An Emotional Day

What a day. So many emotions – happiness, sadness, anger, gratefulness - all crammed into one day. 

The happiness was seeing my son, Wil, and his new dog, Freya, a white husky. Spending the last few days with them was a welcome distraction from losing Oreo.

Today brought the sadness. Wil, headed back to Austin, stopping at the VA so we could visit Bill together. I brought Bill outside to meet Freya. On the way, Bill said, I'm going to see "Oreo." I didn’t correct him-it would have been too upsetting. He was already agitated.

Outside, he recognized Wil right away but was frightened by Freya. Our visit was short; Bill wanted to go back to the safety of his pod. Inside, he grew more anxious, repeating, "help me, help me," over and over, with an occasional "I love you" thrown in as well. In his hallway, he kept saying, "help me hallway, we're back in my hallway, my hallway, help me." It's so hard to hear the confusion in his mind. 

Back in his pod, one of the other residents began shouting at Bill to stop it, even threatening him. At that point, I took Bill and went to find his aide before a fight broke out. I finally spotted her by the nurses' station limping and holding her hip as if she was in pain. She was in the process of taking a medication of some sort. Now, I was angry. "How can she take care of these patients when she's in pain? How can she help get Bill in and out of the Hoya lift or move him around on the bed to change him? Why isn't she at home healing while a capable aide takes her place?" I understand that she may not have sick time, but that doesn't help my husband. 

We finally got Bill settled, and I went to find the head nurse. I discussed the issue and she assured me the problem would be addressed. I left as there was nothing else I could do. 

Generally, I find the care at the VA very good. This was a definite outlier and it makes it hard to leave Bill knowing things like this happen. But what can I do? 

My gratefulness is for a Trader Joe staff member. I stop there occasionally when I'm in Houston because I love Trader Joes! As the staff member packed my freezer bag for me, we chatted about Galveston and Bill. When she finished checking me out, she asked, "What is your favorite color?" I told her purple. She insisted I wait at the register and left. Shortly, she returned with two beautiful bouquets of purple-pink flowers all neatly packed in a bucket with water and wrapped in two paper bags. It was a lovely gesture!

 I'm so grateful for the kind people in my life. It makes all the other emotions less painful. 

 

 

Oreo, My Companion is Gone

 My heart is broken. My sweet companion, Oreo, the one who stood by me through this struggle with Bill—is gone.

I came home from the airport and found her unresponsive, dehydrated, and with severe weight loss. She hadn’t been eating well before I left, but I blamed it on the food issue. She had always been fragile since she was a pup, needing special diets to stay well. Then, in the summer of 2024, we discovered a vegetarian food that she gave her new life. It was like a miracle—suddenly she was healthy, perky, and ready to walk with me again. We were enjoying life together, and I was elated.

But this summer, the company stopped making that food. “Not enough demand,” they said. I tried every other vegetarian brand I could find. I even experimented with making her food myself, desperate to find something she could eat without getting sick. Nothing really worked that she would eat. By the time I left for vacation, she was already picking at her food. I had stocked up on dry food from the original brand and saved three cans of the wet, thinking, When I get back, I’ll figure this out. She’s just being finicky.

But she wasn’t. She was dying. Her kidneys and pancreas were failing, and I didn’t know. I left her when she needed me most. How could I have left her?

The moment I stepped into my apartment, I knew something was wrong. I rushed her to the vet, but it was too late. I had to let her go. Shelly came to help me through it. I stayed with Oreo until she drifted to sleep, and then Shelly stayed for the rest. I just couldn’t.

This morning, I gathered her things. Some went into the closet. Some I’ll take to the humane society. I couldn’t give it all away—not yet. Part of me still hopes I’ll hear her paws on the floor, coming back from using the doggie pee pad in the bathroom.

I knew this day would come, but I didn’t think it would come so soon. Oreo was my comfort in this lonely apartment. When I came home crying about Bill, she would curl up next to me, letting me pet her until the tears stopped. She was my cozy companion, always there and never complaining.

Seeing Oreo so thin and unresponsive brought back the conversation the nurses had with me a couple of months ago about the end stage of Alzheimer's. Apparently, if nothing else takes him first (heart etc.), Bill will eventually starve himself to death. Hospice will keep him "comfortable" with morphine and other medications, but what a terrible way to go. How will I survive that? How can I sit by week after week, watching him waste away and be powerless to stop it? The truth is, I have no choice. 

For now, I have to put those thoughts aside. I can't do anything about that.

Instead, I'll run some errands - drop off Oreo's food and medicine at the humane society, then drive up to Houston to visit Bill, if I can pull myself together. Hopefully, he's having a good day. On the way back, I'll pick up groceries.

Then I’ll return home to the silence. It's a sad, sad day. . . 

Walking with Oreo

 Walking With Oreo

There’s a program in town called Walk with a Doc. It’s designed to encourage people to get outside, stay active, and have a doctor on hand just in case. Me? I don’t need Walk with a Doc—I've got Walk with Oreo.

Broken Arrow, OK (2011)

Oreo entered my life as a furry three-month-old, black and white puppy – part Shih Tzu, part Jack Russell. I'd gone to the local humane society to get a cat. But, before I had a chance to tell the volunteer what I was looking for, a woman came in with a basket of puppies. I looked in and saw Oreo scrambling all over the other pups. I knew this was the pet for me. She was all energy, and her name was Oreo. (I do love chocolate!) Oreo bounced instead of walked, ran instead of strolled, and kept me on my toes from day one. 

Oreo-June 2011

Our first home together had a nice backyard, but no fence. However, we lived in a neighborhood with plenty of sidewalks, so daily walks were easy. We both needed exercise, so that's what we did. No need to fence the yard. 

At first, her little legs couldn't keep up, but before long we were walking a mile a day. 

Even when we weren't walking, we were usually together. If I went somewhere Oreo couldn't walk, I put her in a pet sling and carried her around my neck. She learned to travel in the car and stay in a motel. I bought her a doggie highchair so she could see out the car window and her own doggie suitcase for food and toys. We would drive to parks all over Oklahoma and nearby states, just to walk. 

House training was a breeze, and she never chewed the furniture. I did have to use a playpen to protect her from our cats. They were curious about the tiny, black and white fuzzball. Oreo's active personality made the cats want to "bat" at her as if she was a toy!

"What kind of cat is that?" 

During the first year, she developed bladder stones, requiring surgery. The vet removed a baby-food–sized jar of stones; and from then on, she was on a prescription diet. But that didn't slow her down. We continued to walk about a mile a day, her tiny legs trotting beside me, ears flopping in the wind.

Oreo Post-op

Independent Living – A Cottage with a Fenced Yard (2015, Oreo is 4)

Moving into an independent living community was a new chapter for us. Our little cottage had a fenced back yard where I could easily put her out to potty. It was tempting to stop walking; but I would never let her outside alone. I'd heard a horror story about a hawk snatching a small dog right off the ground, and I wasn’t taking any chances with Oreo. Forget the back yard – we walked the neighborhood. 

Our new community also had a dog park, but Oreo wasn't a social butterfly. Sharing wasn't her thing, and she also had a talent for sniffing out disgusting things to eat, which then made her sick. So, the dog park was off limits. We stuck to our walks, one to two miles a day.

Atria - The Woodland Walks (2018, Oreo is 7)

By the time we moved to Atria, Oreo and I had a rhythm. Our new apartment had a beautiful, wooded path winding around the complex – a peaceful retreat from the busyness of caregiving. If we wanted a longer walk, there was a walking trail nearby that went for miles through south Tulsa.

Oreo loved the wooded pathway the most because she would almost always encounter a squirrel. As soon as she spotted one, she'd yank the leash, speed off after it, and chase it up the nearest oak tree. Then she'd jump and bark as if to say, "I got it! I got it!" I don't know what she would have done if she actually caught it!

"I got it! I got it!"

Island Bay – The Canal Years (2021, Oreo is 10)

This move came with a change of scenery: a canal out front, a boardwalk out back, and a new set of challenges. The boardwalk was old, worn, and uneven, making our walks feel more like an obstacle course. 

The canal was about twelve feet below the apartments, so there was a grassy bank that flowed down from the sidewalk to the canal. One day, Bill was walking Oreo when a squirrel ran by. Oreo jerked the leash, hard, and Bill lost his balance. Before he knew it, Bill was rolling down the hill, arms flailing. A neighbor came running and rescued him. That was the last time he walked Oreo.

Still, Oreo and I kept going, logging our daily miles, navigating the boardwalk, dodging loose boards, and always keeping an eye out for squirrels. Some days, we'd pause to watch the pelicans swoop down for a light snack or the silver mullet leap from the water.

Pelican watching!

Lakeside at Campeche Cove - Slowing Down (2023, Oreo is 12)

Our next apartment had lovely green spaces tucked between the buildings. I thought of them as my very own English Garden. Oreo, on the other hand, saw them as battlegrounds – filled with other dogs walking the same paths, sniffing the same spots, and invading her territory! Over time, we figured out which dogs we could tolerate and which ones we couldn't. Still, we logged one to two miles a day.

"I don't know. They smell weird!"

But something else was happening. My once-springy, eager pup began slowing down. Our walks shrank to half a mile - some days, she could barely walk at all.  

Then things got worse.

She stopped eating. Slept all day. Diarrhea. Vomiting. Repeat. I even canceled a cruise because I couldn't bear to leave her. Nothing the vet tried seemed to help. She continued to get worse.

Finally, in the spring of 2024, I took her in one more time and gave the vet an ultimatum: Do something, I told him, or I'll have to let her go.

His answer? A vegetarian diet. I was skeptical but desperate enough to try anything.

Cove at GYB – The Comeback (2024, Oreo is 13)

Just before our move to The Cove at GYB, something incredible happened. The vegetarian diet worked! So much so, I've been cutting back on my meat as well!

Within five days, Oreo bounced back. Her tail wagged again. She had energy. She wanted to walk. She even wanted to run! Suddenly, my frail, aging companion was acting like an eight-year-old—bounding around, eyes bright, and eager to go! 

We began walking again - up to two miles a day! And not just that - she was climbing stairs. Three flights of them! 

Walking with Oreo (2025, Oreo is 14)

Oreo has been my walking partner for 14 years now. We both have some gray hairs, but we're still out there– walking, exploring, living. Acting younger than we really are. 

Because the best way to stay young . . . is to keep walking. 

Oreo - the Vegetarian!

My most beloved pet, Oreo, is now a vegetarian! Yes, you heard it right! 

Here's the scoop: 

From the time she was born, Oreo's had food issues. At a year of age, she had bladder surgery to remove bladder stones. The vet showed me the stones they pulled out: they were the size of peas and filled a 3/4 cup measure! At that point, she was on a Rx diet and has been since then.

For the next eleven years, her digestive system got worse, until, by this spring, she was having nausea and diarrhea at least once or twice a week. I was at my wits end, and so was my vet. Even the strict Rx diet for gastronomical issues was not working. Finally, in July, my vet suggested a vegetarian diet. He had been doing some research and found studies that suggested this type of diet may help dogs like Oreo. So, six weeks ago, I started the transition to Royal Canin Vegetarian diet. The protein in it is soy, so she is still getting protein. 

She has been completely on the vegetarian diet for the past four and one-half weeks. And guess what? No more stomach issues or diarrhea! She's happier, more energetic, and looks the best she has in years. In fact, it makes me wonder if I should become vegetarian! 

UPDATE: I've added green bean "candles" to her vegetarian dinner! 

Streetcats

I'm currently drinking my morning, home-brewed Starbucks and watching one of the neighborhood street cats woof down some chicken I put out on my patio. I can't see details, like whiskers, but she is a pretty cat, white with beach sand-colored splotches - the perfect look for a Galveston street cat.

Oreo is sitting next to me, watching curiously, probably wondering why this cat gets fresh chicken while she only get Rx dog food with only a smidgen of chicken for flavoring. She doesn't understand that eating that plate of chicken would end with her going to the dog hospital. She's had stomach and bladder stone issues since a baby and only gets Rx food.

The cat finishes and moves on. My experience with neighborhood street cats has led me to discover something quite amusing - they are quite persnickety in their dining habits. For the past two weeks, I've been putting down bits of leftover rice and boiled chicken. Each night around 5:30, my sandy colored street cat friend comes visiting and gobbles up the offering. 
Yesterday, I got the idea that I could feed more cats and provide more nutrients if I put down cat food instead of chicken. I bought a bag of Purina Cat Chow, placed a mound of these healthy brown pebbles on a blue plastic plate, and waited.

First, a big black tom cat jumped up, strutted over to the dish, and sniffed. He quickly turned away and left. "Nope, not going to eat that stuff!" 

Next, my sandy beach cat arrived to see what was on the menu. She sniffed at the crunchy brown substance, glared at me through the sliding glass door, and almost appeared to roll her eyes. She turned, stormed off, and flicked her tail at the "flies" in the dish. I guess I got told!

When I woke this morning, there was the cursed cat food, still sitting forlornly on the blue plastic plate. Not even a rat came to dine!

Like an obedient wife for an overbearing husband, I replaced the scorned manna from heaven with chicken. Lesson learned. The neighborhood street cats have formally decreed, "We street cats have class. Do NOT feed us rat food." 

In truth, I'm a spoiled street cat as well. Give me breakfast at Blake's or lunch at Truluck's, but do not feed me "rat food" from a fast food restaurant. Maybe that's why I love my street cats so much. We are soul mates at heart.

A new subject to write about . . .

After many years of having only cats in the house, I finally broke down and got a dog. She's half Shihtzu and half Jack Russell. Her name is Oreo, and she's two months old.

I went to the Tulsa Humane Society to get a cat, but they had just gotten in these adorable pups. I just couldn't resist. So now, I'm potty training, crate training, and pretty much exhausted, but loving it.

Today, we went for our first walk in the park. We walked .13 miles in 14 minutes! Not much exercise, but it was so much fun!

Now that I have a dog, I have a whole new topic to write about!