A Goose's Best Advocate

Happy Day!  Cago, celebrating a win last night at Harlem Meer.

Cago and the other surviving Canada geese of New York City finally have something to celebrate.

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One of only two politicians (the other has been Eric Adams) to courageously speak in defense of geese won city wide elective office last night.

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Congratulations to Letitia "Tish" James for her decisive and landmark (because she is first woman of color to hold city wide elective office), runoff win for Public Advocate. (And special thanks to any reading this blog who supported Ms. James.)

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Despite being outspent 3-1 by her opponent who also had the backing of the political elite and newspapers, James marched to victory with the backing of the people (and surely the geese if they could have voted)!

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Only 187,000 voters actually participated in the costly runoff election -- each vote costing the city $69.00 (13 million dollars in total.)

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The office itself only receives 2.3 million dollars in funding to work with.

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With little money or direct power, Letitia James will sadly not be in position to stop or even curtail goose massacres in NYC.

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But, the thing that makes Tish James so special and extraordinary, is that she took bold and decisive position on an issue that was (and still is) very controversial.  

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Tish James was defending geese and condemning their slaughter at a time most people, politicians and news media supported "cullings" based on the "Miracle on the Hudson" incident.   There was zero political advantage for James to speak at goose rallies and that she did so with such passion and conviction indicates someone very gutsy, unique and inspiring.

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Others have been swept up by politicians promising to end the carriage horse industry in NYC or create shelters in every borough (The latter especially won't happen due to city economics and owed pensions).  But, these are the animal "hot button" issues in New York City and that some politicians take advantage of that for votes, doesn't really say much.     

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Personally, I am still burned by the one time I called Bill de Blasio's Public Advocate's office only to be practically hung up on.  It was the very worst of the political calls or letters I made on behalf of the geese being so ruthlessly rounded up and slaughtered in NYC.  (When later questioned on the goose issue by animal advocates, de Blasio provided double talk, non-committal response.)

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But, such is unlikely to happen with Tish James.

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Though as Public Advocate, James will not have personal power to stop goose culls, she has voice -- a very powerful voice she has used much in the past to defend justice for geese and for humans.  (The official job of Public Advocate is to be political "watch dog" to the mayor and other city politicians.)

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But, we have to hope Tish James eventually becomes mayor to actually be optimistic that goose massacres will finally end in NYC..  The real power of the Public Advocate position is that it is springboard for eventual run for mayor as de Blasio obviously knew. 

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The difference is that James is a true advocate for justice for its own sake, rather than just political.

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As for Cago, still living life in New York as a widowed, loner goose, one has to be in awe of this animal's amazing resilience, courage and adaptability.

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After losing her mate and family over the summer, Cago has managed to "make lemonade out of lemons."   Though she still grieves her losses, this gutsy goose has incredibly carved out a sweet life for herself at Harlem Meer and made many duck and human friends in the process. 

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"As one door closes, another opens" as the saying goes.  Incredible how the animals seem to know this without experts telling them.

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One cannot help but speculate that the real reason Tish James so admired and connected with geese as a child was because, deep down, she and the geese had much in common.

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Both, the geese and James are models of resiliency, courage, integrity, independence, loyalty, persistence and compassion.

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And last night one special goose at Harlem Meer was celebrating finally getting voice in city wide elective office in the form of one special human who has never hesitated to be a goose's best advocate.  -- PCA

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Letitia James a Ray of Hope in Otherwise Political Chaos

Can the maligned geese of NYC finally get a true advocate into significant  elective office?

If the clowns in Washington had to shut the government down (due to inability and unwillingness to maturely discuss, debate and compromise) why couldn't they do it in June or July when USDA WS was rampaging around the country, killing geese?

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The state of politics in the US is in such shameful disarray as to embarrass the average citizen and render one cynical about voting at all.

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Yet, there is an important runoff race today for Public Advocate in New York City for which 13 million tax dollars are being spent.

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Letitia James won the primary vote by 3 percentage points last month, but did not reach the 40% of the vote necessary to avoid a runoff. 

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Had Daniel Squadron (her runner-up opponent) cared about saving taxpayer money, he might have conceded for the benefit of New Yorkers, but instead he chose to embark on a nasty campaign against James complete with robo calls, cheap innuendos and wild exaggerations.

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Squadron has political money behind him, as well as newspaper endorsements and even endorsements from some "animal advocacy groups" who apparently go with the money flow and pie in the sky promises.

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One email received today from "NYClass" stated that Squadron "has pledged to make sure that every borough will have an animal shelter."

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Forget the fact that as Public Advocate, neither Squadron nor James would have the power to create shelters in every borough and apparently forget the fact that in recent years, hospitals, schools and libraries have closed in NYC for lack of funds.

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But, we are to think that a Public Advocate will suddenly find the money to build animal shelters "in every borough?"

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Believe that one and Santa Claus will be arriving at your home on Dec 25th with a Mercedes.

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Squadron is a politician who will apparently promise anything for a vote -- the seeming definition of sleaze and an excellent example of what Washington is already full of.

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Letitia James, on the other hand, has been a tireless, devoted and passionate defender of the downtrodden in NYC, as well as women AND the maligned geese who have been relentlessly persecuted and slaughtered by the powers that be in NYC in cahoots with USDA WS.

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(Please go to (61) Call of the Canada Geese  or (27) GooseWatch NYC for more information on this.)  

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Goosewatch, NYC and I urgently urge everyone in NYC who cares deeply about eventual justice for geese and humans alike, to get to the polls today and pull the lever for Letitia James.

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This is a very tight race with a low voter turnout.  Every vote will count and count large.

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We need to be able to maintain hope that it is still possible to vote people of values, integrity, conviction and compassion to elective office and that they can actually win.  

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Letitia James represents that hope.

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As James stood behind the geese and us, we now need to stand behind her in loyalty and solidarity. -- PCA

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The Guns of Autumn (The "Sport" of Hunting Geese and Elephants)

Geese at Central Park Boat Lake this past summer. Far more beautiful when alive and free than bloodied and battered at the end of some grinning fool's arm.

Ah, autumn.  

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The season of beauty, agreeable weather, still bountiful food supplies for wildlife and changing colors. 

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One might also say autumn is a season of relative peace for wildlife in urban parks -- though these days one would be compelled to put an asterisk aside such statement if talking about Canada geese. 

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Current news articles about geese are mostly comprised of harassment measures used against them in various urban locations throughout the country.  (Example: http://fox4kc.com/2013/09/25/geese-police-win-back-metro-fountains-from-pooping-birds/)

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It seems the idea is to "move along" or push geese into more rural areas where they promptly become targets for hunters.

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Speaking of which:

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http://blog.syracuse.com/outdoors/2013/09/tully_boy_12_gets_his_first_ca.html

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The photo above of a grinning 12-year-old boy holding up two bloody geese he shot to death appeared as an "Outdoors" blog post from a Syracuse newspaper.

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Part of the caption read, "The look on his face tells it all."

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I found both, the photo and caption disturbing and promptly dashed off an email to the blog writer.

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Surprisingly, this has resulted in several email exchanges between myself and the column writer. 

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Unsurprisingly, there is little agreement between us on the subject of hunting, though emails have been cordial and overall respectful.

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One can understand the requirement of a newspaper column writer to appeal to the general readership.  Obviously, the "general readership" in Syracuse, NY would presumably be different from the generally more "liberal" audience of New York City.

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But, the subject or question of cruelty to animals is not really a "liberal" or "conservative" issue.

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It is more a matter of core values, reason and justice.

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The motivation for responding so passionately to the photo of the young boy holding up dead geese while grinning for the camera is because it appeared to me to be a type of brainwashing of children.

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The fact is, most children are not born with a desire to kill animals, much less delight in such destruction.

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On the contrary, children witnessed over the years (including, my own) seem to be born with a natural empathy and joy for animals that is unfortunately too often blunted and discouraged by society at large and by individual parenting.

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But, empathy is an important quality to nurture and encourage in our young. 

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A society lacking in this core value can find itself eventual victim of seemingly random, unexplainable and ceaseless violence and injustice.

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In saying these things, one should not suggest or imply that all hunters are mindless, sadistic brutes who get their rocks off by blowing away animals (though this is surely true of some).

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Rather, I personally believe that most hunters were (like the young boy pictured), indoctrinated from the time they were very young to believe that it is "sissy" to empathize with other life forms and that animals are on the planet solely for our "use," "pleasure" or domination.

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This philosophy appears flawed because if extended outward to other humans, it results in all manner of injustice, self-entitlement, narcissism and "might makes right" attitudes.

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(It should be noted on the latter point, that according to the FBI,  childhood cruelty to animals is one of the three ""red flags" for indication of later violence or maltreatment towards humans.)

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I am very grateful that when a young girl and taken on a fishing trip by my uncle and grandmother, I was not admonished or made fun of when reacting with distress to the gasping by the fish when caught and thrashing around on the deck.

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My uncle and grandmother accepted my dislike for the activity and I still loved and respected them despite our differences on the subject.   We just didn't talk about fishing again.

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To this day, I do not like fishing, but accept that it is a favored activity among many otherwise, good and decent people.  People who have been taught from a very young age that fishing and hunting, rather than being cruel to animals, are "tradition" and "sport."

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But, slapping a rationalization label on something doesn't essentially change what it really is.

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Bull fighting is considered "tradition" or even "art" in Spain and Mexico.  But most people in this country (and many now in Spain and Mexico) simply view it (rightly) as cruelty and brutality towards animals. The bull never really has a chance as all odds are stacked against him from the get-go.

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By the same token, the uses of high powered rifles, blinds, decoys, "calls," and other hunting paraphernalia stacks odds in favor of hunters over the animals who are not willing participants in the so-called, "sport."

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True "sport" (as usually defined and perceived) involves the willing participation of two similarly skilled and trained competitors or teams.   How exactly does this apply to hunting -- especially "canned hunting" in which semi-tame animals have little, if any chance of escape?  (Example, "pigeon shoots" in Pennsylvania).

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I have a male friend who, though he does not hunt himself, has friends who do.

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I have heard all the arguments for hunting over the years so that nothing is "new" or surprising anymore.

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"The animals will starve to death is we don't shoot them."   "We eat what we kill."   "Hunting and fishing are means of parental/child bonding and/or bonding with buddies."

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I realize this is a core value difference and not one likely to result in "win" on either side anytime soon through intimidation, name-calling or revolution.

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One has to hope that education, enlightenment, the nurturing of natural childhood empathy and greater appreciation of nature and the world's wildlife are the keys to eventual change.

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One can, for example, be encouraged by the outrage expressed by thousands of people to the inexcusable airing on NBC Sports channel, ("Under Wild Skies") of an African elephant being shot in the face multiple times by so-called, "Big Game" hunters.

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http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2431246/NBC-Sports-sparks-outrage-airing-NRA-sponsored-host-kills-elephant-shooting-face.html

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The elephant obviously died in agony and there was no excuse for this horrific act of human cruelty, violence and domination.

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But,  was there really appreciable difference between the hunters gloating over the death of the elephant and the child gloating over his killing of two geese?

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True, one species of animal is currently endangered and the other is not.  But, the actions are exactly the same.

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Hunting is in fact, one of the primary causes for many species of otherwise "plentiful" animals eventually going extinct.

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One has to conclude that the two bloody geese in the photo did not die any more willingly or "humanely" than the elephant in the NBC video.  Nor were the goose deaths any more justified than that of the elephant. 

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None of the animals posed any threat to their killers. 

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They were all killed simply for the "pleasure" of it.

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(On this note, it is no small irony that killers of the elephant also boast of later plan to "shoot some birds.")

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That is in fact, what needs to be challenged and ultimately changed if we are to be a society that truly and actually evolves. 

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The killing of animals for the so-called "pleasure" of it or simply because we can (i.e. domination and attitudes of "might makes right" and self-entitlement).

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Still, we don't see self-proclaimed,  "responsible" hunters speaking out against illegal poachers, the "big gamers" shooting African elephants or the wahoos blowing away defenseless pigeons in PA.

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One has to therefore seriously question if there is really such thing as "responsible hunters?"

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Whether the grins and celebrations are for blowing geese out of the sky or smashing up an elephant's face, the action and sadistic characterization (i.e. taking pleasure in another's pain and/or death) is the same.

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Autumn, though it may be arguably the most beautiful season of the entire year, is, unfortunately also, the season of the guns. 

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Millions of animals the world over, now face their peril.  -- PCA

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Surviving Mean Seasons in Public Park, Domestic Ducks Prove their Resilience

Cochise and chums celebrate their "making it through" last night at Harlem Meer, as summer finally folds into fall.

It was last November when I first saw them.

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Since it was the season of bird migrations, I at first thought the four large and strange looking ducks on the water at Harlem Meer were temporary migratory visitors.

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But, they looked a bit straggly for migratory birds. Dirty, thin and one had what appeared to be, a twisted wing sticking up from the top of her back.

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As the days wore on, it was apparent the "migratory visitors" weren't going anywhere.

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Though at first they appeared very scared and practically "frozen" to the north side of the lake, as the days turned into weeks, the two black and two blonde ducks began to gain confidence and acclimate themselves to their new environment.

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But it was when observing them freely walking up to people and begging for handouts, that it became apparent that these were not wild "migratory" birds at all, but rather domestic (flightless) ducks apparently abandoned to Harlem Meer.  

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It was around that time I took particular interest in the "barnyard" ducks that I would later name, "Cochise" (because of the wing feathers sticking up in the air), Carol, Connie and Carol.  I assumed the two black ducks were male and the two blondes, female, but later learned (upon observance of behavior) that Cochise is actually a female and one of the blonde ducks, a male.

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Oh well.  What's in a name anyway?

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Concerned for the fact the domestics ducks were incapable of flight and therefore unable to forage as wild ducks can, I took to bringing food supplements each night in the way of cracked corn and sunflower seeds for them. 

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We were after all, fast approaching winter when natural food supplies dwindle and the birds need extra fat reserves to get them through the harsh and bitter weather.

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It didn't take long for the four domestics to take on a robust appearance far superior to the way they first looked when dumped at the Meer.

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Despite the many strikes against them, they appeared to be thriving.

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As seeming testimony to the smarts and adaptability of animals, the four domestic ducks initially bred for "meat" nevertheless managed to survive Hurricane Sandy, as well as numerous storms even before winter officially set in.

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One could not help but be impressed by their abilities to quickly learn on the fly, organize and stay together through the storms and somehow survive whatever nature had to dish out.

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By the early part of January temperatures plunged to below freezing and virtually all of the lake began to freeze over to solid ice.

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It was around that time that all but one mallard left for the still open waters of the Reservoir further south to Harlem Meer.

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Unfortunately, Cochise, Conner, Connie and Carol didn't have the option of taking flight from a frozen lake to seek out open water.

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But, they were fortunate to have the leadership of "Wiggly," one of the other two domestic ducks at Harlem Meer.

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Wiggly, her mallard boyfriend and Honker (the other domestic duck),  showed Cochise and company exactly what they had to do in order to maintain a tiny pool of open water in an otherwise frozen lake.

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All seven ducks literally and vigorously swam 24/7 to prevent a bath tub sized of pool of water from becoming solid ice.

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So intent upon her duties to constantly swim without respite, Wiggly never came out of the water even to temporarily feed.

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At the time, there was also one swan at Harlem Meer.

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But, Hector was not one for any kind of "work."

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As long as Hector had human admirers coming by to feed him each day, he was content to let the ducks do all the hard labor.   If things got too rough, Hector always had the option to leave.

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Fortunately, the weather eventually warmed a bit, the ducks (working together) succeeded in creating a larger pool of open water and some of the mallards returned.  

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But, in February a severe snow storm hit NYC, the Meer froze over again and the domestic ducks were once again challenged.

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But, this time, before the mallards again checked out, a large gaggle of geese suddenly arrived to save the day!

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Between all the mallards and geese on the lake to work the water, the domestic ducks had it relatively easy compared to the earlier freeze in January when they just had themselves to rely on.  

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Eventually, the bitter winds and cold of winter relented to finally give way to the arriving spring.

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But, this was when I began to seriously worry.

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As, in the past, it was always the spring and summer (rather than winter) that losses of known and loved ducks or geese would occur.

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These losses would occur mostly due to the heavier human activities occurring in the park during the warm seasons. The dangers of carelessly discarded fishing lines (or other tackle), illegal use of lead and off-leash predatory dogs present special hazards to waterfowl in public parks.

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Sure enough, we would not get through this spring without the losses of both, Wiggly and Honker, presumably to dog attacks.

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In May,  a goose was spotted at Harlem Meer with fishing tackle ensnared around her bill.  Although attempt was made to rescue the goose, it failed and she vanished from the Meer a short time later.

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By early summer, there was the additional loss of one of the two domestic ducks at the Boat lake -- also to a probable dog attack.  To this day, her mate survives as a "low status" and now solitary duck.

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And of course, there was the death of Papa goose at the Boat Lake -- this time to a known dog attack and subsequent death to infection from a dog bite.

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I thus predicted that it was extremely unlikely that all four of the domestics ducks at Harlem Meer would ultimately survive the "mean seasons" of spring and summer.

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But, last night I was proved wrong.

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Summer officially ended yesterday and fall has begun.

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Last night, Cochise, Carol, Connie and Conner were all together in their usual places and all were fine.

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They not only survived the "mean seasons," but actually thrived through them.

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How exactly did they do it?

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1-- By constantly staying together through thick and thin and relying upon each other.

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2 -- Learning, adapting, and following the leadership of the more experienced domestic ducks at the Meer, Wiggly and Honker.

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3 -- Letting go of some of their dependence and over-trust upon humans and developing a sense of independence.

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Finally (but no less important), development of awareness and coping strategies for all the challenges and dangers that life in a public park and through the changing seasons  present.

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And while there are no guarantees for the upcoming fall and winter (which, according to the Farmer's Almanac, is supposed to be severe in NYC), I am impressed and proud that Cochise, Conner, Carol and Connie have indeed made it through the "mean seasons."

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To put it mildly and simply, they did good.  -- PCA 

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Life as a Goose a Distant Memory for Cago?

Cago, striking a pose in her new life as seeming supermodel.

Conner, Carol, Connie and Cochise patrolling the duck weed, covered water at Harlem Meer.

The mallards are here!  -- Lots of 'em.

Conner attempting to chase off mallard.

Cago accepting a lettuce hand-out from kind passer-by.

If all the recent photos of Cago, (the lone Canada goose at Harlem Meer in Central Park) look the same, there is reason for that.

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Every time I arrive to the Meer, Cago walks up to me gregariously and literally stares into my eyes in warm greeting.

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Or, perhaps Cago simply enjoys posing for photos and if human, would have been a perfect supermodel.

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Certainly Cago is far easier to photograph than most animas -- including my own dogs. (That is especially true of Tina, my senior Corgi mix, who I have never been able to get look directly into a camera.)

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Still, it seems to be Cago's way to be accommodating and cooperative -- not just with me, but with most people, any visiting geese and what has become over the past few weeks, a huge influx of mallards to Harlem Meer.

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It seems there is some kind of magical Santa Claus who regularly drops by Harlem Meer and dumps duck weed all over the lake.

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A couple of days ago it appeared that most the mallards had done a good job in eating most of the duck weed as it was slowly disappearing.

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But, then yesterday, at least half the lake was covered in the green foilage and the mallards were once again, having an easy feast.

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Santa must have stopped by again!

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But, if Cago is laid back and easy going with all the extra mallard activity, the four domestic ducks are not!

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These days, when seeing Cochise, Carol, Connie and Carol, all four ducks (especially the boys) are mostly busy chasing and attempting to give "bum's rush" to the mallards.

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"Damn, where are all these pesky mallards coming from?" one can almost hear them angrily squawking.

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Though they may appreciate having some mallards around in the winter to help maintain open water, there is little question that the flightless, domestic ducks simply regard the mallards now as "nuisance" invaders of their space (and duck weed)!

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But, if Cochise and company are seeking any "help" from Cago to chase off mallards,  that is simply not happening.  Cago is cool with just about everything at Harlem Meer -- including nearly 200 "invading" mallards.

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(On this note, there is an interesting article today about Canada geese accepting stray white geese into their flock.  Fact is, Canada geese are usually accommodating and accepting of most waterfowl:  http://www.wnypapers.com/news/article/current/2013/09/21/112690/white-geese-mingling-with-canadians)

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What is odd in all this is that one would expect more Canada geese to fly into the Meer with the bountiful supply of duck weed on the water.

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But, that has not been happening.

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This past week, nine geese temporarily flew into the Meer and relaxed on the water for one evening.  

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But the next day they were gone.

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USDA WS, Bloomberg, Gillibrand and the rest of the "powers that be" in NYC have done a fantastic, bang up job in nearly wiping out the resident Canada goose population in the city.

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Cago appears to be a lonely and still surviving symbol of that barbaric program of wildlife destruction.

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One shudders to think what would happen should some plane collide with a flock of flying mallards some day.  

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But, for the moment, the mallards of New York City are still safe from all out massacre and are instead, taking full advantage of "fall fests" of duck weed to fatten up for a long, cold winter ahead. 

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And even the four ticked off domestics at Harlem Meer can't fend them off as they are heavily outnumbered by the mallards.  The domestics should take a page from Cago and just hang back, relax and conserve energy and pose for photos.

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As for Cago, it appears her only hope for eventual life as a goose again might be when migratory geese arrive and perhaps some young, unattached gander takes a shine to her.

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But, for now, Cago seems content to just hang with the ducks and pose for humans with electronic devices.

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"Life as a goose" seems to becoming a distant, nostalgic memory for Cago -- perhaps never to be known or experienced again.  -- PCA

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Fading Summer Days and a Goose Whose Name is Loyalty

Conner, Connie, Carol and Cochise, the four domestic ducks at Harlem Meer in Central Park, swimming in the fading summer sun.

Cago, sharing her real name.

First Breaths of Autumn 

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Earlier this spring (following the deaths of two of the domestic ducks at Harlem Meer [Wiggly and Honker] due to suspected dog attacks),  I predicted that the remaining four domestic ducks would not all survive the spring and summer.

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But, with less than a week now remaining of summer, that prediction (thankfully and so far) appears that it might be wrong.

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Remaining tight-knit, cautious and constantly aware, it appears Cochise, Carol, Connie and Conner not only managed to keep themselves safe during the heaviest used times of Central Park, but they also thrived.

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These fading days of summer, with weather starting to cool and human activities somewhat lessoning,  the four flightless ducks are finally starting to venture around the Meer and explore new territories. 

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Perhaps being somewhat annoyed with the flurry of mallards who have recently descended to the eastern part of the Meer (due mostly to abundant duck weed presently there) the domestic ducks have staked out new territory to the western part of the lake and even on the tiny "island" situated in the middle of the water. (I had never seen them go into these areas before.)

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Those mallards who wander into the area are quickly given the bum's rush by Conner and Carol -- the two males of the four domestics. 

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Asserting their hierarchy and top place at the Meer, it's obvious the domestics ducks are feeling confident these days and though forever flightless, are nevertheless, laying down the gauntlet for who will be in charge during the upcoming fall and winter. -- THEM!

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And though summer still has another few days to go, I will be only too happy to again have to admit I was wrong about something.

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Still, I am reminded that it was exactly one year ago, that "Brad," the domestic, Rouen duck who had ruled the Meer for some years, suddenly became ill and took to the middle of the lake, oblivious to all around him.

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Brad died on the last day of summer.

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Though I believe all four domestic ducks are going to make it through the "mean seasons" with (non) flying colors, there is a part of me that is still just a wee bit reserved and uneasy.  

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Never count your duckies 'till they take their first breaths of Autumn.

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Cago:  Her Name is Loyalty.

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Yesterday, when visiting Harlem Mere, Cago was leisurely swimming in the middle of the lake by herself. She appeared to be enjoying the fading rays of the setting sun and perhaps was indulging for a moment, in pleasant memory of days past.  

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Later, when recognizing me near the Dana Center, Cago returned to the embankment and warmly greeted me as she usually does.  A little girl standing beside me with her mom, delighted in how "friendly the duck is."

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"Oh, but she is not a duck!" I replied warmly. "She is a goose and her name is Cago!"

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"How do you know that?" the little girl asked inquisitively.

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"She told me her name and now you too, know the secret!"

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The little girl laughed and smiled, seemingly pleased to know something no one else did.

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"Cago! Cago!   I like Cago!"

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It was a nice moment and one that Cago too, seemed to enjoy.

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A friend has suggested that Cago has not left Harlem Meer with other geese because she is still loyal to and grieving the loss of her mate.

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That is probably true because Cago does appear to be a mature goose and it is likely she did have a mate.

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Thus, though able and willing to befriend new geese, bond and actual attachment is unlikely to occur soon -- if ever for Cago.

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Geese apparently do not replace lost mates easily or perhaps even ever.

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I may have told the little girl, Cago's assigned name, but in reality, her name appears to be loyalty.  -- PCA

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Tina -- Old Dog and Drama Queen Extraordinaire

Tina -- old dog, but forever the drama queen.

Yesterday was truly harrowing.

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I imagined all kinds of horrors before bringing my older-than-old dog, Tina to the vet.

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(I say, "older than old" because it is not certain exactly how old Tina is. When rescued from Animal Care and Control in 1997 [where she was due to be put down due to Kennel Cough], the shelter indicated Tina to be "5 years-old" -- which would make her 21-years-old now. But, I think Tina was only around 2 at the time, which would make her 18-years-old now. In any event, she's "old.") 

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A few days earlier, Tina had taken a tumble on a few stairs in my building and acted as though the short fall had broken every bone in her body.  Each step was torment!  A walk up the block might as well have been to ends of the earth!

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And so, it was inevitable that I would need to take Tina to my vet as attempts to carry her up or down the stairs were met with piercing shrieks of the most diabolical tortures.

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Surely, something was seriously wrong with Tina!   Surely, my baby,  "Teena Weena" was dying!

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Tina has a couple of small lumps on her.  One on the side of her foot and another on her back. Surely, they are cancer! I thought.  What kind of mommy was I not to address these cancers sooner?

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Guilt, fear and dread totally engulfed yesterday as I contemplated possible demise of my beloved, indestructible and immortal Tina.

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The appointment at the vet was for 7:15 at night.  But, that meant an entire day of self-recriminations, mulling over possible scenarios and dread of decision.

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When Tina finally appeared to be resting, I went online to try and lose myself in the news of the day and blog writing.

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But, the haunting thoughts just kept puncturing and intruding.

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You can't let her suffer the torments of the damned.  You know how Tina panics at the mere thought of a bath!   Remember the time you tried to put a Santa hat on her and Tina nearly ran burst through the wall in sheer terror?

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But, surely, I could not live without Tina!  She and Puppy Boy (my 16-year-old Pomeranian) have been my left and right arms over recent years. Indeed, I practically trip over both dogs anytime getting up from a chair or out of bed.

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All manners of diversion finally failed, the clock neared the dreaded hour and I had to prepare.

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But, I didn't think Tina would be able to walk the five blocks to my vet.   I fancied taking a cab. 

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But, what if no cab stops for me and my disabled 24-pound dog?

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By the time, we finally left the building, it is not clear who was the greater "basket case."  My dog, Tina or me.

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Surprisingly though, I did not have to do battle with NYC taxi cabs.

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Tina "bravely" walked the five blocks to the vet with me.   It was slow going, but going, nonetheless.

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Of course, one is rarely seen immediately when bringing a cat or dog to the vet.

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Tina and I took our place in a crowded waiting room and it was about that time, I began to experience a crushing migraine.

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It felt like someone taking an ax to the right side of my head.

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Tina, meanwhile, acted as though nothing was wrong and curiously checked out other dogs.  Tina generally is OK in waiting rooms -- that is, until she actually gets to the vet.

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I sat stone-faced, with hand massaging the right side of my temple and unable to engage with anyone. All manner of horrifying scenarios still whirling inside my head -- along with the ax -- I wanted to be anyplace else on earth.

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A woman sitting beside me with two constantly yapping and barking West Highland Terriers didn't help matters. What else can go wrong? I wondered.  Meanwhile, Tina was fine with it all.  It was I who was truly suffering and needed some kind of emergency care.

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Finally, after what seemed an eternity, we were called.

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Dr. G. smiled and warmly greeted when Tina and I entered the small examination room. 

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But, apparently remembering Tina from past visits, he called in two young vet assistants.

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After explaining why we were there, Dr. G quipped, "OK, let's get Tina on the table and see what's going on with her."

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It is certain the ear-splitting shrieks from Tina were probably heard in every corner of the globe. And yes, it did require the two vet techs and myself to finally wrestle Tina on the table.

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"She's got a lot of fight for an old dog!" Dr. G remarked and then advised the vet techs to get a muzzle on Tina.  

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That was another struggle that took nearly five minutes.  Tina's shrieks of "MURDER --HELP!!" only subsiding when the muzzle was finally secured.

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One imagines the woman with the two yapping Westies in the waiting room even having to put hands over her ears.

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Though unable to scream and protest anymore through the muzzle, Tina continued to squirm, wiggle and "fight" throughout the entire exam while the vet techs and I valiantly used all our strength to hold her down.

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Dr, G. carefully examined, mouth, ears, temperature, heart and entire body for any signs of serious illness or growths.   

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I pointed out the two small growths on Tina's leg and back, convinced they were cancer.

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"How long has she had them?" Dr. G asked.  "Have they grown or changed?"

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"A long time and no to the second question," I answered.

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"They are probably benign cysts," Dr. G replied.  "We could biopsy, but that would mean putting a needle in her and pulling out cells."

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Considering that Tina was near cardiac arrest on the examination table from sheer obstinacies and protest, both my vet and I nixed that idea.   Just the thought of Tina and needles was completely unfathomable and likely to result in death due to panic attack.

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Finally, the examination completed and all of us totally worn out, Dr. G was unable to find anything seriously wrong with Tina though he noted a "mild, high pitched heart murmur."

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Seems none of us were surprised by that.

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He sent us home with a bottle of "Metacam," a non-steroid, anti-inflammatory drug that is supposed to be helpful to older dogs experiencing the pains of orthro-arthritis, even though Tina wasn't presenting with actual arthritis disease.  

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"This should help Tina, but if it doesn't or she suffers any side effects, stop immediately and bring her back," Dr. G advised -- though the "bring her back" sounded a bit forced and reluctant.

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Somehow, when Tina and I finally left the exam room, I felt like dancing!

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The headache completely gone, I was on top of the world and even joked with the people in the waiting room -- including the woman with the two, yappy Westies!

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"I hope Dr. G still has some energy to deal with your dogs.  He's kind of been put through the wringer with Tina."

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True to Dr. G's prediction, Tina did indeed, "sleep very well" last night.  (It had after all, been a harrowing and horribly traumatic day for her and myself.)

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But, I was so relieved and so happy to just have her there alongside her and my beloved Puppy Boy -- as always.

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Sure, Tina, may be obstinate, uncooperative and the ultimate "drama queen" (unfortunately, not too unlike her caregiver).   But, she is mine, I love her and Tina will live forever!

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And Tina never has to worry about wearing a Santa hat again! (Not that she did, the first time.)  -- PCA

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