Life is short...

Life is short. Dance while you can!

-Fran

Two weeks

It's been two weeks since we lost Ceilidh and sometimes it feels like last night, other times like she was never a part of our lives. The other dogs don't miss her, aren't looking for her, and sometimes that's hard. While Ceilidh didn't interact with them much, you'd think that something about their demeanor (the older ones - Roc and Dax - especially) would be different. But no.

We've asked the younger ones - Tango and Teddy - to step up and be big boys. Tango is no longer confined to his crate at night. He sleeps with me. And we're asking both Tango and Teddy to make better choices during the evening. If Hope and I want dessert after dinner while we're watching TV, the boys are not in their crates but are not allowed to bother us - after we give them treats, of course. And for the most part they're doing really well. We're going along and things seem to be normal in our everyday lives, and then I see Ceilidh's beloved Latex Soccer Ball and it hurts all over again. But life goes on, and I'm sure one day I'll be able to let the other dogs play with the Latex Soccer Ball. - Fran

Ceilidh's gone

Our Boston Terrier, Ceilidh, the bravest soul I've ever known, died yesterday.

Ceilidh was young for a Boston - only 10. As the vet who'd taken care of her since she was five weeks old said, "It was a hard 10." I think she was tired of trying so hard and needed to rest.

Ceilidh's brain was wired wrong. One of my best friends from college, experienced in the travails of autistic and ADHD children, liked Ceilidh best of all of our dogs. She recognized her for the "special needs" being that she was.

And because so very few knew her for the dog she really was - I'm going to indulge myself and my sister and write her biography here. Because we think this special little girl should be remembered.

We know the right way to buy a purebred dog. We knew we wanted a Boston Terrier, so we contacted the local Boston Terrier Club. We attended a couple of shows, talked to breeders and waited for their litters to be born. Both of the litters "missed" - there were no puppies. In the meantime, we'd lost another dog and our house was echoingly empty.

I did something stupid. I read the classified ads

in the newspaper and called a backyard breeder who was advertising puppies. I went to see the four-week old puppies and fell in love. Which is why you should never, ever do what I did.

The "breeder" called us a week later and told us that the puppies' mother had stopped nursing them and they were leaving for the summer. Come get your puppy. So we did.

Ceilidh was adorable.

That’s a regular old maple leaf she’s carrying. She was tiny.

At this stage, there was no hint of anything abnormal about her. Puppies at five weeks old eat, sleep, poop and pee. She did all of that very well. She adored Razzmatazz, our blind Brussels Griffon boy. And he, who never tolerated any other dog getting too close, allowed her to cuddle against him, walk with him, nuzzle in his fur. Ceilidh always loved the feel of other fur. Perhaps because she was fur-challenged herself (more on that later).

We took her to our dog club picnic a few weeks after we brought her home. She spent the whole time trying to cuddle our friend’s Border Collie, because he was soft. Luckily Chaser was a very sweet BC. He couldn’t quite figure out what that thing underneath him was, but it didn’t bother him.

We lost Razz when Ceilidh was just a few months old. And none of our other dogs took his place in Ceilidh’s life.

We started noticing how different she was when we started serious obedience training.

I would take Ceilidh to the local train station every morning to acclimate her to crowds, noise, people, etc. And every morning she was so excited to see everyone and everything, she couldn’t stand still. Not for a second. She was a happy flibbertigibbet – always dancing on her hind feet.

In Obedience class, our friend and instructor told us that heeling should be done with all four paws on the ground. We knew that, of course – it was the same friend who owned Chaser. So we dared her to try it herself. Ceilidh went all the way around the ring, in perfect heel position, on her hind legs.

In those early years Ceilidh attacked life with zest. She ran into every new situation – eager to meet new people and dogs. Her uncurbable exuberance was too much for most. People don’t want dogs constantly demanding attention but unable to stand still to receive it.. And dogs were put off. More often than not, her constant, hectic motion was met with growling and snapping.

We noticed when she was about 10 months old that Ceilidh had many bald patches – as if her fur just disappeared. She was diagnosed with an immune disorder and so began the weekly, medicated baths that continued the rest of her life.

Ceilidh’s hyperactivity made it difficult to have company, or to take her anywhere. We tried agility – she was incredibly athletic, long-legged and muscular. She excelled at the obstacles (jumping, climbing, weaving), but the excitement of being in class was incredibly stressful. And it was hard to explain to your classmates that Ceilidh just wanted to rub herself in their dog’s fur when she went dashing off after them.

It turned out that, hard as I tried, I wasn’t Ceilidh’s person. She made it pretty clear that Fran, my sister, was her special person. It was an adjustment – the dog that I’d counted on being “mine” simply wasn’t. And Fran probably sighed and said “fine, then.” And Ceilidh was hers.

Being Ceilidh’s person meant having guardianship of her beloved latex soccer ball. It had to be the smallest one – the one that got too gooey to hang onto when she wanted to play tug. And she had to play with it every day, or she wouldn’t settle down. We had to train her to “drop it” – and even then she would grab her ball time and again to get it in just the right spot. We learned not to reach in until she’d backed off – very few people could beat her to her toy. After “drop it” we had to teach her “leave it” and “bring it closer.” Ceilidh was also rather obsessive/compulsive.

So like a ritual in our house, Ceilidh had a special kitchen timer. When the timer came out, it was time to play ball. When time was up and the timer beeped, it was time for the ball to go away. It took months of training to teach her, but she accepted it and enjoyed her playtime. Then she would get a drink of water, go outside, settle for the evening. No part of the ritual could be shortened or omitted.

Ceilidh had two speeds – full and off. She was a will-o-the-wisp, never lighting in a single spot for long, and never amenable to petting or cuddling. The only time Ceilidh could accept stroking or petting was when she was asleep. The vet once advised us to massage a certain spot “when she was relaxing and sitting on your lap.” She never did that. She never even sat next to either one of us. In some ways, Ceilidh was more feline.

I’m rambling as memories and thoughts come to the fore. That’s okay. I doubt anyone but Fran will read this all the way through. And she’ll be smiling and nodding. And weeping, just a bit.

Because of her personality, very few people actually got to know Ceilidh. Those that did know she was truly sweet – she wanted only to kiss you. Again and again and again. And again. Her “registered name” – the one the American Kennel Club knew about – was Sugar Sweet Party Attitude. Be careful what you name your dogs.

About three years ago Ceilidh was diagnosed with a couple of serious heart conditions. One involved the valves, the other caused her heart to skip beats. For long moments, like it just didn’t remember it had a job. We kept it under control with medication, but over time, her wiring seemed to deteriorate. She became very sensitive to the weather – changes in barometric pressure resulted in her not eating, sometimes for more than a day. We always had trouble keeping her weight up – she used so many calories. Thunderstorms were terrifying. Any loud noise was scary. Her attitude became more fear than joy – it was probably the first sign that her time with us was shortening. Of course, we didn’t know it then. The signs are always clearer when they’re behind you.

Ceilidh was the bravest girl in the world – not because she wasn’t afraid. Because she was frightened, and charged on anyway, just because we asked her to. In her own way, she loved us as fiercely as we loved her.

So our beautiful, small, smiling girl is gone. I’d like to, but I don’t really believe in the Rainbow Bridge, where our dogs wait for us to join them. I’d like to think that a healthy Razzmatazz, with his sight back, is once again taking care of the little, fragile, sweet Boston puppy. So, for now, I’ll pretend I do. - Hope

Typical

This is what it looks like when I let the dogs out on my day off. Fran has Tango at work, so he's not in the picture, but he probably wouldn't be anyway because he's always in motion. Ceilidh (Boston Terrier) lies in the sun, Teddy (fawn Frenchie) finds a stick to chew on, Roc (Brussels Griffon) is on alert for anything to bark at, and Dax (brindle Frenchie) eats grass (which she promptly regurgitates). - Hope

Stay cool! That goes for the dogs too!

Much of the country is gripped in a nasty, long-lasting heat wave. The heat index (what it actually feels like outside) rose over 100 degrees F. the last few days here in the Chicago area. The news reports emphasize how important it is for us to hydrate and get relief in the air conditioning for at least a few hours each day. That goes for our dogs too! We have to make sure that we limit their time outside in the heat and provide lots of clean water. If you're on a walk, bring along a Water Rover so your pup can take water breaks.
My crazy Boston Terrier, Ceilidh, and Hope's French Bulldog, Dax, love the heat, though. They'd bake on the grass for hours if we let them. We end up carrying them inside because they refuse to leave the heat on their own! Silly girls....
-Fran

Ceilidh Day!

It's been a really long time since Ceilidh had a day at the shop. So, since she'd been seeming stressed at home, I brought her in today. Ceilidh is having a restful day.

-Fran

Picture Friday

Tango

Teddy

Roc

Dax and Ceilidh

Cure for the blues

Roc did what Roc loves. He barked.

Dax was not amused.

Tango is looking for trouble - no one sniffs Ceilidh's butt!

The dynamic duo - Tango and Teddy had a blast!

They take turns chewing on each other.

Teddy's a happy boy.

Last week was a pretty awful one. Tango was horribly sick with some kind of stomach problem the first half, I discovered a huge bolt in my rear tire when I left work on Tuesday (ever hear that dreadful "thunk, thunk, thunk?"), thunderstorms kept Ceilidh (and consequently Fran) up all night on.... I don't even remember which one it was.

But on Sunday - it was beautiful! The way summer should be and hasn't this year. Temperature in the 80s instead of goddawful hot, sun shining, breeze blowing, fluffy clouds in the sky. So we let the dogs play in the backyard. It makes us smile.

The other two

Fran and I have both been blogging about our pups - Tango and Teddy. Dax gets mentions as well - she's the one competing in agility and she also comes to work on occasion.
But we do have two other dogs - Ceilidh and Roc. They're really not very old, Fran's Ceilidh (Boston Terrier) is nine and my Roc (Brussels Griffon) is eight. But we probably don't blog much about them because we're both trying not to think about what's to come. "De Nile ain't just a river in Egypt."
Ceilidh and Roc are both precious to us - and this summer both seem to be in trouble.
Roc has pulmonary hypertension - back in February when we got the diagnosis, the vet said he'd probably have a couple/few months. With the heat and humidity that's been plaguing us this summer, he's clearly uncomfortable outside and we're only allowing him outside, out of the air-conditioning, for essential potty trips.
Ceilidh has several problematic heart conditions (arhythmia, bad valves, etc.), in addition to the immune-system issues she's had all her life (her body attacks itself and her hair falls out without weekly medicated baths). And now, latest blow, she's developed myositis, an inflammation of the muscles. She's on steroids and for the first time in her entire life, she's an eager eater. Much as we love seeing that - the price is too high.
So if we don't talk about our older dogs - know that we, and they, are holding their own and no news is exactly what we want.

When a Good Toy Goes Bad...

Ceilidh loves her Rope Turtle. She's waiting for me to toss it. Don't see the turtle there? It used to look like a turtle. And that's what happens to rope toys. After a while they bear absolutely no resemblance to the figure they used to be. But Ceilidh still loves it. She loves chasing it. She loves shaking it. She loves chewing on it. Every once in a while some little strings come off. We get to them before Ceilidh or one of her siblings does, and throw them out. And the turtle gets smaller and more raggedy. And Ceilidh stil loves it. - Fran

Cranky Ceilidh

Recent late nights have been making Ceilidh cranky. I've been glued to Olympics coverage for the last two weeks. The prime time broadcasts have lasted until 10:30 or 11:00 each night, when before I was snoozing in my chair at 9. Ceilidh glares at me with her bloodshot eyes, and I tell her that she can go to bed without me, but that doesn't work. Well, only a couple more days and then we can all catch up on our sleep. - Fran

Quirky Ceilich

Ceilidh is a quirky dog. Every dog has quirks, but the more I hear of other dogs' eccentricities, I truly believe that Ceilidh is "extra-special!" I've written about many of Ceilidh's quirks - my lovable ADHD, obsessive-compulsive dog. I recently told Hope about one of these quirks and she burst out laughing, "And you haven't blogged about this!?!" OK, so here goes. Ceilidh gets her breakfast in a crate in the kitchen every day. And she gets a pill after she eats her breakfast every day. She has to come out of the crate for me to give her the pill, and I don't like to force her out - it has to be her idea. But she won't leave the crate until she burps. Not a little, lady-like hiccup. No - a huge, football-player-sized belch! Then she's happy, she gets her pill, and we get on with our day... - Fran

It's Ceilidh's Bed

OK, I don't usually like to talk about really personal stuff, but this just cracks me up. I bought myself a queen-sized bed a few months ago and having been sleeping in a twin bed my whole life until then, it was something of an adjustment. When Golly was here, she still managed to take up half the bed - not an easy feat for a 12-pound dog. Ceilidh was not comfortable sleeping with the alpha - Golly, so she slept in Hope's bedroom. Since Golly's been gone, Ceilidh has slept fitfully on my bed. The other day I bought a new comforter. It's nice and soft, and goes quite nicely with my bedroom decor. Ceilidh's been going to bed early since then. - Fran

Roc knows how to shop!

Hope is in Milwaukee for a 4-day Agility Trial this week, so I brought Ceilidh and Roc to the shop with me. Roc has been shopping for toys, and then Ceilidh steals them from him! And all that work just tuckered them out!

-Fran

New sleeping arrangements

So my full-size "grown-up" bed was delivered yesterday. (I'd had a twin-size bed since I was a kid, and I was using the same headboard and frame. The headboard had been recovered a couple of times, but still...) Despite the fact that my whole room needs to be re-organized since there's no room to walk anywhere, I think it'll be great for Golly, Ceilidh and me. Eventually. Ceilidh had been sleeping in Hope's bedroom but in a bed on the floor, so it's an adjustment for all of us. Last night Ceilidh stayed on the bed, all night! But Golly is going to need to get used to all this newness. At one point I woke up and couldn't find her! I turned the light on, and she was between the pillow and the headboard. I think she liked it there. Like I said, it'll take some getting used to...

Ceilidh vs. the Spinny

Ceilidh gave the Spinny a try, too! She uses her paws more than the others and this time, she didn't just get frustrated, lie down and whine. This time, she pushed it away!

Dogs on Sunday

Ceilidh

Roc

Golly

Dax and Golly

Naughty Dax

I'm a bad, bad auntie

Fridays are my day off. I have the whole house and all four dogs to myself - my two (Roc and Dax) and Fran's two (Golly and Ceilidh).
I think we've mentioned about 80 zillion times that Ceilidh is a "special" dog. She doesn't like to be petted, she's constantly on the move, she's not good at eating, is hyperactive, etc. etc. etc.
So yesterday, I took the dogs out into the backyard, let them do their thing, sniff some, lie in the sun for a while. Then it was time to go in - I had things to do!
So I call them. Golly goes back to the house. Roc is right on her heels. Dax reluctantly gives up her patch of sun and goes inside. Ceilidh's running around the yard with a stick in her mouth. Ceilidh, who is obedience-trained, ignores "Come" ignores "Go Home" and dashes around the yard some more. I'm getting impatient, so I say "Dammit Ceilidh." At which, she immediately goes home.
So it occurs to me that Ceilidh thinks "Dammit Ceilidh" means go home. Poor Ceilidh.

Life with Ceilidh isn't getting any easier

Ceilidh is a dear, sweet Boston Terrier girl. She's also, as has been mentioned more than once, not an easy dog to live with. Her vet says she's not wired right - she described Ceilidh to a friend of ours as living life "double time."

Her two speeds are full and off. There's no in-between with Ceilidh - she's either running a mile-a-minute or crashed. She never just "hangs out."

And it's not getting any better. Ceilidh turned 8 years old in April. And she was diagnosed with a fairly serious heart condition in the last year. And now, as her most recent development, she's terrified of thunderstorms. And fireworks.

Needless to say, this weekend wasn't much fun for her. The official fireworks celebrations were bad enough - we can hear three of them from our house. What was even worse was the neighborhood idiots shooting off illegal firecrackers until the wee hours of the morning. Every time we thought it was over, another one would BANG right outside.

Ceilidh was beside herself. She couldn't settle, couldn't find a good place to hide, refused to be comforted and was generally miserable.

We felt so bad for her - and there was nothing we could do. We tried some herbal/holistic thing, but it did nothing. Because of her heart medication, our pharmaceutical options are limited. I do know that next year, if we're lucky enough to still have our Ceilidh, we'll ask our vet to figure something out. I'd rather she spent the holiday knocked-out sleeping than quaking in fear. Poor baby.

Happy Independence Day!

How great is this! A long weekend to celebrate our nation's birth! The Cubs are in town. Not much rain in the forecast. Steaks ready to grill. We'll set up a couple of jumps and the weave poles in the back yard and do a little agility with Dax and Ceilidh. Golly and Roc will get in the way - that's what they do! Catch up with friends. Sounds good!