My Beastly Boy

Here's a lovely picture some of the good folks on dogster.com's A-Team (Angel Team) created for my Little Guy after he passed:
I like the kind of oil-painted look it's got (necessary, as that wasn't a digital pic but a rather old, tiny, scanned-in photo).

I miss my doggie. The cats are nice, but they aren't dogs (sorry, Emily).

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.

Crossing the Rainbow Bridge

Little Guy
12/19/90 - 04/26/07

Friends

I just learned today that a friend of mine from back in junior high, extending through senior high, passed away. We got back into touch over 10 years ago when we were both teaching at the same middle school. It ended up that we lived in the same apartment building; I was on the third floor, she was on the first, and there was this evil wench living between us who liked to play music so loud it shook my floor and her dining room light fixture.

Time passed. She was in my wedding, I sang at hers. I moved out of state, she moved to another city. I moved back, and we met a few times sometimes with kids, sometimes without.

She'd suffered from breast cancer for years, and it had metastasized (or however that's spelled -- I'm so not looking things up tonight). Still, I thought she'd survive. I didn't keep in contact like I should. After all, she was going to be okay. There was always another chance for a lunch date, another time to write an e-mail, another day to make a phone call...

But there's not. There's no more time.

I know she now knows why I was so distracted -- or at least I selfishly comfort myself by believing so. But that doesn't change the fact that I let her down, even if she didn't miss my presence with all the other friends and family at her side.

That's on me.

R.I.P.

Steve Irwin

February 22, 1962 - September 4, 2006

Rest in peace, Steve-O.

My most sincere sympathies to Terri, Bindi Sue, and Bob.

I've never see a man love becoming a father so much.

Damn. Just... damn.