Clee Clee

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Clee Clee

Well.

I knew it was coming. Hell, I told you all it was coming.

And yet, part of me still wasn’t ready for what went down on the Fyfe Farm yesterday morning.

But it wasn’t about me at that point.

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Cleopatra (last year)

I helped our sweet, fuzzy Springer Spaniel, Cleo across the Rainbow Bridge.

It was Time.

And there really was no question about it, even though I would have loved for Alistair to have enjoyed the world with her in it one more time. For that matter, I would have much preferred if he was here with me as I laid in the living room by the wood stove with her.

Sometimes the question of ‘when’ is more challenging and it certainly has been over the years with a couple of the pets but yesterday when Cleo cried out when I helped her to her feet for her morning piddles and then kept crying when I tried to help her walk using a towel under her belly I knew things had changed dramatically.

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In bed a few weeks ago

She had run up to the house when I brought her in the evening before and she pranced around grabbing up the cat food dishes like always. She went outside before bed and everything was as normal as it had been for our aging canine companion.

I mean, normal has changed a lot the last several months if not years.

Cleo was almost 17 years old, as far as we know. That was her first problem.

She was also completely deaf, was beginning to lose her eyesight, had arthritis and back legs that just didn’t do what they were supposed to, and had a heart murmur that almost rivalled Loki’s.

Well, no… you could hear Loki’s murmur from across the bed.

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the Queen of heart murmurs, Loki (2017) with Cleo

I think Cleo’s murmur is what kept her from wanting to go on our long walks, or even the first-length-of-the-driveway walks the past couple of weeks.

My attitude had remained, though, that if she was eating & drinking, peeing & pooping, and wagging her bushy tail at us then who was I to step in? We had her on anti-inflammatories for her old body and we helped her onto the couch or our bed and things seemed to be going along just fine.

Until Friday morning.

She did eventually go out and managed to piddle in the snow but once she came back in she didn’t bother with her kitchen routine or anything she usually did.

She laid/fell down and remained there for what turned out to be the rest of her life.

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“I think I’m done with this body now, Mummy. I’ve used it all up.”

I called her Daddy in North Dakota and we talked and I gave her her Rimadyl and she ate it right up. I laid down next to her and spooned her like we’ve done for so many years together with my left arm draped over her side.

And I got up and cleaned the cat litter and put the cat food dish down and emailed Lynnie and lost my shit completely and got dressed and looked out at the blizzard and got a pillow and laid back down with Cleo again.

She slept a little bit but she never, ever tried to get up again.

She never thumped her tail.

She was basically done with her ancient canine body and definitely gave me a “look” the one time she lifted her head and sort of sat in a semi-sternal position when I was sitting in front of her.

Okee dokee, then.

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Helping stack the wood the last time her Daddy was here.

Cleopatra Cassiopeia Carrie Bradshaw Houdini Diamond Fyfe was as stubborn as she was beautiful and charming. Once her mind was made up, that was it.

I called Alistair one more time to let him know I was going ahead and he heard me blubber a little bit as I signed off. I had already brought my little bag of tricks into the living room and after some more cuddling Doctor Mummy gave Cleo her sedative.

I swear it took less than a minute for her to be completely out. She was ready for a much deserved long rest.

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Cleo’s “square face” look at one of the Dog Days of Summer. Classic.

Cleo had many great adventures in her however many years on the planet as a Fyfe. For starters, she lived most of those years in Montana, which is a dog’s dreamland.

We hiked and roamed the US Forest Service behind our house for miles and miles with her buddies. Casey would usually stick with Harry. Harry would sometimes take off after UB. Cleo generally did her own thing, digging holes, burying things, occasionally finding her own deer shed or two.

She Furry Scurried and entered Agility trials and the Dog Show at the annual Dog Days of Summer and she was a regular guest at the veterinary clinic because she loved her Lynnie and she was a very good dog when she was there.

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Lynnie and Cleo at the clinic

She also got to see Fireman Frank and her favorite delivery man, Matt sometimes when she came to the clinic. She even surprised all of us when she leapt up into the big brown UPS truck when Matt left the door open one time.

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“C’mon, Matt, just let me drive around town for a few blocks, okay?”

Cleo generally roamed the clinic freely during the day- a clinic dog as opposed to a clinic cat. When a client brought her squirming, squeaking, teensy box full of Schipperke puppies and put them on the examining table Cleo stood up on her back legs and had a look of wonderment on her face. Maternal instinct? Perhaps. She did lick our guinea pig, Cadbury until she was soaking wet when she got into their room one time. (The alternate theory is that she was trying to taste her.)

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Earlier this year, our snow spaniel

Cleo travelled well and eagerly jumped into our vehicles when it was time for a road trip. She seemed quite content for the 10 or 11 hours it took us to drive to Bismarck with UB and Loki on board, too.

If I was alone with all 3 of them it was probably hilarious watching me handle them on leashes when we stopped for piddle breaks. Fyfe dogs generally don’t know how to walk on leashes (although Cleo turned it on during the Furry Scurry walkathons. Casey… not so much.) (Don’t ask my dad about that.)

Before long Cleo would be wrapped around UB while UB was wrapped around my legs. It was an effort to keep them from banging into blind Loki during those rest stops but we always survived and off we would go back onto the road again.

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Back in Bismarck in 2017

All of these memories and so many more were in my mind as I spooned her again as she sedated.

I told her all of the things that needed to be said.

I told her that she was loved.

That we were the lucky ones when she showed off all her tricks at my first veterinary clinic right out of vet school in 2005 when she was brought in to be put down by Animal Control after they found her because she was aggressive. (Brilliant, yes. Aggressive? No.)

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“Wanna run around in the leaves with me, Mummy?”

I told her Uncle Gary and Aunty Dona were hoping to see her again and that she would happy to know I got those unsightly matts off of Bebe’s back leg. I told her how happy she made all of our house guests from Uncle Danny’s kids to Aunty Merielle and that she was a most excellent hiking companion.

And a flood of memories of us berry picking or riding with UB in Steve or digging for Easter Bunnies filled my hearts and a flood of tears that came from my very soul gushed out of my eyes and onto the carpet and pillow behind her head.

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Our dog kennel was very fullĀ 

And I pictured her gang greeting her again across the Rainbow Bridge with youthful bodies that matched their fabulous spirits.

UB would be first, most likely. He would race up to her and they would leap and jump in their spaniel way and he wouldn’t cough at all because his lungs are clear now and her legs are strong again.

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UB Fyfe (not my picture)

Then Loki would come crashing in but not because she was blind anymore. Cleo would most likely comment on Loki’s nice eyes and the 3 members of my little “black and white gang” who followed me around for 2 full years together would have a moment of their own.

Until Casey would literally crash in because he did everything at 150 mph and his laryngeal folds would be totally fine so there would be no raspy breathing or hacking. Harry, of course, would be spinning Louies in his extreme excitement at seeing the beautiful Princess once again. I wondered if he would pee on her head again but you know, he still is Harry.

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Oh, Harry

These thoughts make me happy despite feeling empty inside. Even though it was the absolute necessary and correct thing to do for miss Cleo. Even though her body was done.

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Ranger Riding in Steve for an Easter picnic several years ago

The routine is different.

I didn’t go and get her after the ferrets had been put back to bed last night. I didn’t make a point to get up and let her out this morning.

And right now, as the daylight is darkening, I’m not thinking, “Gee, I need to get Cleo out for a walk and get her and the barn kitties fed.”

Well, no, actually. I did think that as I was typing a few minutes ago. I keep thinking there is something I have to do.

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Back in Bismarck with Daddy in 2015

No.

I already did what had to be done.

And Cleopatra is at peace. And you know what? So are we.

I’m glad it was on my shift atĀ  home and not Alistair’s by himself or one of our Jessica or Lynn house-sitters.

I’m glad we didn’t have company.

And as glad as I am to have the skill set that I have that allowed me to neuter D’embe last week, I’m glad Cleo could continue to lay where her body told her to.

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“What do you think we should do now, Jockey?”

Her lilting southern accent and slight lisp will still talk to us just as much as Spirit of Loki and Spirit of UB do and I’m already able to laugh at some of the goofy stuff she would do.

Like the bloody “mouse” she had in her mouth that turned out to NOT be a mouse or when she, Harry and Casey were getting to know each other (“There will be NO GANG BANGS on the FYFE FARM!”) or the time she kept trying to shove my head under water in the hot tub. Walks with Angie and Kali make me smile and seeing her snuggle up with Alistair when she first came onto our farm or watching her love up on all of the barn kitties are precious memories.

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Before we moved to Montana

Indeed, we were the lucky ones when she chose to stick around and join our motley crew of misfits.

You are in our hearts forever, miss Cleo. Clee Clee. Cleopatra-siz.

RIP, old friend. Thanks for sharing the journey with us.

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the hot tub incident a few years ago

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Dog Days of Summer 2012, I think

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Getting ready for our first 4th of July parade!

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Cleo & her Daddy loved Ranger Riding in Steve (2008)

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Family Photo at Dog Days (Harry found these events a tad stressful so he stayed home) (Gary Kyrouac’s photo)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tall Tails in Fyfe Life

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the Fyfe Bee Gees, (aka the trio of trouble!)

I’ve been working on that whole ‘few versions of myself’ lately although the one I miss the most is the golfer.

Our local course closed in October and today’s little snow squall is just another reminder of what season it is. While it hasn’t been as cold as it could be for December we have had some cold snaps where it takes way longer to get dressed to go outside than it does in August. Heck, in the summer we just slide our feet into our sandals and away we go. This time of year you have to choose which jacket or coat to wear, and layer on a scarf with a toque and don’t forget the gloves!

And then its a question of which gloves to wear based on the activity you’re heading outside to do. Are we stacking or splitting wood? Are we driving into town? Are we getting more cat food out for the barn kitties? When you live on a ranch like we do you have to consider all of these things!

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Professor Higgins, asking Maurice and Andy to open the door.

I’ve been the pet Mummy- a role I absolutely cherish. Of course this time of year the outside cats submit their resumes for indoor status. Professor Higgins leaps up to the kitchen door (there are no stairs there yet) and sits there, pathetically meowing for us to let him in.

He has never been loose in the house with the ferrets but he has such a kind, sweet soul- I think they would all be fine.

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Higgy-in-the-house today

Higgins is no dummy. He worked me over easily enough and right now he is enjoying his second day of walk-about inside the house. So far so good. Babs and him made some noise the first time he was in and Sport had to pull the Siamese noise-making thing but hopefully his very large self will be a very large presence within the house at some point.

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Christmastown, 2019!

I’ve been a whimsical home owner lately- Alistair and I got Christmastown set up around Thanksgiving and it brings a huge smile to my face when I get it all going at night. Its the perfect little fantasy town for me- we have several ice rinks, an animal shelter, a pet portrait studio, grooming and boarding facilities, a brew pub and fun shopping places.

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All things animal-related in Christmastown!

Dogs and cats are all over the place as this is a very pet-friendly little community. The doggy daycare and portrait studio are brand new this year, along with a charming clock tower and barn house. The barn is next to the cozy little log cabin where I like to think Fyfe Life, Fantasy-version takes place.

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Fyfe Life in Christmastown?

The Me in this community gets to be a vet at the barn just like the Me in real life got to be a veterinarian again today, too. Well, veterinary surgeon to be more specific.

My good friend, Jessie, who was my veterinary assistant when I still had the clinic, stopped by this morning and Operation NutsBeGone commenced with the new stray cat, D’embe (formerly known as Lava), starring in the lead role.

(We are huge fans of The Blacklist and the character, D’embe on the show…. the name just seemed to better suit our little kitty who has hung around for a few weeks now.)

I had the drugs to knock him out although, admittedly, expiration dates were long past for one of them. I figured if he didn’t sedate appropriately then we’d just try again another day with new drugs. But he sedated beautifully and D’embe is neutered and vaccinated and currently in a crate in our heated garage as the drugs wear off. Special thanks to Dr.Kelly in Nevada for the excellent drug dosages for our cute little guy.

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Immediately post-op. He’s sitting up now.

I’m hopeful D’embe and Jockey can come to terms where they don’t whack at each other. Jockey was neutered as a kitten but he has always had a bit of toughness to him. While he can be sweet and adoring purring away in my arms I have heard him and D’embe get into it. D’embe started at least one of the altercations that I witnessed but I think Jockey came out on top of that one. Neither kitty has needed Clavamox yet but its here if we do.

I’m hoping the neutering will calm the little fella down. He isn’t aggressive towards Jockey or Higgins most of the time and they all eat and sleep together in the barn where I lock them up each night.

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“Look, Sport, just go tell Mum to open the door, okay?”

I have also been a writer again lately, which is where the ‘tall tales’ of the title comes from. (Well, I wrote ‘tail’, didn’t I? See what I did just there?)

My main goal for this winter is to complete the 4th book in my Missing Lake series. I am 42,000 words and 8 1/2 chapters in. I worry that I might have too much I want to include but then sometimes the characters take the book on a different journey than what I have planned in my head.

So many readers what the character, Josh to come back. But Josh can’t come back. He was never supposed to come back. His mom is in witness protection and they take that stuff seriously. When they left Missing Lake in book 2 that was supposed to be it and Luke had to learn that life sucks sometimes.

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Maurice helped me celebrate hitting 41,000 words the other day! Bonjour!

I have been thoroughly enjoying the writing again. Last winter I was learning all about life as a realtor and I had 3 transactions that kept me on my toes from September through January and then some more after that. I didn’t get into a writing rhythm, and, in the end, I’m glad I stopped the process. When I took the book up again this fall I re-wrote a few things and I’m really happy about the direction I’m going this time around.

It wasn’t that what I had written was wrong or that it wasn’t good. Its that the version of life in Missing Lake right now is that much better.

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My lap right now as I’m writing and also how I write my novels.

I’m certainly less distracted this time around and I feel more confidant not being at the real estate office from 9-5 almost every day. Those were my very first transactions last year, though, and I’m so glad I gave everything I could to get things to closing.

I don’t have any specific transactions on the go right now so that allows more time to socialize pets, set up sparkly, musical little fantasy holiday towns and invite my friends over to help me neuter a new cat on our freezer during a snow storm.

I’m also watching a friend at the NFR get bucked around on a bronc in Vegas and the figure skating Grand Prix Final. All these parts of being Me are fun but my reporting on the skating world will have to wait for another time. Professor Higgins wants to go back outside and D’embe won’t be too far behind. Now that he’s donated his reproductive organs at the door I will live up to my promise to keep him warm, loved and well-fed.

Now, which gloves and jacket are required for carrying a kitty down to the barn?

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Post-op. He’s up and chatting now.

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“Do you think I’m a bit cross-eyed, Mummy?”

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In honor of our old black lab companion, Casey. Always makes us smile!

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The ice rink where it all began and a gift shop (with its own Christmastown in the window) and the brew pub, complete with Santa flying around a Christmas tree. What’s not to love?