You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away

We received a card in the mail from our veterinary clinic today. It contained some really nice notes from the staff. Abby loved everyone there, and they loved her.

Of course, the card made us cry. I am touched by other people’s reactions and kind words, and that sets off my tear ducts more than anything.

Tim got a phone call at about 6:00. It was from the veterinary clinic, letting us know they had her ashes.

I thought the bill would be more expensive, but it was less than $300. I didn’t know what to expect, really.

The box is less than a foot long. It seems both too large and too small at the same time. I feel awkward handling it. I am respectful of its contents, but it doesn’t seem like she’s in there.

We placed it in a kitchen cupboard where we used to keep her treats. I think she’d like that. When it gets warmer, we’ll take the ashes outside in the yard and in the woods, the places she loved.

The clinic also gave us a mold of her paw print, which I thought was incredibly thoughtful and sweet. It has her paw in the middle, with hearts imprinted all around it, along with her name on the left side. We baked it in the oven, in the same Pyrex dish I used for the enchiladas the night before she let us know it was time to go.

(Sniff)

Like most dogs, Abby loved to sniff things.

She would press her nose up against us with a series of small puffs, then a long exhalation or two at the end.

She was concerned about our personal hygiene. Whenever one of us came home with a new haircut, she would thoroughly sniff our newly coiffed heads. Because Tim essentially gets the same cut every time, it was often that she was the only one who noticed. (This is a long-running joke in our house. Whenever he’s due for a trim, I try really hard to look at his head every time he walks in the door. A few times, I have succeeded in complimenting him before several weeks passed.)

Whenever I would try new makeup, she was interested in sniffing my face. Even if I bought a new tube of the same brand of mascara, she knew the difference. If I made any change to my minimal routine, whether it was adding eye shadow or blush or a different color of eyeliner, she was there to check it out.

She loved smelling new things that I bought (and heaven knows I bought enough new things). She would give my new outfits a nasal inspection as I took them out of the shopping bags or as I wore them for the first time. If she liked the shoes I brought home, she gave them an approving lick. I was careful with suede, but anything else was fair game.

In the Midnight Hour

Abby did not like thunderstorms. It wasn’t until the last couple years of her life that we figured out that we needed to leave the basement door open, and she would amble downstairs where it was quieter and more stable.

At the slightest hint of thunder, she would wake us up. And by us, I mean me. I would awaken to the clicking of claws on the wood floor beside my bed. If I didn’t get up quickly enough, she would leave the room and come in again, making her point with her claws.

Because she was nervous, she had to go outside and relieve herself, even if it was pouring down rain. Sometimes I’d open the door, she’d stick her snout out, and decide, “no freaking way.” Then five minutes later she’d want to go out again.

Sometimes she would jump on the bed and pant, shaking the whole sleeping area with every breath.

Tim usually slept through this.

If he woke up, though, he was good about going into the basement with her until she calmed down. Before we figured out that the basement was the key, we would go into the living room and pet her while she panted, letting her outside as necessary, then crawling back into bed after she had settled down.

I have to admit that I was occasionally cranky about this. I didn’t yell at her or punish her, but I had a lot of one-sided, whispered arguments with her, trying to get her to go to sleep so I could do the same.

After one exasperating night of following her out into the living room, then trying to go back to bed only to have her follow me, Tim overheard me loudly whisper, “Abby, this is not cool!”

I miss my sleep-stealing friend.

Different Names for the Same Thing

I feel like I’m missing a major part of my vocabulary. Here’s why.

Abby: We decided on this name driving back to our house after meeting her for the first time. It was a name that was in the running previously, but meeting her solidified the choice.

Abbalonia: This was her AKC registered name. It was a combination of Abba and Appolonia. Yes, we’re dorks.

Abbalonia Roo: She needed a middle name.

Abbalonia McSniff

Abby Roo: For short.

Abs: This is what our first vet Mary called her when we brought her in.

Abbers, Abbus, Abbusness, Abbenstein, Abberoni, Abbalamadingdong

Adorable, Adorable DogBabers, Baby, Baby Dog, Baby Girl

Bunny, Honey Bun

Canine Friend, My Canine Friend

Cuteness

Dearie, My Dear

Dog: We would often e-mail each other with questions like, “Should we take dog for a walk after work today?”

Dogness: A takeoff on the Chappelle Show sketch “Dogness, everybody, Dogness is here.”

Doggus, Doggusness

Fartley, Fartley Roo: I’ve warned you about her butt before. It was a term of endearment, really. Said through a plugged nose.

Favorite, Favorite Dog

Furry Girl

Girl Dog

Goober, Gooby, Goobus

Goofball, Capital City Goofball:  This was really early on, when she was a pup.

Grumpus

Hon, My Hon

Jowls, Jowly

Kitten

Licky, Licky Pie, Lickus, Lickusness, Lickenstein, Licky Lickerson, Licky von Lickerton

Little Dog, Tiny Dog: Even when she was 70 pounds.

Lovey, Lovey Loverson, Lovey Lovington

Lumpus, Lumpy Lumperton: Use of this one slowed dramatically after having a mast cell tumor removed.

Miss Dog, Miss Roo, Miss Abby, Ms. Dog, Ms. Roo, Ms. Abby

Pantley, Pantalonia

Paws, Paws ‘n’ Jowls

Poppy, Puppy, Puppy Butt

Poutley

Roo, Roobers, Roo Bear, Rootiful, Roobenstein

Silly, My Silly

Sniff, Sniffy, Sniffenstein, Sniffington, Snifferton, Sniffalonia, Sniffy Pie

Sniffy Pants: She did like to sniff pants. And leave jowl slime on them too.

Snook, Snookus, Snookie Pie, Snookenstein

Socks, Socksy: This is the name her first family gave her.

Stinky, Stinkalonia, Stinkenstein, Stinky Pie

Sweet Baby, Sweetness

Woofy, Wooferton, Woofy Wooferton

Waggles, Waggy, Waggusness, Waggy von Waggerton, Waggy Waggerton from Waggy Town, Wagglestein

There’s part of me that thinks if I remember all her names and get the incantation right, it will bring her back. But I know better.

One Week

I hate grocery shopping. With a purple, screaming, throbbing passion.

People abandon all common sense when they enter the store. They take up entire aisles debating what kind of bread to buy, while people with more important things to do (even if it’s, say, lounging on the couch) wait behind them in grocery purgatory.

So I was already cranky when I came home. And I didn’t have an adorable little dog wagging to greet me, waiting to investigate all the fun things in the brown paper bags. That always made it a little more tolerable. Sure, most of it was not-for-puppy food,  but occasionally there would be a box of biscuits or bag of treats.

I feel like I’m missing a limb. We’re definitely less emotional about her absence, but we still ache.

I feel weightless, like I’m a kite about to float away with nothing to hold me to the ground. Which is weird, because as a friend of mine would say, I’ve been eating my feelings. The first two days I couldn’t eat anything, but I’ve been overcompensating since then.

I only drank one night, though, and not to excess. I’m afraid of drinking too much and feeling even worse the next day. I’m trying to be on as much of an even keel as possible.

I hope I’m not becoming too self-absorbed. What I’d like to do, when I’m up to it, is share more memories of what made her so special. I think I’ve been suppressing some of the thoughts because it hurts when they’re too close to the surface. But I want to honor her in some way.

Things Are Looking Up

I’m stealing words from the iTunes playlist my husband is listening to downstairs.

“Things are looking up, from down in a hole”
– Things Are Looking Up, American Heartbreak

“But I know it’s gettin’ better, and a change is gonna come my way”
– Gettin’ Better, Tesla

I made it through the work week, although this weekend could be rough. Normally we wouldn’t leave the house in this awful cold, but I think we’ll need to go out to eat or see a movie or something. The living room is still too empty. And the bitter cold, along with the position of the sun in the sky, reminds me of the day earlier this week when we took her to the vet for the last time.

Honestly, I think Abby got wind of the forecast and said, “You know what? It’s been fun, but I’m outta here. Screw this.” And I can’t say I blame her. It’s not supposed to get above zero this weekend. Today’s high is a whopping -2. It’s uncomfortable for us, and we don’t even have to pee outside.

We’ve already started talking about getting another dog when we get back from Vegas. It’s nice that we have to wait a few weeks, to give Abby her respectful space, and to keep from being disappointed that the new dog isn’t her. One thing we always regretted was not getting her a companion, so we’re hoping that six months to a year down the road we’ll get the new dog a buddy. The first new dog will be a Boxer, of course. We’re hoping to get one that’s one or two years old from a rescue organization.

But I don’t want to get ahead of myself. And I feel guilty being excited about it. I want to move on, but it’s hard. I tell myself again that she wouldn’t want us to be sad all the time.

It’s easier to smile and even laugh at the memories. Yesterday, I drove by the dog park at Dale and Larpenteur in St. Paul, the site of the deer incident. Forgive me if I’ve told this one before, but I feel the need to reminisce:

Tim decided that he’d take Abby on an adventure to the dog park to see if this was something we could do on a regular basis. No dogs were there, so he thought it would be good to let her explore on her own first. He started out with letting her off-leash in a smaller, fenced area. That went well, so he took her over to the larger area, which was an open field with a pond and plenty of room to run.

Abby was sniffing the ground and slowly exploring her new surroundings, when she spotted two deer in the distance. They took off, and Abby took off after them, thinking that they were either some very large squirrels, or lunch (at the time, we were feeding her venison and potato food, which we called crunchy deer). Tim ran after our wayward dog, having all sorts of panicked thoughts. Luckily, the deer disappeared and Abby gave up the chase.

I couldn’t help laughing as I drove by, envisioning the incident.

Trying to Make my Way Home

The first time I do things without her is the hardest. The second time, it gets slightly easier.

It’s the smallest of things, too. For example, this morning, I made lunch to bring with me. (Yesterday I had planned to go out.) I had to take a moment because I realized I wouldn’t be coming home for lunch to be with her, and that I wouldn’t be preparing treats to give to her before I left. Mornings are the hardest. I’m not a morning person anyway. I try to cope with it by not fully waking up, but I have to leave the house at some point, and it helps to be conscious.

Mornings are hardest for Tim, too. He was fine until he came back upstairs after his shower, and he didn’t have a dog to feed anymore. He was the one who got up first, so he gave her breakfast and let her outside.

I drove  to my usual work location today. I drove there on Tuesday to get my laptop and bring it home. The second time wasn’t as difficult, although I took a different way home. When traffic gets backed up out of St. Paul on 35E, I take side streets. Our vet’s office is located on one of these streets. I took a deep breath as I drove by, and surprisingly, I didn’t get choked up.

We’re able to reminisce about the good things and laugh a little more easily. We talked about the way she would sniff new things when we brought them home, and how she would try to be helpful when Tim was setting up electronics in the living room.

I still have a dull ache, but the raw wound is starting to heal over.

Worth a Thousand Words

I spent a few minutes uploading pictures to Flickr. Enjoy.

I Forgot to Remember to Forget

“Please don’t forget me when I’m gone”
– Don’t Forget Me, Gear Daddies

“Don’t forget me when I’m gone, for heaven’s sake”
– Don’t Forget Me (When I’m Gone), Glass Tiger

“I won’t forget you, baby”
– I Won’t Forget You, Poison

“I remember you”
– I Remember You, Skid Row

“Just remember I love you”
– Just Remember I Love You, Firefall

Better Days

We’re both on more of an even keel today. We both went to work for the entire day. People have been really supportive, which we appreciate. Our coworkers got us cards containing some very thoughtful and sweet things. I didn’t talk about it too much, but it’s easier than I had expected.

I teared up a little as I drove away from the house, because my little brown dog wasn’t looking out the window to see me off. I miss talking to her. I didn’t realize how much I would speak to her throughout the day. Need to go outside one more time? Would you like some chicken in your saucer? Good girl. Have a good day, my canine friend. I’ll miss you.

I missed her even when I saw her on a daily basis.

I held it together at work, even when I was thanking my boss profusely for letting me have a flexible schedule and allowing me to work at home. Because of that, I was able to spend extra time with her over the last several months. I’ll always appreciate and cherish that.

I worked in our other office in the west metro. I choked up on the way home as I drove on 694 east, remembering that this was the route I first drove her home. I picked her up in Osseo. I had the kennel in the back seat of the car, and I talked to her the whole way home to reassure her. Sarah McLachlan’s “Building a Mystery” played on the radio, and I pondered the little mystery in the back seat. She didn’t whimper at all during the ride. She laid on a thin blanket in the kennel, and she occasionally stood up and peered through the sides to see what was going on. At every stoplight, I turned to make sure she was okay and held my hands against the openings in the kennel so she knew someone was there.

I loved taking her for rides, looking in the rearview mirror and seeing her panting, smiling face. Or opening the windows so she could poke her head out. I accidentally rear-ended someone once because I was admiring her cuteness. Luckily, we were going slowly, there was no damage to either car, and the man in the other car was incredibly understanding and nice. It also probably helped that I was in good shape and wearing a tank top, and had an adorable big dog in the back seat.