Zorro keeps looking up at me with big liquid eyes that beseech me to make him feel better, and help him breathe, and I can’t do anything but soothe him and stroke him, and tell him he’s a good dog…and shove pills encapsulated in cheese down his throat.

We’re trying to keep him warm, but not hot, and comfortable. To that end, we’ve taken his collar off him, so now he’s naked, and I’m paranoid that he’ll escape, as he is want to do. He isn’t one to run away, but he was a stray, and loves to explore. He knows where home is though…and I know that this is an irrational fear: he isn’t even coming to the kitchen to beg for treats when there are food sounds, and this is a dog who lives for treats.

Miss Cleo is subdued as well, and is being nice to him – not roughhousing or stealing food, or any of her normal little-sister-type behavior. She went to him a moment ago, and licked his ear, and then came to me and put her head on my leg, and sighed.

The meds are – slowly – kicking in. Last night we slept in fifteen and twenty minute snatches, between his coughing fits, but this evening, he’s going for an hour between attacks, and they’re shorter, and less severe, but still wheezy and awful. He just had his evening meds, so hopefully we’ll ALL get some rest tonight, him included.

I had planned to dismantle Christmas today, and reclaim the house, but instead I spent half the day sleeping and the other half trying to, though we did watch the first two episodes of Numb3rs on DVD, since we’d never watched the show live…I quite like it so far.

I’m tired and cranky, and worried, and I feel so helpless. How do parents of human children get through this stuff, when it’s this difficult with a dog?

Just a brief announcement that the January Project has been posted at CafeWriting.com.

Go. Play. Write.

“We are all going on an Expedition,” said Christopher Robin, as he got up and brushed himself. “Thank you, Pooh.”

“Going on an Expotition?” said Pooh eagerly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been on one of those. Where are we going to on
this Expotition?”

“Expedition, silly old Bear. It’s got an ‘x’ in it.”

“Oh!” said Pooh. “I know.” But he didn’t really.

“We’re going to discover the North Pole.”

“Oh!” said Pooh again. “What is the North Pole?” he asked.

“It’s just a thing you discover,” said Christopher Robin carelessly, not being quite sure himself.

“Oh! I see,” said Pooh. “Are bears any good at discovering it?”

— A. A. Milne, Winnie The Pooh

The first of a new year seems as good a time as any to restructure, re-evaluate. I’ve a new mission here at MissMeliss: Escribition. While I’ve always said my blog is writing practice, something to keep the juices flowing, it’s also a personal voyage of discovery. Sometimes I’m discovering things about myself. Sometimes I’m discovering things about art, literature, culture, the world. Either way, if you’re reading this you’re invited along for the journey.

Of course, I don’t camp, as such, so on my expedition, picture yourself in an African Safari from the 20’s: white clothes, white tents, staff to keep the coffee hot and the biscuits served, and camp beds rather than nasty sleeping bags on the ground. On my safari, the espresso flows freely, wifi is always available, and style and substance merge into a harmonious marriage.

Do join me.
After all, like the North Pole, life is just a thing you discover.

So we’re back from the vet, and we only spent $195, which for Zorro is almost nothing, considering we used to spend $120 a week in acupuncture and Chinese herbs for him.

Here’s where we are:

Heart murmur: stage 6 of 6. We’re having an ultrasound done @ the 15th in order to determine if it’s really as bad as it sounds, and to come up with managed care. There is no cure for canine heart disease, only treatment of symptoms.

Heart is enlarged: enough that it’s pressing his trachea almost into his spinal cord. Current resting heart rate is 176 bpm. It should be more like 120-130.

Lungs have fluid: not a lot, but enough to make breathing an effort.

Hips: are sore because blood isn’t being oxygenated and because he’s old and has a touch of arthritis.

As well: he has a bit of bronchitis / kennel cough, though not the official virus that bordetella shots are supposed to prevent.

Drugs we now have for him:
Clavamox (antibiotic)
Enalapril Maleate (an ACE inhibitor, to lower blood pressure)
Lasix (a loop diuretic used often in racehorses with congestive heart failure, to help reduce the edema)
Cough suppressant (which will hopefully let him sleep and soothe his throat.)

As well, he is banned from walkies.

I can’t wait to see the end of tonight and this year. As someone already said, 2007 has been a suckful year for animals, and a less than great year overall.

We will be going back in ten days to follow up, and doing an ultrasound around the 15th to get a better idea of the heart issues.

Click to Embiggen

It’s nearly five in the morning, and Zorro isn’t doing very well. He’s been coughing nonstop all day, the first time he’s shown any symptoms of his heart murmur. The pet sitter didn’t mention any coughing, and we didn’t notice anything bad on Saturday, but today it’s been pretty awful. Of course the vet is closed.

I’ve emailed them, though I’m not sure if they’re open today, and I’ll call them as soon as their opening hour hits, and I resorted to giving the dog a benadryl to knock him out as we are out of valium, and I don’t know what else to do.

This isn’t a normal small-dog reverse-sneeze sort of coughing, but the canine equivalent of hacking up a lung, and what’s worse is that it’s not even the kind of congestion you get from a cold, but a symptom that his heart murmur is worsening. Those of you who’ve known us for a while know that we’re not sure of Zorro’s exact age – he could be anywhere between nine and thirteen, and eleven is probably the most accurate estimate. Those of you who’ve been reading this for a while also know that he’s been through epilepsy that involved cluster seizures so bad our vet had been preparing us to put him down six years ago, though he’s been seizure free for five years now.

If we’re lucky, the vet will work with us, and Zorro will get some nice drugs to help the heart congestion. Either something cortisone based or the drug LASIX that is used for race-horses.

If you’re reading this, please send my little Zorro-dog some comforting healing energy. He’s a sweet little guy, who cooperates with vets, doesn’t bite, and lives for cuddling, walkies, and pieces of cheese. He’s been part of our family for ten years, and he’s special.

One of conversations we had with my parents was about the fact that they get most American movies in English with Spanish subtitling, unless they’re perceived as “children’s” films, in which case, there are Spanish-language versions (dubbed) with the occasional showing in English, which you can find if you read the movie schedule carefully. However, as I wrote a few days ago, the title of the films are often translated, and some of the translations can be quite perplexing.

This conversation returned as one of many subjects that came up during dinner last night, when Helen mentioned that it’s the same in Chinese, where often, the translated titles have no resemblance to the American version of the name.

That aside, I have a great fondness for foreign films, and while many are actually in English – like The Lover, which is one of my favorite movies ever, others come in two flavors, dubbed and subtitled. Almost always, I prefer the subtitled versions, because the voices never match the actors correctly, both in flavor and in synchronization, and that bothers me.

Favorite subtitled movies?
La Cage Aux Folles, the original one, of course.
Amalie, did anyone not love it?
Mostly Martha, a cooking film. I like cooking films.
Avenue Montaigne, I watched this a while ago, and now want to see it again.

Any suggestions?

I have to admit, when I heard about a car donation organization that used the money to make children’s videos promoting good values, I was a little bit leery. I mean, yes, I attend church, but that doesn’t mean I agree with everything taught there.

But then I got deeper into reading about Car Angel / Boat Angel, and their organization Car Angel Ministries, and I found out they also reach out to the addicts and the homeless, as well as working toward prison reform – all the things street ministries and urban religious organizations should be concerned with – and that’s something I can support, at least in theory.

The Car Angel site is easy to navigate, and offers information about what sorts of vehicles they accept (cars, boats, motorcycles, and rv’s) as well as some of the projects they’re working on (adult literacy, outreach to children, drug prevention) and how you can get a copy of their anti-drug film “D.O.P.E.” for your organization.

The trailer for “D.O.P.E.” is below, courtesy of YouTube, but if you want to check out the free children’s videos they make, which are reminiscent of the claymation series with the kid and the dog that I remember watching as a child in New Jersey (and which, I’m told, are somewhat akin to Veggie Tales, but you all know I don’t do animation, so I wouldn’t know).

In any case, check out the trailer, and if you have an old car you want to donate in time to get it on this year’s tax return (you still have 24 hours or so), check out Car Angels.

Adrian Monk, fictional San Francisco detective with severe OCD, had my deepest sympathies while I was in Baja. Oh, I loved being there, but the public toilet facilities in Mexico – at least in that part – lack things like cleanliness and toilet paper.

I often found myself wishing for wipes, before entering rooms. Not that the bathrooms at LAX were much better, but in La Paz, the local custom is to put used toilet paper, not in the toilet for flushing, but in the wastebasket.

Even in Dorian’s, which isn’t a cheap store (I mean, you walk in and there’s a Clinique counter – it’s a traditional department store), the bathrooms were scary. They probably did have toilet paper (unused) when they opened, but at three it was clear that no one bothered to check their status.

They have a guy at each Caja (cashier’s desk) whose whole job is stapling bags, but no one to empty the overflowing mass of used bathroom tissue or put fresh rolls in the dispensers.

And then there was the scary bathroom at the car park. “Esta limpa?” my mother asked. “Is it clean?” The guy at the desk nodded yes. “Hay papel?” He handed her a roll of toilet paper.

We opened the door to find a disgusting urinal, and off in a cement closet with no floor and no light, a toilet that was only clean if you compared it to, oh, say, the ruins of Pompeii.

Or maybe those were cleaner.

I’m not easily squicked, really, but after that bathroom (which we both refused to use) I totally sided with Mr. Monk.

Totally.

Beach Magic has made me the only person ever (I am certain) to come home from vacation having LOST weight, despite eating chocolate and coconut shrimp and all sorts of luxurious, delicious, bad-for-you foods.

We won’t even talk about the cream of green chili soup.
Much.

Seriously, ten days in Mexico was somewhat akin to a six week course of hydroxycut – I am not tan, because it was cold (for Mexico – low 70’s), but I am toned, energetic, and anxious to get up and do things.

Like fly a kite.
Or run through a field.

Things I don’t really take the time to do.

But my parents gave Christopher this brilliant 3-cube box kite for Christmas and we never had a chance to fly it. So now we have to, especially since we carried it home.

Seriously.
It’s beach magic.