Don't underestimate your dog (or your vet)

Almost 4 and a half years ago, my dog died. This was Maxie, *my* first pet (as opposed to a family pet), and I had adopted her from the shelter in 1994. This was the dog that had gone everywhere in the car with me, the reason we took up hiking, the one who had obedience and agility training, and the one who, as soon as I found out I was pregnant, I *knew* would love my baby. She was what I now call a "pre-baby".


She never had the chance to meet the kid, though, because I was 3 months pregnant when she died. She had been diagnosed with Osteosarcoma, a form of bone cancer. It was in her front leg, and unfortunately, due to her age and arthritis, she was not viable for the only treatment, amputation.


It was horrible, and we were devastated. I just could *not* bring myself to make the decision to put her to sleep. My extraordinarily supportive vet helped me by prescribing pain medication for her and listening whenever I needed to talk. She referred us to a specialist and even offered to come to our home to "do the deed" if we wanted.


In the end, Maxie made the decision for us, and passed away peacefully on her own.


Fast forward to a few days ago, I got a message from that same vet (she has since moved to another city, but we keep in touch). *Her* dog was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma. Thankfully, today, she is having the amputation surgery, and I hope with all my heart it goes well for them both. The surgery is a difficult thing, and although this will sound strange, I am thrilled that this option is available to them. Dogs can generally adapt to the loss of a limb fairly well, and with the great care I know she will receive, she should soon be back on her feet.


So, here's to the dogs in our lives, may we be as good to them as they are to us.

Don't underestimate those piano lessons

I know many of you groan at the thought of those childhood piano lessons that were forced upon you. I know many of you think "I wish I could play piano". And I know many of you from both camps who now send their kids (forced or not).

I had to beg for piano lessons. My family had a piano, so that wasn't the issue, it was because my dad had a *very* bad experience, a result of decent talent and too-high expectations. So when I was nine, I got to go. I loved it. I knew a bit going in, so I breezed through the first, well, few years. Then it got hard, and practice was required. I *hated* to practice. I did it, but I hated it.

Fast forward to High School, there are piano competitions, recitals, and I'm playing for the school jazz band and jazz combo (*not* so good at jazz, by the way, I got by but was a disaster at improv which, well, is a big part of jazz) and I get a scholarship to major in music at UNCG. Still hated to practice. Love to play, though.

Fast forward to today, and I can still play a little, but for the last 4 years I think it's been pretty limited to Disney tunes and nursery rhymes.

Last night, the husband re-arranged our living room. My piano came out of the corner, it is now the first thing your eye goes to when you enter the house. My friend Kristy would say that's the focus point, and apparently it is. I walked in the house after preschool drop-off, pulled out Bach and played. For 10 minutes. It's a start.

The kid will take piano if he wants to. It's a bit hard on him with two music majors for parents, and people ask us all the time what he will play. We've decided *if* he wants to play, he can play what he wants, and we will support him. But I hope he does it because it's fun and he likes it, not because he "should" or because we want him to. Only time will tell.