Like a Warm Hug

The neighbors down the street got a new puppy.  Toby is a blond golden retriever with black sloe eyes and a waggy butt.  He's 3mos old and easily on his way to 80lbs. I want to carry him in my pocket all day long.

When we were in Charleston, SC (and not Savannah, GA) we saw a woman standing the storefront of an ice cream shop eating her dessert.  She had all the appearance of someone who had been kicked out of the restaurant, which is, I think, what drew my attention.  But then, I noticed she had a brand spanking new black lab puppy at the end of a leash.  Like a moth to a flame, I crossed the street and asked her if I could meet him.  He let me love on him and then plopped back down onto the cool tiles.

Meeting a friendly dog is like a warm hug.

Warm Spot

Today, while working from home, I stepped into the carpeted bedroom onto a square of sunlight-warmed floor.  My breath caught remembering how, every now and again, we'd step on a spot where Scout had been sleeping and be surprised by the warm, lasting imprint of her.  Our house is so empty without her.

Foto Friday - Like Mother, Like Daughters

Keisa

Scout

Snickett

Happy Thanksgiving!

Every year around this time I lose it.

Sometimes it happens in early fall, other times I make it to early February.  And every year I blame it on work, school, My Beloved, an injury/illness, etc.  This year, I realized it's not actually any of those things. What is the one constant?  Me.  And the Doldrums.  My antidote is to run away to my 'rents Cabin in the Desert (nice, if you can get it!).  This year, I heard the warning siren of the incoming freight train of emotional disaster and planned ahead.  I stayed home for Thanksgiving while the rest of my family visited with each other and long-missed friends.  I drove to Thanksgiving dinner and back in the same night and relished in almost three days of Juliane Time in my own home.

So, this year, I am thankful for:

1. A loving husband who can selflessly give me the latitude to quietly rebuild
2. A supportive family that doesn't ask a lot of questions
3. A warm (thank you insulation!), safe home in which to cocoon
4. Fabulous friends with whom I can party, shop, and chill, on demand
5. Finally reaching a new degree of emotional maturity.

Something else for which I'm thankful is my MIL.  When visiting last weekend, we spied a 3mo chocolate lab in the city.  She asked if petting him would make me too sad.  I told her my loss wasn't so raw anymore.  She said, "Sometimes you need to lean into the grief."  Isn't that a beautiful phrase?  And so, I've been leaning into the grief.  True, sometimes it chokes me up, but more and more I don't feel the emptiness; instead, it's a warm hug of happy memory.  Thanks, Scout.

Visit from Scout

I mowed the lawn this weekend.

This is usually My Beloved's burden (recall that earlier post about me trading 3/4 of duties for grocery shopping?), but he is swamped with work this week and I, devoted wife and selfless soul that I am (hack! cough! sputter!) gladly stepped up.

What's the big deal?  We live on only 1/3 of an acre and the house takes up a third of that.  I'll tell you what the big deal is: we have an electric lawn mower.  It might as well come with an "I'm a bleeding heart environmentalist" bumper sticker because no one in their right mind would buy a CORDED electric lawn mower.  The coordination, planning, and grace required to navigate the obstacles one might find in a suburban yard like, oh, say a tree or a lamp post whilst trailing 20' of electric cord is not to be underestimated.

When My Beloved came out to "coach" me for the third time, we heard heavy panting and the tell-tale sound of dog chain jingling behind a stand of trees.  With little prompting, out popped a full-grown bulldog/pitbull mix and his sidekick, a 1yo brindle pitbull mix puppy.  Neither was wearing a collar, but the adult had a choke chain on.  The poor things were dying for water.  It was a typical, brutal Pennsylvania summer afternoon with stifling humidity and hazy sunshine.  We brought them onto the porch and gave them ice and cool water, and promptly called Animal Control.

They were clearly well-loved dogs who got loose somehow.  I couldn't squat down to pet either of them without getting a face full of slobbery thanks.  And when Animal Control showed up, the puppy jumped right up into the car like it was his favorite thing to do.

As has happened before with other dogs, these dogs didn't make me pine for Scout because they were so unlike her.  But it made me think she'd painted the dog equivalent of a hobo sign for "Dog-loving Humans"somewhere on our fence.  I hope those two find their way home, soon.*

*Many of you will respond to this and say we should get another dog.  For the record, we are not getting another dog.  Full stop.  Period.  Yes, we would both love another furry family member, but we travel frequently for long periods of time and work obsessive hours.  We can have this conversation again when we retire.  Thank you for your concern.

Mums the Word

I can't believe how very little I've had to say, lately!  There have been things I've wanted to share, mostly about Scout.  But I can't write about her without sounding sad.  Remember that post about happy endings? It's important I frame my thoughts about her in the most positive light.  Suffice to say that, for some reason, My Beloved and I have been missing her more sorrowfully lately than we were a month ago.  Sometimes, they are happy remembrances, like last night during the fireworks which used to send her shivering into the corner.  But they've also been of the painful nature.

Loss sucks.

Remembering Scout

As I expect will be the case for the rest of my life, these are the moments that recently brought me  tears/warm memories:

1. Hiding my own horse pills in a tablespoon of peanut butter and no puddles of drool on the kitchen floor
2. Napping in the afternoon on an empty bed.
3. Sleeping in with no "harrump!" asking for breakfast
4. The faded carpet square where her water and food bowl used to sit
5. Walking laps around the couch...with no one to chase
6. Spending all night in the hospital and not needing to make arrangements for someone to feed and walk her
7. Working from home in the living room with no black coil of fur to keep me company
8. The arrival of the latest issue of The Whole Dog Journal

Virtual hugs

Pause here to say thanks to a surprising number of readers who called or emailed after that last post about grief. I don't want to qualify too much because, yeah, it's that bad sometimes. But not all the time. And each day a little less.

Thank you for all the virtual hugs and hand-holding. It is so very much appreciated. I'd call to say thanks personally, but I still can't talk about her without crying :)

Tumbleweed in My Heart

We are....adjusting.  We went home to be with family over Easter.  When we came back, we began the long, slow, sad adjusting to no more wagging tails, no shuddering happy sighs, no clack-clack of too long nails on Pergo.

At first, I thought all other dogs would be a comfort to me; that I would relish in their warm fur and remember.  Instead, all other dogs (mostly) repulse me.  I feel betrayed.  There is no comfort there because she was more than just warm fur.  She was Scout, with a unique personality.  And she is gone.

The other day driving home from work, I turned to check traffic and the pointillism of nose prints on my passenger windows caught the sunlight.  Suddenly, I saw the long stretch of my life before me:  she is no where in it anymore and I have a sh*t load more years to go by myself, now.  It is overwhelming.

Ah, so this is Grief.  Hi.  I've been expecting you.

"Grief" by Gene Gould

She is Gone

Good girl, Scout.  Good girl.

Alien Nausea

Scout (aka Lumpy aka Pickle aka Stinky) has been puking her little guts out all afternoon.  It's hard on her (obviously), but also hard on My Beloved who has to bear helpless witness to her lethargy and clean up all the mess.  Working in an office is a mixed blessing:  on one hand, um, ewww!  on the other, I'd like to be home to help out.

I do what I can. I stopped at the grocery store (see Rant #155) on my way home and picked up some hamburger (to be boiled for aforementioned dog) and some steak (to be grilled for aforementioned Beloved).  By the time I got home, Scout was ravenous and overjoyed at the retch(!)ed smell of boiling hamburger.  My Beloved was happy to have a hot dinner, but still pretty shook up.  While eating dinner, we started watching "District 9"in the hopes it would be engaging enough to distract us both from a very stressful day.  I was excited to finally see the movie because I am intrigued by the plot and also have a soft spot for the producer, Peter Jackson.  Unfortunately, I have such a sensitive vagal response that the combination of worrying about Scout, the smell of cooked meat, and the graphic nature of the film has left both Scout and I curled up in bed wishing the world would stop moving.  At least we have each other!

Sympatico

When I tell a pet-owner that My Beloved and I are going to lose our dog, they tear up.  Guys and gals alike.  It's uncanny.  I don't have to say anything more than that and BOOM! the water wells in his/her eyes.

I wonder what that means?  No one reacts like that when I tell them we lost an aunt to cancer, a friend to suicide, and a grandmother to time last year.