Then we lost Sasha to old age in January.   Which left us with [...]]]> Three years ago, we lost Leo, the liveliest cat on the planet, to a fox.  He was eleven. He went the way he lived, and as much as I miss him, I know it was a death of honor for him.

Then we lost Sasha to old age in January.   Which left us with Esmerelda, the 22 year old Siamese; Athena, a very fat 13 year old silver tabby, and Jack, who isn’t that old at 8, but has had a couple of knee surgeries and other ailments, and was slowing down.

For months I’ve been looking out of the corner of my eye for young animals.  Christopher Robin wants us to provide homes for old dogs that nobody wants (which just shows you what kind of man he is and why a person might love him), and I’m fine with that, but just now, this house needed youth and exuberance.

Enter kittens.  Two kittens, siblings, Rafael and Gabrielle, tuxedo babies who are shaking everything up.  Suddenly Jack wants to play.  Suddenly Athena is aware that there is life beyond the back porch (mainly growling, “No, I said I do not want to play tag. Get lost.” Over and over again).  CR has discovered he might actually be a cat person.  I have learned to type with one kitten on my head and another wrapped around my neck, giving me purring in stereo.

Not everyone wants the chaos animals bring into our lives, but this was the answer for us.  Welcome, babies! We’re so happy to have you!

(That’s Gabi in front. Rafe in the back.  My legs are their bed. )

*Couldn’t resist the play on How to Bake a Perfect Life, which will be out in just two months! (December 21).   It must be time to give away an Advance Reading Copy!

I’ve said before that my dog Sasha is at the end. It’s not a dire situation by any means—she’s still hanging out in the kitchen with me when she’s awake, hoping to get a treat, as she has done for the last 17 years. She is still very happy to get canned [...]]]>

I’ve said before that my dog Sasha is at the end. It’s not a dire situation by any means—she’s still hanging out in the kitchen with me when she’s awake, hoping to get a treat, as she has done for the last 17 years. She is still very happy to get canned food mixed with the dry at breakfast time, and can toddle around the park nearby my house once or twice a week if I am very patient. She can’t hear a thing and all that’s left of her sight is the left half of the left eye, and even her sense of smell is pretty much gone, meaning I have to put her food right under her face and show it to her or she doesn’t know it’s there. She spends a lot of her waking hours walking in a circle about the size of an exercise ball.

She doesn’t smell very good. She pants more than breathes. She toddles around in her little green fleece with DGG on the back because she’s grown so thin she can’t stay warm, and last week, I had to start giving her regular doses of morphine, at night. A few days later, I had to add daytime doses.

For months I’ve known we (I) would have to let her go soon. But here I am, trying to be present, day by day, happy for each little extra time I can kiss her. Grateful to carry her old-doggy-smelling self up the stairs one more time, carry her down once more. Kiss her nose and rub her haunches when she wakes up whining in the middle of the night. We are both—Christopher Robin and I—in dire need of more sleep because she wakes up every night at least twice and needs to be carried outside, changed, cleaned up, given her medicine.

What I keep thinking of is the end of my grandmother’s life. She spent most of the last six months or so in a nursing home, which she adamantly, tearfully hated. She was frail and had dementia and the plethora of medications she had to take was like the ABCs of pharmaceuticals. It was, for me, quite terrifying in ways. I didn’t know how to do anything. I didn’t know what to do. It was easy to spend an hour then run away, or take her to lunch once a month (less) and tell myself I was participating in her care.

I hadn’t learned then what I am learning now.

One afternoon when my grandmother had begun to fade, she was in a hospital somewhere. I can’t remember. There were windows with pale light, and she was exhausted and fussy and wanted a bath but a nurse didn’t come and didn’t come.

My sister took over. She drew the curtain and undressed the frail, think body of my grandmother, and gave her a sponge bath right there in her bed, washing her limbs and beneath her old breasts, tenderly, competently doing what needed to be done. I knew at the time that I would find it uncomfortable, that I was about 1/6th the person my sister was. I was younger then, and I had not yet repeatedly washed the diarrhea from the fur and legs and belly of an old dog. I had not stayed awake in the middle of the night then, to gently rub the haunches of a dog in pain, waiting for her meds to kick in. I had not learned to laugh at the circling cheerful dementia, to go ahead and let myself kiss her nose and cry over the absurdity and indignities of it all, then blow my nose and get her cleaned up again. I had not learned how to love the end stages of life then. Sasha is teaching me how to show up, how to be present, how to just be the hands that don’t mind getting bitten now and then, to be the voice murmuring close to her ear, how to appreciate the tender, tragic, comic, vibrant stage that comes at the end of life.

I’m grateful. It is one of the most valuable lessons of my life. And I remember, once again—cliched as it may be to say it—that animals teach us how to be human.

What are some lessons you’ve learned from your animals?

Today, to celebrate my birthday, Christopher Robin arranged a surprise: he took me to the zoo for a “Grizzly Bear Encounter.”   [...]]]> Anyone who has read here for any length of time knows that I have bear worries when I hike.  I even have dreams about them sometimes, but I’m not willing to give up hiking. 

Today, to celebrate my birthday, Christopher Robin arranged a surprise: he took me to the zoo for a “Grizzly Bear Encounter.”   We went behind the scenes, into the back rooms, and even into the enclosure to learn more about grizzlies. 

The best part was feeding a grizzly bear through a grate, looking at his giant head and incredible paws and realizing they’re like dogs, kind of.  Savage dogs. Dogs that weigh 600 pounds, but definitely dog-like in aspect and attitudes.  They’re curious. They’re smart.  They’re not particularly friendly if they don’t feel like it and they will definitely kill you for food if they are hungry, but for some reason, looking into those giant faces made me GET it on some deep level.  

I also realized it is completely silly NOT to carry bear spray when I hike in the deep woods by myself.  The trainers told me that. And they never, ever go into the enclosures with the bears. That says something, don’t you think?

It’s equally silly to demonize wildlife and make it into something Disney-esque.  I can be at peace with bears if I know and understand what they are.  Can we have a cheer for CR for understanding that and giving me such a cool birthday present?  For a YouTube video, check this out: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HLRW3wGs4v0

Well.  Turned out that he landed [...]]]> Last week over dinner one night, Christopher Robin said, “I think you need to take me out to get bacon for breakfast on Saturday morning.”   I said, “Sure, okay. Why?”  He said, “No reason,” in that sing-songy little voice that says there is a reason.  But I’m patient.

Well.  Turned out that he landed a bonus and knew I’d been wanting a little camera to stick in my pocket because my cell phone camera is so bad.   We picked out the most adorable little Nikon CoolPix, which ends up being about twice the camera we now have for 1/4 the size and 1/4 the price we paid three years ago.  So goes technology. 

There is a LOT to learn, so I’m going to shoot something new every day until Ifigure out all the features.  This is one from yesterday.   Jack was making snow angels.   (And remember, he wants you to know he has a STARRING role in Lost Recipe.  Not that he’s vain or anything.  Just beautiful.)

Really, if you had a dog that looked like this, wouldn’t you make him the star, too?  

Anyone asking for a camera for Christmas? Buying one for someone else?

P1000710

Originally uploaded by A writer afoot Since I can’t figure out any other way to do it, and I’m stuck waiting for a plane out of Ayers Rock, here’s the photo that should go with the Devils [...]]]>

P1000710

Originally uploaded by A writer afoot

Since I can’t figure out any other way to do it, and I’m stuck waiting for a plane out of Ayers Rock, here’s the photo that should go with the Devils post.

(Only none of them will upload, [...]]]> Uluru is a place you have undoubtedly seen photos of.   That big red rock in the middle of the desert, where herds of wild camels roam through the outback, and the land isn’t even slightly barren, and our fair heroines rode a camel through the dawn.

(Only none of them will upload, so they’ll have to come later.   At last….here it is!)

It was a lark, rather foolishly expensive for what it was, a ride on a camel through the early morning, but worth every frivolous dime.  Jo and I were in the lead, on a gentle camel named Alice. Alice has very long eyelashes, which help keep the sand out of her eyes, but it really just makes them look pretty, too.  She wasn’t noisy, like Jack, who complained loudly when his people climbed on, or slightly shady, like the one right behind me who kept pretending he wanted to nuzzle but really wanted to get into my pockets.   The rocking motion, the very high view, the exotic pleasure of riding a camel! was worth every minute.

After breakfast, we headed out to the rock itself.  I walked around the base, a distance of about 11km, all told, and it took three hours because you really can’t stop yourself from pausing to shoot yet another angle of sage green against red against sky.   It was a long, quiet, meditative walk, and I’m genuinely sweaty for the first time in a month.  It was also the first time I’ve done a long walk on my own since the Avon walk, and  I realized that I missed it.  Maybe three hour solitary walks are not everyone else’s cup of tea, but the training this summer showed me that they really are mine.

Just now, it is raining, a heavenly thing in the desert, and I’m feeling quite mellow and delighted.   I’ll have a shower then nip out to see if I can find some supper.  Tomorrow we fly to Cairns, our next to the last stop.  Can I bear to leave this amazing country?

Cheers.