The Circle of Life Blows

I never saw “The Lion King, ” but I’m all-too familiar with  its ‘circle of life’ theme.  It’s playing out in front of me, and only parts of it are any fun. Like Faith.

This spring my retired show horse Lucy gave birth to her eagerly anticipated and long awaited,(seriously – a horse’s gestation period is 11 months), foal.  From the moment I met her, a half-hour after her birth, I was smitten with Faith.

What’s not to love? From the tips of her four tiny hooves to the tops of her fluffy ears , so far she’s perfect.  Of course she is only four and a half months old.

It’s all been so easy!  Getting Lucy pregnant was a snap, and she was in labor for less than 30 minutes. Even the delivery was simple. Apparently this is truly beginner’s luck.

Immediately after her arrival, Lucy stared at Faith like she was an alien from another planet.  It also irritated Lucy that it took Faith few hours to figure out which end was the milk bar.  But after a few initial squeals of rage, Lucy took to motherhood.

Initially Lucy was a horrible helicopter mom and would only let a chosen few of us near Faith.  But after a more experienced mare came into the pasture with her foal, Lucy chilled out.

By now, almost five months in, Lucy is kind of over the whole thing.  Not me. Faith is about the most fun I’ve ever had.  

The foals are like big nosey puppies. Not only are they adorable but if something is within their reach they wedge their noses inside.  If they aren’t eating or passed out on the ground like dead things, they are busy chasing each other around the field.

Faith already appears to be a nice mover, and she and her playmate jump over all the logs in the field in surprisingly good form.  Maybe there is something to all this breeding stuff after all. Which would be nice since we picked her daddy for his ability.

Murray, my beloved Great Dane is closing in on far end of the circle of life. He’s my heart dog and we’ve been together, since he was just six weeks old.  Now at more than 11, Mur is considered ancient for a dog his size. He is winding down, and damn, I’m having trouble with it.

Like a lot of the elderly, Murray is set in his ways. He has rules and he’s serious about them.

Ever since he was young, Mur has been very particular about his toys.  The only stuffed animals he plays with are what I call his ‘Jew Bears:’ teddies outfitted with Yarmulkes and a Star of David on their chests. Really.  He has bunches of other stuffed toys but carries only his Jew Bear (or its exact replacement; I buy them in bulk during Hanukah) around with him where ever he goes. 

He also felt that way about a tennis ball -sized rubber toy with pointy tips all over. It was his favorite and just the right size to get jammed in a Great Dane’s throat.  Which it did. He started gasping and was turning blue as we pulled into the vet’s office. I’m not sure how he did it, but Dr. Steve somehow performed the Heimlich maneuver on him and the ball popped out.

That wasn’t Murray’s only dabble with the Grim Reaper.  He also developed bloat, an acute condition where the dog’s stomach torques and flips. It’s deadly if not treated almost immediately.

Luckily I was home and lived close to an emergency vet, because it happened as all expensive emergencies do—after hours on Saturday night.  Three weeks and one very expensive operation and Murray was back to running agility.

That’s right. Agility. Murray was a star in the agility ring. All 140 pounds of him. I started running agility with him because I wanted to sharpen his obedience behaviors and was sick of regular classes. Much to everyone’s surprise he loved it.

Great Danes are unusual in agility, and lots of people would make snarky comments when we entered the ring. They weren’t laughing as we left..

He’s always been a light eater and skips eating for a day or so, but now it happens more often. Twice a day I hand feed him pain pills in a spoonful of peanut butter. His hips are shot and some mornings he can’t climb the two steps to my front door. More and more his back legs slip and splay and I have to lift him up.

Murray isn’t perfect; he doesn’t like strange dogs and most men. He snorts, farts and kicks in his sleep  But none of that matters. He’s been my best friend and companion for over a decade and I’m honestly not sure how I’m going to cope without him.

I guess I’m going to find out soon.