Sunday, April 29, 2007

My Mind is Blank

I've not been able to write much in the past few days. As you've likely noticed from the previous entry, my geriatric mutt passed away last Thursday. I'm torn between heartbreak and rememberance, and making incredibly inappropriately macabre-humorous remarks, which is my usual method of coping with tragedy. I know he was "just a dog," but he was MY dog, my first, very own, mine-all-mine dog. My boy.

When he was a little puppy he had rather smelly fur. Actually, to be truthful, he maintained the odor of wet mutt throughout his life regardless of the humidity of his fur. But when he was a baby I just couldn't understand WHY he stunk! Then someone told me that, as he was part terrier, terriers tend to have an oil in their skin that kind of keeps the funk going on.

My solution? "Obsession" scented perfume for dogs.

He forgave me for that, fortunately. And I wisely let him maintain his distinctively doggy odor after that little experiment failed.

When he turned five I got misty-eyed as I considered that, if he were human, he'd be heading off to kindergarten in the fall.

When he was eight years old, my elder son was born. Little Guy was so happy with the baby when he was little. He'd sit on the same quilt with him and just relax in the joy of knowing he had his own little piece of Mommy right there with him.

When he was twelve years old and my younger son was born, he knew enough to stay out of arm's reach from the child lest his fur be grabbed in a tiny fist.

For the longest time he didn't show his age much. At thirteen years old, he was bouncing around with the energy of a little puppy, even though he had some mild cataracts. But the past couple of years he's been failing. And finally, early Thursday morning, April 26, 2007, my baby boy crossed the Rainbow Bridge.

Enjoy, Little Guy. Mommy loves you, always.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

One of the things I intend to take up with God when we meet is why those squawky parrots are designed to live for a whole century - while our furry babies are taken from us at the point we're sure we can't go on without them.

Much sympathy, to you and your family.