am now in the dying days of two weeks off. I asked Google to define "vacation" for me. Here is what it came up with.

va·ca·tion/vāˈkāSHən/

Noun:

An extended period of recreation, esp. one spent away from home or in traveling.

Bullshit. Here is my definition.

va·ca·tion/vāˈkāSHən/

Noun:

Two weeks of ass-busting work, devoid of anything enjoyable. Makes one want to return to work immediately.

Living out on The Ponderosa means that there is a lot of jobs that need to get done every summer, and many of these jobs get penciled in to my yearly summer "vacation" starting in late July.  One of these jobs is grooming the trails that meander through the bush on our property.  Armed with only a whipper-snipper, coveralls, and gloves, this monster job takes days to do.  Let things get too out of control and the trails become filled with wild chokecherry suckers, tall grass, and weeds of all descriptions.  Apparently, one weed new on the scene happens to be poison ivy.  It happens that I am pretty much hyper-allergic to poison ivy given a nasty, nasty encounter from years ago.  Only a minuscule amount will trigger blisters on my arms, and somehow a minuscule amount got past my coveralls and gloves and on to my skin near my wrists.

Not Me, But You Get The Idea

The weather turned to crap one day and gave me an all-to-rare respite from my yardly duties.  I decided to get some deadlifting in.  There was only one problem.  I had long thought that I had the grip strength of a Japanese schoolgirl, and I had long been using 1-Ton Hooks to beef up my grip.  Otherwise, any weight over three-hundred pounds would tend to slip out of my hands.

Used by Weak People Like Me

Now picture these tightly wrapped around a wrist with several poison ivy blisters on it.  Better yet, don't picture it.  It gets ugly pretty fast.

It was time to use all the power of my brain and find a way around this.  Normal people use chalk on their hands to dry them so that sweat doesn't cause the bar to slip from their grip.  But chalk is not allowed in my basement gym, because that shit gets everywhere.

So I decided to try wrapping the bar with a very light resistance band that had broken in half some time ago.  They are made of some kind of latex rubber, I think, that is very, very grippy.  I had used these broken bands before wrapped around my chinup bar to help me grip the bar for that exercise.  Don't start thinking that these bands are the really thick, really expensive EliteFTS bands that can hold hundreds of pounds.  Think more like stuff not much thicker than dishwashing gloves.  Here is what I've got...

... and here is what it looks like wrapped on one side of my bar.

I use an over-under grip and wrap the band in the opposite direction on the other side of the bar.  Note also how I start wrapping the band just after the knurling starts.  This lets me center my hold on the bar much better than if the knurling is totally covered.  Normally I grip the bar an inch or less outside from where the knurling starts.

So how does this work?  Exactly how well will have to wait for another post.  But let me say generally that it works exceptionally well.  What I thought was poor grip strength was really a combination of two issues:

• no chalk that in turn makes the bar slippery from sweat.  The grippy nature of the latex rubber solves this completely.  The weight on the bar just seems to amplify the sticky grip that the rubber provides.
• nasty cross-hatching on my cheap bar that tends to tear my hands up.  The rubber effectively pads the bar enough to keep the hold comfortable, even under very heavy loads.

I immediately noticed that I was able to lift heavier loads with this setup than when I used the lifting hooks.  Not quite sure why this is.  Maybe because a freer grip on the bar makes it easier to get my position exactly right when setting up.  Maybe because the hooks added thickness to the bar that made the general lift heavier.  Whatever the reason, I was suddenly making an extra 50 pounds when deadlifting off of blocks, and it felt awesome  to make these lifts without hooks or straps.  I'll never go back to the hooks: there is just no need to anymore.  My grip is no longer the limiting factor in my deadlift.

This is a nice solution for anybody looking for a substitute for chalk when lifting heavy stuff.  The bands are cheap, reusable, clean, take up zero space, and would be allowed in any gym.  Best of all, it is your grip doing all the work.  You get the full benefit of the exercise without the shame of using a crutch.

Now go be like Konstantinovs and make it look easy.

More Beast Than Man