Tomorrow I'm Normal Again

Today is one of those days I dread. I dread it because tomorrow I have a test. I wish I could tell you I was a student, but I am not. This test is not about my intelligence or skills and abilities; this test is about my health. I dread today because for today and until tomorrow afternoon, I am once again, a patient.
Being sick is dreadful. When you are sick you are constantly tired. Even after eight hours of sleep you wake up tired, worse than that you have no energy. And because you have no energy you have no motivations to do even those things you normally love doing. Instead you are tired. And then because you lack the energy and are too tired to do even the things you love, you become depressed. You have no real reason to be depressed, you have a job, good friends and a family that loves you, yet still you are depressed. And then you find the lump.
Now you agonize for an inordinate amount of time over what to do about this lump. You dread going to the doctor because she will just tell you what you already suspect - that you are sick. But eventually you do go to the doctor and she tells you that she would like you to get a biopsy. Biopsy is one of those words no one likes to hear because it rarely comes with a positive outcome. You do not get a biopsy to find out you are pregnant. You get a biopsy to determine which kind of cancer you have. And then you get a diagnosis.
And that is what you will call it from then on. My diagnosis was Hodgkin's Lymphoma. But you will rarely hear me utter those words; instead I only refer to it as "my diagnosis." Cancer is a tough word to beat, but even a cold has a diagnosis, so a diagnosis is beatable. Once a diagnosis has been made treatment begins, and life is never the same.
Life becomes one prescription and one doctor appointment after another, making small talk with the technicians and jokes with the nursing staff. I learned the joys of a freshly microwaved blanket, and the woes of what not to eat before chemo. And then, just as abruptly as these people came in and invaded my life they were gone. When the treatment was successful I was told I only needed to come in once every six months. Once every six months they test me to see if I am still in remission.
Once every six months I walk in to smiles and congrats from the technicians. The nursing staff tells me how wonderful I look. And there are hopeful glances from the other patients. And once every six months I drink their strange concoctions and lie in their tube while they take my pictures. There is no lump anymore, no lymphoma.
Sonya was not with me when I was a patient. She was, and in fact still is, part of my recovery. And Sonya is the reason I know I am no longer sick. Every day when I get home I have the energy and the strength to go with her. And every day she motivates me to do what I love - to walk with her. She brings me a reassurance no test or doctor ever could.
My diagnosis changed my life. But then life is full of changes, weddings, births, deaths, graduations, promotions, moves. It is what those changes bring that matter. My diagnosis eventually brought me peace of mind. As a kid I always wondered what kind of person I would be when I grew up. I found out I am a survivor.
Tomorrow afternoon, after I've drunk the concoction and lie in the tube and have my pictures taken, and after the technician congratulates me on three and a half years of remission, and after the nursing staff tells me they will see me again in six months, then the dread will be gone. And tomorrow afternoon I will once again be a dog-owner, a daughter, a sister, a co-worker, and a friend. Because tomorrow afternoon I will no longer be a patient, I will just be my normal self.

Fearless

Most of the time as we are walking Sonya's tail remains straight up or straight out. It is a large fluffy white tail that I call her "flag." It bounces around and lets everyone know she is happy and proud to be out walking. In fact it is where I got the name for this blog because when her flag is raised it announces "Sonya is walking" to the world.
There have been very few times when the flag drops. And just like any other flag when it is lowered you know something isn't quite right. An unusual noise or situation, often perceived as frightening will do the trick. My dog almost exudes self-confidence. After all, what does she have to be afraid of? Highway overpasses for one.
During these extended daylight hours our walks have become longer adventures through more and more of the streets of our town. There is a major highway which follows the river that our town borders. The highway is, of course, loud and noisy. But we live far enough away that the noise is sort of a low humm in the background. As you walk closer to the overpass you can hear the cars racing by, but still the noise is not so bad. Under the overpass however, cars do not sound like cars but more like booming cannons. And the echo can make it sound as if they surround you. With Sonya's big ears the noise must be deafening. The first time she saw it, her tail lowered straight down. It took several approaches before she would walk under the very scary highway. Even now, whenever we walk under it, she does so with her flag lowered half-way.
A more sudden lowering came in the form of a larger dog. Normally, Sonya is keen to jump into play mode whenever she meets another dog. Often her approaches are met with enthusiasm, but once in a while they are flatly denied. On another of our longer walks we rounded an unfamiliar corner to be met with the rambunctious barking of what I could see was a large German Shepard. Sonya could not see him clearly through the shrubs that bordered his yard. She energetically searched for an opening in the shrubbery and turned in as soon as she found it. One look at the large, menacing Shepard and the tail rapidly shot down. She backed out of the shrubbery as quickly as she turned into it, and proceeded with our walk pretending nothing had happened. Her pace barely even slowed. And as I laughed she picked up the pace even more.
These moments are few and never last for very long. Before I know it my confident, courageous dog is back, and her tail resumes its upright and waving position to let the world know she is once again walking.

An Escape Route

Now that our walks occur in complete daylight, Sonya walks with a mission. She is hunting squirrels. I'm not sure what it is exactly about dogs and squirrels, but whenever we see one the chase is on. Squirrels have a natural ability to maneuver across treetops in such a way that makes monkeys look inept. And although she cannot climb a tree, Sonya certainly does try in her efforts to catch one of these sly little rodents. Last week her greatest opportunity for success finally came to her.
A neighbor of mine hired a landscaping company to cut down two large oak trees in his front yard. On their first day on the job the tree cutters chopped the trees down to two ten-foot high stumps. These trees were, it seems, essential to the squirrel population on our street, and the little guys were busy nosing around trying to find their acorn treasures when Sonya and I came walking down the sidewalk.
Immediately she spotted them and pulled me over as fast as she could, which wasn't very fast because, as I usually do, I dug my heels in. Last summer we wore the tread off of one side of my current pair of sneakers with this ritual. She made it over to the yard just in time to see the last of the squirrels jump up the side of one of the newly chopped-off oak trees. Sonya stood up on her back legs and reached as high as she could up the side of the tree, yapping and crying for him to come back down. The squirrel reached the sawed-off top of the stump and discovered there was no place else he could go. He looked back down at Sonya chattering and waving his tail at her. I stood back holding tight on the leash, rather amused at the whole situation. That was my mistake.
Before I knew it Sonya had moved around the tree to the other side, looking for a way up. The tree was now between us. The squirrel tried to come down but seeing the dog blocking his path, quickly went back up. I looked up at the squirrel and saw at that moment he was staring intently at me. I could see in his eyes he was calculating how much force he would need to land on me and thus make his escape from the dog. "Oh no you don't," I told him. I followed the leash around the tree and pulled Sonya off and away from it. This small break was just what the squirrel was looking for and he leaped onto the driveway and ran away as fast as his legs would carry him. Sonya started down the gravel drive, but I was able to dig my heels in much better than on the sidewalk, so she had to stop. She cried once or twice as she watched the furry gray creature disappear into my neighbor's backyard. I had let him get away. But just what would she have done if she had caught him? I shuddered to think.
The next day, to make it up to her, I bought her a new toy. Her very own stuffed squirrel complete with one squeaker in his tummy and another in his tail. Of all her toys, Squirrely is her most prized possession.

You Can't Go Home Again, But You Can Always Visit

Sonya and I had a lovely Easter Holiday which we spent with my parents in Western New York. I grew up in a small town, and walking through those streets with Sonya was an interesting experience. Nothing stays the same, and yet in some ways nothing ever changes.
The first thing I notice every time I go back is the way things look different. Trees have been cut down, or buildings have been changed, or people are missing. The hardest change to accept is the people who are missing. Some have grown up and moved away like me, others have passed away. Either way, it is strange to go through town and not see them there. But the people who still live there always seem to remember me. They stop and say hello, or wave from their cars. They ask how I like New England and what I do there. They are glad to see me home even if it is only for a short visit.
Much of who I am comes from this small town. Just as much of the person I am comes from my having left it. I was a girl when I lived there, and now I am an adult. Even as a girl, I always knew someday I would grow up and leave that small town. But knowing did not make it any easier. Leaving was one of the hardest parts about growing up.
As I walked Sonya along all my old routes, I could picture each street as it was when I was a girl. Whenever I am missing home it is those streets of the past I see. So I agree with Mr. Wolfe that you can never go back to the way things were, but you can always visit.

In the Woods We Met Them

Now that the weather is getting warmer and the daylight is lasting a little longer we are beginning to see more life in our neighborhood. And as much as I enjoy walking the sidewalks and streets I am looking forward to getting back to the parks. Although we live in a suburban area with plenty of sidewalks to traverse, we are also lucky enough to have large parks and hiking trails around us. Some of these are within walking distance from our house and some require a little drive time. All of them close at dark, and few are open in the winter. But within days spring will be upon us and our walks will soon turn into hikes.
Last summer and most of last fall Sonya and I hiked a trail along a river with some large rapids. It was a rocky terrain and deep in the woods we encountered a variety of wildlife. Everything from joggers and squirrels to deer and herons. We even spotted a flock of turkeys perched high in the trees just moments before they spotted us and flew off. Of all the encounters though, the time we saw the coyote pups has to be my favorite.
The trail we were walking was a long, winding path. It is a well marked trail if not an overly well used trail. As we came around a bend Sonya's ears perked up and I could tell she saw another animal. At first I thought it was another dog, and based on her reaction, Sonya did too. But as we got closer it became clear that what we saw - but never heard - were actually coyote puppies. Four fluffy grey and brown puppies were tumbling, wrestling and playing about fifteen feet from the trail. They were rolling around in a small cove created by a fallen tree. They were absolutely amazing. Maybe Sonya could hear them, but I heard only the faintest of peeps. I stopped and stood as still as I could while I looked around for any adult coyotes, but luckily they were not there. Sonya sat down next to me on the trail and seemed as mesmerized by the puppies as I was. I was also amazed that she did not try to join in their fun, instead she just sat and watched. After several minutes I remembered that I was actually carrying my camera with me - something I don't always remember to bring. I tried as carefully as I could to open the carrying case and quietly remove the camera. Have you ever known velcro to be quiet? Well it wasn't at that moment either. It was that small noise that caused the pups to finally look our way and notice that they had attracted an audience. Silently, purposefully, they lined up and single file style leapt over the tree and out of our view. The largest of the pups kept his eye on us until his siblings were gone and then he left too. He stopped once at the top of a knoll to look back and see if we were still watching. When he saw that we were, he took off after the others.
When it was over, and I realized I was standing there with my camera in hand and no picture, I decided it did not matter. The moment was enough for me and the memory of it will certainly linger. I was grateful for the whole experience. Whenever I want to think of peaceful things I remember that moment and the calm and serenity it brought to me. I can't help but think of it as a shared moment between me and Sonya, after all she is my only witness to the occurence. And although I can tell the tale over and over again, I can only wonder if she even dreams about it.

Where Does the Little Red Truck Go?

Every night as we walk the sidewalks of our neighborhood, no matter which way we go, we tend to encounter the same things. People with routines are, after all, predictable. Sonya and I are no exception. She knows without a doubt that as soon as I get home I will change my clothes and gather my supplies (dog treats, plastic bags, and leash) and we will be on our way. It is, I think I have mentioned before, her most favorite time of the day. It even beats out suppertime. Well, it comes before suppertime, so I guess that makes sense. There really isn't anything wrong with routines, especially if they make you happy, and this part of our routine makes both of us happy.
We are not the only creatures of habit in our neighborhood. One of our favorites came upon us by surprise actually. The first few times anyway. It seems one of my neighbors drive a little red pickup truck and he passes by us almost every night. The reason this came as a surprise was the unusual noise that the engine makes. Since it is a small truck and he zips and zooms around in it, it makes a strange, funny noise. The noise is what startled me the first few times he passed us, but now it is part of the routine, and I almost don't notice it anymore. The noise is still funny, just no longer strange.
Our walk is a routine part of our day, but I like to vary the routine when I can so it doesn't get too boring. Since Sonya picks the direction we start out in, we never walk the same path two nights in a row. It is this little bit of variety that keeps things interesting. It also means that we never see the little red truck in the same place. Last week we saw the truck slow down and turn into a driveway. And just like that the answer came to us. Now we know where the little red truck goes.

Speaking of Silence

Have you ever been in a relationship where even the silence is a way of communicating with the other person? When Sonya and I are walking we actually don't have very much verbal communication. In fact, the only time I say anything to her is to remind her to be good as we pass other dogs so she can get a treat. I have been trying to improve her doggy manners by rewarding her for good behavior. In the past she has always skipped over the sniffing and gone right to tackling and chasing other dogs. She is very playful, but not every dog we meet wants to play, and not every dog walker wants to be at the end of a tangled leash - myself included. Which brings me to the way Sonya and I really communicate on our walks - via the leash.
Sonya's leash is red and has a matching collar. The collar is three-quaters nylon weave and one quarter choke chain. Her leash is six feet long and made of the same nylon material that the collar is made from. There are hooks at both ends of the leash. One hooks onto Sonya's collar at the chain. The other hook is on the loop end that I sometimes hold and sometimes attach to my belt loop. This frees up my hands for other tasks that require plastic bags.
It is amazing how much information passes through six feet of nylon mesh. Without a sound she knows when I want her to stop for traffic, and I know when she wants to stop and smell the daily news. I can pull back slightly to make her slow down or I can turn her in one direction or another. We each determine, in some part, the direction the walk will take. Sonya starts off the walk in whichever direction catches her fancy and about half way I turn and head us for home. I know when she is happiest as she is far ahead of me and my arm is stretched out with the leash taught in front of me. When we are getting near home and the end of the walk the leash suddenly drags on the ground and she slows to a casual stroll alongside of me.
Eventually for some relationships, the silence is just that, silent. On my walks with Sonya the silence gives me time to think through my day, or plan for the future, or listen to music. There is no need for words when we are walking. As long as we have the leash the line of communication is always open between us.

An Evening Stroll

Since Sonya and I do most of our walking after I get home from work, and since it is winter, we walk in the dark. We live in a fairly quiet neighborhood where there are plenty of sidewalks. After dark we tend to have the sidewalks all to ourselves. Most people don't want to be out walking in the dark and cold, and I don't blame them. I am just not one of those people. I like the cold. I like bundling up and I like to see my breath and Sonya's as we walk along. She likes the snow and usually tries to avoid the puddles. She tries to pull me out into the middle of the street to avoid a puddle. I have tried to get her to pull me across the ice without falling, but I've had little success. Either she looks to see why I stopped walking, or I fall. It is always an adventure when we go out on our walks, but the cold weather makes for even more adventures. Not everyone employs the same tactics when it comes to shoveling sidewalks and driveways, and that means you really have to watch your step.
The other thing I like about our walks after dark is how our neighborhood looks all lit up. There are the blue glows from TV's and different colors created by lamps behind shades, curtains and blinds. There are motion-sensing flood lights that flicker on and off as we go by, and of course the orange glow of the street lights.
But the best part of walking after dark in the winter are the stars. I know in the winter we are farther from the sun, and so it feels as if we are closer to the stars. The cold air makes them look bright and clear, no haze or fuzzy glow. Just millions of sharp pinpoints of light all over the sky. And even though Sonya and I are walking alone we have so much company looking down from above.

A Little Bit About Sonya

My name is Denise and Sonya is my dog, my companion and my friend. She and I live together in a small house in New England and we go walking almost every day. At least every day that the weather and our schedules permit it. Sonya's schedule is not too complicated. She wakes up and goes out into her yard in the morning, then sleeps until lunch, when she goes out into the yard to chase the squirrels. Then it is another nap until I come home from work. Then we go for our walk, come home have dinner, have playtime, have treat time, relax in front of the tv and finally go to bed. Weekends she gets to spend more time in the yard, or playing in the house, and our walks tend to last for more than the hour we take on weekdays. And of course there is plenty of time napping. Its hard to beat a dog's life.
Sonya is a mutt, her large ears and huge fluffy tail are two of my favorite features. She is white with reddish-brown spots and big brown eyes. The great thing about telling people she is a mutt is that they will always come up with a breed that could be part of her. I can often tell what breeds people are partial to when they tell me what mix they think she could be. She probably does have some collie, spaniel and maybe golden retriever according to the vet. In truth she is more likely second generation mutt. And to me it doesn't matter. I wasn't looking for a specific breed when I found her. I just wanted a medium-sized, friendly, playful dog who would go walking with me every day. And she is just that.