02/04/10 | Site Update
I dug this video out of the archives while dumping data from the video camera.
This is what happens when your one year old challenges you for alpha-male position of the household. And you all thought he was innocent.
Violent Children from Chris on Vimeo.
01/25/10 | Site Update
Many of you know that I made some homemade end-grain cutting boards for Christmas presents this year. They were a huge sucess, with all recipients giving two thumbs up. I decided that I would keep on going and try to make more whenever I get some spare time to sell. I’ll never be able to cover my time spent on the boards, but if I’m able to cover the cost of lumber and supplies, I’ll never run out of woodworking projects. Here is one I built over the past 2 weekends drying after the first coat of finish. The species are walnut, cherry and maple. Final dimensions are 12-1/4 x 12-1/8 x 1-1/4. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the sneak peak.
01/13/10 | General Update
I woke this morning with a driven sense of purpose. No alarms. Wife and kids still asleep. Dark and cold. The ceiling fan spinning above me. I stepped out of bed. The old wood floor creaked beneath the weight of my feet. I walked over and knelt down onto his well-worn dog bed. He lifted his tired head and sniffed the stale air. I gripped his head, leaned towards him and kissed his forehead. I asked him to not be scared. Potentially wasted words, yet the first words of my day.
I helped him down the slippery stairs into the living room. Stairs that became a sometimes insurmountable obstacle in his older years. I steadied him. Patted his head and lead him to the back door. He looked out the door and paused before braving the chill and wobbling across the frozen porch. I slid on some slippers and followed. The crisp air bit at us, reminding us how warm and cozy our beds were just minutes ago. The steam from our breath twirled and danced before us. It left us as it rose and caught the slight breeze. It was silent. Everything was painted with a calming light blue. Serenity.
I made a pot of coffee. Greeted my family as they filed down into the family room. My kids sleepy heads depicted innocence. Very few words spoken. Kisses and hugs.
Our nanny arrived and the day started to become “normal”. My wife left for a work meeting. My kids excited about their day. Cartoons. Toys. Crayons. Yogurt snacks.
I stared at the clock. The scheduled vet appointment loomed. I wondered what sensations and emotions I would experience. I looked at him for signs of approval, sadness, confusion, awareness. I paced. I wanted to save my goodbyes, yet I wanted to embrace him and apologize to him. Tick tock. Minutes passed and I feared I was wasting my minutes, seconds.
I slipped into my garage. I needed a distraction. Some sense of creationism. I pulled a dusty piece of maple from the lumber pile I was working on a few days ago. It’s ragged edge hung over my router table. I eased my router over it a few times until it was exact. Perfect. Clean. I followed it with a piece of cherry, then walnut. I stacked five newly-edge pieces onto my table saw and sighed. One day, I will make something beautiful from them.
I started the frozen truck in the driveway. It rumbled. I walked into the house and gathered the kids to say their goodbyes. I wasn’t sure it made sense to them. Finality is a foreign concept to children. They gave their hugs. Their kisses. The weight of their efforts taxed his legs, his hips, his shoulders. He accepted their love for what it was. I pulled a leash out of the cabinet and felt my heart thumping in my chest. My daughter caught us at the door to say “I’ll miss you.”
I called the vet from the road to confirm our appointment. They asked if I could push it back about 30 minutes. I agreed. We drove on. His nails gripped the leather seats. His hair fell all around him. His front legs on the floorboard took the weight off his midsection that lie across the heated seat. His nose to the air. We drove on.
I had time to spare, so we drove. Windy sanded roads and snow-covered forest. Twists and turns. Ups and downs. Memories of the thirteen years we had together flooded me. The day I met he and his 7 siblings. The times we shared in quail fields. The times we spent quietly fishing together. Those were amazing days. There hasn’t been one moment in my adult life that he wasn’t there on my left hip, my backseat, my living room floor.
We pulled off to get some lunch. He stared at me through the window as I ran back to the truck with an Italian cold cut and a water. I opened the door and his face turned into that of a child on Christmas morning. He couldn’t wait to see what was in the brown bag. His nose went into overdrive. He drooled. He stared. He knew half was for him. We sat quietly and ate.
I pulled back onto the road and felt compelled to drive. Further and further. No end goal in mind. I just didn’t want our journey to end. Before I knew it, we were pulling into a large county park. Open soccer fields covered with frost. Vacant baseball diamonds. A babbling stream. Gravel parking lots void of all seasonal signage. I stopped the truck. I grabbed his leash. I wanted, I needed one last walk with him. I needed to feel that slight tug on my arm. I needed that incessant stop and go. The ice crunched beneath our feet. A mallard whizzed by our heads and gracefully landed with outstretch feet into the stream. We stopped and gazed. He slowly crept like he had done for so many years. We gained ground and when he was close enough to feel empowered he locked up on point. I sighed deeply knowing it was his final point. The last bird he would spot for me. The last bird he would smell. The last bit of adrenaline that would make him feel young again. Feeling a sense of uncertainty, the mallard took to flight. I gazed down with pride.
I pulled the truck into the vet clinic parking lot. I stared at the glass door. I felt the pain begin to build. I took a breath. I pet his head. I helped him to the ground and felt him resist. It was his least favorite place to be and here we were. He and I both dreaded our trip today.
In the examining room I held him tight to my chest. Helpless and trusting, he lay on his back and stared into my face. His eyes clouded with age. He yawned and licked his chops. We waited and watched the shadows beneath the door.
Our vet tapped gently on the door. She entered with a caring face. A job she’s performed a thousand times before. She spoke in a soothing voice and explained in medical terms what were were there to do. Tears started to fall down my cheeks. I grasped him tighter.
A peaceful room waited for us down the hall. His legs slid across the floor as if on ice. I guided him gently to follow. He resisted only a bit before giving in.
A small table with a blanket and pillow. A small lamp. Two plush chairs. Shades drawn. A box of tissues. It was quiet.
The tears continued to fall. Slowly. I could feel them on my nose. My eyes puffy. My nose running.
I hoisted him onto the table and lay him on his side. I knelt. I breathed. We breathed together.
I could hear the music softly playing through the door. The vet shaved a small patch on his arm. I held his face. We stared at each other. A missed vein. Another missed vein. No pain. No discomfort. Just silence as the vet gently felt around his forearm. She was calm and collected. A true professional. She tried another spot higher up on his arm. No luck. I could then hear, clear as day, the song that was broadcasting throughout the office. “Staying Alive.” The irony was too much to bare, but the situation was too grave make anything of it. The vet abandoned hope and moved to the back leg for solid purchase. Finally a medical success.
I braced myself and knew that I was seconds away from true loss. I buried my face into his. I held onto his floppy ears. I gripped his neck. He was warm. He was relaxed. I listened as his breathing slowed. I started to weep softly. His final breath started with a long inhale, followed by an exaggerated exhale. I felt his chest relax. His neck relax. Silence.
I felt an emotional grenade bouncing down my throat into my chest. Tat… Tat… Tat tat tat. It erupted with such force that I was caught off guard. My tears poured out of my eyes. I cringed. My lip quivered. I fought it. I fought it. I tensed up. It was no use. I was beaten. I was rocked to my core. I finally let out a sound. A sad sigh. I kissed his face. I enveloped him with my arms. Silence. Calm. Guilt. Love.
I stood to my feet as the vet closed the door and offered to let me stay as long as I wanted. I saw in full perspective his limp body sleeping on the table. His head resting on the pillow. I kissed him again. I breathed deep. I apologized. I thanked him. I told him that I loved him. I stood and walked out the door. It was sunny. Bright. Somewhat blinding. I turned and through the half-closed door I saw his long leg drooping off the table. I felt compelled to ease the door back open and sit with him some more. More kisses. More hugs. More silence. I stayed until I felt it was time to enter the world again. One last touch on his big broad chest and it was over.
My eyes were filled with tears as I drove back onto the highway. My heart weighted down with sorrow. The reality of my loss began. The rest of the world resumed daily life. I could still feel the warmth of his ears, smell his breath. His hair matted my jacket. His leash lay coiled in the passenger seat. My friend saw me through the best of life. And I was able to see him through his.
I’m so thankful I was able to spend our last day in peace. We drove without purpose. We sat in silence. We shared lunch. We walked together. We said our goodbyes. Our chapter was finished.
His quality of life had declined. His good days were just OK and his bad days were tough to witness. It was my decision thirteen years ago to bring him into my life and it was my decision today to end his life. I am at peace with my decision. I could have held on another day, another week, another month, but why? Eventually all life ends, and it’s never easy to grasp the concept of finality. It just makes us more compelled to appreciate moments in the here and now.
My phone rang a few hours later. I recognized the number. It was the veterinarian calling to check up on me. I thanked her. She offered kind words. I accepted. She asked if she could talk to me for a few seconds about my decision. She said that while we were in the room together she felt a large mass in his mid-section that was a telltale sign of bad things to come. She said that in her experience it was a cancerous growth that was most-likely the root cause of his demise. After I left she followed up on her hunch. She told me that due to my difficult decision, I saved him from a horrific battle with a deadly and painful ultimate end. I thanked her and hug up the phone. A sigh. A sense of purpose fulfilled.
I will miss him immensely.
12/31/09 | Site Update
Due to some issues with the previous domain name, I have switched Ellen’s Labradoodle Web site to www.greatdoodles.com
Follow this link for Labradoodle Puppies.
11/18/09 | Scrapbooks
Here are a few photos from the wedding rehearsal in Charlottesville (and a few of Spencer in his wedding duds). What a beautiful wedding it was. Great time had by all. I can’t wait to see what the professional photographer was able to grab. Tough to take a bad picture surrounded by beautiful people.
11/11/09 | Site Update, Video
Just a few photos of the kids. Cranked the “film” speed up on the camera to take some grainy shots.
10/06/09 | Scrapbooks
We took a trip out to our favorite farm in Maryland on Sunday to pick out some pumpkins for Halloween. We teased the livestock, jumped off of hay bails, and ran through the fields in search of the best pumpkins to adorn our front steps. The kids had a blast. What a beautiful fall day. Finally a reprieve from the humid summer we’re so used to.
09/28/09 | Scrapbooks
Just a few random photos from September. A few of Spencer, Riley and Anna (banana-Alt) at art class. And a few from the same night during a pajama dance-party.
09/24/09 | General Update
Today is the beginning of beautiful things, I purchased a new iMac. It is huge, fast, sexy and makes me feel more creative. I’m still getting used to the mini keyboard. Never typed on anything so small before. I’m hoping this picks up the pace on blog posts. No promises. Just inspiration.
09/18/09 | Adventures with Riley and Spencer
Looks like there is no boundaries to super-hero customs. When crime needs to be fought (regardless of time)… crime needs to be fought.
This morning at 6:30 while attempting to make coffee, I was mistaken for a burglar in a pajamas and shot with invisible spider webs. While it was all a big misunderstanding, I did feel the need to take this rare photo of Spiderman being hauled off in mom-cuffs. I’m fearful of my own kitchen now and fear that if Tinkerbell is placed on high alert, I may get shot with make-believe pixie dust when I least expect it.