The Muffin Man

Yesterday morning, I headed to Bethesda, MD for my second training walk of the weekend. I arrived a bit early, as planned, and headed up to Starbucks on Wisconsin for a Mocha. Out on the corner, a gentleman of about 40 or so asked me if I had any change, so he could get something to eat. I did not, as I only had my debit card with me. I asked him if he wanted a coffee (why else would you sit outside of Starbucks?!), and he said he didn't drink coffee--he said it gave him too much of a buzz. I ordered my Mocha, and a scone for later. I also added on a Blueberry muffin.

When I went outside, I told the man that I didn't have any cash, but that I bought him a muffin, and I hoped he would like it. (I regret that I didn't ask his name--I usually do this when handing over money.)

I later wondered how many people passed him by and pretended he just wasn't there (In one of the wealthiest parts of the state, by the way). Whether he really needed the money for food was not my judgement to make. The fact is, he was out there, and he asked. That takes more guts than I will ever have. Whether he did or didn't like the muffin, he didn't say, but I swear I saw a light in his eyes. I made him feel noticed, cared about, and human, and in return, he made my heart smile.

Life with Daisy..the first chapter of many

"She is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are her life, her love, her leader. She will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of her heart. You owe it to her to be worthy of such devotion." Unknown



Daisy is old, and now she is sick. Daisy started showing her age a few months ago, when we returned from walks, she would limp for a while, and when she tried to rest, her breathing would be somewhat labored. Our vet put her on some pain medication, and she seemed to respond pretty well. When her labs came back, she had a low white blood cell count. I immediately suspected leukemia, but no one shared my concern. I started to try and mentally prepare for Daisy's last days. Per a suggestion from my husband's co-worker, we started Daisy on aspirin, which she seemed to be handling. Little did we know, we were giving her too much, and she became toxic. She stayed in the hospital overnight, and I will be picking her up this afternoon. She is stable, but not well. She will be home, with us, where she belongs, and we will make her comfortable. An X-ray and further labs showed an enlarged spleen and liver, and suggest cancer. We will not take drastic measures. We are not selfish. We will feed her chicken and beef--whatever she will eat---no more 'dog' food. If she has the strength for a walk, I will let her smell each blade of grass as long as she wants--no more of me saying 'come ON!' I will carry her up and down the stairs if need be, and I will bury my face in her fur for as long as she will allow. I will profess my love for her over and over and over again, in hopes that she will understand. I will be brave for her, even though I finally know what it is to feel my heart breaking. I will listen when she tells me 'it's time'. I didn't know her when she took her first breath, but I will be there when she takes her last.

My dog Daisy found me in Massachusetts over 12 years ago. I was living in Hadley, MA--my first place away from 'home'. I rented a room in house---one of my roommates was also a co-worker named Edith. Somewhere along the line, Edith started vacationing in Vieques, Puerto Rico. She loved it so much, and found out that she could stay for free (or close to it) in the apartment above the local humane society if she did some volunteering (it happened something like that) with www.saveasato.org. Sato is the name for a 'street dog' in PR, and the island of Vieques has a big sato population. These dogs are left for dead, and in a few cases I remember hearing of--one pregnant momma buried alive underneath cement steps, and one wrapped in a garbage bag and wire, and tossed in the dump. Thankfully for them, and for so many of us, this organization exists, and they actually comb the streets, dumps, and beaches to look for discarded dogs. Once they find the dogs, they make them well (and usually spay or neuter), and get them ready for adoption.

Soon enough, when Edith would return from her vacation, she would be escorted by dogs ready to be adopted. Eventually, even when not travelling, Edith started receiving 'shipments' of dogs that she would find homes for in the US. She would go to the airport and pick up around 5 dogs at a time. I would come downstairs from my room in the morning after a pick up, and there was a rush of dogs coming at me--all so excited! And then, there was the time that Daisy was there.... I came downstairs, and I think there were about 6 dogs this time. Edith said 'there's one more'...a shy little thing, hiding in the bedroom. I went in to the bedroom, and there she was, waiting for me. She was 'hiding' under the table, shaking. I picked her up, and held her on my shoulder like a baby. We knew. We had found each other. Edith said I could keep her. I was scared. Scared to take on the responsibility, but more so of the heartache that I knew would come one day. I said I'd give it a try.

Daisy's original name was 'Black Beard, and then 'Rusty'. I thought these were boy names, and the name Daisy popped in to my head. It seemed to suit her. She was approximately four months old when we met, and had stitches in her belly from 'getting fixed'. We called her a 'terrier mix', because really, none of us had a clue where she came from. Daisy started working her charms immediately. When I would come home, she would get so excited that her top 'lip' would go up, looking like she was smiling. At night, she would jump up on the bed and get under the covers.

I have so much more to tell, but it's getting late, and my friend Daisy is waiting for me.....