Anyhoo, the theme this week was home. I've had profound reasons to consider what makes a home in recent times myself, and I find my notions are evolving and moving forward, and while my idea of home is more nebulous in ways, I think I've never been more clear-headed.
Home is heart and hearth.
Is it really inside me?
I'm maybe a little unconventional in a few ways. Among the things I surround myself with, the furniture and belongings I most treasure tend to be the ones I bought at thrift stores and junk shops. I had a moment of clarity about possessions, though, about 9 years ago. Terrified by a thunderstorm, my wild banshee doglet got out and probably ran for miles in the wind and the rain. I was grief-stricken, shattered. I put up reward signs around town and mailed flyers to every veterinarian in Dallas, Collin and Denton counties. I went to the SPCA every day.
I was a total wreck. I then realized that I would trade every possession I owned to have my little dog back. We could live in a cardboard box under a bridge, but I needed my dog, and she needed me. One day at the SPCA, Tuesday, August 10, she'd been missing for 9 weeks. I walked in and saw her picture was covered up by a photo of someone's missing cat. I said "you covered my dog's picture" and they scrambled to uncover it. Three days later, a woman came in and saw the doglet's picture on the board and said "I have that dog" and I got my dog back on Friday 13th.
Big Cat's Entry:
Wherever she is
My head resting next to hers
There my home resides
Home shifts, moves, travels
Each day in another world
Tracking her heartbeat
So every day since then has been extended play in our closed corporation. I meant what I said about giving up all I owned to have her and not looking back. Now, though, she's at the end of a journey where there is no bargaining and only grim truths to be faced, all absolute and non-negotiable. Looking around at my apartment, I still wish I could trade all this stuff to have her a little longer. Cardboard box technology has come a long way.
be who you should be
do what you are called to do
home is within you
Phlegmmy, I'm so sorry!
You are lucky to have each other. You are HER home, too.
Rest assured, you gave as much love and affection to the doglet as she ever gave to you. How else do you think a Jack Russell lives for 17 years?
By being well cared for and loved, that's how.
Rest easy, Phlegmmy. You'll both be okay.
You made me cry.
I don't know what to say.
Neko's song is a perfect fit.
I'm keeping you and Doglet in my prayers. I'm so sorry.
Ah, love. Make it rich and full and true to outweigh the heartbreak. How else can we survive it?
Your best friend is a lucky dog to have been loved by someone like you.
There is the grim side of sharing life with a dog. It's the hardest of math... we live longer than they.... perhaps because they live so much fuller lives than us.
Still, we who love our dogs always go back...always find another partner... never forgetting a single one..... even though we know there will be pain at the end.
I had horrible thought after horrible thought when I after I dropped Corey off at the vet that fateful Monday. All day long I thought to myself, "At what point do vets treat a dog like an insurance claim on a car; is the cost of repair more than the value?" Then I thought, "There is no greater value." I was willing to forego all the pain in my knee, hell, everything just to make sure that he came home in one functioning piece.
Then I went to pick him up, and, despite my ignorance of his condition, he still ran to me like I was long and lost and we were just united. That dog would follow me off a cliff without a moment's notice.
My point is, in light of recent events with my dog, I shed a special tear for you and yours. I know just how I was feeling when I thought all was lost.
I wish I had better words for you now.
Take care, Miss Phlegmmy.
I am so sorry -- it's such a difficult time for a dog mommy to make the hard choice. I held my dog when it was time to let her go, and my vet said, "Just remember, that the last voice she hears is yours, and the last touch she feels is yours." The happiness you have had with her is worth the pain now, though I agree with CarTeach0 -- it's a hard math. My prayers are with you both.
My heart weeps for what you must face. You're in my thoughts and prayers.
I wish I could take that burden away from you for I remember still too well what it was like. I grieved for ten years before another would come along, nuzzling its way into my life despite being unsought. I hope another love finds you so much sooner than that because it is a truly faithful, unquestioning love to be blessed with.
Every time Reese gets out, I just go crazy thinking about what might happen to him. That's so fortunate that someone nice held on to your dog and returned her -- it was fate. I'm sorry to hear that she's getting so old, but it sounds like you two were a great fit for each other. Since most dogs don't live so long, it makes me think that she was meant to stick around and help you this year.
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