That Which Does Not Kill Us, Only Makes Us Stronger

So you are contemplating entering the world of Puppydom  OR  you are thinking about adding another dog to your furry herd.  If this is the case, this post is for you…

One detail that dog owners tend to gloss over is the fact that most dogs actively try to accidentally kill themselves on a daily basis.  It starts out innocently enough… “What’s that over there???”… “Maybe I should check it out!”…  but this curiosity quickly spirals into a WTFudego moment.  Quite frankly sharing your life with a dog will leave you exhausted and exasperated, but all it takes is one glance at those loving eyes and all is forgotten, until the next round of Fudgeo roulette begins… which could be seconds, days or weeks later.   

For a mega Type A planner who is not a fan of surprises, this death wish tendency can really start wearing on one’s nerves… I know as I speak from experience.  My Mother is the ultimate doomsdayer and raised us accordingly.  In any situation I have Plan’s A-F ready to launch and have most likely started planning for contingency G- K.  If this compulsive need to have back-up plans to back plans was not enough, I am also a learning junkie.  Oh the spine chilling tingles I get when researching a topic and learning new things.  I’ll chase the learning high any time I can.  

With this combination in mind, you can imagine what a bundle of “joy” I was to be around, as I devised my first ever Puppy Plan.  Thinking back, I feel for those who had to endure my puppy enthusiasm.  The waves of dread that would have washed over them, as I uttered these three simple words… “Did you know…”.    

TRAPPED IN PUPPY TALK YET AGAIN!!!!

I offer my sincerest apology to those who had to endure my puppy planning passion.  If you ever reflect on this period in your lives I’m sure  you have offered up more than one silent prayer of thanks that this period happened at a time when the internet was newish.  This meant my access to information was kept to a minimum.  Just imagine what it would have been like,  had I had access to things like blogs, video’s, memes, etc.  

TORTURE to the millionth power.   

Notice the dog eared corners, courtesy of Gim

I recall standing in Coles thumbing through all the dog training books thinking “What would give me the biggest bang for my buck?”  Trust me I had to be penny-wise, as another thing that I was sorely underprepared for was how expensive it was to add a fluff ball to my life and budget.  Between books, supplies, vet bills and training… $$$$$$$$$.  I settled on a few classics… “Puppies for Dummies”, “Golden Retrievers for Dummies” and “Great Dogs, Good Owners” and set about trying to read every page before my little Golden bundle arrived.  

I distinctly recall one sentence in a book that I read that went something like this… “Of all the dog breeds to buy pet insurance for, the Golden Retriever is the breed, as they have a tendency to eat everything.”.  I hoped that that the author was taking some creative liberty in describing the breed.  I soon learned that the writer was indeed correct!  Golden’s are particularly skilled at gobbling… the Dysons of the Dog World.

Baby Gim

The first week that Gimli was home he slept and slept, often wedged between the wall and the leg of the couch.  What I didn’t know was he was resting up so that he could unleash Puppygedon during Week Two.  Nothing was safe… furniture, my hands, feet, arms and legs, the Christmas tree.  It was all fair game and Gim launched his assault frequently and with gusto.  

Planning ahead I had decorated only the top half of the tree thinking the ornaments would be safe.  I was wrong. Gim was obsessed and the minute my back was turned he managed to get something off the tree and then quickly tried to consume it.  It didn’t take long for me to decide that the tree had to go.  Gimli, disappointed to loose his indoor stick factory and access to shiny trinkets took his disappointment out on my appendages.  

All the books said to not react to puppy biting… to let your muscles go limp and ignore it.  Well good luck!  I tried.  I really tried, but my body reacted every time.  How could it not.  A puppy bite, especially a full fledged puppy bite feels like  a million tiny acupuncture needles slicing into your skin and the muscle beneath.  As much as I tried to hold it in, a whimper would escape my lips, my muscles would twitch and Gim would grip on harder.  

The advice in another book said to fill an aluminum can filled with pennies and shake it as the puppy launched its attack.  The premise was the sound would distract the puppy and you could then redirect it to what you wanted it to chew on.  Well it had the opposite affect on Gim.  The sound of rattling coins became a dinner bell of sorts and only spurred him to chomp harder and more frequently.  It didn’t help that my “redirection” toys and items all seemed to be out of reach, under furniture or in other rooms.  That was one of the first lessons Gim taught me… you can never have enough chew toys for puppies.  Stock-up people, you will thank me!

One would think being a walking talking steak for your dog would be the worst thing about getting a puppy, but it wasn’t.  Gimli was only 4 months when we had our first emergency trip to the vet.  I had just gotten out of the shower and came down the stairs when I heard crunching and chomping sounds coming from the living room.  I pounced on Gim,  prying open his mouth and reached in to snake out the contraband.   I immediately started freaking out when it registered what I had pulled out… the mangled head of my Shick Quattro, which must have fallen to the floor when I was showering. 

WHAT THE……

A quick count of the blades spiked my angst levels, there were only three blade, the little bugger had actual ate one!!!!  I rushed him to the Vet, my anxiety mounting by the minute.  I showed the vet the blades and his response was underwhelming.  “Don’t worry” he said “That will go right through him!  The only thing that we have to worry about is if it gets caught in his anal sphincter.  Just monitor his poo and call me if he starts straining but nothing is coming out.”  

I spent three whole days squishing and inspecting poo.  I was convinced that my neighbours were questioning my grip on reality.   Picture it, me standing out in the yard scooping up poo,  wasting no time before I started squishing and kneading it, momentarily getting excited by what I felt, only to hang my head in disappointment when my close inspection of the contents verified a stone or a pine cone… not a blade.  Three days of this before I added a celebratory dance party to this twice a day ritual.  Yup!  Nothing like giving the hood something to talk about.

I was telling my hairdresser about the incident and in an effort to make me feel better, she related a story about one of her other customers.   This unidentified woman also owned a  Golden and her dog decided it would be a great idea to eat her hair brush.  Unfortunately it did not pass through on its own, and the dog required surgery to remove it.  I found out later that this Golden lived one street over and was Gimli’s Aunt.  That settled it.  I bought pet insurance the next day and maintained it for his entire life. 

I would love to say that, that was the only scarfing incident we had, but alas it was not.  On our first backpacking trip Gim found and decided to eat a fungus which did a number on his liver and heart. I woke up to a lethargic dog who had blue gums and tongue.  I didn’t think he would make it out of the bush, but luckily he perked up long enough to walk the 4km out.  That is how I learned about Milk Thistle and how it can be used to help cleanse livers and toxins out of systems.  It took many months of recuperation before my little Truffle Pig was back to full health.  Unfortunately he never linked  consumption of fungus with his near death experience, so I spent the next 13 years having to be on high alert during our walks in the woods, ready to wrestle mushrooms, toadstools and fungus out of his mouth at a moments notice.   

Fungus wasn’t the only fetish he was drawn to.  Socks and hosiery were also high on the list.  I lost track of how many socks he ate over the years.  It didn’t matter that I was meticulous about making sure socks were up or in baskets, he would find them, often courtesy of the cats who would offer him socks in an attempt to knock him off.  I would find out about the sock consumption after the fact, often on an evening stroll when a sock would magically pop out of either end of him.  Nothing like having to pick-up and carry around a vomit or poo sock for 2- 3kms.   

Other favoured consumables for Gimli were bars of soap and blocks of butter.  He was introduced to these delicacies at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.  I was constantly reminding my Mom to leave the soap on the back edge of the tub or push the butter toward the wall, but it never failed she would leave it sitting within reach and then be shocked that he ate it.  Let me tell you she wasn’t so thrilled when he barfed up a sudsy, slippery mess on her living room carpet.  Poor Gimli earned himself banishment for that one. 

Other memorable foodie moments included the time that he decided to help himself to the bucket of wheat that was being graded to use as center pieces for my Sister’s wedding.  My Mom had wheat growing in some pretty interesting places in her yard the next year.  There was also the time my mother decided to leave a full steak meal and baked potato sitting on the front edge of the counter, only to have it disappear without a trace… including the tin foil the potato was wrapped in.  This dinner not only resulted in Gim’s first X-ray but a less than pleasurable 18 hour diarrhea filled car ride.  Thanks Mom!

This all happened with close monitoring.  Can you imagine what would have happened if I just left it all up to chance.  Nope neither can I.   

But hands down the most memorable are you kidding me moment was the time that my Mom left a paper bag full of magnets on the floor of my front entrance.  I went to put them up and she asked me what I was doing, I told her I was putting them up so that the dog wouldn’t get into them.  She mockingly commented “What would he do with those…you can leave them there!”.  Against better judgement I did.  I got home from work that night  to an empty paper bag.  The Yahoo ate all but one of the fridge magnets.  

Another emergency visit to the vet and his second set of X-rays within a two month period.  The X-ray revelled an enlarged and glowing stomach, with occasional sparkly bits occurring every now and then in his intestines.  The verdict was wait and see.  That night he vomited up a substantial amount of the magnets and the repeat X-ray the next day showed that what remained in his system was making its way out… his intestines looked like a disco ball.   My parent, being the hilarious people they are,  bought him a duck fridge magnet to commemorate cheating death or surgery, yet again.

 It maybe superstition talking but I strongly believe the only thing that kept Gim healthy and alive was the insurance, without it I am sure I would have owed and arm, leg and kidney to the Vet. 

Clash of the Goldens!

Compared to Gimli, Ferg has been pretty tame.  First off he directed his puppy acupuncture toward Gimli vs me (insert 30 second dance party).  Add to that, he is finicky about what he puts in his mouth and eats (a topic for another blog).  It is not uncommon for Ferg to beg for food only to get a look of horror on his face the minute he closes his mouth around the offered item.  He is mighty quick to spit out what goes in.  

The only are you kidding me moment I have had with Ferg is his short lived obsession with rotting banana peel.  The blacker the peel the better. There is nothing grossier than the feeling of pulling slippery, slimey peel out of a mouth.  YUCK!!!

Oaks however was a voracious destroyer of all that he could get a hold of.  Nothing was safe from him especially shoes.  He methodically made his way through one pair after another.  Closed toe shoes became peep toes, running shoes became clogs.  It got to a point where I had one pair of regular shoes left, without them my only shoes would be high heels.  I made very attempt to keep my shoes picked up, but his spidey sense would alert him when I had taken them off for just a second to quickly run upstairs and he would launch his assault.  If that wasn’t enough he also attempted to redecorate my house whenever he couldn’t get his muzzle on shoes.  His style of choice was shabby chic and let me tell you he did a number on a bench at the front door and at one time he even attempted to start eating the hardwood floors.  Needless to say Oaks spent plenty of quality time in crates when he could not be closely monitored.  I should also mention that he came to me close to 1 year of age.  So be warned you might not escape oral fixations by getting an older dog.  

My favourite work shoes… No more!

My favourite backpacking shoes

Even measuring cups weren’t safe

An Oakley Braille Trail on my floors

Hazel’s claim to fame so far has been swallowing a cigarette butt.  She was outside for her last potty break of the evening and I noticed her quickly dip her head down and immediately started running away from me.  What could she have found… a leaf? Pine cone?? Stick???  Well I had my answer seconds later when I reached her and opened her mouth.  Her breath reeked like she had just smoked 20 packs of cigarettes.  Yes some jabroni discarded a butt in my yard and she found it.  One quick Google search latter and I was in full panic.  Apparently cigarettes and especially cigarette butts are toxic to dogs.  Given she was only a few months old I was frantic that the she would be more susceptible to the nicotine.  A call to the Emergency Vet and I had a course of action… a dose of good old Hydrogen Peroxide to induce vomiting.  Within 15 minutes she had thrown up the offending butt, thus saving me from Emergency after hours fees. 

Hazel’s contribution to Home Repair

I was starting to feel confident that I had a handle on this dog thing.  Gimli and Oaks tried to break me but did not succeed.  The other three have been relatively easy to raise.  Then along came Lyndy, who is going to be the death of me or at least my bank account. Lyndy is a naturally curious dog who prides herself in making her own fun.  Her favourite thing is to find and carry around contraband.  Even if the item is fully hidden in her mouth I know she has something in there that she shouldn’t, as she has a distinctive way of holding her head and a different prancy walk that screams… “I have something I shouldn’t have… what ya gonna do about it?????”  Her epitaph will read “Sugar Disturber”!

Shortly after Lyndy arrived I decided to take Ferg and the Ladies on a cross country road trip to my parents for a visit.  Me, a senior dog and two puppies (5 months and 3 months).  My Mom commented on how it must be free and liberating for me to just let the dogs out her back door into the yard, where they could run and play vs having to leash and be with them like at my house.  That liberation lasted less than a two seconds… for that is how long it took the Ladies to discover her garden and all the plants they could forage on.  My mother’s backyard is basically a death trap for dogs.  Most of her plants are poisonous or toxic to dogs.  There is nothing like standing on a back step Googling plant after plant only to find out the next one is equally as dangerous to dogs as the last one.  This resulted in my Mother having to get creative with fencing… did you know that you can use snow blowers, tires and rims, scrap metal and tomato cages as fencing???  At one point there was even a ladder and cedar shake being used as barriers.  The barriers helped but the Ladies still benefited from close supervision outside just to be on the safe side. 

Sadly they found a way around this fence to get the strawberries

More fencing… as you can see if you can’t get under it… sit on it!

It took my Mom a week to build this fence.  I am happy to report the plants survived.

Given how she seeks out trouble Lyndy has always had close supervision when she is not in her crate, but even with this close supervision she still has managed to find and eat things that she wasn’t supposed to.  I have given up getting the Ladies stuffed toys and beds, as they have decided that the stuffing in the toys and beds is way more fun than the actual comfort of the item itself.  Why have one thing when you can make it explode and have tons of things to toss up in the air and make a giant mess with!!!    Lyndy is also my counter cruiser and has a sixth sense when I don’t place the pot scrubber or SOS pad at the very back of the counter.  All too often as I am settling onto the couch,  I hear the familiar, clicky clack of Lyndy’s contraband prance and have to get up and retrieve what she has swiped from the counter.  Luckily she likes to show off how clever she is, so I haven’t had to worry about her trying to woof it down before I can get it.  At least that was what I thought.

When Lyndy was 9 months old I made the mistake of letting the Ladies stay out or crates when I made a quick run to Tims.  What type of trouble could they get into in 10 minutes.  Well I came home to find out that Lyndy decided to challenge herself and she managed to eat 1/2 of a silicone mat that I had the water bowls sitting on.  She ripped the mat into 1” strips and gobbled it on down like a fruit roll up.  How did I know, well she barfed up a 1/4 of what she ate a day later.  That meant a 1/4 was still percolating in her stomach waiting to be processed and come out the other end.   

Who would have predicted that pooping out contraband would have been the best case scenario.  The first full week of Dec her smorgasbording caught up with her.  She was up every hour on the hour straining to poo but nothing was coming out.  I got her into the vet early that day.  I told them that my guess was bowel obstruction given what she had eaten a few weeks earlier.  The Vet wanted to play it cautious and started with blood work.  The blood work came back within normal limits, which meant Lyndy had her first X-ray confirming my theory… a blockage in her stomach.  We waited to see if the blockage would pass, but over the course of the day it didn’t move.  That meant surgery… yup… CHA-CHING!  

When they opened her up they found way more than the silicone mat.   There was parts of Brillo pad, towels, blankets, steel wool, stuffing,  innards of toys, sticks, shoe laces, stones, dog hair… the list went on and on.  The staff commented that they all took turns trying to identify what came out of her stomach.  

Now there is a party game for you!  

Lyndy came home sporting a Frankenbelly full of staples and a kick-ass cone of shame, that she quickly put to use trapping items under and using it to hold balls while she slept.  It was a very expensive Christmas that year, but the bonus was she survived to tell her tale.  

It is mine… all MINE!

I’ll never loose my ball again!

Frankenbelly!

Within a week of Lyndys return home Hazel decided to chew and eat a hunk of lace off my boots.  Within minutes of discovering what she had done I had her registered for pet insurance.  It eventually came out the other end, but I wasn’t taking any chances.  Lyndy had wiped out my Scotland fund, I couldn’t afford any more expensive vet visits.  

You would think that with all my experience and 4 dogs already in the house, that it would be dog proofed to the point where there are no risks for a new puppy.  I shared your opinion, but Brie has found ways to make sure that I don’t get too big for my britches.  The other day she was walking around fiddling with something in her mouth.  What could she have??? Well it turns out it was a tack… it took a while for me to figure out where she got it from.  She had pulled an upholstery tack out of a chair.  Her other go to right now is fungus (another Truffle Hound).  There is a patch of lawn that grows mushrooms in the fall.  I have been careful not to walk her by it, but the local squirrels have taken to grabbing pieces of it and scattering it around the yard.  Brie is loving their efforts and is quick to find and try and devour what they have left behind.  I can confirm that slimy wintered mushroom is equally as gross to pull out of a dog’s mouth, as rotten banana peel.  In fact it was Brie’s fungus fascination that inspired the title for this post as I have found myself asking her “Don’t try to kill yourself today…OK?”

My experience has taught me has  no matter how carefully you monitor and how “dog proofed” the house, yard, vehicle is… dogs still manage to find and ingest things that you would never in a million years have thought they would eat.   They can take you from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows in a wag of a tail.    If you are thinking about getting OR are new to living with a dog, be prepared for weird s**t to happen.  If you are lucky like me, it will pass through OR you will catch it in time for the vet to remove it.  It will cost you a ton of money and once the sticker shock has worn off, you might even find a way to laugh about it.  Sadly this is not always the case and for every “Can you believe this happened?” story there is another that ended with “I can’t believe this happened… how? How?? HOW???”  For those that have not had luck on their side, my heart breaks for you.  May your and your dog’s tale help increase the awareness of the hidden dangers of living with four legged Hoovers. 

A poster from a Vet’s office in Saskatchewan… or as I referred to it… Lyndy’s Bingo card.

Authors Note: This post is dedicated to those four legged fiends who were the bestest of boys and girlies, who lived life to the fullest and to whom the world was a cornucopia.  You are gone from this world too soon, but in the short time you were here, you brought happiness to those who made your acquaintance and left an indelible mark on the hearts of the ones who were yours.

BONUS MUSING’S

Ohh Crap!!!

Okay new puppy/dog owners I am going to talk about a taboo subject that hopefully you will never encounter but I want to prepare you for.   Remember how I said that dogs are prone to eating weird s**t… well sometimes they eat literal s**t.  

YES!

The groddiest of groddy is pulling poo out of a dog’s mouth!  Most puppies go through a phase where they think poo is delectable and they gobble it down like it was a 5-star Michelin meal.  The simple solution is to bag the poo as soon as it happens and that tends to work, but occasionally you miss one or someone else doesn’t stoop and scoop and when that happens it is game on.   

Winter increase the complexity of the game, as the snow can bury the turd and you have no idea it is there lurking… waiting to be found.  Picture it, it is freezing cold, the wind is whipping through your jacket and pants, you’ re longing for the comfort and warmth of the couch.  Puppy is sniffing and frolicking in the snow, oblivious to your discomfort.  Puppy gets interested in a certain section of snow and starts pouncing on it and digging only to emerge with a poosicle, which they gleefully toss into the air so that they can try to catch it and/or pounce on it again.  Your frozen limbs balk as you try to move into hyper drive and get to the poo before the pup.  You are both lunging for it.  Sometimes you win and sometimes it’s the pup. 

Now if you have played the poosicle game before you are most likely prepared with a poo bag already hanging on your hand.  But for those who are new to the game, you will be frantically trying to open a poo bag with fingers that are too cold to move and plastic that appears to be welded together at both ends.  All I can say is “May the odds be forever in your favour!”. 

I’m happy to report that most dogs grow out of eating poo but I have found that Mom dogs tend retain their affinity for poo, maybe it’s related to all the happy memories cleaning up their little ones.  Right before Whisper’s last litter she was out for her bedtime airing and she dove for something in the grass.  It was in the area where the fungus grows, so I quickly reached my hand in her mouth to grab the fungus.  The only problem was it wasn’t fungus it was “S**T!  Ohhh the swears that came out of me as I pulled out my hand and realized what I was holding.  The words continued to pour out of me as I had to go in for round two and three until her mouth was fully free of the turd remnants.  Definitely not making the top 100 reasons why I love dogs!!!  

To sum up dogs= love, laughs and 💩!

Cracking' Up in Killarney- O' Solo Mio Style

It all started last Thanksgiving.  My back-packing pals and I decided we had so much fun hiking the Pig Portage in Killarney Park the year before, we were heading back to hike "The Crack".  The plan was to hike 5.3 km in the first day and stay at Sealy Lake.  The next day would be a 10.7 km hike through the Crack up to Heaven Lake.  We would return back to Sealy Lake the next day and hike out on the last day.

As with any well laid plan there was a glitch.  We made it to Sealy Lake and my friend started questioning if she could make it to the Heaven Lake the next day.  I knew that I had it in me to make it to the Heaven Lake, but questioned if I could make it back the next day.

Could we or couldn't we?   That was the question.....

We couldn't- was our answer.

The never ending climbing.....

We hiked back to the main campground the next day and  "Cracked" it day-hiking fashion using the Crack Access entry point (yes, that really is the name of this road ).  Entry via the access road reduces the overall km's one has to walk.  We were all about reducing walking distances on this trip.

The beginning of the access trail lulls you into a false sense of security, it is wide it is fairly even, it is a treat.  Then you pass a creek and you look up and dread fills your soul.  As far as you can see the trail keeps climbing and climbing.  When you emerge at the top you realize the climbing is not done. Nope.... you have at least another 20 minutes of up and down before you are even reach the "Mid"-Crack.  Rugged would be an understatement.... but the views and peacefulness at the top are well worth the pain of getting there.

View of OSA and Killarney Lake from the top of the Crack

We spent the night at the main campground- car camping, minus the luxuries of car camping.  Then we headed home.  Incidentally that was one of the coldest nights of my life.  I had on all my clothes and jackets, a toque, mitts and four Hot Paws activated in my sleeping bag and I still shivered all night.

Enter the Jar of Possibilities.  When I was coming up with my challenges for the Jar I knew that one of the things that I wanted to cross of my bucket list was to hike the Crack with my pack on.  To accomplish this, would prove that I am more resilient than I think I am.

Lake George and Freeland Lake

Challenge issued, challenged planned.  When I drew Challenge #3-  Plan and book a trip for the future-  the Crack was the trip that I planned.  I could not convince my back-packing crew to join me on this adventure, so solo trip it would be.   All I had to do was wait for August to arrive.

Now I am fresh back from my trip.  Battered,  bruised and walking with a slight limp, but I survived.  If I had started typing this post on the night that I came back it would have had a very different tone.  When I left Killarney I did not look back.  I was over the moon thrilled to be getting out of there and be on my way back to the land of the Timmie's Creamy Chocolate Chill.   When recounting my stories to my brother he said "And you do this for fun??????".  Trust me that same thought ran through my head a bazillion times during my hike on the shores of Lake Superior and again on the La Cloche trail.  The only thing that kept the Beast from appearing on this trip, was the knowledge that I was not a canoer.  I ran into a few Mr. Canoehead's on the trip and all I could think was.... you poor, poor sucker.  First you have to carry a canoe up and over this crap and then go back down and carry a pack over it again.

No

Thank

You

Any desire to canoe has been permanently eradicated from my mind.  Not gonna happen.  No sireee.

Trees-  Nature's Clotheslines

But it is now another day and I have experienced the transformative powers of a hot shower and a sleep in my comfy bed.   If someone asked me to hike Killarney today I would probably say yes.  In fact, I have started planning my next solo Killarney trip.

I could not have asked for better weather for my trip.  It was a perfect temperature for hiking and there was a breeze.  Most of the rain happened over night and didn't last long in the morning.  The route I was taking was the same route that we planned in the fall.  On the walk into Sealy Lake I thought "Why did we think this was so hard in the Fall???".

I had plenty of time to set-up camp, bear hang the food and pump water before retiring to an enjoyable evening of reading Harry Potter.   I also found an unlikely bonus of hiking alone.  You can strip down to your sports bra and tra-la-la around,  as there is no one else around.  Clothes dry so much faster when you get rid of the layers.

Sealy Lake-  my playground the first night

By 8:30 pm I started nodding off, only to be awaken by lots of splashing in the lake.  Was that a large hoofed animal that was coming onto the site?  I couldn't bring myself to open up the tent flap to find out.  Then there was what sound like foot fall on the other side of the tent..... Was someone there?  Crap why did I leave the knife in the pack.  In the twilight of night my fears were heightened.  Too heightened to sleep.  It is a good thing that I had the company of Mr. Potter to help pass the time.

I awoke at the first light of dawn and packed-up camp.  I was on the trail by 7:30 ready to attack The Crack.  I knew what the first 3.3 km had in store for me-  an easy trail trot followed by km after km of climbing up hills, up rocks, up more rocks and then finally the top.  At the crest I stopped to admire the view and to have a break from the pack.  The breeze was delightful.  All in all I felt victorious... I had conquered the Crack.  Now on to explore new territory.

Pre- Crack warm-up & up & up & up

What would the rest of the trail be like?

Hard!  Very, very hard.  There continues to be lots of downs followed by up, up, ups.

At one point the trail leads right up to a ledge, that from a distance, looks like it has a sheer drop on the other side.   There is a cairn at the edge indicating the trail continues on the other side.  I tentatively sidled up to the edge and peaked over.

Are you FREAKIN' KIDDING ME!!!!!!

I don't recall any notes on Jeff's Map or in the trail guide that indicated the need to include Bat Man's utility belt as part of your camping gear.  I would have paid good money for that belt or at least the grappling hook.  I will admit I was nervous.  It was a long bumpy way to the bottom.  I was half tempted to roll my pack down the hill so I wouldn't have to contend with its tendency to pull me off balance, but fear that I would break the stove or water filter stopped me from going through with that plan.

It was time to choose a path, say a prayer to the trail gods and start descending.   I was glad I was on my own, as I would have been embarrassed as all hell if anyone had witnessed my lumbering bear walk/Ninjaesque skulking down the narrow ledge to the next level.  This 4-point walking mania continued until I reached the bottom.

I know that I am prone to exaggeration, but this time I don't even think I could come close to embellishing this experience.  Here is my photo graphic evidence.  PS if you are hiking the La Cloche trail this section is directly before you get to the turn off to the Little Superior Lake campsite.  If you don't like heights you might want to rethink your hiking plans.  When I reached the bottom I shuddered, knowing that I would have to climb this the next day.

UGH!

The Top notice the cairn to the left

The middle

The last 15-16 feet-  there is more up there.
It was too steep to fit in the picture

Before I continue there is something that you must know.  My mother has the ability to place "curses" on her children.  The curse is usually disguised as some sage piece of advice, you don't heed it, what she says happens to you.  Don't believe me.... here is an example.  In Grade 3 I received a pair of jeans that had a shiny silver star on the back pocket for Christmas.  How I loved those jeans, they made me feel special.  So special I felt that covering the star somehow diminished the power of the jeans.  I was prepared to suffer, not to let that happen.  My plan-  I would not wear my ski pants at recess. Who cares if it was -35 degrees Celsius with a windchill.  I didn't!   The star must been seen.  Now my mother guessed my plan and said to me that morning- "You better wear your ski-pants at recess".  I looked her in the eye and said I would, all the while fully planning not to.  Well recess came and I boldly exited the school sans ski-pants.  Ohh the thrill of doing something that you're not supposed to.  I was giddy with the power...... and that is when it happened.  I tripped and fell.  As I stood up I looked down and there was a gaping hole in the knee of my jeans.  No more special pants and a lot of inventive story-telling to cover-up my walk on the wild side.

 Mother 1-                   Max- 0.

Will you be climbing on any rocks she asks?
Just a few.....

The night before I left for this trip my mother asked "Will you be doing much hiking over rocks?"  When I responded yes, she said "Well walk carefully so that you don't slip and fall."

Do you see where this is headed.....

Yep.

La Cloche Trail /Mother- 4-       Max-  sore..... I mean 0.

It was not like I was doing cart-wheels or daredevil balancing on one leg.  I tried to be very cognizant as to where I was placing my feet with every step.   But whether my legs were just too tired or I lost concentration for a brief second... it just seemed to happen. I fell and I fell lots.  As the falls continued I realized that downhills are not my friend.  I would far prefer, sucking wind, climbing a hill vs trying to go down them.

The first fall was on a short steep decent.  I had just lifted my left foot to take another step when my right slipped out from under me.  I saw the jagged edge of the tree trunk heading for my torso and I instinctively rolled my body to the right, landing on my back, wedged between the tree truck and the rock.  I felt a momentary pain in my hip and realized I must of hit it on something on my way down.  The pain was quickly replaced by the laughter the welled up in me.  Picture it.  I am lying there facing the blue sky, feet dangling not touching the ground with a 58 lbs pack strapped to my back, sandwiched between a rock and hard place.  I could not get the picture of a topsy turvy turtle out of my head, especially as I struggled to get back to an upright position.

I dusted myself off and continued on.  The next two falls resulted from my feet sliding out from under me and end with me on my ass... thank goodness for bubble butt padding.

The last fall of the day was the substantial one, it could have been a game changer.  I was half-way down a hill and my right foot started sliding while my left foot stayed planted.  The pack weight shifted and I went down at an odd angle.  I felt a pop as I heard a snap.  I couldn't feel my left foot.

Crap, Crap, Crappity,  Crap........ did I just break my fibula?

No.  I refused to accept that I had a broken  bone.  It was not happening.  I tried but could not move my left foot.  I tried again and saw some movement of my boot.  That was around the time the searing pain set in.  It burned...  it let me know that yes in deed,  I did have an ankle and that ankle was not happy with me.  I slowly stood up on my right leg and tested putting weight on the left foot.  It hurt, but the leg didn't crumple under me, so worse case scenario it was a sprain.  I was just thankful it wasn't a break.

See the next closest peak... I was there a few hours before

I ended up taking on some interesting roles on the trail.  The first role was messenger.  I was stopped by two dudes who asked me to deliver a message to their friend who was hiking down from Silver Lake.  They were supposed to meet him but were unable to make it to the lake, but wanted to let him know that they were okay.

See the yellow blaze... yellow blazes= home

The next role was benefactor.  It seems that Heaven Lake is aptly named because hikers who make it here are too exhausted to take another step.  I know when I rounded the corner and saw the yellow blaze I started weeping, at least that's what I would have done if I was not so dehydrated  (and to think I drank over 3 liters of water while on the trail).  

Later on that day when I went to hang the food pack I saw someone laying on their pack guzzling down water.  It was the other solo woman back-packer that I had met earlier in the day.  She had taken a wrong turn and walked 3.1 km in the wrong direction.  This meant she had 27.1 km to walk that day and from my site she still had 20 km to go.

She looked at me and said "I am just sooooo fuckin' tired.... can I camp here tonight!"  I agreed and then we were two.

About an hour later a group of 5 teens showed up.   I was in my tent reading Harry Potter.  I thought they were just replenishing their water but later on I found out that they too were to tired to walk to their stop which was 1.9 km further up the trail.  They asked if they could camp on the site-  I of course agreed.... they had about 30 minutes of daylight left and a storm was coming in fast.  They just got their tents up when the rain started pouring down.

And then we were seven.

Heaven Lake

I was hoping that sharing Heaven Lake would buy me some good karma for the walk over slippery rocks the next day.

As it turns out it was lucky that I agreed to let them stay on the site.  Without those tents I would not have been able to find mine.

Yes-  I lost my tent.

I had to pee in the middle of the night so I meandered over to a quiet locale to pee (you had to walk about .2 of a km to the privy on this site and that was not going to happen).  I was just finishing up when the batteries in my flashlight died.... too much reading by flashlight.

What the hell!

Okay don't panic, you can do this.  Sure it is pitch black and you can hardly see and you are having trouble putting weight on your foot but you can do this.  Slow and steady.  Use Lefty to feel the ground and direct you.

I could vaguely make out the ledge that dropped down to the campfire area... I quickly backed away from that.   I knew there as a rock section before my tent and then some grass followed by rock again.  I could feel the difference under my feet and saw the vague outline of the tent, I bent down to undo the fly and that is when a small voice said......"Is this your tent?".

I thought I should check first.   Nope not my tent.  It was one of the other hiker's tent.  I reoriented my body squaring off and then headed back across the rock toward where my tent should be.

I found it.... I found it....... 30 second dance party (arms only as my ankle and legs were hurting too much to participate).

I took this as a good omen

Everyone was up by 6:30 the next day.... I probably instigated that...oops it is hard to be quiet when you are stuffing things into a stuff sack.  I was packed and ready to head out by 7:15.  That is when the trail gods decided to send us all a sign that it was going to be a fantastic day on the trail...... a double rainbow.  It was bright and vivid and so close it felt like I could touch it.  Definitely a good sign.  I waved good-bye to the crew and set off to head down the Crack.

Upon my return trip I became a trail guide.  A large group of teens were headed out.  I met up with them will I was standing at the top of a slick rocky section, contemplating how I was going to get down it.  The teens came prancing up- dee do doolly dee dee dee and practically skipped down the slippery rocks.  Well at least the first two did, the third took an epic wipeout.  After that it seemed every second or third teen was down on the same section.  I will admit I was laughing in the inside.  I am not the only one who falls on downhills.

Well the last teen was the weakest link.  It did not take long for her to lag behind the group.  At one point she turned off the trail and started up the side of a hill.  I pointed out she was going the wrong way and directed her back to the trail.  This happened two more times.  One of her friends eventually came back to find her and took her pack.  I did not see them again.... the teenage herd was moving too fast for me.

I don't know when I got it in my mind that I wanted to hike out but once the seed was planted I could not stop thinking about it.  The plan had been to stay at Sealy again and hike out the last 5.3 km the next day.  I had visions of all the things that I could do if I hiked out-

• I could go buy apples. Yum- crispy crunchy apples.
• Mmmmm- Timmie's Creamy Chocolate Chill
• Burger's a Harvey's-  a post Killarney tradition
• Washing in a sink- finally getting rid of the multi-layers of salt, perspiration and grime.
• Clean clothes.
• My bed

All of it sounded delightful.  I made a deal with myself- if I made it to Sealy Lake by 2:00 pm I would hike all the way out making my grand total km for the day a whopping 16 k.  I reached Sealy Lake 2:02 pm.... close enough.  

The last 1.5 km were the hardest.  By that time my toes were blistered and I don't know what burned more- my feet, shoulders, neck or ankle.  I had "Just one more step, just one more step, just one more, one more, one more step" looping in my head.  I made it down the last hill and was euphoric.  I did it, I am steps away from the truck and freedom.  I made it out.  

The first thing I did was dump my boots and sit on the tail-gate letting the breeze whip at the soles of my stinky, stinky feet.  I feel sorry for anyone who was down wind, but I was not prepared to move at that moment.  

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Next stop-  Harvey's for a Bacon Cheese Angus burger, followed by Timmie's drive through for beverages.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!

Three hours later I was home and content.

A just cause picture

Maybe this might be a safer way to camp in the future.

Till next year Killarney-  I bid you ado!

And the Cat Came Back!

So as you know a week ago I had a plan.  It was not a plan I was in favour of, but a plan that I thought needed to happen.  I spent Jan 11, 2015 loving up Syd, telling her how much she meant to me, the impact she had on my life and frankly bawling my eyes out.  That night I made couch cushion bed on the floor of the kitchen and slept beside her.  What  pair we made- she was too weak to move and I was too uncomfortable to sleep.  I could have slept elsewhere but we had spent pretty much every night for the last 18 years together and I did not want her to be alone on her last night on earth.

At one point in time she commando crawled over to the cushion and snuggled with me, but my fits of sobbing and frequent nose blowing irritated her, so she moved back to her restful spot in front of the register.

Bill and Syd canoodling during healthy times

Around 3:30 am I looked over to see Bill curled up with Syd.  It brought a smile to my face and more
tears to my eyes.  I was so grateful that they had a chance to say good-bye.

As each hour passed I was more sure of my decision.  To keep her alive would only be for me, she was obviously in pain.  I awoke at 6:30 am to find Syd missing......

What the HELL!  Where could she have gone? An hour ago she could barely move.  Did she disintegrate or find a portal of some kind?  I searched high and low and finally found her in the basement.  Not only had she walked, she did stairs.

My resolution to follow through with the plan started to wane.  Was this the right decision?  I had two hours before I could phone the vet.  Two hours of waffling back and forth, making pro and con lists in my head-  "Do I or don't I?"

I was able to secure a 10:15 appointment.  My To Do List looked something like this:

• Phone crematorium.
• Go to vet.
• Get the deed done.
• Complete paper work.
• Go home and bawl.
• Pull self together.
• Go to work.

I managed to get the first two items completed.  That is when the vet said these words "Why would you put her down?  Her heart is good.  She is eating.  She is drinking and she is voiding. I can't see any reason to put her down now."  He also reported that he palpated a mass on her kidney or spleen but that could be something minor.  

Syd at the height of weakness

This was the reaction in my head-

"PARDON!!!!!!  This was not in the plan!  I agonized over the plan.  I tortured myself coming up with the plan.  The plan has been set in motion and now you are telling me that she is okay!  Inconceivable!"

The plan was then quickly modified to the following:

• Blood work
• Home with the cat.
• Shake head
• Wait.
• Wait some more.
• Shake my head some more.
• Call the vet.
• Confirmation that the main issue was low potassium.
• Return to vet for potassium supplements and new Senior food.
• Go to work.

Monty Python's "Bring Out Your Dead" was all I could think about as I waited to hear back from the vet..... "But I'm not dead yet!"  "Honestly I am feeling much better!!!".

Each day, post-vet, Syd has become a little stronger, a little brighter and a whole lot bossier.  The Vet Tech reported Siamese cats tend to be very resilient.  Syd is living proof!

Up and misbehavin' by the end of the week.