The Danger of Tweets and Memes

It was ... many years ago. The Internet was young. An elective college music course was meeting in the evening. The night was cold and the heat in the classroom didn't work properly. The students kept their coats and scarves on and the professor, a former concert pianist, was bundled in a heavy, but very comfy-looking sweater. It was nearing the end of the semester, and a young lady stood at the front of the class, giving an oral presentation of her term paper.

She cleared her throat and began, "Beethoven. A deaf composer for a deaf audience."

A collective murmur of curiosity arose from the students, many of whom had started to doze off all cuddled up in their layers of winter jackets and sweaters.

The professor, whose attention had probably waned due to the constant drone of amateurish recitations of facts he was intimately aware of, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As the student continued her diatribe indicting Beethoven for bombarding his listeners with discordant notes that failed to coalesce into anything resembling a work of art, the musician-professor interrupted.

Clearly trying to control his temper, he asked, "Where did you get your information?"

The girl appeared stunned at the brewing hostility she heard in his voice. "Um, on-on the Internet," she stuttered.

The enraged professor stood. Through gritted teeth, he spat, "Just because you read it on the Internet doesn't make it true."

True story. I was in the audience/class. I can't be sure, but I think she failed.

I'd like to think that people who are growing up with technology would better understand the origin of so-called information that you find there, but sadly, that doesn't seem to be the case. This past election demonstrated that.

Reams of Memes

My Facebook page became unusable during the 2016 US election. My news feed was filled with silly ridiculous memes that stretched truths, made sarcasm read as serious news and spread outright lies. My usual relaxing and enjoyable stream of cat pictures and videos was infected by images of politicians that completely undid all of the blood pressure-lowering effects of my Internet felines.

Now, I dislike engaging in the practice of telling - or being told for that matter (I am only human) - that something someone believes in isn't true, but this was ridiculous. And like I said, it was ruining my morning cat time. So, initially, I investigated each one of these outrageous claims and then posted the truth (with sources) with the original poster. The individual would usually say something like "that's a relief" and then proceed to re-post it within a few weeks. I gave up. Clearly these people would never acknowledge that they had allowed their opinion to be influenced or changed by either ultra conservative or extremely liberal websites that claimed to know the truth. 

However, recently, the sharing of silly memes and fake news stories has officially become dangerous. A man actually opened fire in a restaurant because people had forwarded and shared ridiculous emails/posts/tweets purporting something called "Pizzagate" - an alleged child pornography ring involving Clinton and her contacts, even though it had been widely debunked as false. Does someone need to die before we all become more conscientious about what we forward/share/post? 

This is not about which candidate you supported. This is about the truth. If we are going to depend on social media for information, we need to ensure that what we are reading or sharing is true. Don't share posts from The Onion without stressing that it is sarcasm. Don't share news stories from ultra conservative or extremely liberal sources. Look for the truth that lies between.

https://www.yahoo.com/news/us-pizzeria-attack-underscores-fake-news-dangers-191200756.html

http://washingtonmonthly.com/2016/11/02/liberal-news-conservative-news-and-fake-news/

My New Least Favorite House Cleaning Chore

Ah, paper shredder, you've earned a spot on my list. Which list? The least favorite house cleaning chore list. Topped only by rehanging the shower curtain after washing it, emptying the paper shredder now joins other tasks such as ironing, washing the walls (yes, that's a thing when you have OCD) and scrubbing grout.

Previously, paper shredding and the ominous task of emptying the basket had escaped inclusion on 'The List.' That all changed today when I got up from the computer to do another task. As I stood, I noticed two documents that I wanted to shred. Figuring I'd just slip them into the shredder on my way out of the room, I picked them up and carried them with all the reverence due a piece of paper that was about to be shredded into unrecognizable diamond-cut bits. Very casually I flipped the switch and fed the papers in. Nothing happened. Hmm. The light was on. It worked yesterday. Then I noticed that the basket was full. No. Full doesn't describe it. It looked more like it had been through a trash compactor. When I pulled the basket out, tiny pieces of confetti burst out and littered the floor.

Sigh. Okay. I removed the container and went in search of a bag big enough to hold the contents. A peek in the kitchen pail told me that the half empty bag had the capacity to do the job. Oops, I have a quandary here. Is it pessimistic to say half empty when looking for such a state to accomplish a task? Was I actually being optimistic that the space in the bag would fulfill my needs? Great. Now I have a headache (and quite possibly some ADD). Anyway, back to the problem at hand. The environmentally-conscious part of me knew I had to fill the bag now because the trash goes out tonight. Just one problem. The picky compulsive in me didn't want to contaminate the shredder pail by touching it to any of the garbage already in the bag.

I carefully spread the opening of the bag and held the pail over it. With the assistance of gravity and an exuberant puppy who rushed in to grab the bag as I was dumping the shreds, my kitchen ended up looking like the Canyon of Heroes after a victory parade. Knowing that attempting to sweep such a mess is an exercise in futility, I knew a vacuuming was in order. Yay! Vacuuming is actually my favorite task. The immediate gratification of seeing clean floors and carpets in the wake of my Shark animal vacuum is very pleasing.

I pulled out the vacuum, which had the added benefit of causing the puppy to stop eating the paper and leave the room. Naturally, since I had the machine out, I did the whole house, however, I made the mistake of running the vacuum over the pile of shredded paper rather than using the wand for all of it. This caused the roller to continue to spit out little pieces all throughout the house. In the end, I went back over everything with the wand. Then I emptied the vacuum and changed the kitchen garbage bag, which naturally meant cleaning the pail first.

That done, I returned the now-empty basked to the shredder. Once again, I fed the paper in. Nothing happened. Hmm. I peered inside the mechanism and saw an intact piece of paper sitting in between the nasty-looking teeth of the shredder. Now, I've seen enough horror movies to know that even with it switched off, the teeth would spring to life and shred my fingers if I tried to clear it. I unplugged the shredder, but knew it was still a risk. However, it was Amy vs. the machine now and I was determined to win.

I amassed several household items to help with the job at hand. Tweezers failed. Scissors failed. The pen wouldn't fit in the opening. I finally found a flat-headed screw driver that was narrow enough to fit in. With much maneuvering, I finally managed to dislodge the offending piece of paper. Once again, I fed the documents into the shredder. Success!

With a contented sigh, I turned to do what I had wanted to before the whole shredding incident began. My shoulders slumped as I realized that I could no longer recall what that was. Not to worry, though, I'm sure I'll wake up at 3 am and remember.

Life with an Epileptic Dog

It's taken me some time to write this. My beautiful Daphne went to the Rainbow Bridge on January 3, and life hasn't been the same since. I have since gotten a new puppy, whom I love dearly, but it remains to be seen if she and I will ever be as close as I was with my Daph. In some ways, I hope not. Not that I didn't love the way she looked at me and I saw that her life began and ended with me, but because Daphne was too dependent on me. She was overcome with sorrow when I wasn't around and by the time she died, she was so close to me that she was literally always at my side. In fact, it was difficult to even walk across the house without tripping over her. I'm not sure exactly why she ended up that way, but I believe her epilepsy had much to do with it.

The First Seizure
Daphne had her first seizure a month before her fourth birthday. It was 'foodies' time - something of an event when you have seven cats and two dogs. I noticed her slinking around the dining room table, which was odd because that dog could smell food at fifty paces. So I went to see what was wrong and saw her standing there with long strands of drool hanging from her mouth. My immediate thought was that she'd eaten something harmful. I used a towel to wipe her mouth. Then to my absolute horror she fell on her side. Her mouth was wide open and she seemed to be gasping. Foolishly, I thought she was choking. There I was sweeping her throat, looking for whatever it was. Feeling nothing, I finally gave up and sat back, terrified that I was about to watch my dog die. I do realize how lucky I was that her jaw didn't close, especially given the lockjaw that usually followed her later seizures. Within a few minutes, she recovered and stood, but she growled at me when I got near. I guess she was so confused about what had happened and probably still felt loopy. I rushed her to the vet and they said it was likely a seizure. With a bottle of phenobarbital, I headed home. She had two more seizures within 24 hours, meaning she was a so-called 'cluster' dog. Through the years, we tried upping the dose and adding Zonisamide, but were never able to get any better than a cluster about once every month.

Our First Emergency Experience
Then came the dreaded night. Daphne began seizing at 2am and never came out of it. Her body would still for a minute or two and then immediately begin seizing again. By the time we got her to the emergency vet, her temperature was about 108. They put her in an ice bath and administered Valium intravenously to stop the seizures. The next morning, we picked her up and took her to the specialty hospital, where she stayed for a day or two. They upped her Zonisamide to the maximum dose. Happily, she had no further episodes like that and even stopped clustering. She would still have one seizure about every month or two, but we learned to live with it (as the vet said happens to most people who have an epileptic dog). We slept with a pile of towels behind the pillows, so we could throw them under her and prevent having to change the bedding at 2 am and barricaded the stairs.

Six Year Veterans
Eventually, she became very unsteady. It started with what we called 'wobbly' days as we approached the six year mark for her disease. She would stumble on the back steps to the yard and wipe out when turning corners. We place throw rugs and mats on all bare floor areas to stop her from falling.

Our New Hope: Keppra
Every year we had her pheno and liver levels tested. After six years, her liver was showing signs of damage and we made the decision to try and wean her off it, while adding Keppra. The first day on the Keppra was nothing short of horrific. She couldn't take two steps without falling, even with all the mats and runners. I cried just watching her. We stopped it and then gradually gave it to her in quarter tablet increments. Finally, we had her on the Keppra and off the pheno.

Tragedy ... Again
Then tragedy struck. Just before Thanksgiving, she had another cluster - her first in a few years. Again, it was the middle of the night. The Valium suppositories we had didn't help. We skipped the local emergency vet and rushed her to the specialty hospital. She was there for several days, still having intermittent seizures. The day before Thanksgiving, against their advice, we took her home. The bills were becoming astronomical and we wanted her home for the holiday. All went well at first. Then three weeks later, it happened again. Once again, we rushed her to the hospital in the middle of the night. This time, when we took her home a few days later, we had a prescription for injectable Valium and a kit to administer it rectally. If this didn't work, I feared we would lose her. I simply couldn't afford a two to three day hospitalization every month. The specialist felt that the Pheno had probably been stopping the clusters, but said it was possible that even restarting it wouldn't stop them. Plus, her liver values had improved since stopping it, which indicated that it had been harming her liver.

On January 3rd, it happened again. We administered the Valium rectally as we'd been instructed. She was still seizing. We loaded her into the car and were halfway to the specialist when she stopped. With great relief, we returned home. She spent the night vocalizing - something they do after a cluster, where they sort of howl and whine. She seemed relatively okay the next morning - clingy, but that was normal for her. She had a few short seizures, but got up quickly. However, the next morning, she had another seizure and though she regained consciousness she couldn't stand up. We brought her back to the specialist and were told that she was likely brain damaged (her pupils were no longer equally reactive). They said they could hospitalize her and try to stabilize her, but she might never walk again. Deciding to let her go was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

Guilt
I still feel so guilty. Perhaps if I'd taken her to the hospital that last time even though she stopped, we could have prevented the brain damage. On the other hand, monthly hospitalizations at a specialty hospital were too costly to be practical. I would like to look back on all the time we had together and smile, but I'm not at that point yet. The memory of those soulful, brown eyes still brings me to tears. Some day I'll get there.

A Healthy (Weight) Dog Is a Happy Dog!

Two years ago, I took my lab mix, Laney, to the vet for her annual checkup - you know, heartworm test, vaccinations, etc. The vet did his physical exam and said, "Well, I think she could afford to lose a few pounds."

My dog was fat!?! I knew she'd gotten a little more plump in the past few years - her youthful dog weight had been about 65 pounds and she was now close to 80. I was horrified. How could I do that to my treasured dog?

I went home and immediately cut her food rations and increased her walk frequency. After a few months, I noticed that she'd gotten most of her figure back and she now climbed the front steps with a spring in her step that I hadn't seen since she was a puppy. My heart soared with happiness.

So it was with great anticipation that I took her for her annual checkup the next year. Surely the doctor would tell me what a wonderful job I'd done. The tech weighed Laney and the vet came in. He looked at the record, then back at my dog, his face full of concern.

My heart sank. With great trepidation, I asked, "Is something wrong?"

He gave me a barely perceptible nod. "Yes. She's lost a lot of weight," he said in a grave voice.

"But you told me she needed to lose weight!" I exclaimed.

He brightened considerably. "I know, but I tell lots of clients that. Nobody ever does it!"

We both laughed in relief.

Since then, my other epileptic dog became ill to the point where I couldn't walk her. I couldn't bear the look of disappointment on her face when I walked Laney, but not her. So I stopped walking Laney. She slowly put a few pounds back on. Additionally, I enjoy giving treats to my pets. There's nothing that makes me happier than to watch her take a treat and run to the other room as though she had just received the greatest treasure in the world. However, Laney soon started doing a strange chewing motion with her mouth even when she wasn't eating. The vet felt she was having reflux issues. I never thought my dog would have those problems. This article makes so much sense. Adding treats to the recommended serving size means you're giving them too many calories each day.

Keeping your pets healthy is as important as keeping them happy.

If (like me) you're not sure if your dog or cat is a good weight, check this chart out.