Sunny

Sunny was my heart. Sunny was my beloved mare. I owned, loved, and trained Sunny for more than ten years. Sadly, I was forced to find a new home for her several years ago. (for health reasons) I thought I had found an owner who would make a good home for her and keep her safe. I arranged to transfer her ownership to an area veterinarian (Margaret Lane, DVM of Lane Animal Hospital in Chelsea, Michigan) for a very small amount of money. At first I was hesitant about the Lanes, as I had a previous bad experience with Lane Animal Hospital. (They failed to properly diagnose my Springer Spaniel, and, as a result, my dog died.) However, I knew Sunny's Vets well, and was confident that they would keep her safe. As we signed Sunny's sale papers, Margaret Lane stressed to me that she wanted me to always be a part of her life. She told me I would be welcome to visit Sunny as much as I'd like. That was what I wanted to hear. I was relieved.

The ink on those papers was barely dry before I was informed that I would not be allowed to visit, or see Sunny again. I was told by the barn owner that I would be arrested for trespassing if I ever set foot on the property again. I was stunned. The owners were offended that I'd mentioned Sunny was fat. (She was. She was an easy keeper.) I was heartbroken. Margaret Lane, DVM, Richard Dyk, and Susan Dyk (of Dexter, MI) broke their word to me. They lied. I tried to contact Margaret Lane at Lane Animal Hospital, to reason with her. She refused to speak to me. I was stunned. I attempted to contact her again, to retrieve the rest of Sunny's tack. She again refused to speak to me. I left messages at her office, asking her to return my property to my home. No answer. Finally, I was forced to contact the Washtenaw County Sheriffs office, so that ai could safely return to the barn to pick up Sunny's things. I was leery of doing this alone, as Richard Dyk (a local security guard) is a gun nut, and was often armed. I left word at Margaret Lane's office. Strangely, she agreed to SHIP Sunny's tack to my house...only a 10 minute drive. This woman did not have the courage to face me. 

I still grieve for Sunny. Shame on MARGARET LANE, DVM. Shame on JONATHAN LANE, DVM. Shame on RICHARD DYK. Shame on SUSAN DYK. 

Sunny will always be my heart. Sunny will always be my horse.

Miksa, Bree, and Me

Starting this week, I'll be telling the story of two Alaskan Malamutes, and the woman they own (That would be me.). I will eventually be publishing this series as an e-book...in 2016.

The story will be told in Bree and Miksa's own words. Stay tuned.

Dogs

My dogs stay in their crates, unless I am playing with them, or they are eating.  They are not allowed in other parts of the house.  Well.  They can come in the family room only.  They can visit other parts of the house occasionally.  Okay.  They have the run of the house, but they are not allowed on the furniture.  But.  They can sit on the leather couch, and occasionally on the sofa in the sunroom.  Okay. They can sleep on all of my furniture...just not on the beds.  Once in a while they can sleep on the bed, but not under the covers.  Well.  Since they're on the bed anyway, I suppose they can sleep under the covers.  Okay.  My dogs own me.

Bree's Story (Part I)

More than five years ago, my husband and I decided to sell the family home in Chelsea, Michigan.  It was a difficult decision.  We loved the little town of Chelsea.  We raised our children in the little house on Grant Street.  However, things change.  We loved the area, and bought an historic home in the neighboring village of Dexter.  As our children had left home, it was the natural next step.  Michael could have his office in Dexter, and we would be closer to Ann Arbor.  It was perfect.

The little house on Grant Street had always had some interesting neighbors.  The rental flat behind the house, in particular, drew some great residents, all of whom became great friends. 

One year, I introduced myself to the latest tenants: Brad and Karen.  Karen was a wonderful young teacher, and Brad was studying for his PhD. In Rocket Science.  They were lovely friendly, down to earth people.  Kitchen table folks.  They shared their little flat with three gorgeous, (and huge) Alaskan Malamutes.  Brad always named his dogs after satellites or space shuttles.  This seemed particularly appropriate, as Malamutes are such spectacular creatures.  Soyuz and Titan were named after satellites. (I think.)  Brad did a lot of work with Russian scientists,  and was once discussing the origin of the name: Buran (a grounded Russian space shuttle) with the Russian who named the shuttle.  He asked the scientist what the name, Buran, meant.  The scientist said: "BIG snow."  Brad thought that would be a great name for a Malamute.  Buran, Soyuz, and Titan.  Great dogs raised by two exceptional people.  During the years we lived next door to Brad and Karen, we also befriended the Mals.  My youngest daughter was particularly fond of these dogs.  She spent a lot of time playing, and napping with these very special neighbors.  Even my husband, Michael (not a dog person) grew to appreciate and respect these animals.  On occasion, Brad and Karen would take our daughter mushing at a nearby wildlife preserve.  These were very special times.  Eventually, Buran developed a seizure disorder.  Sadly, Brad and Karen made the difficult decision to send Buran over the Rainbow Bridge.  It was heartbreaking to all of us, but particularly to our daughter.  Once, we noticed her throwing little pieces of paper to the wind.  When Michael asked her about it, she told him those were notes to Buran.  It made the tears flow.  We had our own dog, a husky/shepherd cross, we named Calvin.  He was aging quickly.  At least our daughter had him.  Eventually, Brad finished his doctorate, and was offered an opportunity to start a Rocket Science program at MTU in Michigan's upper Peninsula.  As he and Karen were born and raised in the UP, it was a perfect fit for them.  They moved on.  We stayed in touch.  

Calvin started having age related degenerative changes, and developed painful arthritis.  It was so difficult for me to watch.  I loved that dog.  So did my kids.  In a conversation with Brad once, I mentioned this to him.  He said: "Julie, you need a Malamute."  I said: (knowing how expensive those dogs were) "Yep.  I need thousands of bucks, too."  Brad said he would look for a good breeder, and that the dog would be a gift from he and his wife.  I was stunned.  

A few short weeks later, I received a phone call from the breeder.  He had a litter of five pups.  We discussed the details.  All of the pups had been named after characters from "Desperate Housewives", a cable TV show that I had never seen.  He emailed me photos of the pups.  One, in particular, caught my eye.  I asked him about this pup.  They called her Bree.  As I once loved a horse named Bree,  she seemed absolutely perfect.  We made arrangements to have Bree flown in from Minnesota.  My daughter was overjoyed.  So was I.

Michael and I picked up Bree at Detroit Metro that Spring.  I could hear her howls of protest all the way from the warehouse.  When I scooped her up from her crate, I melted.  I was completely smitten.  We waited for my daughter to return from school, anxiously.  When she rounded the corner, and saw the pup on my lap, it was one of those moments.  

We decided to name the pup Grey Mist's Buran Bree.  The breeder asked that we include Grey Mist in her name.  Buran was chosen, obviously, to honor the memory of a very special Malamute.  

The rest of the story: Tomorrow

Wake up

Last week.  Not the best week for me.  I had been grappling from neck and back pain due to deer v. auto for weeks.  My days consisted of physical therapy, and futile attempts to swim without pain.  I was already coming to terms with the decision I had to make...canceling my upcoming Straits swim. The media, my friends, kayakers, my charity and many others, understood, and supported my decision. But.  

Last week, at bedtime, I developed a sudden high fever, turned bright, sunburn red, felt nauseous, and I had a huge headache.  I blew it off, and fell asleep with two ice packs by my face.  Two hours later, I woke up with the same symptoms, and chest tightness.  Michael called 911.  The dispatcher told him to give me two aspirins.  I was supposed to chew them.  Yeah.  Right.  The parameds arrived, and did an EKG, which was "abnormal."  My worst nightmare.  The prospect of spending all night in the ER.  After about 8 hours of waiting...while I was refused water, or anything else by mouth...passing the time listening to the hapless old lady on one side of the curtain hack up blood clots, and the young dude, on the other side of the curtain. Well.  I won't even go there. Gah!

The decision was made that I needed to be admitted. Well. Great.  I am in my room for no more than 10 minutes, when a cardiologist strolls in and advises me to have a heart catheterization. That was alarming.  After he explained his concern about several "abnormal" EKGs I had in the ER, I weakly agreed.  I asked when that test would need to be done.  His response: Now.  Crap. Wait. WHAT?!  Now?!!  With that, a dude grabbed my bed and wheeled down the hall at breakneck speed.  *Who trains these people?!*. We arrived at a very large, freezing cold, surgical room in minutes.  *I was wondering if we'd make it there without an accident*. I was unceremoniously transferred to a very cold slab of an operating table.  There, my pubes were shaved with about 10 people standing around.  I would have been incredibly embarrassed, had it not been for the incredibly effective drugs that were coursing through my system.  (In case I've lost you here, a heart catheritization involves threading a wire...or something from an artery in the groin to the heart.)  The test went by quickly, with no pain.  The visual I was getting was pretty wild, though. Long story short.  No heart blockage.  None.  Yay!  Except now I started developing a really stupidly painful migraine.  

Two days later I was home.  No cardiac issues! Okay.  Good to know!  

I still have that visit with the neurosurgeon next week.  I'll get through that.  I will.  The Straits are going nowhere.

July of 2016.  Yep.  I will be the oldest person to swim the Mackinac Straits. I WILL not be deterred.  I can do this.  I can do this!

The Straits

Due to the injuries I sustained after doe v. auto, I have had to suspend my plans to swim the Straits this year.  The damage to my neck has caused intractable pain, and serious weakness in my arms.  I just cannot do it.  Not this year.  It has been a difficult and painful decision.  I made this decision when cranking out a mere 1000 meters became painful.  It wasn't easy.  I have had a lot of support, from a lot of great people.  

The up-side: After my neck issue is solved via physical therapy or possibly surgery, I will be able to begin again. So.  After I make a decision about the best way to proceed, after I consult with a neurosurgeon in February,  I can begin to train again.

So.  The Mackinac Straits swim will just be postponed until the summer of 2016.  And then...as Diana Nyad would say:  ONWARD!

2015

It's the year of the sheep.  I think that's a good thing.  I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's this nasty virus talking.  I haven't been this sick in years, so...whatever comes out next...consider that.  It's January.  Things are looking good for my swim.  I received a little free publicity, so I just received a spike in donations for Gleaners.  The piece also got me the speed boat I want for the Straits.  That should make the whole endeavor a lot safer for everyone involved.  Training is (was) going well...until this bug hit.  Not a problem.  It may take me more than a month or so to get me back to where I want to be.  But.  That's not a problem.  I'm a turtle.