dog – Page 3 – The View from a Drawbridge

Bad Bridge! Bad!

I’d say that working on a drawbridge is a very zen-like experience 95% of the time. Unfortunately, you never know when that 5% of pure chaos is going to rear up and bite you on the patootie. I had one of those days recently.

I went to bed at 3am. No, I’m not a party animal. It’s just that I didn’t have to be to work until 3pm on this particular day, so I tend to sleep in. Way, way in. It’s one of the few joys of being single, and I take full advantage of it.

So imagine my confusion when the phone rang at 7am, right in the middle of a REM cycle. My dream popped like a bubble. I hate when that happens. For a minute I have no idea where I am, or even who I am. It’s like my brain has to reboot.

I was being called to come in to work early. How early? 11am. They needed me to work a 12 hour shift. Okay. Crap. I set my alarm for 9:30 and went back to sleep. At least I’d be getting 4 hours of double overtime. (Thanks, union!)

So in to work I went, to find that I had company for the first 4 hours. A Trainee. Actually, I like training people. It’s kind of fun. And this was a pleasant person to talk to, whom I could see would work out nicely. As I’ve written before, I can pretty much tell if someone is fit for this job within the first 5 minutes.

But while he was here, the sidewalk camera shorted out. That’s a problem because it means we can’t see all the pedestrians before we open the bridge, and Seattle pedestrians are horrifyingly non-compliant about staying off of moving bridges, despite flashing lights, loud gongs, and us desperately screaming at them. It’s a wonder no one has been killed. So fixing this camera is a top priority. Which means the electricians had to come out. Now we had 4 people crammed into a tiny little room, and that can be a bit emotionally draining. But they fixed the camera and were gone within an hour.

And then it was time for the trainee to leave. Finally, my usual routine. Peace. Quiet. My own domain.

Then the storm hit. Rain was coming down in sheets. And the next thing I knew, BOOM! Lightning struck just south of the bridge. Now, when I was a bridgetender in Florida, I was used to this. It was a rare day when lightning didn’t strike somewhere in my vicinity. But here in Seattle, I’ve only seen lightning three times in the nearly three years I’ve been here, so I nearly jumped out of my skin this time.

And then alarms started going off. Oh, shit. That’s never good. It turns out that 3 of the 4 drives that operate bridge had shorted out. It was after hours, so I called the supervisor of the electricians, and he told me to walk down to both ends of the bridge and push a specific button to reset the drives. All well and good, but the storm was still raging. I had to walk down with lightning crashing all around me. That was fun.

Then I walked back up to the tower, only to discover that one of the drives had reset, but the other two had not. I made a call again, and was told, again, to go down and push the button. Naturally, the two drives in question were on the far side of the bridge, which meant yet another long walk through the electrified tempest.

I came back to the tower. The two drives were still malfunctioning. Phone call number three. This time he said he’d be right out. So I sat there in the tower, drenched in sweat, waiting, as sailboats stacked up like cordwood on the canal, and I was contacted every five minutes by various boaters and had to explain why I wasn’t opening the drawbridge for them.

Could things possibly get worse? Of course! A traffic accident south of bridge backed up traffic for miles, delaying the arrival of the electrician.

And then the phone went dead. I’m getting calls on the marine radio from a variety of employees, asking if I’m sure that the phone is properly hung up. Do I look like an idiot? Of course the phone is properly hung up. Then the phone fixes itself with no intervention on my part, so of course everyone thinks the phone was not properly hung up. Sigh.

Oh, and the sidewalk camera went out again. Fortunately, it, too, fixed itself. Go figure.

The electrician finally makes it through the traffic snarl, and is able to fix things within 45 minutes, bless him. By now I’m so exhausted from the adrenaline rush that I’m nauseous and practically delirious. I have never been so happy to see 11pm in my life. The next challenge is driving home without falling asleep at the wheel.

When I finally get home, my dog is extremely happy to see me. (I just love dogs, don’t you?) So I feed him, take a shower to get all the sweat off, and dive into bed. I suspect I’ll be asleep within 5 minutes, which is a good thing, because I have to be back to work at 7am the next morning. I’ll be lucky to cram 5 hours of sleep in.

Except, did I mention that my dog is extremely happy to see me? I may be ready for bed, but he is not. He wants to play! He wants to tell me about his day. He wants to know where the hell I’ve been for 12 hours. He wants to warn me about the lightning monsters that come from the sky.

I hug him. I give him kisses. I tell him he’s a good dog. I beg him, I plead with him, to settle down. Finally, he curls up by my hip and…the next thing I know, the alarm goes off, and it’s time to do it all over again.

If I were a cartoon character, I’d have one of those squiggly lines above my head right now. I need a hug.

Facepalm

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Sound Memories

This coming June, I’ll have officially lived longer without my mother in my life than I did with her. What a concept. I can no longer remember her voice, except for the sound of one painfully high note she would hit when we’d sing a particular song. “Ain’t gonna GRIEEEEEVE my Lord no more!”

I think she did that on purpose to make me laugh. At least I hope she did. No one in my family is known for singing, but that… that was excruciating.

I miss it.

It’s funny, the things you remember and the things you don’t. Sounds, smells, songs… Sounds particularly stick with me.

I remember the sound of cowbells on a distant slope in Switzerland when I was 19 and more in love than I had ever been before or since.

Travel sounds, in particular, seem to stick with me. Coqui frogs chirping on one swelteringly hot evening in Puerto Rico. A fog horn on the coast of Canada. The call to prayer in Istanbul. Mariachis in Mexico. Flamenco dancers in Spain.

I can hear those things like they are happening right this minute. I also remember hurtful things that have been said to me. I wish I didn’t.

I remember heading out for work one day, just like any other day, except my dog Sugar ran up to the fence and threw back her head and howled like her heart was going to break in two. Before I could leave, I had to run over and give her a hug.

I remember being told I’d never leave the little redneck Florida town where I grew up. Ha! You got that wrong. But you’re still there. And you voted for Trump, too.

I remember a loved one beside me, snoring. I was irritated at the time. Now I’d give anything to have someone beside me, snoring.

“I ain’t gonna grieve my Lord no more…”

coqui

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Dedication

I admire dedication. For instance, when I watch the rowing crews practicing in the pouring rain in the dead of Seattle winter, I think, “Wow. I could never do that.”

But that’s not true. I could do that, I suppose. But would I? Hell no. I like warmth. And if I can’t have warmth, I certainly don’t want to throw wetness and sweat into the mix. Who does that, if they’re in their right mind?

I’m also in awe of people who dedicate their entire lives to a single cause. I don’t have that clarity of purpose. And I’m easily bored. There. I said it.

Jeez. Now I’m feeling all lazy and stuff.

But here’s the thing. (Yes, there’s always a thing.) Dedication, when you have it, doesn’t feel like some heavy suitcase that you’re forced to lug around with you wherever you go. It’s as natural as breathing. I suspect that most dedicated people don’t even give that dedication much thought.

For example, I’m dedicated to giving my dog a forever home where he’ll feel safe and loved until the end of his days. That could be viewed as an overwhelming responsibility, I suppose, if you’re not a dog person, but I can’t imagine my life without Quagmire, and there’s nothing I’d rather do than give him the life he deserves.

I’m also dedicated to maintaining my integrity, even in times when that feels awkward. I’m often the one who will speak up when others won’t. It gets me into trouble. It can be stressful. But to do otherwise would feel wrong to me.

You, dear reader, are also dedicated. Whatever your reason for being may be, it comes so naturally to you that you’ll probably have trouble coming up with examples of your dedication. But trust me, it’s there. And I find that admirable.

Thank you!

Dedication

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Have You Ever Been Licked on the Eyeball?

My dog did that to me just the other day. It was not a pleasant experience. He meant well. It was just his way of showing me that he was very happy to see me. It’s not his fault that I was disgusted by it.

It’s always kind of unsettling when the gesture that is given is not the one that is received. You go to hug someone, only to be told, “Please don’t touch me.” Someone shakes your hand a little too confidently, not knowing you have severe arthritis. Or you experience the ultimate culture clash: your Latino sense of personal space intrudes upon someone else’s Germanic sense of personal space. Or you learn rather abruptly that not everyone is ready to be comforted.

Is it any wonder that there are so many misunderstandings in this world? It’s easy to forget that the overtures you make are coming toward the recipients wrapped snugly in a blanket of their culture, orientation, current mood, mental health level, and past experience. You never can be completely sure what your gift is going to look like to them. And that goes both ways. No one should take it personally.

So, will I stop hugging my dog? No. But I’ll probably make an effort to do so with my eyes firmly closed from now on.

puppy_licking_laughing_woman

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Quagmire Lays an Egg

Okay everybody, someone is really trying to mess with my head. Not since the movie “Gaslight” has anyone been as manipulated into questioning his or her sanity as I have been lately.

To bring you up to speed, 10 months ago I wrote The Great Banana Mystery, in which I described the antics of my dog Quagmire, who brought me intact bananas on two consecutive days. Bananas from, seemingly, nowhere.

Then, two months later, I wrote The Plot Thickens, about Quagmire bringing me a slice of watermelon, when I had no watermelon in the house.

Three months after that, I wrote Things Get Fruitier, when Quagmire brought me a peach. Again, no peaches on my grocery list.

Now, five months after the peach, I am at the end of my rope. I went outside for two short minutes to put my trash can at the curb for pick up, and when I came back inside, I found an egg, still in its shell, sitting in the middle of my living room floor. I swear I’m not making this up. I can’t even imagine making something like this up.

After a quick inventory of the eggs in my fridge, I discovered that they were all accounted for. So… what the hell????? What… how… I can’t even form an appropriate question.

I actually hesitated to dispose of it for a minute there. For all I knew, it was set to detonate. Or worse, it might disappear in my hand. I’ve watched too many episodes of The Twilight Zone in my lifetime.

Quagmire also brought me half an apple recently. Fortunately, I soon realized that the little monster had stolen the apple from my backpack and must have taken it outside to munch on before showing it off. And that damned apple had cost me $1.99 a pound.

So this dog has a history of food theft, to say the least. Thank heavens his little legs are too short to get him up on the counter, or lord knows what I’d come home to every day.

But… an egg? I mean… No words…

quagmire — Yeah, Quagmire looks all innocent…

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Transformations

Not long ago, I had a good dog. He was my best friend. He was my emotional bedrock. In a time when all the sand seems to be shifting beneath my feet, he was the one living thing that I could count on.

And then I went to dinner.

And when I got back home, he was dying.

I didn’t know it at first. I didn’t want to see it. But he was lying on the living room floor, listless. He wouldn’t eat. He never does that. He wasn’t acting as if he was in pain, though, so I thought I’d take him to the vet first thing in the morning, and everything would be fine. Just fine. Just like he had been before I went to dinner. After all, he was only 10.

I dragged a mattress into the living room and we slept side by side for the last time. Not once did it occur to me that it would be the last time. I thought maybe he had had a seizure. I’ve had dogs that suffered with seizures before. We could handle this.

At 8 am I was waiting with him as the vet unlocked the doors. By 9:30 I was putting him to sleep. I kept thinking, “This isn’t how the day was supposed to go.”

It seems he had a tumor on his heart, and it burst and filled up the pericardium, the sac around his heart, with blood. That pressure was making it hard for his heart to beat. They say he felt no pain. He was just getting increasingly sleepy as his blood wasn’t giving his body the needed oxygen. So I did the right thing.

Next thing I knew, I was burying him.

This wasn’t how the day was supposed to go. And now nothing will ever be the same.

This isn’t the first time I’ve experienced a sudden transformation. I think we all experienced one on 9/11. And I definitely experienced one when the sheriff called me to tell me my boyfriend was dead. And many of us experienced one when Trump was elected.

That there is so much potential to wake up and find your world irrevocably changed terrifies me beyond words. You can’t anticipate it. You can’t control it. Things happen.

I know it will happen to me again, probably many times in my life. I can’t predict these things. There’s nothing I can do to prepare for them. And that makes me feel sick. So I try not to dwell on it.

Not all transformations are necessarily negative, though. I love waking up to a snow-covered landscape when I went to bed to one that was green. I love those rare moments of clarity that we call epiphanies. I love meeting someone that I can tell is going to influence me in one way or another. I love learning something new.

But I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t trade all that to have my dog back.

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Coming to the Rescue

I just had a long talk with my newest dog, Quagmire. Don’t panic. I’m not Son of Sam. I’m willing to acknowledge that the conversation was rather one-sided. But just by being the dog that he is, he was able to tell me quite a bit.

Before I adopted him, he was found dirty, terrified, and on the street. That’s no place for a little Dachshund. He had no microchip or collar, and although the rescue organization kept him for quite some time before putting him up for adoption, no one came for him. That astounds me, because in the short time I’ve had him in my life, I know that this dog is the pure embodiment of love. How could anyone not move heaven and earth to find him?

I will never know his whole story, but it’s clear that he’s been through a lot. I’m beginning to suspect there are health issues that we’ll have to contend with. And he’s the clingiest dog I’ve ever known. He has to sit in the bathroom when I take a shower, or else he’ll stand outside the door and cry. He sticks to me like glue. When I come home from work, he’s practically hysterical with joy. He likes to bury his little head in that space between my shoulder and my ear, deep under my hair.

I will always take good care of Quagmire. I’ll keep him as healthy as I can, and I will always make sure that he feels safe and loved. My life may not be perfect, but I’m going to make his as perfect as it can possibly be.

That’s one of the many joys of rescuing a pet—exercising the ability to give something the perfection that it deserves. Excellence often eludes us. As my mother loved to remind me, life isn’t fair. But when you take on a pet you have the power to give them heaven on earth. You are creating your pet’s entire world, and you can and should make it wonderful. That’s a heady feeling, and there’s no greater gift. For both of you.

The Great Banana Mystery

The other day I got home from work and let the dogs out into the back yard to play. My new little dachshund came running back in almost immediately, looking quite pleased with himself and carrying a ripe, unpeeled banana.

Just let that sink in for a minute.

Now, here are some facts. I do not own a banana tree. I haven’t purchased bananas in about a year, as I’ve found that the store-bought bananas taste horrible in this state. (They’re probably picked dark green for transport, and are flavorless as a result.) So I was definitely not the source of this fruity invader.

Could a neighbor have tossed one over the fence for some reason? I haven’t seen a human inhabiting the house behind me in many, many months. I asked the neighbors to my left if they knew anything about it, and they were stumped. They love my dogs, and sometimes will give them the occasional treats, but I’m quite certain it wouldn’t occur to them to give my boys a banana, peeled or otherwise. I do have neighbors to my right, but our yards are separated by dense, bramble-filled, thick vegetation.

So that leaves, pretty much, dropping from the sky or alien invasion. I don’t see a peregrine falcon or a bald eagle being interested in a banana, and their talons would have made mincemeat of it. I doubt a banana would remain intact if it dropped from an airplane (or a spaceship, for that matter). This banana, in fact, was a fine specimen. I’d have been tempted to eat it myself if it weren’t for the dog tooth punctures and the questionable origins.

So I’m just going to have to accept the fact that this is just another one of life’s great mysteries, and move on. That would be a lot easier to do if the exact same thing hadn’t happened the very next day. This time, though, the banana was heading toward overripe. Quality control spirals ever downward, it seems.

I waited with great anticipation on day three, but… nothing. I hate cliffhangers. Especially when it’s pretty obvious I’ll be left dangling.

dallas-who-shot-jr-i3487 — Probably the same fool who tossed a banana into my back yard. [Image credit: disclose.tv]

Finding a Lost Pet

Anyone who owns pets knows that they quickly become part of the family. The unconditional love that they provide is priceless. The companionship is irreplaceable.

So if one runs away or is otherwise lost, you will naturally be very upset. This happened to me recently, and I thought I’d lose my mind. Not only was I frantic and in tears, but I also quickly realized that I was totally unprepared for this contingency.

Fortunately, in this digital age you have quite a few options. And after my experience I realized that there’s a lot one can do in advance of a pet loss to prepare for it. (Fortunately my beloved dog was returned to me after 48 of the longest hours of my life.) So what follows is what I learned.

First and foremost, have your vet microchip your pet, and keep your contact information with them up to date. This may seem like an unnecessary expense, but believe me, if you don’t do it, there may come a time when you desperately wish that you had. When shelters receive new animals, the first thing they do is scan them for microchips. If a responsible person finds your pet, they will most likely bring them to a shelter or a vet, and vets can scan for chips as well. You may think that the ID on your pet’s collar is sufficient, but my dog dug out under the backyard fence, and left his collar behind (the doofus).

Next, as soon as you discover that your pet is gone, walk the neighborhood. You may get lucky and Rover is just exploring the trash cans next door or sniffing another person’s pet through the screen door. If, like me, you have amazing friends and neighbors, recruit their help in this as well. Also, and I hate to say this, but if you live near any busy highways, you will need to look on the side of the road and in ditches as well.

If that doesn’t work, the next step is to spread the word in as many ways as you can. The best way is to post a notice on the Lost and Found section of Craig’s List for your area. That is ultimately how the man who found my dog was able to contact me. It’s often one of the first places people will look.

Next, post the information on your Facebook page so all your friends, especially the local ones, will know. It’s important that you make this post PUBLIC so they can share it with their local friends, and so on. You’d be amazed at how quickly the word spreads. (Six degrees of separation ROCKS!)

Also, search Facebook for groups related to your neighborhood. You’ll find that they mostly will allow you to make this post, even if it’s not exactly their subject matter. I got a lot of feedback from a local Buy/Sell/Trade page, and a Farmer’s Market page. There was even a Lost Dogs Facebook page for my county. Keep track of what Facebook pages you post on, because people will get emotionally invested in your story, and they’ll want an update if your pet is found.

Next, it is important to contact the area pet shelters. Many of these have entered the 21^st century, and have ways for you to post reports and pictures on their website. They also may post pictures of found pets on their websites. Others have hotlines where you can hear descriptions of the animals they’ve taken in in the past few days. Don’t count on their descriptions being accurate, though, especially if you have a mixed breed. What they think of as a terrier mix may be your half beagle, half Chihuahua. You never know. It’s best to pay them a visit and have a look and touch base with them.

Remember that there may be more than one shelter in your area. I live on the border of two cities, so if my dog ran south, he’d wind up in one jurisdiction, and if he ran north, he could have been in any of three different facilities. The first shelter you contact will be well aware of others in the area and can give you a list. But think city and county Animal Control, neighboring cities, no-kill shelters, breed rescues, and Humane Societies

There are also all sorts of pet finder websites on line. You can register with any or all of them, but be aware that they’re often trying to get money out of you or spam you within an inch of your life, so choose carefully. Some sites will fax a flyer to all your area vets, often free of charge, which is very helpful. But if you have a good relationship with your vet’s office, contact them as well, because they’ll often do the same thing for you. Failing that, you can always google all veterinarians in your zip code and e-mail them a flyer yourself.

A note about flyers. It is important to include the following information:

Lost Dog (or cat or boa constrictor or whatever) in very large font so it can be seen from a distance.
The breed of your pet and its weight and coloring.
The gender, and in the case of males, whether it has been neutered.
Any unique and distinguishing features such as moles. (And note the location of those features NOW. In my agitated state, I couldn’t remember if my dog’s cyst was on his right or left side.)
Whether or not your pet was wearing a collar.
The date your pet went missing, to avoid getting calls about pets that were recovered before yours disappeared.
A recent picture of your pet. (Do you have a recent one? If not, take one now.)
Also, include your CELL phone number rather than a land line, because someone might call while you’re out searching.

These unique descriptions help to eliminate many calls about animals that look like yours but aren’t. There’s nothing more upsetting than getting those. Also keep one of your pet’s unique features to yourself, so that if you do get a call and the person says, “How do I know he belongs to you?” You can respond, for example, “He has a white Nike swoosh pattern on his left flank.”

Here’s my flyer for example:

Devo Flyer

Now, print out multiple copies of your flyer, stick each one in a plastic sheet protector to protect them from the rain and weather, and then, armed with a staple gun, post them on telephone poles all over your neighborhood. Also hand flyers to your postman, your local police officers, the fire department, and area churches. Does your grocery store have a community bulletin board? Post one there, too. (You may need to bring your own tacks.)

Here’s something I wish I had done: make a note of every place you’ve posted a flyer so if you do recover your pet, you can take them all back down again. No need having your personal info out there if it’s no longer necessary. Plus, it’s the responsible thing to do from an environmental/good citizen standpoint. It doesn’t do to piss off the neighbors. You might lose your pet again one day and need their help.

Once you have done all that, you’ll be reduced to canvassing the neighborhood, old-school style. Knocking on neighbors’ doors. For that, I suggest you produce a mini-flyer, three per page, that you can hand them so they have your contact information, like this one:

Devo Neighbor

It’s important to appeal to their emotional side. The worst case scenario (aside from the final, unspeakable one) is that your pet may have been stolen, or a kid brought it home and whined, “Ma, can we keep him? Pleeeeeeease?” and the selfish parent doesn’t have the heart to say no. If that’s the case, public pressure is your friend. Your neighbors will keep an eye out. Your internet friends will, too.

Now, if you’re an organized person and want to give a gift to your future, frazzled self, you might want to reread this again, and make a list of all the contacts mentioned above. Then compile the names, addresses, phone numbers, e-mails and websites of the agencies in question for your area. Also keep all needed supplies in a central location (it’s a pain in the behind to have to go buy sheet protectors when you’re hysterical). Even start the bare bones of a flyer in advance and leave it on your computer.

Believe me, I wish I had done all of these things in advance. I also hope that if you have other ideas, you’ll post them in the comments below.

If you’ve lost your pet, I’m very sorry. All you can do is your very best, and hope, like me, that a kind, responsible person has taken him or her in and will contact you. Best of luck.

Home sweet home and totally unrepentant.

Feeling Blue

For the past month, my dog has been desperately ill. He had Immune Mediated Hemolytic Anemia, which basically means his immune system was attacking his red blood cells. It killed me to think there was a war going on inside his little body. Some dogs get past this disease, with the help of steroids and blood thinners. Many do not.

Blue fought hard to stay with me. He knew how much I needed him. He and my other dog are the only family I have here in Seattle, and they’ve been through quite a lot with me. They saw me through the death of my boyfriend, a few failed attempts to change my life, a couple of nightmare landlords, and a relocation all the way across the country to a place where I knew no one.

My dogs have been my stability. My sources of unconditional love. My sense that things would turn out okay. My support system.

IMHA is a confusing disease. It’s not painful. But if your dog doesn’t respond to the medication as mine did not, you watch him slowly weaken as he gets thinner and thinner. It’s heartbreaking.

In the end you are left with a big decision. Is it the end? How do you know if it’s too soon to put your dog to sleep? There were days when Blue wouldn’t eat and I’d think he was ready to cash in his chips. But then the next morning he’d gobble down two bowls of food and wag his tail.

I tried everything to get his weight back on. Special soft dog food. Baby food. Cottage cheese. Baked chicken. Rice. Pasta. Hard boiled eggs. Gravy. Some days he’d like one or more of these things. Some days he’d reject them all outright. I never knew if I would come home from work to find him dead, or if he’d greet me at the door, happy to see me as he always was in the past.

I fed him a tiny bit every hour or so, 24 hours a day, for weeks on end. I began to deteriorate myself. I started seeing things out of the corner of my eye that weren’t there. Often I would forget to eat. But as long as he was trying, I’d be there to try with him.

But finally the other day he made it clear that he was done. He hadn’t voluntarily eaten in two days, and when I’d put food in his mouth, instead of swallowing it like he had been, he spit it out. He fought me. His fragile little body was worn out. And I thought, “What am I doing to this dog? He doesn’t want this. This is not quality of life.”

That’s when I decided to take him to the vet to have him put down. It was the hardest decision I have ever had to make. I knew it was going to break my heart and that I’d never be the same without him. But I looked at it as me taking away his suffering and putting it on my much stronger shoulders instead. In the end, what loving parent wouldn’t do the same thing?

And I have to say that there are angels here on earth, because as I was taking him out to the car to go to the vet, my neighbors pulled up. Once I told them what was going on, Paula offered to drive us there and back. I’ve always liked my neighbors quite a bit, but we’ve never socialized, so this was really over the top generous of her, and exactly what I needed. A miracle, actually.

At the vet’s office, we were in tears. The receptionist was in tears. The assistants were in tears. The vet himself was in tears. As my baby drifted off, I said to him, “I love you. I’ll miss you so much. You are such a good dog. Thank you so much for all you’ve given me.” The staff helped me let Blue go with dignity and compassion. I knew I had done the right thing.

I had the foresight to dig the hole before I left for the vet, as I knew I’d be a basket case afterward. I also had some lime on hand, to help Blue return to the earth more quickly. And some chicken wire to put over the hole, so Devo wouldn’t disinter Blue in a misguided attempt to try to help me. (I’ve had dogs make that attempt in the past, and all I can say is ick.) I did all these things as a gift to my future, shattered self, and believe me, now that I am that shattered self, I am grateful for the gesture.

My other dog, Devo, is a little confused. He helped me bury Blue, so he knows where he is. But he’s never been alone before. I may have to get him some company, once the bitter rawness wears off. Time will tell.

As for me, right now I feel as if I have been dragged behind a horse and wagon. Face first. Through a patch of prickly pear cactus. Naked. And I know that I will never be quite the same again.

But I also know that Blue was a gift. Even knowing the pain I am in now, I’d do it all over again. And someday soon, I’ll be able to focus on all the good times, all the love, and all the joy he brought to my life, and revel in the fact that I was really lucky to have him for as long as I did.

Rest in peace, Blue, my little snuggle bug.