Moving On

On Wednesay, we were contemplative.

I looked through my pictures of Abby, and thought of her often, but I didn’t have the breakdown I thought I would have. And if I became too sad, Zoe or Otis would walk into the room and do something silly to make me laugh. It’s almost as if they knew. 

I worry that I’m forgetting some of the things that made Abby unique. I worry that my memories of her are already blurring with my two current dogs.

Although, while I was looking through the photos, certain ones stood out that seemed to capture her personality. There was a sassy look that made me think, “Yeah, that’s Abby.” 

I wish I’d taken more pictures and written more about her. But none of those things would bring her back. 

I still miss her. I love my two dogs, but she’s always going to have a place in my heart. There’s enough room for all three of them. They don’t have to fight for it like Zoe and Otis over their toys (although if I told them, they totally would).

One Year Ago Today

Finally

We brought Zoe home last night, following a long drive across the metro area. She rode very well in the car. She balanced herself on the back seat, handling the curves and stops with ease. She has apparently been schooled in the paw/jowl cuteness method, resting her jowls everywhere (including the armrest, the window ledge, and her paws) for maximum adorableness. I watched her from the front seat almost the whole way home, just to make sure she was still there.

She spent her first night on our bed. Zoe was used to sleeping with her foster parents (and three other dogs!), so we wanted to make that transition as smooth as possible. She woke us up a couple times during the night with whimpering. I wasn’t sure if she needed to go outside or if she was just lonely for her people and her siblings. We took her outside anyway, and she obliged us by relieving herself on the grass.

We were warned that she had no concept of her size (all 70 pounds of her), and she proved this by climbing on Tim’s chest in the middle of the night.

She has chased two sets of two rabbits between last night and this morning. I think they’re getting the message.

This morning, her favorite thing to do was look out our living room window at whatever nature was present: small birds at the bottom of the steps, a squirrel across the street. Her eyesight is amazingly sharp, and we’ve found her focusing on things that seem to be far away. Her sense of smell is also strong, and she’s been sniffing around the rabbit hangouts with interest.

She took a brief nap (and so did we) this afternoon. We took her on her first walk around the block, with her pulling on the leash the entire way. Tim worked with her in the driveway after that, letting her know that she could only walk forward when he did. We tried this method again when we took her on a second walk later in the afternoon. She still pulled, but she seemed to be getting it some of the time. It will take practice for all of us.

It’s been fun to have a little helper around the house, watching your every move, following you into different rooms, especially the kitchen. She’s sniffed at a lot of things, but she’s been really good about only chewing on her toys (except for a minor incident involving the tassels on my slippers). If we were playing with a toy and it landed near a piece of furniture, she gingerly picked up the toy to put it back into play.

She’s gone into her kennel a couple times to sniff around. We have a blanket from her previous owners, so it smells partially like home in there. She’s not fond of the pad underneath, so we might end up removing that if it becomes a giant chew toy.

We were concerned she wouldn’t want to go downstairs into the basement, but after her first trip there this morning, she’s been running up and down the stairs like she owns the place.

She appears to be adjusting really well, apart from the occasional whimper. I think part of her misses her family, but part of her enjoys having all the treats, toys, and attention to herself. Ultimately we’d like to get her a sibling, but we want to wait until she settles into our home and establishes a routine.

She’s sleeping on a giant dog pillow in the living room right now, worn out from all the day’s activities.

I’m so happy she’s here. There’s been something huge missing from my life over the past three months, and I finally feel like the void is beginning to disappear. I’ll always love and miss Abby, but having Zoe around reminds me of her in a good way. I’m excited to remember things I forgot that Abby did as a puppy, but I’m also excited to learn what makes Zoe her own dog. She likes to talk to us when she wants attention, in a funny bark/howl combination. She likes different treats (and she has a stronger stomach to handle them). And she actually comes when called, most of the time.

It’s only been one day, but it’s the best day we’ve had in a long time.

Those Things Are Hers

We had a laundry hamper full of Abby’s old toys. While I was out running errands, Tim decided to go through the makeshift toy box to see which toys he should put in the dishwasher so they’d be fresh and clean for New Dog. He got about a third of the way through and stopped. We’re still not ready to let go of her old things yet. In due time, we’ll pull some of them out, but some of them will always belong to Abby.

We purchased some duplicates of her favorites that we think New Dog will like: the red bone with holes in each end for treats, a Kong, a rubber ball with several holes in it for gripping with her teeth, and a chicken-flavored Nylabone. We also purchased some other toys not associated with Abby: a long red cloth toy with a squeaker on one end (only to be used when supervised), a bone with lamb filling (ditto) and a blue rubber treat-dispensing toy. We’ll buy more as the need arises, so we still have room for some impulse buys to surprise her.

I Remember You

I feel weird about dwelling on other dogs more than I’m thinking about Abby. But the thought of her is never far away. Tonight, when I was attempting to exercise, I kept looking over at the door out of habit, to see if she needed to come inside or go outside. She always planned her excursions when I was in the most awkward stance possible. She was funny that way.

And today I found myself spelling out “chicken,” rather than saying the word, because she always got her hopes up that she was getting a treat. I still spell out “naughty,” because we used that word when she needed to be scolded (which was rare), and I didn’t want her to feel bad when she’d done nothing wrong.

She was quite a comedian when we were getting ready to go to sleep. We would lie in bed reading, and she would settle at the end of the bed, curled up in a little ball near our feet. I would get up to brush my teeth or to check that the house was locked up for the night. When I would come back to bed, there would be a puppy in the spot where I usually slept. She would put her head between her paws, looking up at me furtively. A couple times, I tried to lie down beside her in an attempt to get her to move out of my space, but she wouldn’t budge. It usually took some food bribery (which was rewarding the behavior, I know… but it got her to move, and I got a warm puppy spot out of the deal).

I’m Always Touched by Your Presents, Dear

Sometimes, during the winter, there are certain backyard tasks that you’re not able to complete before a new coat of snow appears. Then, when it finally reaches a reasonable temperature (or at least reasonable to those of us living in the frozen tundra), the snow melts and reveals what we’ve left undone.  It’s 40 degrees (finally!) and the yard is dotted with little brown presents from our dog.

There’s a slight dip between our yard and the house next door. If the snow melts too quickly, we get a small body of water we refer to as Lake Abby. It is not a place for swimming. Fishing, maybe, if you have a very liberal idea of what you’d like to catch. We try to do ourselves and the neighborhood a favor by staying on top of our cleanup, though.

As long as we’re on the subject, my friend Sue sent a link to an interesting article explaining why dogs like to eat certain things.  I’ll never think of ovens in the same way again.

Cleaning House

I’m cleaning the house so dogs (and people) can come over. The absurdity of this does not escape me.

It’s amazing how much dog hair is still in the carpet. We’ve vacuumed at least three times since January, and it’s still there.

I was a little sad  yesterday that the Abby smell had faded from a couple of her blankets. Not to worry– just fire up the vacuum, and she’s there in full force. It’s a mixed blessing, though. It’s good to have the reminder, but it’s not exactly the most pleasant smell in the world. It’s very concentrated and strong, and smells vaguely like she just threw up. We put a scented oil diffuser out to mask the scent so our new visitors won’t mind as much.

Sweeping the kitchen is weird. I used to check for stray drops of dog drool so I wouldn’t drag the dusty broom through them, leaving icky gray/brown streaks on the linoleum. I don’t have to do that right now, but I hope to soon.

I went to a pet store yesterday for the first time since January. I used to go almost weekly, and I miss that part of my routine. I bought some BilJac liver treats, some bacon treats, and a steak-flavored rope toy. The dog’s foster mom said that BilJac were her favorite, so I thought it would be nice to have some of them on hand. And everything’s better with bacon. My love for meat is well documented.

I’m not ready to share Abby’s toys right away, so I got the new toy. I’ll be ready to share them with New Dog, but I want to know who she is first. I’m hopeful that we’re meeting her today, but the practical side of me (the part that’s still healing) is cautious.

It’s going to be really fun to have a Boxer in the house again, even if it’s only for a few hours.

It’s Raining Dogs

We arrived to an empty house, and no trip to the puppy hotel would fill it. It felt like there was a huge hole in our routine again.

I took my time unpacking. Before, I would unpack as quickly as possible, hiding the suitcases away so they wouldn’t upset her, lest she think we were abandoning her again. My suitcase is still lying in the middle of the floor of the spare room. I thought that maybe if I didn’t unpack, my vacation wouldn’t have to end. We failed to hit a life-changing jackpot in Vegas, so it’s back to work we go.

At first I was crabby, then apathetic. But now hopeful.

We’ve applied to three rescue organizations. We have a home visit scheduled with one this weekend. A few hours later, someone from another organization is bringing a dog over for us to meet and potentially adopt. I’m not sure if that counts as the home visit, or if the two organizations work together, or if we’ll need a separate visit later.

I’m cautiously optimistic. Other families are interested. She might reject us. As eager as we are to have a dog in the house again, she might not be the right one. But I’m excited to meet her. Just in case.

Either way, it will be fun to be around dogs and hear familiar sounds– claws on the wooden floors, drinking water, panting, sniffing, whimpering, barking. I watched a video on YouTube several times just to hear a dog drink water (although the puppies are adorable too).

I keep telling myself it will all work out, and I have to be patient (again, not my strong suit). Every step we take is leading us to New Dog, somehow.

New Dog won’t fill the void completely. It’s unfair to expect that. It will be different, but it will be good.

Yet I still miss things that are unique to Abby. I feel a need to capture as much as I can, before the memories fade away or they get blurred with other ones. A few highlights:

• The way she would give my husband’s feet a thorough tongue bath every night.

• The way she would peek around the corner of the kitchen at the treat counter, even if we were making toast. We were within five feet of tasty morsels that might make their way into her mouth. (This probably isn’t unique to Abby, but the position in our house is.)

• The way she would drop her red saucer on the floor and look up at us, asking us to remove the chicken treats inside.

• The way her tail would wag when we walked in the door, even if we were just coming in from the garage. Or the way she would sit in the living room window, poking her head through the gap in the curtains. When we pulled into the driveway, she would stand up, her tail would thump against the curtains and the couch, and her entire rear end would shake. She would toss her head and disappear into the living room to greet us.

• The way she would run to the living room window when we said certain words (“Puppies,” “The Boy’s home,” “The Girl’s home,” or my favorite, “Where’s Schmoopie?”). Like several million other couples in the late ’90s, we adopted “schmoopie” as a term of endearment from the Seinfeld episode. Somehow “Where’s Schmoopie” became a cue for Abby to dash to the window to see if one of her people was arriving home.

• The way she would tilt her head whenever one of us would say “chalupa” or “Taco Bell,” even when we went on diets and didn’t visit the establishment for months. “Chalupa” meant “car ride” in dog language.

An Interlude

Posts will be even more sporadic than usual, as I’m out of town for a few days.

I managed to hit myself in the face as I was getting dressed this morning, and now I have a big red bump on my cheek because I’m smooth like that. Perhaps it’s a sign that I need less spandex in my wardrobe.

I had a slight meltdown last night, but packing always stresses me out, and it hasn’t been the most relaxing week. It was weird putting my stuff into a suitcase without an inquisitive Abby wandering in and out of the room to sniff things and hearing her claws on the hardwood floor. And it’s odd not taking her to the puppy hotel today.

We always prepared her a few days ahead, inserting the words “puppy hotel” into conversations. Her eyes would widen and she would tilt her head to the side, and we reassured her that we weren’t going yet, but soon. We had to wait to bring the suitcases out at the last minute because she’d get so worked up. She knew that the big red boxes meant a big change in her routine for the next few days.

On the day we brought her to the vet for boarding, she would pace the floor as we packed up her food, toys, blankets, and medications. She got more excited as the hour approached, and we usually ended up taking her in earlier than we had planned. We would finally ask her “would you like to go to the puppy hotel?” and she would spin around the living room wildly, then abruptly stopping to do a modified downward dog pose, her front legs stretched out, her back arched, her butt pointing to the sky, with her head looking up, her eyes fixated on our every move. (We called this the “I want to play” stretch, although she did it whenever there was play, walks, rides, or any sort of potential excitement involved.)

Her entire back end would shake with anticipation as we turned the corner to the vet’s office, and she would pant loudly. Most times she was so happy to be there that she eagerly followed them into the back room, but there were a few times when she turned around specifically to give us a look to make us feel guilty. She had glowing reviews from the staff when we came to pick her up, though. And she always managed to spill water on her blanket the last day she was there, so we would have to wait a few extra minutes for it to come out of the dryer.

Typing this makes me miss her, but fondly.

This will probably be our last vacation in a while due to the furnace debacle, so I’m going to try to milk all the happiness I can out of it.  No thinking about work, no stressing about bills, and no crying over the dog. I’m going to tell myself that I can cry later, and I’ve been crying for the last month. She won’t mind.

When we get back, we can start our search for a new four-legged friend. New Dog, I’m looking forward to meeting you soon.

Hardly Getting Over It

“That was the day it occurred to me that what I was actually looking for, in their faces, was the face of my dog. I was looking for that familiar stare that already knew me, already knew how to live with me and could come home and fit in and put things back the way they were.”
– What the Dogs Have Taught Me, Merrill Markoe

“A circle can’t fit where a square should be”
– Hole Hearted, Extreme

I still miss her every day.

I feel like my life is a puzzle, with a huge chunk missing out of the middle. And I know that we’ll find new pieces, but it will take a while for them to fit as neatly as she did.

I miss the way I used to be able to give her a hug. Her chin would rest on my shoulder, and my head would lean against hers. She was so comforting.

I’m trying not to wallow in self-pity. I’m trying to move on, but at the same time I respect all the time we had together, and all that she gave us. I can’t just forget. But I can’t think about it every moment either. I feel guilty for not thinking about it more often, but I feel awful when I do.

Just when I think the wound has healed over, I find a raw area. The memories that comfort me one week are agonizing the next.

It just takes time.

Vacation will be good. I need to not be at work for a week. Grief and cabin fever and a department reorganization are not a good mix. I need space from everyone. Oh, and the cold. I don’t remember signing up for highs of -6 when I moved here, but that must have been in the fine print.