A Year in with Luna

Luna came into our lives a year ago this month. An earnestly goodhearted young creature with giant bat like ears and endearingly bright amber eyes; Luna was from the New Mexico desert and newly landed in Utah, rescued from a cull by Rescue Rovers and now adopted by us.


Sweet little Luna, her beseeching eyes nearly came out of her head on that drive home. I sat with her, as she shivered and her cries trembled out of her throat. On the way home, we stopped for a new collar and treats. She politely took them but could only cough them back out of her dry mouth.

We introduced her, on leash to Charles, but our caution proved unnecessary. She was too scattered and only briefly touched her nose to his. We showed her the house, introduced her to her crate, toy box and last to her bed next to ours.

Luna inherited Sal’s giant bed; this bed sports a large yellow egg shell foam core (to cuddle my Sal’s achy bones), topped with a soft giant quilt folded in four and pillow. I had de-furred and thoroughly washed this deluxe set up and added a stuffed animal I had been sleeping with.

Tidal waves of anxiety were rolling off of her. I sat down on the floor and patted her bed to encourage her onto it. She heavily sighed and walked her trembling self onto it. She let me cuddle her close and pressing my forehead to hers I whispered she was safe, how excited we were to get to know her -I know she could not comprehend my words but dogs can innately pick up the tenor of our tones.

I stoked her shoulders and face until the shivering abated and decided to leave her unleashed overnight.

She slept the sleep of the dead and didn’t move once. I didn’t bother to get her up the next morning as I left for work either. My sweetheart did get her up later and let her out in the yard. She ran her heart out exploring and as he went to retrieve her, (so he could go to work) he discovered the difficulty of recalling a little desert dog who did not have a name, much less any understanding of human words.

An hour later he did get her back into the house after bribing with lunch meat and other tasty treats.

Overwhelmed by the onslaught of terrifying noise (cars, garage doors, blow dryers, microwaves), she trucked through the first three months by sleeping… a lot. I started tracking and I think she actually slept about 22 hours out of every 24.

We took her for long walks every single day. I constantly pulled her tucked tail back up and kissed her face. I inundated her with treats, using the words I wanted her to learn; Luna, treats, watch me, potty, outside, inside, leave it, walk, ride, go ahead, go to bed, go to kennel…

Four months in she began to wake up. At this time we were flooding her with toys to give her outlets as she graduated from being kenneled when we are gone. Overcoming her fear of the car was a game of patience. As she grew to trust me, I would sit in the back seat and coax her in with treats.

Now, the words, ‘Let’s go for a ride’ results in a ballistic dance of happiness.

Looking back over this year, quite a few people have said she thrived because of our patience and the time we spent working with her. While that is true… she was incredibly patient with us too.

Yesterday, someone complimented her and I offhandedly replied, “Yeah! It has been a lot of work” they kinda paused and said, “I know you say that but every time I see her, she seems so gentle and focused on trying to be good, trying to understand”

I paused and ruefully agreed.

I have been holding back. I loved my Sal dearly.  Just typing that, I could bawl for an afternoon.

Little Luna and I went for a walk yesterday and a few minutes in she came bounding up, to say hello, to check in, to kiss my hand and then dart off with lightning speed.

I stopped and she froze. Many yards away, she froze. She was listening for my steps and paused when she didn’t hear them. I knelt down just as she looked back. And in that moment, she launched at me, hurling her slender self with such velocity she couldn’t stop in time and I didn’t get out of the way. We collided in a mess of tail wagging and snow covered laughing.

 

Her Feathers Carried Change (Work In Progress)

I have been traveling the last bit and it is very satisfying to now be home and able work on her.  The overlays are all nearing completion which is exciting.  I can soon start to work on her details, talons, face, and feathers.

"Owl Called my Name"

'Her Feathers Carried Change'

20" X 20" X 1.5"

Oil Pastel, Acrylic on Canvas

**Work in Progress**

Final

(**I love and welcome the compliment of a purchase request)

2am (Work in Progress)

**Work in Progress**

2am

11" X 14" X 1.5"

Arcylic, Oil Pastel, Gels

Details

Roses and Bubbles (Doodle art)

Charlie...and the Vet...

Whenever I work from home, such as this week, Charlie considers my getting to work on time of the utmost importance... I start around 6:45am and he is sitting outside the closed office door at 6:40am. If I am not there at 6:43am, he will begun to alert me (and the neighborhood) that I am late.

PS: Charlie is not allowed in the office alone... ever... there are plants (non-toxic) to be eaten/ dug up, paint brushes he believes are chew toys, etc. etc.

To keep the peace, I open the office, tuck him into his office chair next to mine and flipped on the computer by 6:35am.

Happy Charlie:

I then go retrieve coffee and get Luna up for breakfast.

Eyeing his snoring  whiskers around 8am I remembered he and I were going to the vet today....

GAAHHHHHHH.... resting my chin on my hand and morosely gulping overly strong and hot coffee, I considered the ways I might make this less of an embarrassing and stressful afternoon.

My negative energy wakes him up and he does what any sensible friend does when their friend is acting weird and staring at them.

He sits on me.

Ok, ok... this will not be too bad,

I'd already set his carrier out in the hall, lined it with a soft towel and taped a trash bag over it. I'd left the crate door open and a favorite treat in the back.

His appointment is at 4pm, which is perfect.  His automatic feeder goes off at 4pm (Charlie does not believe day light savings should have any impact on meals so we bought an automatic feeder and never change the time). This is perfect because we will leave at 3:45pm and his tummy will be pretty much empty.

He is also going to a vet that is ten minutes from home. And last this appointment is just a check up! No shots!

It's going to be easy.
Or easier.
Or not so bad,.,

During lunch time, he decided to get up and come downstairs to commit an attempted murder by sitting right behind me while I made lunch.  Or maybe he was just trying to get me to trip and then he could eat my lunch. Maybe he likes hanging out with me....AND he would like my lunch.

Either way, it was at this time, he noticed the crate in the hall.

Slowly he stood and sauntered over. He sniffed the air from a careful distance from the open door, his tail began to twitch, his ears slowly flatten... he does not enter for my paltry offering in the crate.   He turns and looks at me and utters a slow low disgusted growl.

He knows I am going to betray him.

Toast.

Bugger the internet and the advise to leave the crate out!  This is the third time I have done it and all it does it leave us in a fight for the rest of the day.

I go on to eat my lunch in lonely silence.  He does not return to the office to attempt to get in on my lunch or to continue his afternoon nap or to interrupt my conference call. He stays downstairs, on the other bed on his lazy boy.  He keeps his back to me and he does not purr if I pet him.

All right, fine. But At least his tummy will be empty, the drive is short and the visit a benign check up.

About thirty minutes before it is time to leave I eat three pieces of dark chocolate and drink an overly strong giant mug of black tea.

I put on comfortable shoes, add the to-go mess bag (paper towels, disinfectant, hand sanitizer) to the car, change my shirt into a more casual one, pull my hair up and and stuff it under a hat, take a deep breath and head in for battle.

He knows this routine.  He is prepared and darts for the bedroom and the safe havens offered in them but I have closed all doors and with Luna's help, we corner him by his automatic food bowl.

Getting him into the carrier is easier than it should be...
BURNT TOAST! I left the treat in there earlier.  He snarfs it down in record time.
Gahhhhhhhhhhhhh.............

There is nothing to be done, I tell myself and carefully lift the carrier by the bottom (using the handle jostles him all over the place) and put him in the back seat and secure it with a seat belt.

The blasted animal begins to howl a mournful and terrible song.  His serenade is so loud that as I back the car out, a neighbor retrieving mail pauses to gap at me.  Charlie makes this sound, only in the car mind you, that sounds like a small child drowning in a well of water.  It is awful; deep, tragic, echoing and it fills the car with such bellowing that my whiten knuckles could crack the steering wheel.

Music, of any kind, will only make him louder.  Rolling down the windows in today's balmy 15 degrees seems rational but I don't give him.

Staring at the clock, counting the minutes, I take each turn gently, each acceleration is a soft increase in speed.  My right arm is twisted uncomfortably behind me so that my fingers are in the crate door and his face is smashed into them.

"You can do this Char bear!  Only eight more minutes!"

"ArrrrghhhhwwwwwwaaaaaaYYYYYY" he replies.

Salvia suddenly coats my finger tips as snort from his snot results in a sneeze.
TOAST.

He is going to up chuck...

"Four more minutes little friend!"

He moans, shoving his nose into a fingernail accidentally, "AhHHHHHHMMMMMEEEEOOWW"
(Translation: "WHY???")

"Two minutes! Wait! Now we are in the parking lot!"

But it is too late.

At the last split second, he pulls his snotty little face away and belches his treat into the back of his carrier along with a surprising amount of fluid.

Parking, I quickly wipe my disgusting finger tips with a paper towel from the mess bag and apply sanitizer and haul him in his crate carefully out of the vehicle.  (Prolonged exposure can him throw up again.)

Small piece of luck!  We are presently the only patients in the office.  The front person asks if she can help and I ask if she likes cats.  "Of Course!" she answers, eyeing the moaning crate.

Sadly for her, this means I pop open the top and hand him off for a cuddle.  He is happy to cuddle with her.  She didn't put him in the torture machine.

He is pretty good about not getting his mess on himself, so although she is startled, she is not grossed out.  I ball up the trash bag while she tells him he is handsome and he head butts her face as a thank you.

As soon as the door closes to our waiting room, I let him investigate while I answer the questions for the tech.  He has forgiven me now that we 'in it together' in a foreign place, he sits next to me, rubbing his face on my leg and even reaches up to request I 'pick him up'.

Anyway... the tech leaves and in walks the vet.... Rudely the man roughs him up, takes his temperature, inspects his teeth and squeezes his little body all over.

Charles has lost... drum roll please: 6.5 pounds.

Over the last two years mind you, but this is amazing.  Shoot, I have been trying to get off the last eight pounds for a year without success.

Char and I are advised he is in incredibly good shape for his age and his teeth actually look really good.  Over all, he is a darn good looking healthy decade old (ish) cat (last part is my part but it's true.)

The vet leaves.  Char jumps down.  I reline the crate with the extra trash bag in my handbag and call him over.  He sits down and heavily sighs.

"It's time to go home buddy."

He sighs again, I wait.  Around the two minute mark of looking towards each other but not at each other he stands and stiffly walks over to me and into the crate.

The front desk is awash with dogs; a giant Dobie bellows hello, a pittie woofs, a huge boxer lungs for the crate cradled in my arms.

And I still have to pay....

A beseeching tortured cry erupts from the crate and I start to giggle.