Thanks Dad :)

Today was an interesting day. One of those where you just kinda sit at the end of the day, stare at your carpet and then smile. As a kid growing up, my dad used to frequently remind me that there was always someone worse off than me and always someone better off than me. He'd remind my brother there was always someone meaner or always someone nicer. (this reminder usually came after I was drug across the carpet in a sibling war and, covered in rug burn ran to dad crying) It often times kept my ego in check, but also gave me self esteem. From time to time, I still hear his words echo in my ears. I realized today that perhaps what dad really meant was that I was just a normal person. I wasn't too mean or a nice doormat, I wasn't too rich or too poor. I wasn't superwoman, but I wasn't an evil villain either. I was in the middle, a normal citizen if you will. It's kinda nice in the middle, it's comfortable. It's just enough of both ends. It's a good place, not amazing wonderful and not wrenching horrible either. It's joyous, simple, and sweet.

My mom called today. It was 7am. Once again one of her sweet little Chihuahua's was in labor. I've assisted her several times before with doggie labor and delivery. I've been in the trenches (sometimes literally). I've helped adjust and readjust stuck puppies. We've done breech, we've done normal. We've done fast, we've done slow. We've done puppy CPR. (more than a couple times) We've had neurotic mom dogs that almost eat their young when they get carried away licking and calm mellow dogs that seem to launch pups with no help like a pea shooter. Today was not a pea shooter kinda day. But, we didn't have any puppies for lunch either.

This particular mama dog averages 5-6 pounds, and I'll admit, I was a little nervous at seeing her for the first time in a month. She looked as though somehow she had managed to swallow a honeydew melon. No, not a cantaloupe, a honeydew. She was huge. Her first delivery of this litter was a boy, who came out breech and was a little bit of a struggle. About 35 minutes later she had a little girl. Head first, seemingly normal. We were so happy. Both of these tiny soft fluffy little beings could fit easily into one hand. They were warm and pink and snuggly and nursing away with grunts and squeaks. After about 40 minutes the mama dog began to strain again and we went back to work. I raised her tail to peek and see if another sac was showing yet(doggies are born bag and all) and I saw a foot. Only one foot. No sac. My heart sank. It must've been about 7 minutes of pushing and straining, repositioning and adjusting, a couple cuss words. This puppy, although slowly being pushed out was not moving. I was really having to get in the trenches and work it out from her hips from the inside. It was not easy. Mom was struggling with the mama dog who was frantic and yet exhausted. She was still giving it her all bless her heart. Finally the head came last which on a chihuahua is awful. They have "apple heads" and the back of the skull is the widest part, it's like a brick wall. I knew the pup was gone, but also knew there was one more coming and demise or not, we had to get this one out of the way. It had to come or we were gonna lose not only it but whatever was next and mama dog too.

It finally passed and we both made more than noble attempts to revive it, but it was just so long with no sac, no oxygen, nothing, and it was a good one third larger than the other two. The head was huge. For just a moment a lump caught in my throat and I shed a couple tears. I looked at mom after she was done giving her all and I said "I'm sorry." I was brought back to Olivers birth, that tiny blue, still, lifeless body. Except, Oliver wasn't totally lifeless, he was trying to grunt for air, and fighting for life. This pup just had no fight, and didn't ever have to. The placenta had torn off before hand, and the bag ruptured, by the time all that delivered it was all falling apart. It was a train wreck in a bottle. It had been a fast ending for the puppy. I just felt sorry for the mama who had to work so hard to get it out.

Within moments a fourth pup came along, head first, kicking on the way out and ready for milky instantly. We felt around and with relief realized that number four was the last one. She was done. In hindsight, there is nothing we could have done. Even if it all would have stayed in tact, that pup was just huge and so difficult, it easily could have mental or physical damage even if it had lived somehow. As we inspected the pup and wrapped it up there was actually an air of gratitude. By law of nature, you lose some. You just do. That fact is easier to accept when you're talking doggies for some reason. It seemed like it was the most painless route (although poor mama dog had to strain over that head a bit). It was black and white. There was no almost living puppy that needed help and the struggle to deal with the decision of what to do. It was just gone. We have three beautiful baby pups, one boy and two girls. When I left, 3ish hours after the last birth...all was cleaned up, mama dog was done licking. (no one had been eaten) They were snuggly and warm and so fluffy soft. Little tiny puppy ears the size of a pencil eraser. They have little fat rolls and all of them could latch on and suckle away. Mama doggie curled around them and put a top paw over the top in a protective way. It was beautiful in spite of the loss. And even though it is just a dog, you somehow get heartstrings attached. They were sweet.

I came home and stared at my carpet. I figured I should process a little bit now. I realized that in spite of Olivers troubles at birth, and the loss of a full on non medical home birth we had planned, it was still so beautiful. It could have been much better, but ya know, it could have been much worse too. Sometimes I don't feel like I handle it so well, even now I continue to grow and process...as time ticks on and I slowly catch up to reality, I realize sometimes with a slap in the face, how truly awful Oliver's story could have been. I realize that to some what we walk seems beyond understanding, but to some, it's cake. You know...dad was right. We really are right in the middle. Right where we are supposed to be. And, I'm pretty sure, it's all gonna be okay. Joyous, simple, sweet. With much gratitude for this spot, right here.