Isn’t this supposed to be a weekly newsletter, a reader politely inquires?
Why yes, yes it was. God willing and the creek don’t rise, it will be again, starting today, sort of, and next Monday proper.
And why did it stop?
Unfortunately, dear reader, I’ve had quite a month.
Our eight year old bullmastiff, Fitzgerald, began to have seizures when he was three or four, but very rarely, perhaps once a year. Recently, they started getting more frequent … once every three or four months, then once a month, and then once every couple of weeks. That was when we went to the vet to figure out some medication … and that was when the seizures accelerated.
Stairs seemed to trigger them, and excitement over visitors. We basically banned visitors from the house, and for three weeks I slept and lived downstairs with him, because when a 160 pound bullmastiff has a seizure, you worry that he’ll injure himself. Not that this was entirely effective; I woke up one night to find him on our loveseat, clearly about to have a seizure—and didn’t quite make it in time to keep him from falling off, though I did manage to ease him down gently.
We barricaded the furniture to keep him off; we ordered waterproof bed covers, because when dogs have seizures, their bladders cut loose. We did a lot of laundry.
I won’t belabor the point any more, except to say it was harrowing, and I’m afraid it didn’t work. The seizures seemed to break temporarily when we upped his meds, but only at the price of turning him into a zombie. As he adjusted to the meds, the seizures returned, worse than ever. On the last night, they came every few hours, and we knew it was time to let him go.
He died in our arms, with all the McDonalds he could eat in his belly. He has left an enormous hole in our house, and our hearts.
That was a Tuesday, and I’m afraid I’d failed Monday’s newsletter. The next week, I didn’t feel much like writing, especially since my in-laws paid us an impromptu visit, and we were scrambling to put the house back together. And then, I’m afraid, I simply collapsed, and didn’t write or do much of anything else that weekend. Except fight our Indian Meal Moth infestation, of course—did I mention that my pantry appears to be spontaneously generating little brown moths, even though we threw all the food out and left the cupboards bare?
No, I see I haven’t. Well, killing the moths takes up quite a bit of every morning as well. The Indian Meal Moth is a fascinating pest, or would be, if I was reading about someone else’s problem; somehow, they have survived everything we have thrown at them, including an exterminator spraying pesticides and yours truly going through all the peg holes in our cabinets with a metal skewer and a full container of Lysol.
But one can’t feel sorry for oneself forever, and this week, I was firmly resolved to get back in the swing of things. I would wake up early Monday morning before work, and put out a newsletter, like a decent, responsible human.
And that, my friends, is when my neighborhood lost power. Let that be a lesson to you: the universe is fickle, and has a very perverse sense of humor.
This newsletter will not, in general, traffic in pathos, but this week is an exception. In lieu of original content, I offer you with Senator George Graham Vest’s closing argument in an 1850s lawsuit over a dog. I don’t know if he won his case, but he sure deserved to.
Gentlemen of the Jury: The best friend a man has in the world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name may become traitors to their faith. The money that a man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it most. A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with us, may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads.
The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous is his dog. A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer. He will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounters with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings, and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens.
If fortune drives the master forth, an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him, to guard him against danger, to fight against his enemies. And when the last scene of all comes, and death takes his master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by the graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad, but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even in death.
If that made you tear up a little, you’ll understand why I have to declare newsletter bankruptcy on the last month. I’ll be back next week as normal, or as close to normal as I ever get.
I am very sorry to hear all of this, especially about Fitzgerald. I will never begrudge anyone the time they need to grieve for a loved one. You and your family have my deepest condolences.
I had a moth infestation almost 10 years ago. The source was larvae that hatched from my dog’s Milk Bones. I’m not sure I had the same moths you do, but here’s what I did.
1. Every cereal-based product went in an air-tight container. That included rice, flour, cold cereal, pasta, and especially Milk Bones. Instead of using a dedicated container for things like crackers and cookies, I used zip lock bags. I still observe this practice.
2. The larvae migrated to flour and rice. Putting those things in the freezer for a day or two killed the larvae.
3. Finally, I bought a couple of moth traps from Amazon. According to my order history, these are the ones I used: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004AGWPK8/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_search_asin_title?ie=UTF8&psc=1. I wasn’t expecting much for them, but they worked.
Maybe one or more of these suggestions will work for you.
On the subject of dogs and Milk Bones, I am sorry for your loss.