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This is a (much) longer story than I had anticipated but it does eventually answer the question and hopefully is rewarding. If you want the short answer just scroll down to the bottom where I put it in bold. If you want the long answer, here is my story.I was overweight for pretty much my entire life. How obese? Morbidly, as in to die. Here I am back in 2005 with my wife Mary. I was 44 and weighed around 320 pounds. I’m short too at 5″6″.And for pretty much my entire life I constantly tried to lose weight via 100s of diets, Weight Watchers, various weightloss programs (ie nutrisystems, shakes, pills, etc), hypnosis, etc. None of them worked (I justified they failed me and not the other way around) and eventually I put on more weight than when I started.At my wife’s urging, I finally went to see a doctor when I turned 45 and after examining me she asked “Have you ever considered gastric bypass surgery?” Of course I had because it was the easy way out and had convinced myself that I couldn’t do it on my own. That said, I was surprised, that she being a holistic doctor, would suggest the surgery. Her response? “You are the first person I have ever recommended it to.”Later on she would tell me that I was also the last.In order to have gastric bypass surgery you are required to attend a mandatory 2–3 hour seminar about the risks and rewards of this voluntary surgery. Along with about 200 other hopefuls, I sat and listened as they described the surgery and its many benefits. But when they mentioned that the mortality rate from the surgery and/or complications from it was around 3%, I walked out shaking my head “No.”That was 2007.On a Monday in May of 2008, after my annual exam, my doctor informed me that, in addition to high blood pressure, high cholesterol, sleep apnea, unending heartburn, and everything else that went with my morbid obesity, I was now a type 2 diabetic. That same week, on Wednesday, I found out I didn’t make the cut for the show “The Biggest Loser” (TBL) which I had somehow convinced myself was my destiny. And on Friday of that same week, I found out that my 9 year old niece Julia, who suffers from Cystic Fibrosis (CF), was going back to the hospital, sadly a this point in her life a regular occurrence. Here she is with her mom at a CF walk.Unfortunately looks can be very deceiving for someone with CF. #youdontlooksickThat Friday night, after receiving the news about Julia’s impending visit to the hospital, I was out cooking some ribs on the grill (one…maybe it should be two racks of ribs for me? I really need to gain more weight if I’m going to get on the next season of the The Biggest Loser). And out of the blue, I started thinking about my life and I asked myself a question:How did I get here?In 1969 my dad ran the Boston Marathon and he always felt it was one of the greatest accomplishments of his life. Even though I was 7 years old at the time, I set a life long goal to run it.Or maybe I was just trying to impress my dad...Unfortunately, almost as soon as I formed my dream of running the Boston Marathon, I started gaining weight. Not morbidly obese but the description of me being “husky” by my stepmother as I shopped for clothes pretty much sums it up.I probably should point out that my mom died when I was 16 months old so I never knew her. I assumed that she was above looking down upon me but as I got older, I started to have my doubts.Here’s the only picture that exists of both of us together, at a family Thanksgiving in 1961, taken ironically in the same town I now live in.There are a number of excuses that I used to defend my weight gain (the “fat” gene, slow metabolism, body type, etc.) but simply put I was eating bad and didn’t like to exercise. This trend continued throughout my life and as I got older, the dream of running Boston slowly faded away, remaining only as a very small ember deep in the corner of mind.It’s a long story but after deciding to not follow in my father’s footsteps and immediately go to medical school, I finally found the courage to call my father and let him know of my decision. I felt I had become a disappointment to him and he confirmed it when informed of my decision. The majority of the conversation is a blur, but I clearly remember his last words “Good luck with life college boy.” With that he hung up the phone, cutting off all communication with me. Eventually, after a few years, we started talking again but the son that he admired and encouraged to walk in his footsteps as a doctor was only a painful memory and I had failed him. In retrospect, very soon after the falling out is when I really started gaining weight. Not an excuse but just a fact.That was in 1986 and a few days following the conversation, I moved back to New England from Texas. And even though I moved back East with my brother, I still felt very alone.I met my wife, Mary, at a friends party after I moved back up to the Boston area. Even though I was self conscious about my weight and all my other flaws, Mary looked past them, found the good in me, and eventually to the amazement of my friends and myself, agreed to marry me. #bestdayofmylifeLife moved on, I started working 60–80 hours a week, conveniently forming excuses to eat bad and not work out. I justified my weight by convincing myself that I wasn’t THAT fat. I was. Regardless Mary never really pushed me about losing weight with the exception of the subtle “Lets join a health club,” “Maybe we should go to Weight Watchers (again),” etc. I gave up and this was the result. #whoisthatguywithmywife?Now back to cooking the ribs in May 2008 that started this story.It was a Friday night and as I was covering the ribs with honey BBQ sauce, I had an epiphany of sorts. I came to the realization that I would never get cast for The Biggest Loser. Thanks to the sad state of my health, I might not make it to 50 years old (I was 47 at the time). And Julia might not make it to 15 years old. And that is when the small smoldering Boston Marathon ember that had hidden itself deep in the crevices of my mind so many years earlier, suddenly burst bright with new life, almost screaming do something with your life before it’s too late.So even though I constantly avoided exercise as much as I could, especially running, I decided I would run the 2009 Boston Marathon, raising money for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. In the process I hoped to lose 50 pounds and run, walk or crawl across the finish line on Boylston St.…and maybe I could win the love of my father back.I went inside to tell my wife of my plan, she looked at me and I saw tears in her eyes as she smiled and said “I think it is really important. And if you do, I will have a friend at every mile.” Might sound contrived but the words still resonate with me and I still get emotional typing these words.I immediately started going to a club I had joined, started watching what I was eating and within 2 weeks had lost about 12 pounds. Obviously I had no idea how to train for a 5K, let alone for a marathon, but fortunately my friend Rick offered to train me. When I asked how much he would charge, he replied “I don’t want any money, just 100% commitment.” And that was our agreement.For my first assignment, Rick told me to find a 3 mile loop and walk it every day for a week. If I did, he would know I was serious and would drive the hour it took him to get to my house the following week.I drove my car down the driveway, in search of a location 1.5 miles away that would mark the halfway point. When I reached the end of my street, I made a last second decision to go right and proceeded to drive toward the next town, Wellesley. Rick also suggested that my route have a sidewalk on it so when the sidewalk turned left up a street, so did I. As the odometer neared the 1.4 mark, I instinctively made a right hand turn into a cemetery, headed up a steep hill, and made a right turn that I had made maybe 10 times in my entire life.The odometer clicked to 1.5, the halfway point. I stopped the car and stared at the stone staring right back at me.A few years ago I received an email from someone in Canada asking me when I knew I would be able to finish my first marathon and I replied that it was the day I found the halfway point.To those reading this, it is just a name “Hope” carved into a stone, but to me and my siblings, the stone was known by another name: Mom. And it was on that day, after all these years, that I realized she had never left me, and when I needed her most, she led me to her side.To be completely honest, when I initially posted this response, I made a decision to leave this portion of the story out because frankly I was concerned that people would find it hard to believe. Until that day, I had never been a strong believer in fate, but everything changed that day. I drove back home content, knowing that she was watching over me. #himomAs agreed, I walked the three miles every day and as Rick agreed, he came out to walk the 3 mile course with me. We had walked 2.5 miles and we were heading home when out of the blue Rick said ” Run!” I looked at him with a ‘seriously?’ look on my face and he responded with a similar ‘seriously’ look on his face as well. “Uh, yeah, you’re going to be running the Boston Marathon”.I made it 10 yards and had to stop as I was out of breath and my heart was pounding out of my chest. Again I looked at him, holding back tears, feeling defeated and he calmly said “Every day, start where you started and add a telephone pole.” And that is what I did.Here I am on June 7, 2008 after a 3 mile walk. On that day (I have an obsession with numbers and the date is 06.07.08) I decided to start keeping track of my weight loss and post it on my (old) website, along with a picture of me wearing the same outfit on the 7th of each month. I did this to keep myself accountable.Each day I added another telephone pole or two and 45 days later I ran the entire 1/2 mile home with Rick by my side. I started adding more running and less walking and about 45 days later, even though I had only run about a mile nonstop, forced myself to run the entire 3 miles. There were times during that run that I justified taking a small walk break but I pushed myself outside of my comfort zone and never stopped. I owed Rick for his guidance, Mary for her undying love and support, and Julia for her inspiration. I am not embarrassed to say that I wept as I walked up the driveway to my house.I added in swimming, spinning and weights and started keeping track of everything that I ate. For the first time in my life I looked at food as fuel for the body and not seeking happiness from my fat addicted mind. I also added mile after mile along the Boston Marathon route which fortunately is 2 miles from my home.From June 7th 2008 to April 7th of 2009 (10 months) I lost 113 pounds and found myself at 163 pounds. No drugs, no surgery, no tricks but just a simple desire and commitment to right so many wrongs in my life.And finally, the answer to your question:On April 20, 2009 I ran all 26.2 miles of the Boston Marathon nonstop. Just before I crossed the finish line, I looked up to the grandstands and saw my friend/trainer Rick, my wife Mary, my niece Julia and my father all smiling at me. And from above I felt my mom, Hope, looking down on me. And that will always be my most memorable marathon memory.Just in case anyone was wondering, I continue to run marathons and will complete my 50th full marathon (26.2) in November (NYCM). Why do I run so many marathons? For a couple of reasons:To let people know (people use the word “inspire” but I’m not really a fan of that word) that you CAN change your life at any point and to live life to it’s fullest. Nothing is impossible if you truly commit yourself.To help others, be it helping them get healthy, attaining a goal or running a marathon. People reach out to me (see video below), and just as Rick did, I voluntarily train or give them advice, and if they stick to it, run a marathon with them regardless of where they live.To continue raising money for Cystic Fibrosis support and research. I now raise money for the Boomer Esiason Foundation.To keep healthy and challenge myself to run faster. If I put the weight back on, I honestly believe I would be used not as an example, but as an excuse for others to not take that first step.Julia is now 17 years old and unfortunately spends way too much time at Childrens Hospital in Boston. Here’s a recent picture. As I said before, looks can be deceiving as she spent 3 weeks at Childrens Hospital about a month after this was taken. If you want to help support CF you can find a link to my donation page at my website www.RFME.org (look for “DONATE”). I am honestly not soliciting donations but a “just in case.”Below is a video I made to raise money for Cystic Fibrosis when I ran my first Boston Marathon is 2009. It showed my progress and I sent it out to my friends and family in order to solicit donations. About 1.5 years later I received an email from a friend asking if he could repost/rename it. I agreed, as long as any money he made went to CF, and he called it “The Most Inspiring Video You Will Ever Watch”. As of today it has almost 8 million views! Only posting link to put video with the above story. Again thanks for reading.Roger :)

How fun! I hope you do it!Since you are thinking of actually living places around the world, I would probably go for bringing only the essentials to get you started at your first destination. If that ends up being India, here's what I would bring:Basic over-the-counter medicines and immunizations: even if you are going somewhere like India where the medication is cheaper, you may need some before you have gotten established enough to know the medical system. Make sure before you leave you go through a round of immunizations for places you think you may go. It wouldn't be a bad idea to ask for malaria medication. I would bring small amounts of these things, and take "cocktail" meds that cover a variety of symptoms, like dayquil and nyquil. Pepto bismol (chewable tablet form) has saved me several times while traveling. Also, a great idea is to take fiber chewable tablets and tums as dietary supplements while your body adjusts to new cuisine. Tums were a necessity to me when I got a calcium deficiency in Israel from not getting my usual dairy intake. Ibuprofen is also highly recommended.Travel dictionary: if you start off in a country with few English speakers and don't end up taking your computer and have no access to apps, this would be very important. If you do start in India, you shouldn't have a problem and wouldn't need this.Knowledge of a few hostels: Hostels are cheap, are made for this kind of lifestyle, and could offer you a job for a few months.Major credit card: This is pretty obvious. I would only take minimal cash because exchange rates are often not as good as ATM fees. If you can, applying for a credit card with zero international transaction fees would be best. These are hard to find, however. Good luck.Small toiletry kit: similar to the medicine, you want to have things like a toothbrush and a small thing of toothpaste so you can settle for a couple days before you need to do any shopping. Keep everything small and buy local when you get there.Map: When you get there, look at the airport or for a tourist info desk for a map. It makes it much easier to ask people for directions when they can show you visually. If you are asking about things like tailors, you will need to corner a local and ask them specific questions about where locals shop (make it clear you do not want tourist crap and souvenirs) and they should be able to show you on the map where you can find the "real" shopping.Some clothes: Not much, just enough for a week, perhaps. Buy locally. As for tailoring, my experience with my husband has been that it is best to find local tailors because they will be cheaper and have the materials appropriate for the area. If you want really cheap tailors, they are in China. If you make it to Shanghai I can recommend a couple. :)Fingernail clippers: Do not underestimate the powers of this overlooked item.Small towel: Hear me out on this one. Towels can be pillows, blankets, towels/washcloths, sleeping mat, make-shift toga... don't bring the biggest fluffy towel you can find, but a towel can make a big difference in a "random" international move. I have ended up in a brand-new apartment at 2AM after an exhausting day and surviving with a smile because I had a towel. Maybe that sounds weird... A roll of toilet paper to start you off isn't a bad idea, either.Shoes: Wear one for walking for the flight with a couple pairs of socks packed away. Bring a pair of flip-flops. That's it. Buy the rest there.Electronics: these can be hard to find affordable and legitimate in places you are unfamiliar with. If you want a camera, you should bring it. If you want an ipod, you should bring it. The only exception to this would be a phone. It is easy to find phone stores that sell legitimate products you can find reviews for online. if you don't have an unlocked phone, don't take it. I would take a travel adapter, too. Moving from one country to another can be a pain in the @&* if you have to keep changing your chargers.It is hard to know what you will long for when you leave and what you will say, "if only I had brought that" especially without a trial run. I would basically spend one night keeping track of every single thing you use and ask yourself if you can go without it for a couple days (can I go three days without shaving cream and a razor? can I go three days without q-tips? etc) and make sure to bring a few of whatever you can't live without until you can get to a store.A computer, in my mind, is only essential if you do not want to get a smartphone. You can easily get an unlocked phone in India and just switch sim cards when you move again. They are good enough to be a computer until you decide if you want another computer and are easier to protect and can come with 3G depending on the country. As you said it is essential for you, I would just keep your computer. Just don't leave it on a table while you stand in line for coffee, and stay out of the sketchy areas and you should be fine.Part of the joy of what you are wanting to do is finding the "local" way to do things. Because of that, I would expect to establish yourself anew in each location, buying everything locally and only keeping a couple small, meaningful things from each place you go when you move on. You can donate your used clothing and supplies or sell them when you move again.

That dogs are NOT little people in furry coats. They don’t understand concepts such as “right” or “wrong”; these are human constructs. (Quite a few PEOPLE don’t understand them either, apparently.)Dogs understand one concept: Dichotomy. (Okay, they ALSO understand loyalty, trust, and devotion. But those were a bit much to shove into this narrative…)Dominance. or submission. ONE of the two of you is the boss. Or “allowed” and “not allowed” if you need words that are slightly less loaded.Of course, a lot of people think dominance is the same as yelling, screaming, hitting, etc. When your boss walks into a room to start a meeting, is screaming a prerequisite?Does he or she have to hit people with paper to be the leader? (ok, I have had a few that behaved EXACTLY like this…)On the whole, a successful leader is dominant simply by their presence.Even people can sense this; most of you have probably met or been around someone who naturally gave you the impression that they were the one who called the shots.Dogs sense this as well; one can NOT fake it.Bluster, puffery, braggadocio, yelling, hitting etc. None of these make you the boss.You either ARE, or you ARE NOT. (when I see someone walking a dog and they are being pulled all over the street I know EXACTLY who is calling the shots…)Now, by beating the mutt senseless you can sometimes get them to do something, but have you ever notices how people that yell and scream and hit will have to KEEP yelling and screaming and hitting until the end of time?If you come back three months later the behavior will be the same- nothing will have changed. (and this is true of child-rearing as well)And it’s because fear and respect are NOT synonymous words. A dog will want to please you out of respect; they will simply want to avoid your bad mood out of fear.(This picture makes me SERIOUSLY question whether I am more intelligent than him…meet Kronk, the four-footed leader of the pack.)And, since they are NOT little people, they may or may not know what sets you off.So they live a miserable existence, trying to figure out what to do to make you be their friend and to stay away from the yelling zone.2nd EDIT: Okay, for the people that insist that “dominance” as I describe means fear, or “alpha-rolling” or “breaking” (as in to break a horse) a dog’s personality: I don’t do any of that garbage. These guys are my friends, and the communication is up to me. Study the way that the German Lippizonor (sp?) Stallions are trained; the level of trust and friendship between them and their handlers is the sort that I am striving to create.It makes me want to scream when I see some video where the owner is trying to ascertain ‘guilt’ by a dog’s body language (“Now, Toby, Bryce, which one of you was the bad doggie that ate mommy’s battery-powered toy??”) and of course, both dogs will hunker down.You get the EXACT same reaction if you come in and ask “Toby, Bryce, which one of you just gave up the nuclear launch codes to Canada?”And this is ALWAYS the fault of the ‘master’.Trust me, I spend FAR more time in ‘Obedience’ Training with the owner than I ever do with the dogs.People are stunned when I can have a dog heeling in a few minutes, or holding still, or letting me cut their nails.But it’s because I ASK them, not yell orders. (admittedly, when I ASK I am fully EXPECTING the request to be honored).I am the boss. It’s not just posturing, or running my mouth.(Introducing Teddy (“I AM the Law!”) Bear…this was posture training.)I really really am.I will step between my dogs and a strange dog if aggression starts (protect the pack).I will pick up a dog that can’t walk.I will NOT yell if someone pees on the carpet accidentally (look for Urinary infections).And I WILL pull the plug (and spend our last few moments together holding paws) if the pain gets to be too much.In short, my dogs LIKE me and want to spend time with me. (Of course, when Princess Kimmie walks in I am abandoned and considered of no importance. Not the momma.)Some are a little tougher than others (and some are downright psychotic) but as a general rule, I can change a dog’s personality in a minute or two.The owners, well, they take substantially longer…And some of them could benefit from a little neutering…EDIT: I got asked exactly how does one establish “dominance”. Kinda tough to say; the word is really loaded with bad connotations. Perhaps “Pack Leader” is better? In any case, these are some of my ideas for becoming an effective leader for Fido, and probably is not a bad template for children in general.Doesn’t work for shit for cats…Bravo for getting him neutered! Lots of opinions on whether this is good (answers are: it depends) but I think a good place to start in dog training would be to watch Caesar Milan's Dog Whisperer and anything you can get your hands on from Victoria Stilwell. This will approach your training from two unique viewpoints, and let you craft your program to your own tastes.(“Hey dad! You up yet? ARE YOU UP?!? WAKEY WAKEY, EGGS AND BAKEY!!”)Now, you will need to be patient-you and doggo are NOT speaking the same language yet, so miscommunication is bound to occur.And remember: You will get FAR better result if you make this FUN for Fido! Make hem/her WANT to go out to yet another fun and treat training session; make it one of the high points of their day.But a good pattern to (patiently!) follow is this:1. WEAR THEIR ASSES OUT! This means EVERY Day! If that tongue is dragging the ground the amount of sass that you will receive will be minimized. This can be accomplished by structured walks (2 minutes on leash acting like a loon, 20 minutes heeling and walking at proper spacing, 2 minutes at end of walk to sniff)2. Give them a job to do. We put backpacks on and make them wear them for a walk. In fact, we add dried beans (up to 10% of body weight) to increase the workload. I am serious, you will not believe how PROUD they are to have a purpose.3. Train, Train, Train. Have one or two things that you work on at a time. We use popcorn for treats, as they can eat a bunch without overeating. Some dogs are corn allergic, so keep eyes open. Make sure to do things in tiny tiny steps, and reward along the way. Make this FUN!4. Punish-well, not really. I will cuff a dog (no more than Mommie dog will do) to catch their attention, but under no circumstances will I strike or cause pain. I want the dog to trust me, and hitting it is kinda the antithesis of this. Basically, I will correct bad behavior with a light tug on a choke collar (these can be REALLY useful, but you HAVE to learn how to use them-THEY ARE NOT STRANGLE COLLARS. We use a “pinch” style collar; its sole purpose is to catch attention. Lots of really smart people refuse to use them, so it’s up to you. Not a believer in prong collars, but opinions on this are mixed as well. No newspapers, water guns, or loud noises that hurt ears. These all suck. And don’t get me started on shock collars-I use them, but we gut the electronics so all they can do is beep. I use this for long-distance training, but it’s an alert device only.5. Affection. Everything follows rules, so I don’t let anyone jump up on me or guests, When a dog comes over to me with a toy to play, however, there is simply nothing more important in my day than to drop what I am doing! Seriously, they are coming over to you to ask you to play with them; this is quite an honor!6. Pay Attention! Watch for behavior changes-sudden peeing on the carpet, slow to get up, reluctance to eat, etc. We don’t ever “Wait and See”. Our vet had made Mercedes payments I am sure, but I don't care. It is MY responsibility as leader of the pack to make whatever necessary sacrifices that I have to make to keep my group healthy.7. Patience.Patience.Patience.Patience.Patience. Did I mention Patience? Each dog is different and will learn different things at different rates. Pay attention.8. Consistency. If something is a No-no, then it always needs to be a no-no. Don’t let them do something one time, and then change the rules on them the next. This will drive them into depression. We had a “No Dogs in the Living Room” rule. When Thumper broke it (and wouldn’t go back to the kitchen) it was my first clue that something was really really wrong. In this case, we rushed her to the vet. level four heart murmur; start digging. She was telling me that something was wrong; thank god I listened.9. Be the Leader. This means ALWAYS, and includes the extremely bad as well as the good. Especially when FIdo has come to the end of his life, and needs you to make the soul-crushing decision to end the pain. Stay in the room with them; don’t let the last thing that they see is you walking away. Make SURE that the trust and devotion that they have given you are rewarded by you staying with them to the (very) bitter end.(“NEW FLASH! SAVAGE Rock-waller terrifies residents while visiting at local nursing home-Here’s why YOU should be frightened…film at 11”)10. Be Aware. Your mood affects your dog; whether they sense it because of posture, body language, or change in body chemistry (that they can smell) is still being debated. Don’t go near Fido in a bad mood, unless it’s to get comfort from them. They will usually jump up to the task of making you feel better. I have lost track of how many times a mutt has jumped into the bed with me when I was sick and brought me their favorite toy to play with. They seemed to hope that it would make me feel better.In summary, being Dominant is more about doing the right things with consistent behaviors than about badgering and underling to submit to your whims.When Fido trusts you to be not just a friend but a competent leader you will be astounded at how life turns out.This is an attitude as much as a set of pre-programmed moves, but the reward for patiently striving for excellence is beyond description.And for those of you that have asked, my wife and I are starting the North Carolina Rotweiller Rescue. (But if something shows up on my doorstep looking like it needs a meal then I am going to take it in, whether it is a dog, cat, opossum, or a fruit bat).We are both getting our Wildlife Rehabilitation certifications, and want to be a branch of the Guardians of Rescue, with emphasis on helping find abandoned animals during hurricanes and what-not.We currently have a 15-acre farm that we just got; my plan is to put tiny homes on it to house people and their pets during natural disasters.More to come I am sure!EDIT: And sometimes, well, things don’t work out very well.I Never Imagined Anything Could Hurt This Badly.When I was growing up, I was told two HUGE whoppers by my dad... he had the best of intentions, mind you, but these were just plain wrong.I have found smaller ones, for example, it turns out that ‘honesty’ (like a few other virtues that come to mind) is sometimes vastly overrated. Or that ‘there’s good in everybody’.”That one has turned out to be a big disappointment (and dead wrong) as well.But these two are the biggest. The first: There was no such thing as monsters.I haven’t figured out whether he was lying to me, or just wrong.I have been dealing with a particularly savage monster for a while now. His name is “Osteosarcoma” a bone cancer-unbelievably aggressive and QUICK), and he has picked our friend Kronk out as his victim.Kim and I have been fighting it tooth and nail for over three months, but each day we get a little weaker and the bad guy gets a little stronger.We knew we were going to lose in the end, of course-but that in no way changes one’s obligation to crawl into the ring and deal out as serious a beating as you can manage-until you just simply can’t.The bell rings and the final round ends.We did manage to forcibly take some additional time-by breaking a few heads and going to some places we don’t normally go. We snaked some compounds that gave cancer a severe setback-fighting the various government agencies that didn’t want us to have it for some reason.But we could only hit the “snooze” button a certain number of times before we are faced with the inevitable; a birth certificate is a two-part form. And, sooner or later, the second page is going to come into play.There is always something uniquely horrible about looking into a friend’s eyes and knowing that they are in pain.That they don’t understand why you can’t do anything about their hurting, or even why it occurred in the first place.Why, as leader of the pack, you promised to protect them against all that would do them harm and are failing so miserably.And yet, even as you flail and rail and scream into the night, they forgive you; they are concerned about the howl of misery that you are fighting to keep from leaping from your lips and slashing at the very sky.And why your promise includes yourself as one of the ones that you will protect them against.No matter how hard you rail, no matter how loudly you scream, there comes a point where you are hurting them to hold off your pain as long as you possibly can.The second lie was this: that time heals all wounds.No, it doesn’t.The best you can hope for is that you’ll learn to live with the gash in your soul, and maybe avoid tearing it open too often.But, the hole that has been torn in your very being never truly goes away.Like a mirror that shatters in front of your eyes-you can still make out the image, but the picture will never ever be whole again.All you’ll ever be able to do is catch glimpses out of the corner of your eye of the crystalline multi-colored fragments of endless shattered dreams.Dreams of playing ball.Dreams of barking at leaves, at chasing motes of dust in a sunbeam.Dreams of long walks by the lake, sniffing and sniffing and sniffing.And grinning. God, how I am going to miss that grin.And you wonder how this can happen to someone that has never ever hurt anyone in his life.I have had a rougher life than plenty of people; was on the road for a great part of my college life (went weeks at a time without seeing the sun) and have seen some things that will truly make one question whether there can possibly be a God that watches over us.Of course, that pretty much proves the point, for without some sort of caretaker this race would have been doomed a long, long time ago-taken to ground by the first woodchuck that we happened across.But why does Kronk have to go, when so many undeserving manufacturers of misery seem to thrive?But if it hadn’t been for one of those trogs, I never would have met Kronk in the first place-perhaps there is a plan after all.If I were running things, we (dogs, cats, people) wouldn’t have different life spans—with reference to Ernie Stewart, we would live ripe old ages and pass side-by-side a few hours apart in warm safe beds surrounded by friends and loved ones.And how can one ever survive losing a parent-or worse-losing your child? Bill Steffens said it to me best:“Kids kind of expect to outlive their parents. Parents never expect to bury their child.”If your wife dies, you are a widower.If your husband dies, you are a widow.If your parents die, you are an orphan.But when your pet and best friend dies…there’s not even a word for it. That’s how truly awful it is.If I am going through this after only knowing a non-vocalizing furry pain-in-the-rump (sometimes) for a few years, how can anyone ever keep going?I would give anything to keep that question rhetorical….One of the things that we were proudest of in Kronk was how many other mutts he helped rehabilitate; our goal was to have him spend out his days going to the old-folks and retirement homes to cheer those guys up a little.With that loopy grin and his doofy head shake, everyone who ever met him instinctively trusted him. Except with salmon-don’t trust him with salmon. He weighed that cost-benefit and elected to go for the goal.I am trying to focus on the good that he has accomplished-at the joy that he brought into our and countless other lives.He didn’t just sit in a back yard somewhere; he served as an ambassador to help increase the awareness that, like people, your appearance doesn’t dictate who you are.And, he converted quite a few people that would have otherwise not known how much fun he could be, or how happy a big slobbery mutt can make you.The older folks didn’t seem to be terribly amazed that he was friendly—they just seemed to be happy that he was paying attention to them without any reason other than he liked them. Going to miss that as well!Just left the vet after looking at an x-ray that appears tobe a time-lapse of mushrooms growing; the lungs aren’t even recognizable anymore.Of course, this isn’t a judgment call-I guess I can thank God for that small mercy. Very small, in fact.I think about the nights getting up to take him out at 3 a.m., the picking of his 100-lb carcass out of bed every morning (he was sleeping with Kim—I got the sofa) and placing him back in bed every night. The specialty food, the running home at lunch to give him pain meds.Having to watch him on the sofa; he wanted to go harass and play with the other dogs, but we couldn’t take the risk of him shattering an already fragile leg.The constant travel to get high-pH water, the reading of so many bloody labels to avoid processed sugar that I was ready to scream (it’s in EVERYTHING!).Fighting to get him to go outside to pee (it hurt to walk) and then fighting again to get him to come back to dinner.We would do it again without hesitation!But as I drive home from the vets(I pulled off the highway to write this before it escaped my mind; typing on this shitty little cell-phone is a punishment in itself), I am struggling with the fact that we get only one more sunrise.No more ball playing.No more licks or mooching from the table.No more ringing the back door chimes to be let out.No more snoozing in a comfy sunbeam.No more snoring at the foot of the bed.No more enthusiastic greetings when I get home.No more nuzzling my arm when he wants to be petted.And I guess now I realize that Dad lied to me one more time:“Big boys don’t cry.”I can hardly see the road.YET ANOTHER EDIT:I have a buddy that has just been hit with something similar. Maybe this will help him not have to go through this.Hi Everyone!As most of you know, I am heavily involved with Rottweiller rescue, and I try really really hard to stay away from the PBS style money begging when a hard-luck case comes by.Heck, even I can't donate to every mutt that I help-I would have been bankrupt a LONG time ago; as such I try to keep my "we need cash" pleas to all of my friends to a bare minimum.(Truthfully, if something shows up on my doorstep looking like it is lonely and needs a meal then it is going t get fed, a bed, and maybe even a kiss as it gets tucked in, whether it is a dog, cat, horse, or a fruit bat)And this is one of those-for anyone that follows him, Ed Heldt is a first responder and has been posting an "Ask Uma" blog for the last year or so.He lost his first love, Frankie about two years ago-and I am unfortunately in the know of how devastating it is to lose one of your four-legged friends.Frankie was a Rottweiller, just like Uma is.When you lose a wife, you become a widower.When you lose a husband, you become a widow.When you lose a parent, you become an orphan.But when you lose your furry companion and soul-mate...there's not even a word for it.It is simply that awful.I need to be blunt; Bone and Lymph cancer in Rottweillers is serious and has a very low survival rate.We are very likely not buying a cure.But we ARE buying more time...and in truth, that is all that a cure (for any of us) really is.Any funds we raise for this are going to buy hopefully a LOT more time.Although he may not see eye to eye with each of you from a political standpoint, I promise that when he is pulling you from a burning car that will not be a topic that he brings up.This man has contributed a ton to his community as a first responder, and if you guys could help take some of this financial heat off of his head I would take it as a personal favor.In fact, he set up "Frankie's Fund, where donations go to help people-like him now- that are strapped and can't afford the vet bills.There are "Compassionate Care loans that can help him through this, but although he has applied this COVID crap has slowed everything done and prevented him from getting a timely consideration.Same deal as always; even $5 helps. If you can help by sharing that would be even better.Last, he could always use a few words on empathy; I am sorry to tell you that I know EXACTLY what he is going through.I am asking everyone to donate directly to the vet (hey, I have been scammed by a sob story; no reason for anyone else to go through it!)The contact info is 315-446-7933. Uma's Patient intake # is 123767. These folks will GLEEFULLY take your money.edman--Ed Heldt15 hrsUma update : I just spoke with Uma's surgeon regarding the results of her X Ray's and the report on the needle aspiration of her mandibular lymph node. The good news is her lung n chest xrays are cancer free. The lymph node biopsy came back showing sum mast cells in her lymph node. Blood work suprisingly normal, which is good news. Surgery to remove this tumor and remove the suspect lymph node. Surgery scheduled for this coming Monday @7am. The bad news is I'm still about $1800 short. I have approx $2100 credit thanks to all of you. I've paid over $1000 to get us to this point. I've applied for a personal loan, waiting for approval. I know I've asked alot but as you know Uma is all I have. If I gotta rob a fuking bank shes having surgery on monday!!! MUAH N PEES OUT😘❤ If u wish to donate u can call the vet with a direct donation their number is 315-446-7933. Tell them u wish to donate to Umas account. Umas patient ID is 123767...ty to everyone who donated. Ty to everyone who pray for us and for your support💯❤❣