If I Had a Blog This is what I'd say...

It's been a slow, painful decline over the past few months, and now Elliot's down to two pairs of pants and four t-shirts that he's willing to wear. Thankfully the t-shirts are somewhat presentable, because Pair of Pants "A" are a size three pair of grey sweats with cuffs that are too short and knees you can see through, and Pair of Pants "B" are a blue pair of sweats that are baggy and very clown-like. I can understand his aversion to jeans, but he's got other pants that aren't jeans that he refuses to wear. And when I say refuse, I mean all out screaming refuse. I just don't go there any more...I do laundry instead and make sure Pants A and B are clean.

As for t-shirts, again I don't understand it. Especially because many of the t-shirts he refuses to wear he wore quite happily two months ago. I realize part of a preschooler's makeup is to try to exert some control, but I ran out of patience on this one about three weeks ago.

So. On to the point of my post. I thought a workable solution would be to find some more sweat pants for him. But can I find any in this city? NO. And don't tell me it's the wrong time of year because I HAVE found fleece pants. And yes, he'll wear those, but it's a bit hot for them right now. I've been to several different places, including consignment stores, and have come up empty-handed.

So if anyone sees a size four pair of sweat pants in their travels, BUY THEM. PLEASE.

As an aside, Amy also refuses to wear jeans, but it's not an issue. Why? Because of cotton leggings. They are everywhere, they are cute, and they are comfortable. Thank God. One is all I can handle.

Yesterday I went for a run at Thetis Lake -- my first visit there since before Yoshi died. This was my favourite place to take Yosh, and we logged a lot of hours there. I had been dreading going, and I wasn't going to go until I was good and ready.

I didn't go alone. We are taking care of Digger for a couple of weeks, and I took him and a small part of Yoshi. Before Yoshi died Greg expressed his wish to have his ashes returned to us. I am not sure I would have done this had I been on my own, but I didn't have any strong objections, so I agreed. A couple of weeks after he died we got the ashes back from the vet. In an urn, of all things. We promptly put them in the basement in a closet as we were not ready to deal with them. But we did talk about some of the things we wanted to do with them, and one of the things I wanted was to bring some out to Thetis.

I wasn't sure how I was going to do this -- I didn't really want to go alone, yet I didn't want to go with anyone. Any humans, that is. But as I was falling asleep one night earlier this week, I suddenly thought: Digger. He'd be perfect company.

So off we went, Digger running ahead of me and a small bag of Yoshi's ashes in my hand. I knew exactly where I was going to leave the ashes. On Trillium trail there is a rock outcrop that Yoshi loved to jump off (and Digger too). I planned to throw some in the lake and leave some on the shoreline. I did most of my run before getting to this spot, and it was a good run. I didn't think about Yoshi much, I just enjoyed the run and Digger's company. Although a couple of times I let myself imagine that I was running with both dogs, and Yoshi was off running in the bush, as he often did.

When we got to the spot, I threw a few ashes in the lake and then got distracted as Digger went crazy looking for a stick. I helped him find one, smiling to myself at the interruption, and then grabbed another handful, threw them in the lake along with the stick and whispered to Digger to go in and join him. And he did. He jumped right in the middle of the ashes, and went for one more swim with his buddy. I put a few more on the shoreline and then I just stood there for a few minutes. I told Yoshi I loved and missed him, and then continued on my run. It was then I discovered you can't run and cry at the same time, so I walked for a bit and had a good cry.

I had a few more ashes left and I was just going to bring them back to the house, but then I saw one of the side trails that Yoshi loved to go on, so I sprinkled some at the entrance and just stood there imagining him running through the bush. I could almost hear him. I collected myself and then finished my run with Digger.

It was exactly what I wanted to do, without really realizing that until I was done. It seemed fitting to have Digger with me, and now that I'm through the hurdle of the "first time back", it will be easier to go again.

Thank you Digger -- you were my rock.

So further to my last post about Elliot not being himself...earlier this week Elliot was colouring with Greg and revealed that Jacob, his daycare buddy, had told him that he didn't want to be Elliot's friend any more. Greg commiserated with him, but didn't delve into any details. We're not clear on when this happened, but it might explain some of the angst he's been going through.

I felt bad for him, but I remember being a kid and I know this crap happens -- it happened to me, I probably did it to others, and it sucks. Although I have to admit that I was a bit surprised it came from a four-year-old, and a boy no less. I thought boys were nicer than girls.

Greg talked to Elliot a bit more about it during bedtime, and we left it at that. We were both glad that he was able to talk to us about it.

Then yesterday after spending the day with me, the kids and I headed up to daycare for their annual Canada Day BBQ. As we were leaving, we walked by one of the play areas where Jacob was playing on his own. Elliot yelled out a cheerful "Hi Jacob!". Jacob said something that I couldn't quite catch, and Elliot turned to me and said: "Did you hear that Mum? He said he isn't my friend anymore." As soon as Elliot repeated the words I realized it was what Jacob had said. And I wanted to drop-kick the kid. Instead I said to Elliot that that wasn't very nice. Elliot barely skipped a beat before he saw someone else and said "But Nate's my friend", which made me feel a bit better.

But it has left me wondering what happened. Sure, kids can be like this, but I was surprised that it was lasting more than a day. And again I'm wondering how much to talk to Elliot about it. My gut says to not dwell on it, and so far I'm going with my gut. Certainly if he brings it up again we can talk about it, or if he seems sad I might mention it. The other thing is whether to talk to his teachers about it. I don't want to be the kind of parent who fights her kids' battles for them, but it's not that I would want them to do anything. It's more that it might shed some light on what happened between them if I talked to them. I'm curious if Elliot actually did something to Jacob, or if this is just coming out of the blue. And I have to admit to feeling very protective of Elliot right now, and I really hope he's not hearing this from Jacob every day. Because that would really suck.

Just feeling a bit out of my league here...except I know the most important thing is that Elliot knows Greg and I love him. No matter what.

Greg and I have been talking recently about how well Elliot is doing at daycare. Compared to a year ago, he's like a different boy. He enthusiastically goes into the classroom in the mornings, he's got a couple of kids he really likes to play with, and he seems to be connecting with all three of his teachers.

Until two weeks ago.

For the past couple of weeks, things have been different. When I pick him up he's often been playing in a corner by himself, or just watching for me. He is much more tentative when we drop him off, and his teachers have said he's been having a tough time. Not all the time, but he goes up and down throughout the day. And he's not very communicative with them when he's not happy, so they haven't been able to figure out what is wrong.

There's been a few things going on. One of his teachers left for surgery and will be gone for three months. But she was replaced by another teacher Elliot knows, and I think he likes her. And he definitely likes his other two teachers. One of his friends has been sick for over a week. And Elliot himself hasn't been feeling all that great. He's had a sore throat and a cough for at least a week.

I've tried to talk to him about it, and he did at one point say he missed Jacob (his friend), but I think I prompted him on that one. And Jacob's been back for two days now and I don't see a difference. I haven't talked about his missing teacher because if he's not upset about her leaving, I don't want to put the thought in his head. Yesterday we talked about his sad feelings a bit and he did tell me he missed me during the day. Fair enough, but why is that all of a sudden making him sad?

I'm really struggling with this, as I want to fix it. Now. Especially since he was so happy before. I have to bite my tongue to keep digging, trying to figure out what is wrong. There's only so much digging you can do with a four-year-old. Plus I don't want to fixate on it, as I don't think that's healthy. It's not that I want to ignore it, but I think I should be focusing on the positive too.

I don't think it's something terribly wrong, because he isn't crying and clinging to my legs during dropoff, and often when I ask him what his favourite part of his day was, it's something from daycare. Plus his general behaviour hasn't changed much. I think if something was really wrong we'd see something at home.

Perhaps it's just a combination of things. He's a sensitive kid, both emotionally and physically, so when you add up a teacher leaving with missing a friend and feeling sick yourself, it doesn't make for an entirely happy kid.

I am finding it hard to balance how much I should talk to him about it, and what I should say when we do talk. Greg pointed out that we should encourage him to talk to his teachers if he's feeling upset about something, which is very true.

At any rate, I'm hoping things improve soon. He and Amy are spending the weekend with Gramma and that's always a perk for him.

I'm struck every day by how much a part of our life Yoshi was. I'm constantly doing things or seeing things that remind me of him. Even stuff like going to bed at night. We had a nightly ritual of Greg sending him out for a pee, one of us moving his bed into the kitchen and then locking him up in there so he wouldn't sleep on the furniture or wake us up with his click clacking of nails on the hardwood. It still feels a bit strange to go to bed without doing all that. And when I leave the house I start to do a mental check to make sure everything is dog-proofed, and then I stop myself.

Today I went for a run and realized that my long-standing claim of loving to run by myself is not true. I love to run with my dog. It's just not the same without him.

Most of these painful reminders will continue to ease with time, but some of them (like running alone) won't really ease until we get another dog. Greg and I have both said we're going to wait until the kids are older, as we will be the first to admit that, despite the loss, not having a dog is more practical than having one. But I'm starting to think that "older" is maybe not as old as I originally thought. I really miss the canine company.

In early 2001 I lost two dogs in a divorce. It was a brutal decision for me not to pursue some sort of "custody" arrangement, but given that they were not children and perfectly happy in their current environment, I decided my mental health was more important. So I moved on, knowing I would get another dog when I was ready. Six months later, I was ready. I was living (sort of) on my own, renting a house where I was allowed to have a dog, and my new boyfriend (now husband) was game.

One of the dogs I'd lost was Sylvie, a German Shorthaired Pointer that we'd raised from puppyhood. I loved her to bits, and since I felt a bit cheated out of owning a GSP, I decided to see about getting another one. Greg was a bit leery as Sylvie was a handful and full of energy, but he still was behind me. The first thing I did was phone the breeder where we got Sylvie from to see if she had any puppies available. She did, but she also mentioned that she had a three-year-old from Sylvie's litter that she'd shown, and was now looking for a good home for him. I remember her saying on the phone that he was "very quiet for a Pointer".

I'd adopted two adult dogs before, and in both cases there were no bonding issues. And the idea of not going through puppyhood again was very appealing, so I decided to go for it. It helped as well that the dog was from Sylvie's litter. I fully admit that I was attempting to fill the huge hole that her absence had caused, and that connection meant a lot to me.

So into our lives entered Yoshi. It was my decision to get a dog, my decision to pick this specific one, and it was me and my mum who went to get him, but from day one he entered Greg's heart as well as mine. I don't remember ever feeling that he was just my dog, not Greg's.

My mum and I drove to Squamish to get him, and we both have clear memories of the drive back, with Yoshi in the back seat of my mum's Honda Civic, inching closer and closer to us until eventually he was pretty much in the front, lying across the emergency break, wedged between us. I also remember leaving the breeder's house, leaning down to put my shoes on, with Yoshi's snout right in my face. The breeder mentioned that this was something Yoshi "did". And boy, did he ever.

The plan was to have Yoshi for the month of November on trial, and if everything worked out we'd keep him. He had grown up in the bush, and apart from the dog shows he was in, he spent his time running freely on an acreage near the Squamish River. It was quickly apparent to us that he was not used to city life. So during the first couple of weeks we introduced him to as much as we could. Big trucks, buses, umbrellas, other dogs...we took him everywhere. And he was scared of everything. I remember thinking that we were not going to be keeping this dog, he was too skittish. But then he started to get used to things, and get used to Greg and I. And by the end of November I don't think there was any question in Greg's or my mind. This dog was ours.

And so it began. What followed was eight and a half years of true companionship. He was my faithful running partner and my company on countless walks through the woods. He was our greeter, our plastics chewer, our counter surfer, our in-your-face-as-you-put-your-shoes-on dog. And just over a week ago, in the wee hours of a rainy Monday morning, we made the decision to put him down. He had stopped eating and stopped drinking, and we knew it was time for him to go.

I miss him terribly. I miss the clack, clack of his claws on the hardwood floor in the mornings as he let us know it was time to eat. I miss his quiet snoring in the evenings. I miss petting his silky ears. I miss his presence in our household. He filled a hole for me but he's left an even bigger one behind.

I know that I will fall in love with another dog. But Yoshi will always hold a special place in my heart. He helped me heal from a bitter breakup, and he was one of the founding members of what is now the Fox family. He was around for a pretty amazing time in my life. Good bye, my sweet pup. I love you very much.

Almost six years ago, Yoshi was diagnosed with spondylosis. At the time, one of my main worries was that Greg and I were going to eventually have to come to a decision to end Yoshi's life based on how crippled he became. I was able to bury that worry for a number of years, as we were able to modify his exercise routine to keep him relatively pain free. We stopped retrieving with him and Greg stopped mountain biking with him. We were a bit sad about that, but it helped a lot and he's remained pretty active. Pharmaceuticals helped as well.

This past fall we noticed he seemed to be getting sore again. We took him into the vet to get him checked out and decided to try another pain medication -- one that has seen much success. Unfortunately it didn't work for him, and we took him off it. He seemed okay for a bit but then started to decline more. We took him in again and when the vet examined him she found that his front legs seemed to be affected as well. Up until then it had just been his rear legs. This likely meant that his neck was involved, which would indicate further neurological issues, not just the spondylosis. She suggested prednisone. It seemed to be helping. One Sunday recently he and I were out for a walk in Mt. Doug Park and I came back and remarked to Greg how spry Yoshi had looked.

Then early last week we woke up to a whole lot of moaning, and Yoshi could not stand by himself. We helped him up and he was very shaky. We hadn't done anything out of the ordinary in the previous days, so we weren't sure what was going on. Another trip to the vet resulted in a theory that he'd actually hurt his neck somehow. The vet wanted us to keep him as immobile as possible, and she put him on two more pain meds. He had an x-ray on Friday which wasn't all that conclusive, but it indicated that the problem was unlikely to be an injury but rather further degeneration of his spine. She showed me the films and his spine is a mess.

So...where does this leave us? We're going to play around with the pain meds to see if we can get the pain under control. In the meantime he's still being kept as quiet as possible in order to prevent him from injuring himself. He still has trouble getting up and down, but it's a bit better. And once he's up he can walk, but he isn't all that stable, especially on a slippery surface (like our whole house).

The vet has taken him off one of the pain meds, a muscle relaxant, to see if it was maybe making him too wobbly. I will hopefully talk to her Friday about the next step, but I suspect it's going to be upping the dose of the other pain med, Gabapentin. I'm crossing my fingers, and I'm more hopeful that I was last week as he seems a bit better, but when I look at him lying on his bed, eyes wide open, not moving, or when I hear him moan as he tries to get up, my heart wrenches.

How do you know when enough is enough? We aren't at that point yet, but we can't continue indefinitely like this. I want to ask him if this is okay...lying around all day and getting up only to pee. Is this better than the alternative?

I dropped Elliot off at daycare today and watched from outside the door for a few minutes, as he seemed even more hesitant than usual. He just stood there, looking around, with a very solemn look on his face. I wanted to wait until I saw him move towards something (or someone), but he didn't move. I eventually had to go.

Now, if I think practically about this, I can remind myself that he's almost always happy when I pick him up, there are no tears when I drop him off, he talks about daycare quite a bit, and none of what he says is negative. And I can also remind myself that this is his nature. I know it takes him a while to warm up, especially in group situations. Plus he hasn't been there since Thursday.

So no, none of this is surprising, but on days like today, when maybe I'm feeling a bit vulnerable myself, I wonder what I'm doing to him as I turn around and leave when he'd rather just spend the day with me.

We broke ground this afternoon for a sandbox for Amy and Elliot. Elliot was playing with his dump truck and loader in the resulting dirt pit and left the vehicles in and near the pit when he came in for dinner. It looks like a mini construction site out there now. And if I wasn't so lazy I'd upload the picture I just took of it...perhaps later.

I took Elliot to the medical clinic tonight for an issue related to his boy parts (we'll just keep it at that to protect his dignity). As we were waiting our turn, he told me his tummy hurt. This was the third time he'd told me that today, and usually it means he has to poop. So we went into the bathroom. I pulled down his pants and tried to put him on the toilet, and he planked on me. I put him back on the floor, and he complained again about his tummy. He then grabbed his throat and sputtered "I'm going to spit-up, Mum!". I knew vomit was imminent. I had the wherewithal to get out of his way, but not to point him toward the toilet. He proceeded to puke all over the bathroom floor, his clothes and his shoes, all with his pants halfway down his legs.

The poor guy. Although he felt so much better afterwards that he perked up right away, and watched while I cleaned up the bathroom floor. I could have let the receptionist do it, but I felt bad for her, cleaning up some other kid's puke. So she gave me gloves and some cleaner and I did it. We had a long wait, so it gave me something to do. This is the first time I've had to clean up that particular type of mess, and I dreaded this day. Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

We finished up our wait in the clinic, went to the pharmacy to get some drugs, then headed home. Thankfully the second puke session happened in our bathroom, in front of the toilet, and it all made it in the bowl, thanks to Greg.

As Greg mentioned in a recent tweet, we are dreading the middle-of-the-night clean-up that is bound to be happening tonight.

Oh, and let this be a lesson that carrying around a spare set of clothes for your child is not wasted effort.