He's got an ego now

This morning Duke and I were out for a walk. We turned the corner right near our house and saw a small group of people standing about halfway down the block. As we got closer I noticed that one of them had a clipboard, one was wearing headphones, and one was holding a video camera. They were obviously some sort of film crew.

Then it dawned on me - This Old House is shooting right around the corner from our house and this must be their crew. They were standing across the street from the brownstone townhouse they're renovating for the show. It's the first time they've come to NYC and they chose Brooklyn... in our neighborhood... right around the corner! Just as I realized who they were they turned and saw Duke. Hilarity ensued.

Duke isn't one to blend into a crowd and there was no crowd, so he was bound to be noticed. The cameraman and another crew member immediately started talking to him and asking me what kind of dog he is and how old he is, etc, etc. Both are obvious "dog people" and Duke sensed it right away. There was much petting and rubbing and tail wagging in return. Before we knew it they were asking us if we had a few minutes to help them out with their opening shot for the show.

Watch This Old House on your local PBS station 5 weeks from now (episode 6 in this NYC series) and you'll see the Duke and I walk past the host as he gives the opening blurb about the house and what you'll see in the episode. I'm the blond wearing the black coat (which covered my PJs!!), waddling down the street. Duke is the big, orange dog.

He got so much praise just for walking a few times (several takes) that he pranced home all puffed up and proud of himself. He's been sleeping like a rock ever since, but for a brief moment, his celebrity ego was stroked and he was very lively.

It was an accident, mama... another one

Duke's new $200 bandage. He jumped into a pile of leaves onto something sharp and now he's got a fab purple leg warmer and some antibiotics. Matches the $300 wrap and meds he got on his back leg a few months ago. Ah, Duke. He doesn't seem to mind. It doesn't interfere with nap time.

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What am I doing?

Look at this face. We're going to meet her in the next few days. She's about 6 years old, 55lb. lab mix, spent all of her life until this summer in a parking lot. She's being fostered by someone who can't keep her any longer...

So Matthew and I are taking Duke to go meet her soon. If it works out between her and Duke we'll at least foster her for awhile. As I type this I am fully aware that if she and Duke get along and she moves in here for a planned short period of time we will never let her go. I think we are getting in a little over our heads... and yet I can't stop it. What am I thinking? 140 lbs of dog and a baby! How will I handle that? Ah well, when it rains it pours. This pooch needs a home and if we can give it to her that's what we'll have to do.

Destruction

This video is dark, sorry for the poor quality. I just had to try to capture Duke destroying his new toy. This is a dog who never, ever - no matter how hard we tried - showed any interest in toys whatsoever.

That is, until we got a bag of baby things from my in-laws' neighbor. In that bag was a stuffed horse. Duke sniffed the bag, looked at us, saw that we weren't stopping him, reached his face into the bag and pulled out the horse. He carried that thing around the house for weeks... and then he destroyed it. He started chewing on it. That turned into stomping on it. That turned into tossing it up in the air and chasing it around the room. That turned into shaking it into submission. It finally ended in pulling out every last bit of stuffing.

Since his beloved horsie was dead we decided to get him a new stuffed toy the other day. His "bone" (a stuffed dog bone that says "KOSHER") lasted all of 2 days. He killed it. This video is part of the destruction caught on tape.

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Deja vu all over again

If you've been here before chances are you've read an entry or two about an ungodly amount of money that was spent on medical care for my canine companion.

Here's one more to add to the pile.

Friday night my adorable husband woke me up from an evening nap by saying very calmly and deliberately, "Baby, I need you to wake up now. Duke has a cut. It's pretty bad. He might need stitches. Please come look."

I was napping as he packed the car for our late night drive to Rhode Island to see my in-laws. I walked out to the living room to see Duke lying on the floor, looking up at me with confusion about why he had been told to "wait" on his side. He had blood on the lower part of one of his back legs. I wiped it with a wet cloth Matthew handed me and realized it was a deep gash and it was oozing blood... between the blood and the raw muscle (ick!) I knew it was animal hospital time. A bandage, 2 pieces of gauze, and a band-aid later we loaded Duke into the car and drove to the animal ER in our neighborhood.

$312 later... Duke had 4 staples in his leg, 3 weeks of antibiotics, 3 days' worth of anti-inflammatory, a cone (which he will never wear), and animal parental peace of mind for Matthew & me.

Lesson in resiliency: while the amazing ER vet was examining him, Duke just laid there. Didn't flinch, didn't yelp, didn't even really seem to notice anything except that a human was touching him and he digs that. She put the staples in his leg without restraints or anesthetic and then he licked her face. He really is Duke the Wonder Dog. Vet kept saying, "He's such a good boy!" Oh yeah, he also let the fabulous vet tech just stick the thermometer right in his butt. He kinda looked back at her and let her do what she needed. The boy is downright heroic.

Lookout! It's catching!

Matthew's sick. Great. I infected him with the NYC winter sickness of 2008. He says at least we're getting it out of the way before the wedding. He's a trooper.

We managed to go to IKEA today before he really started feeling sick. Got some household stuff.



Most important - a holder for Duke's poop bags to keep by the front door. This is what life is all about, folks. Accessibility to poop bags. Lovely.



Second most important - cappuccino cups so we can have proper coffees made from our new espresso machine. Heaven. Little cups and little saucers. Too cool.


Third most important - cool new wine rack. Will be hung on a wall of our choosing in the kitchen. Trying to figure out how/where we can work out a bar situation. We entertain a lot (every time I say we "entertain" it makes me feel like a home ec textbook from the '50s) and a bar is an essential feature. We set one up on a table in the living room now, but ideally we'd love to have something a little more permanent in the kitchen.

The same old question

This is exactly why I didn't go to art school. My mom didn't shove a briefcase in my hand, but after I got old enough to think about art as something other than a hobby my parents started to discourage me from pursuing it further. It's a nice hobby, I was told, but it's no way to make a living. How can anyone make a good living being an artist? Business is the way to go.

Funny thing is, when I was a kid they encouraged me to be as artistic as possible. I won poetry contests, my paintings were entered in competitions, I always took dance classes and played musical instruments. I was allowed to be the creative little kid I was. But as I got older and practicality became a more important virtue those things fell away.

Fast forward 20 years... I'm in the "business world" and I'm miserable about it. Looking back now, I see clearly that I'd trade a comfortable salary for a much lower one if it meant I'd feel a bit fulfilled.

*postcard from postsecret*

Orange you glad I didn't say banana?

Last Monday morning Matthew and I loaded Duke up in the car and drove into the city for his dermatology appointment. You read that right - his dermatology appointment.

I'm a 30 year old human and I've never been to a dermatologist. Duke is a 4 year old dog and he now has the premiere canine dermatologist in greater New York on his list of regular medical professionals. If you've been here before you've read about the various expensive vet appointments we've had in recent months because Duke can't seem to kick this rash/skin infection thing he's contracted. With the recent $600 trip to the derm our total for this one issue now totals $1,500. At this point I just have to laugh about it.

Let me tell you, this dermatologist is amazing. I love all Duke's doctors, they're all outstanding people. But this woman, in particular, awes me. She's French, which is always fun for me because I get to use my woefully underused second language. We discussed the diagnosis and prognosis all in French. She thinks he has food allergies. Apparently food allergies make dogs far more susceptible to staph and yeast infections of the skin - both of which Duke is battling. Turns out, he's allergic to the staph bacteria and he's developed an allergy to something he's eating which is limiting his body's ability to combat the infection.

The trick is that there is no reliable allergy test for canines as there is for humans. If you guys have been offered to have a lab test your dog to determine allergen sensitivity this dermatologist insists they're trying to steal your money because not one of the tests is remotely reliable. The only way to tell what's bugging Duke is to put him back on antibiotics again and also start a 10 week cycle of homemade, veggie based food and then introduce various proteins into his diet in intervals to see what makes him sick. The most common food allergy in dogs is an animal protein, so that means for the next 9 weeks (we already have a week under our belts) Duke has to eat 4-5 cups of 50% pinto beans mixed with 50% pumpkin or yams with some peanut oil or molasses for extra calories twice a day. Appetizing, right? Blech! He actually seems to love it.

Most hilarious side effect of Duke's new diet? Bright orange poo. His poop looks exactly like the pumpkin he eats. And there's lots of it. Good lord. 10 cups of orange food every day makes for lots of "side effect".

Success!

Duke is still an only child/dog. Matthew and I went to the shelter this morning to photograph the dogs and we managed to come home without a sibling for the Dukester.

There were about 10 people who were there volunteering to walk the dogs. It was great to see such a turnout. All those people were there just to give those pooches some human contact and some exercise. The people were all super cool and lots were dog walking regulars. Pretty fantastic. There is a dog park not too far away, so some of the dogs get to go there and others get nice long walks around the neighborhood. There were about 10 dogs who needed their photos taken and high energy shelter dogs are not too keen about portrait sitting, so you can imagine it was a lengthy process. While we waited for the last 2 who needed photos to come back I walked 3 dogs.

A 10 year old chihuahua named Mr. Ramirez broke my heart. I'd never walked a dog that small before, so it was strange to hold a leash that felt like it wasn't attached to anything. Duke is hefty and you know you're attached to a beast when you walk him. Mr. Ramirez is so tiny that I couldn't even feel him fluttering about next to me. He's old, he's blind in one eye, he shakes a lot, he doesn't like other dogs because he lived at the city shelter for as long as he could before coming to BARC and he picks fights. If he were a human he'd be the old guy on the porch yelling at the kids to get off his lawn. He's not cute, he's not nice, he's not cuddly. But you know what? Mr. Ramirez broke my heart. Who in the world is going to adopt an old, tiny dog with a bad attitude, a slight neurological issue, and one eyed blindness? I hope someone does. If he wouldn't antagonize Duke all damn day I would have taken him home this morning. Te amo, Sr. Ramirez.

And then this happens...

Sometimes my faith in humanity is bolstered by something seemingly insignificant - the smile from a stranger, the kind gesture (holding a door, helping someone pick up their spilled handbag contents, etc.). I feel reassured that we're going down the right path as people and we're doing right by the planet and all the beings we share it with. Despite the war, the hunger, the crime we inflict upon each other on a daily basis, I have hope. But then something terrible happens and I question our entire species and wonder how there can be those among us who are beasts with no regard for life.

My recent posts have been very dog-centric. Unintentional, though it may be.

Yesterday we New Yorkers were alerted to a disturbing discovery up in Yonkers. 2 dogs were found by a gas station's cleaning lady. She opened the lid of the dumpster to throw trash in and, to her horror, found 2 dogs. One looking up at her, just staring, unable to move. The other, dead, frozen stiff, practically on top of the living one. These pups were pitbulls, they had been used either as bait for other dogs who had already been tortured into being fighters, or used as fighters themselves. (this is a photo of them, although you cannot fully see the poor, blonde, dead one)

Dog fighting is a serious crime, it's a felony in every state except Wyoming and Idaho (hellooooo? Get your acts together, WY & ID!), and punishable by 4 yrs in prison and a $25,000 fine in NY. How anyone could take an innocent animal and torture it until it becomes vicious is beyond me. The true vicious beasts are the "humans" who perpetuate this type of backwoods, ghetto, lowbrow, criminal, and depraved "entertainment". There are people who will tell you that certain breeds are innately nasty and mean and are meant to fight. Those people are wrong. No domestic canine is born with bloodlust. Some breeds have more natural aggression, but even those breeds are not born killers.

I am the proud caretaker of what some would consider a vicious breed dog. Duke is a Brazilian Mastiff - a fila brasileiro. Some people use these dogs as guard dogs, to intimidate strangers and protect their homes. In fact, in the UK you are prohibited from owning a fila unless you obtain the court's permission because they are classified as "fighting dogs". Hmm... I wonder how they got that reputation? I can assure you it's from irresponsible and callous humans who, for centuries, have trained dogs like Duke to be killers and fighters.

Ours, however, is nothing but sweet and, ironically, the only time he has ever shown aggression toward a dog or human is when some sick minded guy in our neighborhood jerked the chain (thick chain, not leash - evidence of "toughening up" a dog to make them stronger and meaner than their natural disposition) attached to his pitbull's neck and told Matthew they should see if the dogs would fight each other. Duke didn't take kindly to either the guy or his obviously aggressive dog. He lunged and Matthew crossed the street. Isn't it interesting that the only aggression to come out of my dog was provoked by someone wanting to dogfight? Interesting and telling, I'd say.

What is wrong with some people? Why are some people insistent on violence as a means to make themselves feel more powerful? Are people really that shallow, that immature, that emotionally devastated that they see nothing wrong with beating animals into submission and then throwing them into a ring to see which one can kill the other first? We wage war as nations. We commit crimes as individuals.

Saturday morning Matthew and I are going to a local animal shelter to photograph the new rescued dogs they have available for adoption. The photos will go up on the shelter's website in the hopes that someone will see them and want to make them part of their family. We're going to try not to bring home a brother for Duke. I'll let you know how it goes.

Be the change you want to see in the world. Please.

Snore, Fart, Lick

Calling all dog people - know of any good dog beds that don't cost a small fortune? We want to get a bed for Duke because we'd like to reclaim what's left of our pathetic love seat for the humans in the house. We found a really nice one online with a zip-off cover, non-skid bottom and all that jazz... but in Duke's size it costs $175 with shipping. Ouch. Duke's a big boy (almost 100lbs) and he needs a bed that can support his weight without becoming flat as a pancake in less than a week.

We're on the hunt. If you know of any good leads please let me know.

Woof and meows all around

I haven't had my scan yet, but it's coming up and I'm sure everything will be fine. My headache finally went away.

I'll be working from home starting in a few weeks, so my schedule will have a bit more flex. I'm going to start volunteering at BARC - Brooklyn Animal Rescue Coalition. They're a privately funded animal rescue group that has a shelter and a pet supply & grooming shop. The shelter is run with the proceeds from the shop and donations from the private sector (no government subsidies). I'll be taking photos of the animals to be posted on BARC's own site plus adoption sites like petfinder, plus I'll do a walking shift with the dogs after the photo stuff. Cool, eh? I'm super excited about it. MT & Duke & I aren't quite ready to bring another furry thing into our one bedroom Brooklyn apartment, but we talk about it all the time and sometime soon we'll get Duke a little brother. I have a feeling I'll be bringing home one of the BARC dogs sooner rather than later.

Sometimes I might even take the Dukester with me. He'd love it. Lots of butts to sniff. Yum.

Life's a beach...

... Dog Beach, that is. Dog Beach is a little fenced off portion of the pond in Prospect Park near our apartment where dogs can to swim. Super cool, right?

All winter Duke would pull on his leash and try his damnedest to get close to the water no matter how cold it was. He wanted to get in there so badly! It was tough to keep him from galloping into the icy water. Now that it's warm enough we've taken him there a few times and he's yet to go in past his elbows. I don't know what his problem is. He sees the other pups in the water and you can tell he wants to go in, but he gets to his elbows and then promptly does an about face back to dry land. I even got in yesterday figuring I could coax him in and then he'd realize how much he loves it and he'd be the best little swimmer and I'd be so proud, yada yada. I took my shoes off and waded in up to my knees. He stood about 3' closer to the shoreline and grinned at me the whole time. Weirdo.

Instead of courageously and gleefully all morning we went for a 2 hour walk. We were 5 blocks from our apartment when he decided he had gone far enough and laid down right in the middle of the street - chin on the ground, front paws splayed out to his sides, the picture of exhaustion! Try moving 96 lbs of stubborn mutt (a very dry 96 lbs) from the middle of anywhere, it's not pretty.

$377

That's how much I just spent at the vet. Ouch. Don't get me wrong, I'd pay pretty much anything I had to in order to ensure Duke's health and happiness... but $377? He didn't have a procedure of any sort, no surgery, no stitches, no emergency care things. He got a rabies booster, a heartworm test, a skin scrape because the vet wants to make sure he doesn't have any of the nasty bugs he used to have in Miami, some sort of fecal thing for which I must take a poo sample (gag), 2 other shots of some kind that I can't remember right now, and a thyroid test to see if he needs to go back on meds.

We leave for Paris in 2 weeks and I can't help but think of all the things we could have done with $377 in le Quartier Latin. It was well worth it, though. Now I have the peace of mind that my little (read: large) pumpkin (read: hairy child) is well taken care of. He's up to 96 lbs now!

I'm lucky I got out of there with my dog. Everyone at the animal hospital loved him (surprise, surprise) and we spent an extra half hour there just so everyone could gush over him and play with him and talk to him and give him treats. They all can't believe that at one point early in his life he was left for dead on the side of the road. He's Duke the Amazing Wonderdog, that's for sure. He's defied death twice now. Once for real and once for... well, for some reason that no one can comprehend. And he's doing just fine.

Tailor Made

I had a fitting this morning. Been commissioned to make a jacket. Did all the usual meeting-with-the-client stuff. Took measurements, made notes, discussed fabrics, talked about production schedule, scratched behind the ears, picked up poop... *needle dragging across a record* um, what?

Oh, I forgot - my client is a dog. I'm making a jacket for a dog. I'm getting paid to make a custom jacket for a dog. This has got to be the coolest thing to happen this week.

Before the holidays I went to the wine store to buy a bottle to take to a party and I took Duke with me. It was drizzling rain, so I put his jacket on to keep him dry. I hooked his leash to the dog anchor (lots of places in my 'hood have these little hooks on their storefronts that have special loops designed to lash leashes to - brilliant) and went about my wine-buying business. When I came out, there was a guy petting him and talking to him really sweetly. We got to talking about Duke, turns out the guy has a pit mix who's a little smaller than Duke (more like 25lbs smaller once we saw them together) and he's the same color and everything. Looks kinda like Duke's Mini Me. Anyway, he loved Duke's jacket and asked where I got it... one thing led to another and I gave him my card.

Well, he emailed me earlier this week to order a jacket for his pooch. So, we met up this morning in the park, I got all the measurements and fabric selections I need and the dogs got to play. Awesome stuff. This is going to be a very fun little business for me. Feeling really good about it. MT even made me a logo. I'm getting cards printed up and I'll be launching a website in the next couple months. *big grin*

Doggie style

He's so slick. He's styling. He's too cool for words. Duke is a slave to fashion. I have no idea where he gets it. Hmm.

I resisted being one of those people who clothes my dog, but the poor guy needs some insulation. Rather than shelling out big bucks in a pet boutique for some doggie schmata that looks like every other doggie schmata (where's the fun in that? I don't want to wear the same coat as every other chick on the block!)

I decided to make one that suited Duke. It's waterproof camouflage lined with denim. It's even got a cargo pocket so he can carry his own poop bag and my keys. He already gets loads of attention. It's almost impossible to take him for a walk in under half an hour because inevitably there will be people who stop us and want to talk about him. What kind of dog is that? Will he get bigger? That kind of thing. Add a cammo jacket to the mix and it's pretty much a Duke love-fest all the time.

Yeah, that's a fire hydrant he's sniffing. Cliche! Although a slave to fashion, he hasn't yet heard that hydrants are very last season.

Unrelated: This is our fireplace. The details you can't see in the picture are the gorgeous marble tiles from the mid 1800s and the handcarved scrollwork on the columns and mantel itself. And yes, those are boot stockings. I made those, too. *grin*

The Eagle Has Landed

And by "The Eagle" I mean Duke's poop, and by "Landed" I mean he went on the floor. MT got home this morning and he had pooped, get this... in the bathroom. Hey, that dog is no dummy. He's obviously brilliant because he chose the tile over the hardwood or the Persian rug. Genius, really. I took him out twice before I left this morning, but he wouldn't go. He peed like he'd drunk a river, but nothing came out the back end.

You know what? I actually get a huge kick out of the fact that Duke shat on my floor. Because you know what that means? It means he lives with me. He's a Brooklyn boy now. He lives and poops in the best borough around. The indoor poop part will soon be a thing of the past. He'll go for walks and play in the park like a good city dog. Just as soon as we get him leash trained. He's always had a fenced yard to run in, so he's not been on a leash much. Last night I thought he was going to rip my arm right out of the socket right after the leash wrapped around my hand crushed what felt like 37 bones when he decided to barrel down the sidewalk. Oww.

New and improved

First night in the new place was last night. Haven't really moved in-moved in, but I'm staying here. Vast majority of my stuff is still at the mouse trap, I mean the old apartment in Flatbush. However, I cleaned the hell out of the kitchen and bathroom tonight and gave the gorgeous carved wood mantel a nice polishing so it feels a little more like mine now. I'll post pictures soon. I'll do a before and after photo thingy - we're painting soon.

Guess what else is happening soon? The pupster's coming to Brooklyn! Long story, but he's coming to live with me. He'll make this place feel like home more than any paint job ever would. He looks good, doesn't he? Healthy, happy, dumb and lovable as ever. A very tough situation has transformed into something good, very good.














Random: Does anyone really think that the guy who plays Matt on Nip/Tuck looks anything like a teenager? C'mon, casting director... his hairline is receding faster than the polar ice caps. Sheesh.

Shock

There is no easy way to say this, so here it is - the man called this morning to tell me Duke had died at the vet overnight. Said that the vet tech came in this morning and he looked like he was sleeping. Said it looked like he didn't suffer, that he had just stopped breathing in his sleep. I was a wreck. I stood outside my office building and was overcome with despair. I've been basically mourning for a week, I've been so distraught that I've made myself physically ill, I've been so upset at work (bad enough that the new proof reader gave me a card for Duke - so sweet), I've cried me eyes out every day and the people in my life who love me have been taking care of me. I've not been in good shape.

Now, here's the part that's really not easy to say - all is not as it seems. I started putting 2 and 2 together after that phone call this morning and I had some questions. Why did the man avoid my question last week about whether Duke could come live with me? Why did he then tell me Duke was very sick and he didn't tell me earlier because he didn't know how? Why didn't he have an answer when I asked what kind of cancer it was? Why did he make a point of telling me that he took Duke's crate to the vet? Why did he tell me that he cleaned the house this morning and got rid of Duke's things so I wouldn't be upset everytime I turned around? It all started to sound like he was covering his bases. Like he was answering in advance the question I'd have about why nothing remained of my dog at his apartment.

I asked him for the vet's phone # so I could call and talk about what would happen to Duke's body. I didn't want my beloved dog to be disposed of in some bio-medical bin. He wouldn't give me the phone #. I called him and said that I didn't know how to say it, but my bullshit detector was going off loud and clear and I needed to know where my dog is. What I got in response was hurt and anger and denial that anything was amiss. I was the bad guy. I insisted that if he were in my shoes that he'd be asking the same questions. He said he never would doubt me like that. He would never accuse me of something this awful. Everything got shoved back at me and I was the asshole. He said he'd email me the vet's #. I apologized and let him know that I had to run the risk of being wrong and making him angry because if I didn't confront him about my doubts it would eat me up inside. I asked if it was still OK that I come down this weekend (I was to leave for the airport in an hour) and he said he needed a couple minutes to process things and he'd let me know.

I then got an email half an hour later saying that he still wanted me to come, but that he didn't think it was a good idea, that he'd send me my things and he'd pay me back for the money I spent on the flight. I asked again for the vet's #. I got nothing. I left work and just started walking. I didn't know where I was going, I just needed to walk and clear my head. I was walking around lower Manhattan crying and talking into my cell phone like a crazy person. I must have looked like a total mess. I was a total mess. I didn't know what to do. I called Kristie. I called MT. I called my mom. I called the man again and left a msg saying that I wanted to make sure I wasn't coming to Miami because that was my last chance to make my flight. He didn't call back.

I called MT again. He was so calm and so smart. He looked up the # of the vet who supposedly did Duke's 1st biopsy a couple weeks ago and said he'd call them and find out what was going on. I walked around in utter confusion waiting for him to call back. I called Kristie and she kept me from freaking out. MT called back and said that the vet hadn't seen Duke since February. The receptionist didn't want to give out any information, but he pleaded with her and said if she knew how upset I was because I thought my dog was dead she'd give him something. She said, "DEAD?? Hold on a moment..." and when she came back she told him they hadn't seen him since February.

I called the man again, no answer. My msg said that I needed him to call me back and explain to me why Dr. Fernandez hasn't seen Duke since Feb. if he's the one who did a biopsy 3 weeks ago. I said that I needed him to make it all make sense for me, that I wanted more than anything to be wrong - to be the asshole for real and be accusing him of something falsely. What I got was a text msg telling me that I was right, that he had given Duke away and that he didn't know why he lied to me, that he couldn't control it, that it had gotten out of hand, that he was so sorry and he was sick about doing this to me.

It was all a lie. It was all an elaborate series of complicated deceptions. I've spoken to him almost every day since last week. I cried to him, he comforted me. I thanked him for doing everything he could for Duke, he said he did it gladly. He heard the devastation in my voice for a week and he kept adding to it every time we spoke. Each phone call was another layer of lies. First it was cancer and a second opinion was needed. Then it was one night in the animal hospital. That became 3 nights. Then it was trouble breathing. Then the respiratory condition might be treatable and separate from the cancer - he actually fed me information to give me hope about a totally fake illness! Then the respiratory condition wasn't separate, it was probably cancer in his lungs. And then the biggest lie of all - Duke died in his sleep. He tortured me. He broke my heart and he knew he was doing it.

I'm lost right now. I'm destroyed. I've never been so betrayed, so lied to, so taken advantage of, so devastated, so underestimated. He even said he'd send me Duke's ashes. What was he going to do - put some dirt in a jar from the dollar store and tell me that it was my dog's body? I told him he should get help because there's obviously something in him that's broken and needs repair. Something in there is rotten. Something in there made him do this to me. I don't understand it. He says he doesn't understand it.

The only solace that remains for me is that my Dukester is safe with a family in Ft. Lauderdale. My mom asked me how I know that's the truth and not just another deception. I told her that I have to believe something, and this needs to be it.

Thank you for the support and the caring, everyone. Even if the whole situation was a tangle of lies, the support was real and I can't tell you how much that means to me.

I've been cheated. I've been cheated out of my dog and I've been cheated out of my trust. I'm a skeptic now.

Gratitude

I wanted to take a moment to thank you, my blog friends, for the support and the sympathy, the good vibes and the general goodwill sent my way this past week. Aw hell, the past year & 1/2, whenever I've had a tough time. There are times when kind words can make all the difference and all of you have proven that to me many times. I'm packing and getting ready to go to Miami tomorrow to probably say my goodbyes to Duke. This is very hard. Words don't really cut it right now, but thank you embodies what I need to tell you. Thank you so very much.