Desperately not thinking is hard
I should have posted ages ago, but I've no excuses beyond one. I didn't want to. Last Saturday evening our dear old Bucky, a dog of advanced age, had a stroke. I tended to him all Sunday, and Dad kept him close all Monday, before taking our poor dear to be put down on Tuesday.
He was 26 human years of age. He loved us to the very last, and when I cuddled him close his panicked heartbeat would slow, and he would relax, knowing he was in the arms of his pack. Our heartbeats soothed him, being wrapped in our scent helped him. Because the stroke blinded him. Our voices and hands on his fur let him know he was still loved, still pack, still one of ours, and we would not let him go so easy. He did not let us go either, he was the most stubborn and determined dog I have ever had the honor to meet, and I am proud to have been a part of his pack, to have won some of the love of that indomitable spirit.
All I could think was that at least this member of our family wasn't alone, didn't die without us there, that we did our duty. That Bucky stood up on strong little legs that didn't shake after he went to sleep, and raced after Mom, intent on protecting her and keeping her company until the rest of his pack could arrive.
This was our dog, one of the three animal companions in the house who are as much a part of the family as we ourselves. There is not a single thing that is done that they are not considered. When ice cream is bought as a treat, the dogs are purchased their own special treats. Now it's down to Patches and the cat, Jinx, and we are watching Patches closely. Dogs can be very unstable left alone, and we will have to do that sometimes when all of us are at work now. He always had someone else of the pack there with him.
Suffice it to say, life has been hard this summer. Since the 22nd, I have had no appetite when sitting at home, and must constantly distract myself to keep from dwelling on how empty the house seems. Energy levels are low, and unless I am monofocused on something, it is hard to be cheerful. Hard to smile and laugh and pretend everything has a shining lining. I can't help but think, next Friday will have been a month since I got the news that stole the color from my world. The color is returning slowly, especially since I am stubborn, you know this. I am fighting through the gloom, searching for happy memories, searching for sad ones as well, and trying to recall that she's safe now. That she will never break down crying in one of those rare moments she realizes what she's lost. And that while I may never hug her again, hold her tight and love my Mom with every ounce of filial devotion in me, she can't hurt. She can't cry, and she has ten million memories of my hugs to help her fly.
Yes, that's my automatic reaction to pain.
If Pain, then... hug.
If hug = Not Pain, then... End hug.
If hug = still Pain, then... continue hug.
If hug = still Pain, then... dither.
If dither = still Pain, then... attempt amusement.
If amusement = still Pain, then.... hug.
Hug until Pain = Not.
Silly, aren't I?
I'm going off to see if I can neaten up the more recent photos of our geriatric gentleman. God Bless that dog, for he loved us and we loved him, and that is the only reason I need to beg God's favor.
PS- Deb, I have a new favorite song... it's so creepy, but it's cool.... 'Modred's Lullaby' by Heather Dale. I want the rest of the album. This is creepy-cool-hair raising-gorgeous, I hope the rest of the album is just as good.
He was 26 human years of age. He loved us to the very last, and when I cuddled him close his panicked heartbeat would slow, and he would relax, knowing he was in the arms of his pack. Our heartbeats soothed him, being wrapped in our scent helped him. Because the stroke blinded him. Our voices and hands on his fur let him know he was still loved, still pack, still one of ours, and we would not let him go so easy. He did not let us go either, he was the most stubborn and determined dog I have ever had the honor to meet, and I am proud to have been a part of his pack, to have won some of the love of that indomitable spirit.
All I could think was that at least this member of our family wasn't alone, didn't die without us there, that we did our duty. That Bucky stood up on strong little legs that didn't shake after he went to sleep, and raced after Mom, intent on protecting her and keeping her company until the rest of his pack could arrive.
This was our dog, one of the three animal companions in the house who are as much a part of the family as we ourselves. There is not a single thing that is done that they are not considered. When ice cream is bought as a treat, the dogs are purchased their own special treats. Now it's down to Patches and the cat, Jinx, and we are watching Patches closely. Dogs can be very unstable left alone, and we will have to do that sometimes when all of us are at work now. He always had someone else of the pack there with him.
Suffice it to say, life has been hard this summer. Since the 22nd, I have had no appetite when sitting at home, and must constantly distract myself to keep from dwelling on how empty the house seems. Energy levels are low, and unless I am monofocused on something, it is hard to be cheerful. Hard to smile and laugh and pretend everything has a shining lining. I can't help but think, next Friday will have been a month since I got the news that stole the color from my world. The color is returning slowly, especially since I am stubborn, you know this. I am fighting through the gloom, searching for happy memories, searching for sad ones as well, and trying to recall that she's safe now. That she will never break down crying in one of those rare moments she realizes what she's lost. And that while I may never hug her again, hold her tight and love my Mom with every ounce of filial devotion in me, she can't hurt. She can't cry, and she has ten million memories of my hugs to help her fly.
Yes, that's my automatic reaction to pain.
If Pain, then... hug.
If hug = Not Pain, then... End hug.
If hug = still Pain, then... continue hug.
If hug = still Pain, then... dither.
If dither = still Pain, then... attempt amusement.
If amusement = still Pain, then.... hug.
Hug until Pain = Not.
Silly, aren't I?
I'm going off to see if I can neaten up the more recent photos of our geriatric gentleman. God Bless that dog, for he loved us and we loved him, and that is the only reason I need to beg God's favor.
PS- Deb, I have a new favorite song... it's so creepy, but it's cool.... 'Modred's Lullaby' by Heather Dale. I want the rest of the album. This is creepy-cool-hair raising-gorgeous, I hope the rest of the album is just as good.