Death By A Thousand Cuts

We had to put Sweetdog down today.

I thought I was so smart to dispose of the obvious things that would remind me of her before we left for her “appointment” at the Vet’s office: her beds around the house, the pee pads under the couch covers, her huge bag of food in the pantry, her medications.  However, as it turns out, I forgot approximately 994 more.  And with each thing that I find I’ve forgotten today, it feels like another tiny slice on my heart.  My eyes blur from the hot salty tears that slide down my cheeks, unwanted that they are.  And that very action makes me cry even harder, because my Sweetdog loved to lick away tears.  She’d be filled to bursting with all of the tears I’ve shed for her today. Slice.

Thankfully, oh so thankfully, The Gammy and The Grampa came up to watch Sweetgirl and Sweetboy for us for a few hours.  Just when I thought Sweetman and I had cried it all out, we got home from the grocery store and began unpacking groceries.  Mercifully, the grandparents still hadn’t returned with our sweetchildren, because as I unpacked the first bag, I went to stuff it into the “poop bag holder”.  And I promptly burst into hot angry tears, screaming to no one in particular that, “We don’t even need to keep the grocery bags anymore!”.  Slice.

And as I sat down to write, just now, I put my foot on an errant dog toy that we had overlooked this morning.  Slice.  And then Sweetgirl asked when Puppy Pie Pie is coming back from the doctor’s office. Slice.

I know the hurt will subside with time.  I know that full well.  I also know that she was loved well and truly.  And those thoughts, too, are slices of their very own.  For in knowing that the hurt will fade, I worry that I will have forgotten things I want to remember about her.  And in knowing how well she was loved, I remember afresh that she’s no longer here with us to get that love.  Slice, slice…

I’m posting today for me.  It’s cathartic.  I need to write these things down so that I can preserve how very important a part of our family she was.  So important, in fact, that I feel like a little part of me is dying inside today.  By a thousand little tiny cuts.

Riveting Conversations

A few riveting conversation took place today after we got home from Church Camp.  Please try to contain your awe and excitement over the words you are about to read.

Sweetboy: “Mama, guess what? Elmer Fudd uses a lot of ‘W’s’ in his words.”

Me:  “Oh really?  Why do you think that is?”

Sweetboy:  “Because he speaks another language, probably.  Or, he’s missing lots of teeth.”    Oh, indeed!

To which Sweetman declared, “If you don’t blog about that, I will!”     I kindly reminded him that he does not, in fact, even have a blog.

And, not to be outdone in the Riveting Conversation Department, here’s Sweetgirl’s input for today:

Sweetgirl:  “Mama, does Nana know she wears a necklace on her foot?”

Me:  “I do believe she does, Sweetgirl.”     (You do, right Nana?)

And because Sweetdog truly is one of us, she limped in this afternoon saying (and I quote):

Sweetdog: “I need to go to the vet today as my leg hurts quite badly and I haven’t cost you guys the customary couple hundred dollars yet this month.”     If this dog could talk, I PROMISE you, that is exactly what she would say!

Therefore, I am off to the vet. Riveting. I know…

Every Dog Has Its Day

Once upon a time there was a yellow Sweetdog with boundless enthusiasm and zest for life. (Please read that, loved to eat human tube socks and sniff crotches.) This Sweetdog was beloved by her humans more than she could ever know.   She did, in fact, teach her newly-married humans how to love another living thing in a way they’d never experienced as swingin’ singles with no attachments. And her humans were grateful.  They loved her so much that as she flapped her jowels, sending dog drool that measured by the foot flying this way and that, they laughed about it.  They loved her so much, that when she started making a game of seeing just how many socks she could swallow, they happily chased her around the yard trying to get her to ingest the hydrogen peroxide that the vet told them would bring it “back up”.  They patiently bathed her over and over, at three o’clock in the morning, because she’d gotten a little too up-close-and-personal with a skunk.  They just loved her so.

And then one morning, they came downstairs to find that Sweetdog had, seemingly, grown white around her muzzle overnight!  “How did this happen?”, they asked.  “When did this happen?”, they wondered.  Before they knew it, this dog, this Sweet ol’ doggy girl, began losing her patience with the children that she loved.  She began leaving us “nuggets of friendship” most mornings in her bed.  Her bladder rebelled against time that made it wait too long to relieve itself.  And, born with a deformed shoulder bone, this Sweetdog began to find it more and more difficult to get up to the places where she could snuggle up with her humans.

So, her humans have taken to getting down on the floor to snuggle at her level.  All four of them.  You see, even though she snips at Sweetgirl when she gets to close to that achin’ shoulder, she still loves her so.  And even though Sweetboy sometimes forgets to feed her first thing in the morning, he still loves her so.  And those two humans that she started out with?  They realize that the clock is a tickin’.  And they don’t want to waste one precious moment left with their Sweetdog.  Because they heart her so.  And always will. Yes, indeedy.

Thanks for Not Eating Your Poop

File that under “Things You NEVER Thought You’d Say”.  Gross, right?  You have no idea.  Sweetdog has taken to doing some of the very things that we always beamed with pride that “our dog” didn’t do.  That’s parenthood in a nutshell, right there, folks.  Yes indeedy.  Aside from making sure that the bathroom trash cans are off the floor now, so that chewed up bits and pieces of ‘things that shouldn’t be mentioned’ aren’t found strewn across the floor, I’ve also had the new pleasure of making sure to get my keester downstairs at the crack of dawn to help Sweetdog outside to relieve herself.  Or she most certainly will. Only, all over the rug.  Or floor.  Or, in the interest of full disclosure for those Sweetfriends that visit me from time to time, also on the couch.  (Please, don’t stop visiting!  I’ll turn the cushions over just for you!)  Sigh…

It didn’t surprise me, then, not even one iota, that I awoke recently one morning to hear a chorus of “EWWWWW, Sweetdog!!!!  NOOOO!!! Don’t eat your poop! EWWWWW!!!”.  Followed very shortly by “MAMAAAAA, Sweetdog just ATE HER POOOOOOP!!!”. As if I hadn’t heard them the first time.  It’s the stuff every mama dreams of waking up to, right?  Sweet Moses…  Couple that new development with Sweetman going to sit on the couch last week and finding his keester wet from a freshly-peed-upon spot on the couch cushion, and I do believe that *Miracle Floor Cleaner* and I can formally sign a binding agreement.  Wherein, I can honestly say that I will, single-handedly, be keeping them in business for at least the foreseeable future.

Yesterday, I came down in the nick of time folks. You see, sweet dog had just “deposited” and was circling back around for the ole’ snifferooney. Because, you know, she wasn’t sure what that new, interesting looking thing could possibly be over there on the floor!  And I swooped in and picked that nasty thing up with help from our leftover stash of “diaper stink containment bags”. And as I tied that bag up as tightly as I could, I patted Sweetdog’s head and said “Thanks for not eating your poop, ole’ girl.”  Oh. Yes. I. Did.  Indeed.

*Disclaimer*  Miracle Floor Cleaner was NOT the actual name of what I used.  I have no formal agreement with any pet stain remover company. But would certainly LOVE to, if any of them felt so inclined.  Because, you know, I use a ton of the stuff. Often. I’m just putting that out there…