Stately? Silly.

A picture from Daisy's youth.

She looked so stately, so reserved and regal - you'd never know that she was clumsy and silly and exuberant.

If she was excited or pleased, she'd run and get one of her many squeaky toys and bring it to show you.

She loved to play fetch with a tennis ball.

She once snuck half a bowlful of apples from the table, carrying them away one by one to consume gleefully in private. Apples were her favorites.

She enjoyed biting at the spray from the hose. Water -- except in the form of a bath -- was always good.

If she was embarrassed or perplexed, she'd spin in circles and try to catch her tail. A 70-pound whirling tail-chaser was always guaranteed to put a smile on your face.

Good dog, Daisy.

Forgotten and Remembered

Herself speaks.

It is harder to write about Daisy than it was to write about Thorbert. It is difficult, with Offspring and Beloved Husband experiencing their own bereavement in such close proximity, to give full rein to my own mourning.  My grief needs to gallop in the open, to trip over the rocks and be scratched by thorns -- to run and run and run until it is soothed by sweat and blood and tears.  Then peace and a quiet emptiness can descend and fill the void.  Such naked emotion, though, is not for the Offspring (or even for Beloved Husband) to witness.  Some sorrow must be experienced alone.

When we returned from the veterinarian's office yesterday, Beloved Husband spent some time sorting through old pictures from when Daisy was a pup.  A mere thirteen years ago - and yet an eternity.  I had forgotten how young the Offspring were, how young Beloved Husband was, and (I suppose) how young I was as well.  The loss of Daisy is the loss of a string connecting us to those times.  The thread is broken, the Offspring are nearly grown and beginning to disperse into their own lives, and we are left afloat, unanchored.

Sad.

Tender-hearted Offspring the Third offered his own words on his Facebook page in honor of Daisy.  I present them here for you. I cannot bear to write such words of my own yet, but perhaps I need not at this time, for his are just right.

This is Daisy. For 13 years, she has barked at people, stolen food off the table, knocked stuff over with her tail, snapped at everyone, defended the house, carried dog toys around when she was in trouble, and was a general nuisance for herentire lifetime. Today, she can do all that stuff in the dog park in the sky. Rest in peace, Daisy. We will always miss you and no dog could ever take your place. I will miss all those times when I cried into your shoulder after something bad happened, I will miss falling asleep on your tummy, I will miss you being excited when I came home from school every single day, no matter what. Godspeed, and never forget us.

Daisy and Offspring The Third, both as pups

Godspeed, Big Wonderful Dog

We turn the blog over to Herself today.

Ancient And Decrepit Dog was suffering. The new medication, although strong, did not alleviate her discomfort.  She could not rest.  She was alert, tense, hunched.  She whined. She waited, looking and listening for things we could not see or hear.   It became clear that today was Now.

You are at rest now, Daisy.  You can once more chase your tail and roll about on the floor without pain.  You can lie in the sun for hours.  You can slurp gallons of water whenever you like, and snap with glee at the spray from the hose again.  You can have an orchard of apples to consume, and an enormous pile of squeaky toys to squeak.  The angels will play ball with you whenever you would like. Eternal joy is yours.

Godspeed, Daisy. You were such a wonderful dog -- alert, cheerful, giant tail always thumping, your face always smiling.  We were so blessed to have you as part of our family for so long. Thank you for your time with us.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

We have a prescription for strong pain medication for Ancient And Decrepit Dog. It's a matter of days or weeks now, depending on how much relief she gets from the new drugs.  We shall see how it goes.

Last night, and periodically during the day today, she has looked up, expectant.  She appears to be listening.  Since she's almost completely deaf, it's unlikely she actually hears anything.

Or does she?

For reasons unknown, I have the odd impression that she is listening for ottoman-shaped dog.  She always paid attention when he barked, and it was only after he was gone that we realized how little she could hear by herself. He did pave the way over The Bridge for her - perhaps he's giving her guidance now.  I am sure she would be happy to see him.

It seems silly to write it out.  And I'm not sure it's comforting to me, since it reminds me afresh of our loss of ottoman-shaped dog.  Still, if there is any solace to be gained, it is in knowing that there's that chance, however infinitesimal, that it might, in fact, be true.

I want to believe.  My faith is absent.  Yet perhaps Daisy's is strong, and she understands that she will be with Thorbert again soon.

In The Wee Hours

Stairs - too tricky now.
We stay together downstairs
On the sofa-bed

Like rough sandpaper
Her paw pads, pressed against me,
Warm upon my skin

She woofs quietly
I feel her muscles twitching
Chasing dream squirrels

Ancient, decrepit
Shedding, coughing, well-loved dog
Rest easy, Daisy.

Come To The Table

A quandary to contemplate:  when a child has reached the age of majority, what can one *require* him or her to do?  One can certainly request completion of small tasks -- please empty the dishwasher, please drag the trash cans out to the curb -- that don't interfere with college schoolwork.  One can also reasonably expect attendance at significant family functions such as Christmas Eve festivities or birthday-cake-and-candle occasions.  But what of ordinary every-day moments:  can one insist that adult Offspring eat dinner with others in the family?

Well, one can insist.  But should one do so?

Herself struggles with this question.  

She wants to ensure that they have the sense of autonomy that comes with a certain age and with attending college.  She understands that the sleeping and food-related habits of college students can be sporadic and dissimilar from regular adult schedules. Still, she would like very much if they would participate a bit more in the regular activities of the household, such as by appearing in the kitchen when they are told that food is available, and sitting for a bit with the rest of the family.  That doesn't often happen, though.  

Should she insist?  Is she doing them a disservice by not demanding their presence?  If she does require attendance, what degree of irritation or resentment will come to the table concurrently? What is to be learned? And at what cost?  Family harmony appears to be better preserved by being flexible and inviting, rather than insistent. Yet is this a missed opportunity to teach the lesson that one must show up and get along, however briefly, because that is part of Life?

Herself currently attempts a method of information-and-enticement:  "We are going to eat grilled cow and then watch a Manly Action Movie.  Your company would be a welcome addition, though not a mandatory one."  And she hopes, and waits.

Come to the table, Offspring.  I will not pepper you with questions, but will enjoy your company and your wit.  Time is fleeting and life is short, and these mundane moments of communal meals build small memories onto which I will hold when, so soon, you are living your own life elsewhere. 

Beginnings

May Light always surround you;
Hope kindle and rebound you.
May your Hurts turn to Healing;
Your Heart embrace Feeling.
May Wounds become Wisdom;
Every Kindness a Prism.
May Laughter infect you;
Your Passion resurrect you.
May Goodness inspire
your Deepest Desires.
Through all that you Reach For,
May your arms Never Tire. 
― D. Simone

Picture copyright 2012, 2013, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.