Bo's First Book Now on Kindle

I'm thrilled to announce I published my first book to Kindle honoring my working dog, Bo, who died of cancer over Christmas (see "Bo Doesn't Know" http://www.amazon.com/Bo-Doesnt-Know-ebook/dp/B007A53PKK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1329712144&sr=8-1).

This book was a total work of love, a photo story about Bo's time living with cancer and the silly changes we made as humans to help him. Your tags/likes on the Amazon page are much appreciated, as well are reviews!

For those who are going to ePub their own work to Kindle, especially any dog books, if you need help with formatting problems, ping me. I learned so much the hard way with this book, even though I'd taken a class and read all the instructions. Let's just say there's a lot of kinks in the system!

Anyway, just wanted to celebrate publishing my first book and the memorial to Bo!

Much love to you all in the New Year!

Christine

Rain, Sleet, or Snow!

Dogs are like the US postal service. Rain, sleet or shine, they need to get out.

High energy dogs – especially hunters and working breeds (labs, golden retrievers, Visalas, pointers, terriers) need daily activity, regardless of the weather.

While many dogs may naturally accept a day on the couch when the weather is wet or cold, high energy dogs get more wound up the more they’re cooped up.

Weather can be a tool. When I work with dogs on behavior issues, one trick to inducing their trust in my leadership is to use foul weather as my environment. They are more inclined to want a strong leader at that moment, so I stay out front and keep a strong pace, and they bond with me faster! If there is snow, we run around and play catch with snowballs. It’s fun for both me and the dogs, and we all go home tired.

Sometimes I employ doggie backpacks and rain slickers to keep dogs covered if they are thin or have health issues. But typically I welcome the rain, which can both cool and calm a dog. Remember: Like people, dogs don’t get colds from rain – they get colds from germs. But getting them too cold can, I believe, make them more susceptible to getting sick or injured. So I gauge the temperature more than the rain.

So don’t worry about your dog getting wet. It’s better to use up those spare towels at home, rather than let the dog chew up your spare couch due to boredom!

Goodbye, Sweet Lovely Bo

For days I've been avoiding writing updates to the blog because Bo was getting worse. His breathing was shallow due to fluid in his chest cavity. His energy tanked after walks.

Then x-rays showed the tumors in his lungs had grown in a week and his heart was enlarged. And he'd stopped eating and was barely taking water.

A colleague called me on the fact that I was mentally slipping into a dark hole and that Bo was only sticking around because he was worried for me. He's always taking care of others! And now I needed to show him I could stand on my own so he could let go of this world.

So on Friday last week I finally accepted we'd found the cancer too late and that we were going to lose him. So Bo and I sat down and had a long talk about why mamma was terrified of losing her friend but that she'd be okay and why Bo had done enough work in this world.

I swear he understood every word.

At one point, I said he'd been the best friend I'd every hoped for and that he was a love of my life. I'm an animal lover, and I've had many pets, but never have I experienced a bond like I did with Bo.

Bo then reached out and put his paw in my palm like we were holding hands and closed his eyes. There was so much love surrounding us both at that moment, and I felt peace between us.

That night Bo declined. I knew he was letting go. And his symptoms got much worse and too graphic to mention. I often had to carry him, an 83lb dog.

So the next day, on New Year's Eve, we spent a final afternoon with him, riding in the Westie (our VW Vanagon pop-top), which was his favorite because it meant we were going on a trip, and visiting the beach at Magnesun park. I told him we could walk as far as he wanted and I would carry him back to the van if necessary. For his last two days I found myself often saying to him, "It's okay, I will carry you."

Bo got knee-high in the water and watched the dogs frolic and sniffed the fresh air. I could see him wanting to run and swim with them. Our hearts fell. Then he came back to shore. He was done.

We put Bo to sleep that afternoon. He rested against my chest and I held him close as he passed and whispered to him "It's okay, go to sleep now."

I felt angry, angry that I had to lose a best friend, angry I had to leave his beautiful body to people I'd paid to kill him. They'd bumbled the euthenasia, so it's a whole new scar for me and my husband. Maybe it was a mercy to help Bo cross, but I never want to have to do that again to any dog.

Bo turned 8 last Wednesday. He should have lived till 10 or 12 or more...but cancer takes a lot of dogs early. And now that I know it's avoidable, I'll make sure my next dog gets better odds and I'll educate friends on the risk factors. Please, take your dog for regular vet checkups, and especially teeth cleanings. Mouth cancer is very common in dogs.

I will finish the book I wrote for him, Bo Doesn't Know, and publish that to Amazon soon, so his legacy can live on to help others.

Thank you for all your support and love and kindness and financial help. Bo is a spirit, a lesson to me and those he touched of compassion and open-heartedness and unconditional love. May we all pass on that spirit to others.

Live, love, and laugh everyday. That was Bo's way.
Regards,
Christine M. Fairchild

Good News 4 Christmas, Bad News for Cancer

Bo's surgery went well on Wednesday, but he was in pain all night and it was hard to give him meds because he was too nauseous to take food. But the next day and today he's got energy and even exaspiration when he's bored. That's a great sign!

We got the biopsy results back today--early, and thank God for that because I really couldn't wait patiently till Tuesday! We now know what kind of cancer we're fighting: squamous cell carcinoma in the mouth. This is a slow growing type, so that's good news. We'll cut out more bone in his jaw and remove clean margins (up to 2 cm. beyond the cancer). The bad news is it likes to recurr.

Well, this cancer hasn't met me yet. I've been reading everything I can get my hands and have learned how diet, supplements, herbs and even acupuncture can keep cancer from coming back. So if this cancer thinks it's found a new doggy condo, it's got another thing coming. Bring it on, Mr. Squeamish! You're being evicted!

As for donations....well, my hubby and are not comfortable with that, so I'm trying to figure out how I can add a PayPal button on Bo's book page as a sort of elective "reading" fee. For some reason, Blogger isn't cooperating with my efforts, so patience is advised. And you know how good I am at being patient, right?

Waiting is a Beach

Bo is at the dental vets, getting the biopsy on his mouth tumor. I'm on the edge of my chair as I write this. Literally. I tried sitting at Starbucks, under the huge photo of Bo of course, but couldn't sit still there either. But I dreaded coming home to an empty house to just sit and wait.

But this whole cancer issue is a lesson in waiting. Like waiting this last week for the biopsy appointment to find out WHICH type of cancer he has so we can move forward on deciding diet/supplements/medicines and scheduling surgery.

But what we're really waiting for is HOPE. I've found some in books for helping dogs with cancer. I'm currently reading 42 Rules to Fight Dog Cancer: Real Stories and Practical Approaches to Dealing with Dog Cancer by Aimee Quemuel, because it's like the summary version of all the other books I've been interested in reading. Of course, I'll read those other books too. As soon as I can stop pacing.

My husband, on the other hand, is troubled. He's not reading how diet, supplements, herbs, and new Western techniques are making huge strides in survival rates. He's not reading the personal stories of dog owners who were told their friend had only 3 months to live but survived 3 years.

50% of dogs die of cancer. That's an ugly statistic, and it's not natural. What vets and naturopathic followers have figured out is that we humans must be doing something wrong by our dogs. So that means we can also do something right. To me, that's good news. It means I have power. Something I can do to make a difference in Bo's health and healing.

But the largest message I'm hearing is that HOPE is part of the healing process. It keeps owners in good spirits and on the right mental track when all the fear and anger around cancer wants to take over. Cancer spreads. Into your soul, if you let it.

So, folks, HOPE is out there. It's like a calm beach in the middle of a storm. If you're patient enough to find it.

Dogs Dont' Cry

While giving me a long-overdue-haircut yesterday, instead of chiding me for ruining my hair with hotel shampoos and swimming in chlorinated pools and rinsing in a salty Caribbean, my hairdresser, Zan Schmidt was crying.

Pictures of my chocolate lab/rottie mix, Bo, slid across my laptop screen as Zan (Tussle Salon, Seattle) snipped away and two-inch strands fell around me. I blew the hairs off my keyboard to click another photo, awaiting her approval. We needed Bo’s five best shots, and Zan has a great eye. When her eyes aren’t clouding with tears, that is.

Zan’s not just a dog lover, but a dog rescuer. A few years back, she’d received a Katrina dog through a “reputable” agency, but a year later the owner showed up and demanded the dog back. That broke Zan’s heart. Eventually she adopted another dog and is back in doggy heaven, happily scooping poops and paying vet bills to keep her little buddy healthy. But she knows what it’s like to lose a dog-friend.

Now her heart is cracking a little again.

“Don’t cry,” I said. “He’s not dead yet.”

“I can’t help it, he’s so sweet,” she said, running to bathroom to wipe her eyes.

As she later blew out my healthy hair, we chose the final shots and I explained my plan. I needed the photos for an exhibit at my local Roosevelt Starbucks, an opportunity I happened to be offered that morning when I told the manager, Jen Sinconis, that I’m creating ways to raise money for Bo’s surgeries. Bo had walked with me to Starbucks—he’s all about the treats Jen gives him—and was watching us through the window.

“He doesn’t know he has cancer,” I’d told Jen, who has a Boston/Staffordshire terrier mix and is adopting an Australian shepherd this weekend. “He just wants to play with his dog buddies.”

Jen knows what it’s like to fight to save lives. Her twins nearly died as infants, so she wrote a book about her journey called “A Pound of Hope” (www.APoundofHope.biz) to help other families find hope. Hence, Jen understands I’m doing everything I can to raise money for Bo’s surgeries.

We’d saved for our vacation to the Caribbean in November, celebrating our 5^th wedding anniversary at our honeymoon hotel. A much needed trip away from reality after my husband’s health scare and a summer of discussing wills and life insurance. What we hadn’t saved in cash for the vacation, we put on our credit card. Then we came home to find a tumor in Bo’s mouth.

Cancer. That word just sucks. Most of Bo’s upper left teeth, bone, and maybe even nasal passage are expected to be removed. We’ll know more when we get the biopsy next week to tell us which type of cancer. But already we’ve hit $1,000 in bills, and we haven’t even started the removal surgery! Then there’s the CT scans and X-rays next week, a consult with the oncologist, and then the big surgery. We see thousands of dollars in bills zooming toward us, but never do we want to make a decision based on lack of money. Whatever we can do to save his life, we want the money to be ready.

And so my fundraising brain is in high-drive, and I’m combing through things I can sell, such as his photos, my classes, anything.

The bone will heal, the dental vet told me. Still, I wondered after the surgery what face I’d be snuggling at night as I stared at his handsome chocolate lab profile, like he’s posing for the camera in front of Mt. Pilchuck, WA. I tell everyone Bo thinks he’s Frank Sinatra, but he’s really more like Dean Martin. Part crooner, part ham.

As I went to pay for my haircut, Zan pulled me aside and whispered in my ear, “You’re not paying me today.”

“Of course I am.”

“No, this is my contribution toward Bo’s cause. Merry Christmas.”

Now I’m the one crying. Kindness is tough to swallow right now. It softens me when I need to be hard, when I must push forward, get appointments scheduled, and be cheerful around Bo when I really feel like doubling over sobbing. I can’t let him see me down, or he’ll try to console me and absorb sad energy, which he doesn’t need.

You see, Bo is not just a pet, but my working buddy. He helps me rehab dogs for behavior problems, like Daddy helped Caesar Milan, the Dog Whisperer. Bo’s also been to a classroom with third graders, worked with kids with autism, and visits the retirement home and assisted care facility, where my mother-in-law lives.

And Bo was basically my assistance dog when I got PTSD after two years of caretaking for my mother-in-law, who has dementia. Bo was my companion in public when just being in a room of other people made me shiver. He saw me through, for better or for worse. So the least I can do is not fall apart around him.

I hugged Zan hard and headed to my art studio, my office as an author, to work on Bo's images. I’d barely made it through the door when my studio mates burst forward with hugs and chocolate. Beth (www.BethMeans.com) and Martha (www.MarthaMeans.com) are sisters who paint watercolors that sweep you into another world. When they originally invited me into their studio, they said dogs were welcome and encouraged.

Annie, their golden retriever, had been a client because of her excitable dominance and anxiety issues, so she and Bo were already familiar. They became fast buddies after we moved in, and I’m including a muddy photo of her in the exhibit book to honor her. Unfortunately, we lost Annie this past summer. On a Friday she was diagnosed with lymphoma, a very deadly cancer in dogs, and she was going downhill fast. On the following Monday she was put to sleep. Cancer really, really sucks.

Bo and I had visited Annie to say goodbye and Bo acted like nothing bad was happening. Maybe he did know she had cancer, maybe he didn’t. Dogs don’t cry. They just want to play.

To my studio mates I explain my plan to save Bo’s life, that I hope we need the money because I want him to NEED the surgeries. The alternative is worse—if the cancer is too far gone, then we may have to make the decision Beth and Martha made for Annie. But I’m praying that doesn’t happen. Already his blood tests came back clean, which is a good sign the cancer hasn’t metastasized. So I’m fighting to raise the money to give us surgery options.

And here are my friends to fight with me. Beth tells me I’m not paying rent on the studio next month. And Martha wants to donate too. They want to help spread the word. Again, I’m stunned, and those damn tears start pushing through.

And I’m smiling too. Everyone loves Bo. He’s touched so many lives, so many dogs, so many humans. I’d decided to "retire" him from working this past summer, because he absorbs anxiety from other dogs and humans and I wanted him to be free of that and live out some "retirment" years. Yet here he is, touching lives again, bringing folks together.

But it’s more than his magic happening here, I realize. It’s the magic of kindness. And it’s Bo’s turn to receive.