Old Dogs Go

Old dogs go
before you know it
walking home

I am just now beginning to mourn Trinity's death. It happened so swiftly I guess I didn't have time to really understand what I was losing. The part I hate most is that she lived her last year with my mom, as she and Kona just could not get along. She liked living with my mom, I think, so that part was good. But not being there for her as she entered her twilight year, that was bad, and unforgivable.

Buckaroo Banzai & Trinity wait to get in. My "2nd set of dogs," both gone now.

Loki-Bob loved Trinity. She was "his" dog.

Busy Bee also loved Trinity. He often sought her out, to nap next to her.

Trinity meets our boys. She *loved* black dogs. She thought all black male dogs were "sexy," and she never met one she didn't like, including our boys.

She's not sure she's liking the camera so close to her face.

She would play with Loki-Bob, tickling and licking him. Here he's just a baby and she was giving him heck.

This is a song that I wrote in 1996. I revised it in 2003, after I had lost my "first set of dogs." My beloved girls: Miss Occelatum Bottom (Ozzy), Crocodile (the Croco-Stimpy), and Pinkie Lou (my Brave Heart), passed away over a few years period;  a very dark time in my life. Sometimes, looking back, I wonder that I survived it.

I don't have any digital photos from that time. Eventually I'll scan some photos and get them up.

So here's that song, minus the pro-tabs. I realized how prophetic it was of me to write this while they were alive and still healthy:

He asks "are you alone tonite?"
I say "yeah, but it's all right,
Those dogs take up all the room
in my bed, late every night."

Gone for a walk, just those dogs and me
gone down the path they've slipped their leads
gone for a walk those dogs and me
those dogs are running free

walkin' the woods you keep comin to mind
I saw a dead oak covered in vines
in the dark leaves I read the signs
in the shadows a forest in every tree

Gone for a walk, just those dogs and me
...

Below, a link to a moving poem about Jimmy Stewart's own lost dog:
Jimmy Stewart on his dog Beau

Bill and Buck died on 3/27/14

This is the last post I will make about this as the situation is so painful to me. I can't help but cry every time I think about Karen and her dogs, Bill and Buck.

This is what Karen had to say after the deed was done:

My heart is too heavy to write very much tonight, but I wanted to reach out to all of you for a few moments.

This is another photo of the last day of the life of Buck and Bill...go run with the angels boys, you deserved so much more.

The last moments of their life were marred by a cruel joke that the governor was on the phone with a pardon, the cruelty of a man sworn to uphold life, and the threat of being physically removed from the building by a sheriff's deputy when I asked for just a few moments to see if a pardon might come through.

Even so, there were blessings also:
the presence of the veterinarian and his technician...so very skilled and compassionate in their work; Nicki, whose hand lay over mine on Bill's head...and on which my cheek rested with his final breath; the same sheriff's deputy...with tears in his eyes as he left the room; and all of you who greeted me with love as I walked the longest walk out of that hellhole. I don't know if I would have been able to make it without the vet and his tech each taking one of my hands.

That us what Buck and Bill have taught me...to find every ray of light even in the darkest hour.

I have not yet received the remains of the dogs, they were incinerated despite the order of the judge to return the remains intact. The remains from the "bone bucket" (as the incinerator is called) were ready today, the order of the judge is that I receive them, and yet permission has to be granted for this transaction. I don't know when I will finally be gifted with what has been promised.

Even in this last simple step, the County could not see fit that it transpired without harm or insult.

My heart hurts...

I will post you on what passes tomorrow.

Our love,
Buck, Bill, & Karen

Apparently, Karen is thinking of suing the County of Manatee. I think it would be in her best interest to walk away instead; to move on and hold her head high knowing she did everything possible to stop the County from killing her dogs.

It is not that I think she should not receive justice, it is just that peace will not be serve by continuing to go to court against these people. Instead, if it were me, and *thank God* it's not, I would do everything possible to make sure every elected official in this case loses their next election. I would also turn my energy into a crusade against unequally applied laws and a justice system that is out of control.

One last photo allowed by the County officials

Her vet's tech, Karen, and the vet leave the "animal shelter" one last time

No one can hurt them now. This piece of art is really beautiful and emotionally evocative

I had to euthanize my own dog the same day as an emergency. She was 15 and had a good long life but had gone down hill drastically in only a few days. This is the correct scenario for euthanasia. Long life well lived, and gone to the other side before real misery and suffering set in.

I will miss my Trinity. My son was sad to hear she passed away. He remembers when we adopted her and what a rascal she was. Home always included Trinity.

Trinity was a farm dog in her previous life before me. She looked and acted like an Aussie but with a tail

Trinity playfully licks baby Loki until he starts wrestling with her face.

Here grown up Loki invades her space, which she tolerated daily

I was sad to lose Trinity and I am sad about Bill and Buck. But they are all now on the other side. No one can hurt them now, not people or age or disease. This fact is a great comfort to me, and having lost a number of pets, I will take comfort where I can get it.

"Save Bill and Buck" Manatee County wants them dead (Thursday 3-27-14)

I found this posted this morning on facebook:

"Status Update

By Save Buck & Bill from being killed

Due to the untimely filing by attorney Thomas Ostrander, of the petition to the second district court of appeals, Manatee County is upholding it's decision to murder Buck and Bill.

They are siting that because it wasn't filed on time, thus not abiding by the law, this is a good reason to kill the dogs.

Anyone in the area, please go to the shelter as Karen need all the support she can get."

http://www.examiner.com/article/buck-and-bill-two-dogs-sentenced-to-die-manatee-county

For an entire year I have followed this case. The owner's entire last year has been spent driving 200 miles each way as often as possible to visit her pups in jail. She is limited to 1/2 hour visits. Karen's last memories of her dogs will be like the above pictures, living in a cramped cold dirty concrete prison.

You see, I own Aussies. I own Aussies just like her. They are my heart children. I don't know that I would be able to pick myself up off the floor if this happened to me.

Kona and Torvald

Professor Jones, Indiana!

I think Bill and Buck may die today. And I can't get there. I wish I could. I've tried to help, sent money and prayers. I never pray. I don't believe God works that way. But in this one case I broke my usual mode of operation and asked the universe for help. I really did. I have poured a huge amount of positive energy into this, someone else's struggle against injustice and inequality. I've sent her my lunch money over and over to help in some small way defray the attorneys' fees. And all for naught? Really?

I am just heart broken for Karen. She could be me. I could be her. If they are to die, I fear I can't help her anymore. She's going into territory I've only had nightmares about. It is hard enough to lose your companion to age, disease, accident. But to lose your buddies through human incompetence? Through unequal application of poorly written standards and laws?

The death warrants are typed up and signed for yesterday (3/26) but they had hand written over them today's date. Today they die, "before 11:59 pm." She will be allowed "no more than 1/2 hour" with them before they are euthanized. She is not allowed to take any photographs or make any recordings, or even conference call with any of her friends and supports as this goes down. 

I know they are "just dogs" and really nothing but property in the eyes of the law. They have no more value than a flat screen tv. A friend's dad just died tonight. And another friend has had both parents in the hospital doing poorly. When I weigh these things in my mind I understand that the unjust death of a pair of dogs does not hold the same weight as these human examples.

 And yet I know that to have a dog (or cat), to be privileged to experience their love, is so special and has such a high emotional value, that really only having and loving a child compares. Human lives are so long and our companion animals so short. Baring an accident, my son and I will enjoy another 1/2 century (!) with each other. My dogs will be gone in a decade or less. It is this fleeting joy that raises the emotional stakes of risking love. You know they will be gone so soon.

To love is to lose, this is what I've learned.

Shame on Manatee County, Florida. Shame on the officials and county employees who have lied, and told wild tales that have no factual basis. The death of these dogs suits their own private agendas. They just want to make sure their own incompetence is not revealed, and the potential profit achieved. After all, now these dead dogs can be labelled "vicious and euthanized." Maybe the suing family will choke on their profit.

Shame on you, Manatee County. Shame on you. Oh, and by the way, my husband and I won't be moving to your lovely state after all. Too backwards. Not that you care, not that your state cares one wit about anything but money. You've really out done yourselves. Good job, guys.

Where do retired stick fighters go when they can't fight anymore?

There really isn't any way to explain stick fighting, aka SCA Armored Combat, to people who have never seen it. That's me below. My fighting name is either Lady Oona of Anglesey, or to my family Oona-Bomber Groinsplitter. There is a long story in a reenactment name like mine. I will be happy to tell that story some other time.

2006 Highland River Melees credit Bogpages.com

Yes, we are dressed like "knights," but we use fiber glass poles and rattan. We do not use live steel, we use stick. And we club each other "like baby seals." "He got a wood shampoo, and a dirt nap." Like this guy, who go it in the cup:

credit bogpages.com HRM 2006

The shot above, I hit him in the waist area, which he took as a leg. Then  he tried to trap my spear between his legs. He quickly found that quite uncomfortable. Oh, yeah, I can talk some smack about fighting but I guarantee I can still lay it down. Since my neck is held together with a titanium plate, bone grafts, and 3 screws I'm not letting anyone hit me. I'm gonna bust out first and lay it down. Welcome to Groinsplitter's World. Smack.

Celt Wars 2003 credit bogpages.com

Yeah, that's me above right after nailing a face shot. I'm not a bad spear dueler, but my buddy Shamus would have taken my opponent out in just a moment.

Me and Bain (year?)

Keegan and I, next to KooKooHead, Pointless War 2001

Krov and I, back to back at HRM 2005

The three pictures above illustrate one of the functions of a spear. We fight close to another fighter, usually with a different weapon, but sometimes another spear in order to support and aid each other. "I got your back, you got mine." This is what teamwork is built on. Because we form a family-unit we fight together with an almost supernatural prescience. We rarely need to call out orders but sometimes just a "roll out!" or "roll 'em up, roll 'em up!"

For those of you who have asked me if we get bruised I just want to point out my breast plate in the middle picture above. That's heavy green satin on my breast plate. You can see how torn up it is. That's from taking hits on the plate. It's a sturdy piece of armor and can take a lot of abuse. And it has. I have a laundry list of fighting injuries, usually bruises, contusions, the occasional broken bone and the odd concussion.

There really aren't loads of photos of me fighting, and certainly none of my bruises. I realize this is because I tended to "hide" and only popped out of the line when I was hitting someone. But it's okay. I don't need photographic validation of my many years of fighting. It is better to hit than be hit and so it does not matter if I am seen or not, as long as my opponent takes my shot.

year I got headed, would that be 1995? I think! credit differentlife.smugmug.com

A group shot with my fighting family. We have been fighting together since we were kids, literally. credit bogpages.com 2006 HRM

Us at Gulf Wars 2000 credit bogpages.com

So, I had to retire from fighting. My doctors told me to close up shop. It has been really tough. Where do "old fighters" go when they are "done?" How does a Kinsman still be a Kinsman when they aren't fighting anymore? I am struggling for relevance here. It is a good thing I am an awesome painter and not too shabby at making garb, aka costumes, as well. There are things I can do to maintain my status. But I feel like I am on slippery footing. This discomfort has pushed me to find a new physical outlet for my competitive nature and need for the adrenaline rush.

2013

Pennsic 42 2013, Me and one of my banners. Textiles really excite me and I love creating art with them, both painting and sewing.

My babe in our pretty camp at Pennsic 42, 2013

Yup, he's pretty and so are my banners hanging behind him. 2013

I wanted to end this blog post with some pictures from the non-fighting side of re-enactment. The Lorax and I study our chosen time period and cultures carefully and really attempt to look good. It is a challenge, and after all, I really like a good challenge.

It turned out that this blog post isn't about kayaking or hiking. It's about the life I had to leave behind. I lived and breathed stick fighting. It was my passion, and my team, my real and genuine family.

I just can't stand around and watch my team fight. It is too uncomfortable. I feel so sad that I can no longer participate in the sport that brought us all together.

As a woman, playing a man's sport, I feel more dishonored by my infirmity than I think I should. I deeply resent anyone comparing me some of the other female fighters in Anglesey as I fought longer, harder, better, than, for example, either Kestrel or Lanea. It seems odd to me that I should be so bothered by such slights. I know I am better than that, and that I have come a long way.

I can hold my head high.

I have worked hard to get here.

I can embrace myself as I stand today. There is dharma. The world is even and I leave the violence of my past sport behind for the subtleties, challenges, and peace of paddling the rivers and sea. Hiking with my dogs and snuggling with my curmudgeon Lorax; my life is full, and I have found some real peace.

I guess it is okay that my freak flag is out and flying high today.

One last thing: Am I Kaelani? Am I Storm? Am I Oona-Bomber still? What is in a name anyway? Thoughts for a later post...

Canes as fashion accessories

I need a cane. I can't walk very well anymore. This is a tragedy. Ok, a personal tragedy, not like an-epic-tsunami-that-ate-Japan-tragedy, more like a well-this-sucks tragedy. It's no big deal to anyone except myself, maybe my family, and on a more limited basis, my co-workers and clients.

Luckily, I don't think it will affect my kayaking friends at all. They don't give a damn whether I can walk as long as I can paddle, and perform an adequate self-rescue. And of course, lift a beer at the end of the day. They won't help me with that. We are a self-sufficient crowd when it comes to consumables.

I can still get my boats out of the garage and on to my newly christened "handicapped accessible Thule Hullavator" installed on my Outback. I can still walk a few steps with my boat. So I can still paddle, which is of the most importance for my quality of life. Because, let's be honest, when I can't paddle anymore I am hanging this crap up.

Walking any distance early in the morning, is possible. I typically walk with my dogs a couple of miles near dawn. Towards the end of the second mile I begin to limp. By noon I can barely walk down the hall at the clinic to the staff area in the back of the facility. Both my hips are uncooperative. Lately both legs are just in knots, like cramps but less painful, really stiff.

I am seeing a chiropractor my orthopedic surgeon recommended. He is trying myofacial release from my knees through the hip areas. It's really painful, and I wasn't really seeing any improvement until this week. This week on Wednesday I felt great, before my appointment. After my appointment, maybe less so. And then I missed my Friday appointment. It's getting hard to drive an hour, get an hour long treatment and then drive an hour back, three times a week. I think I'm going to scale back to just Mondays and Fridays.

When I saw my surgeon on Monday, after another session with the "mangler," he said my hips had the best rotation they've had since he's been caring for me (over a year). Man, I have two different dudes regularly groping me in the hip area, and both are swell to look at, might I add. And then I get home and am too exhausted to function, aka: take care of the hubby. Sad.

So I ordered my first cane. Hopefully not one of a series. But if I do need more than one I am getting this one next: http://www.fashionablecanes.com/3456.html
Don't worry, it's work safe and all. Just a carbon fiber cane with FLAMES!!! Did I say that with enough emphasis? FLAMES MOFOS!! Because it's so hot it's on fire! Yeah. Plus, it folds so it will be easy to store on the deck of my boat. I think I'll make a little padded bag for it to protect it if I flip and have to slide the boat over my buddy's deck to dump the water before I slither back in. Also, I think it will be fun at work. I can accidentally crush coworkers' toes with it. Oops, did I say that out loud? Yeah.

Let me leave you with some recent photos:

Water lily on the Mattawoman

Cool little catamaran leaving the canal in Avon NC

My Kona Bee

Kat on the Mattawoman

How do I cover three weeks in one blog? Answer: I don't! One or two days at a time...

I see the last time I wrote was June 1st. My my. I just went off line and on water. Life is about doing for me, not reading or having cyber connectivity. I've been listening to Thom York's AMOK and Alt J's Awesome Wave, a lot. My memories of waves and wind, wakes and snakes are colored by the music I listened to on the way out to the launch and afterwards as I dried and chilled out.

But I know a picture paints a thousand words or more so let me look through my catalog and choose some photo shots for those who come here to read or peruse:

First dip in the water 6-9-13

Kat and the Fiddler on the Beach

Selfie!

Water was rougher heading back into our canal.

Ok, not sure what my honey is doing here. Throwing ball for dogs isn't usually so serious.

It would not be an exaggeration to say I come to Hatteras Island to play in the water with my dogs.

And this is just the first day! It's gonna take me a while to edit all the photos. But here's a couple more:

We both have our eyes on the ball (Credit Kathleen)

Kat started Kona on football. Reminds me of another Aussie friend I once had who was an amazing goalie in spite of her lack of hands.

And that's all I have time for today. Must run but stay tuned for more!

Catching up

So I guess keeping up with a blog isn't as easy as I supposed it would be. I have less trouble keeping up with my tumblr blog as it contains mainly just photos and very few words. That blog is really dedicated to art and so I tend to only post stuff I have just made or good pictures I've taken.

Let's see, last time I was here I talked about a bike ride. Since then I have paddled a bunch. The water has warmed up nicely and I am able to sit in my boat comfortably for about two hours at a time. At about the two hour mark I start needing a stretch. After a little stretching and walking around I can paddle some more. But I'm afraid the days of sitting in my boat for hours on end might be drawing to a close. As I said in an email to a kayak instructor I have great respect for, "Sucks getting old. Youth is wasted on the young. And one last cliche, if only I'd known then what I know now I would have done it all differently". To which he replied, in kind with cliche, "fight the good fight, never surrender."

Words to live by sir.

Some pictures. Work, play, love:

Jojo Bob, our office mate, creating a work stoppage allowing me to stretch and laugh

gathering for a Full Moon Paddle 4-26-13

Pulling away from Bull Run Marina as dusk falls

Taking photos with available light from a moving kayak  isn't ever easy 

Just as the moon clears the tree line

Happy Hour Paddle 4-24-13

Sculls everywhere, river right river left...5-3-13

Becky's fabulous new (to her) boat 5-3-13

5-5-13 Paddlers at Jug Bay on the Patuxent

I always love wandering back into the log jams and strainers of the western branch of the Pax

Going just a little bit further

Our furry "love children." Such it is with empty-nesters in our country. Work, play, and love.