Cecilia Beaux

We did it.
We got a new doggie.
She's sleeping at my feet as I write this.

Initially when Fritz died, I wanted another dog.  Almost daily when Mark came home, I would ask, "Did you bring me a German Shepherd puppy?"  To which Mark would reply, "You know you don't want one right now."  I knew.  I wanted Fritz.  All I wanted was my Fritz back.

Anyone reading this knows that I cried for a long time.  As days went by, I cried less and less .... and life went on.

Eventually I came to enjoy just having my two dogs.  Life was easy.  Dolce is spoiled rotten, but she's little, and Georgia O'Keeffe is probably the best dog anyone could ever hope to have.  So life was easy.

However, Georgia O'Keeffe was spending more and more time in the house and not getting the playtime and the exercise and the outdoors that she really should be having.  I may have been OK with my two dogs, but Georgia O'Keeffe really needed a running buddy, and Mark kept reminding me.

We tried Dicey, but she just didn't want to stay.  She kept escaping, and we couldn't keep her.

Mark would check out different avenues to find a dog, but, honestly, my heart wasn't in it.  I had two reasons: (1) Life was easy.  (2) I always felt that when it was right, it would work out.  

About a week or so ago, Mark got an email at work.  A fellow agent and his wife foster dogs.  They take them in and try to find them permanent homes.  His wife found "Bella" on the ARK (Animal Rescue Kingsville) website, and she was scheduled to be euthanized.  These people could NOT allow that .... so they took her.  But they already have four of their own doggies, so they also could not keep her.  The agent sent an email out to all his fellow agents, and Mark forwarded it to me.

My heart was still not in it.

We went to meet "Bella".
(While in the pound, we were told, "Bella" would cower in the corner.  She would not interact with the other dogs.  She was scared of everything.  Her foster parents must have done a great job, because, while still skittish, she is not scared, and she does interact with the other dogs.)
When we met her, we noticed how very sweet she is.  Docile.  Cautious.  My heart was still not in it, but I had to admit, she was a good doggie.  Hard to know anything for sure, but she seems to be about 3.5 months old and a cross between a Labrador and a Rhodesian Ridgeback.  We filled out the adoption paperwork.  She was ours.

We didn't bring her home right away ... but she was ours.

We came home, and decided we needed to find her a name.  She was NOT going to be "Bella".
Georgia O'Keeffe is named for an American painter.  A female painter?  An American painter?  An artist?  The ONLY painters that came to mind for me were "Grandma Moses" and "Frida Kahlo".  I was not about to name my little puppy "Grandma".  That just seemed wrong.  I did like "Frida Kahlo."  Mark did not.  Mark came up with "Dorothea Lange" (photographer, not painter, but she fit the artist theme)  Given my last name, one would think I would jump all over that.  One would be wrong.  I still liked "Frida Kahlo".  Mark still did not.  The search went on.

Just this morning Mark came up with "Cecilia Beaux".  I liked it.  I googled her artwork.  I liked it.

How do you not like someone who paints such beautiful pictures of cats and children?

 

So it was decided, she will be "Cecilia Beaux".

We went to pick her up this afternoon.
First we had to watch the Texan/Raiders game.  Priorities.
But after the game, we went and picked her up.

We brought her home.  She, obviously, is a bit unsure.  She, obviously, is a bit confused.
But all three dogs got along famously from the get-go.  They all took to one another wonderfully.

I think Cecilia Beaux trusts Georgia O'Keeffe the most at this point, but she is warming up to both me and Mark.

Here she is.  Our newest family member.  Miss Cecilia Beaux.

Our no good, horrible, very bad weekend .... or not.

We were leaving here Saturday afternoon once Mark got home from work.  We were taking his truck so that we could take Jenni and Dustin the adirondack chairs Mark had made for them.  We would swing by their house, drop off the chairs, visit a little and spend the night.  The next morning we would get up and head on to Mark's parent's house to help celebrate his father's 80th birthday with most all of his family.

Those were our plans.

But you know what 'they' say about plans.
How do you get God to laugh?  Tell him what your plans are.

So, yeah, those were our plans.

That is NOT how our weekend turned out.

(flashback:  Mark has an 87 GMC pickup which he loves.  Recently Mark had the engine rebuilt.)
(flashback to the flashback:  We met this extremely nice couple who were a bit 'down on their luck'.  They were nice, kind people, and we really wanted to help them.  He fixes engines. He 'fixed' our engine.)

Around Refugio we can tell the engine in the truck is running hot.  The temperature doesn't show it, but we can 'smell' that something is burning and not quite right.  We pull into a gas station/convenience store and buy some water.  Mark lets the truck cool a bit, and he puts fresh water into the radiator.  We press on.  We have extra water.

A little bit before Victoria, the truck starts smelling again.  This time it is also sounding bad.  (OK, so I'm not mechanical.  "Bad" is as good as I've got.)  We are hoping and praying that we can make it into Victoria.  We can't.  Eight miles outside of Victoria, we die.  (I know this, because later the tow truck driver told us.)

Thankfully we do have roadside assistance.  We called and a tow truck was sent to us.  This guy was great.  While the truck was being loaded, Mark called and got us a hotel room.  The tow truck driver, Jaime, decided he would drop us (and our adirondack chairs off at the hotel), and then he would drop our truck off at Firestone.

Not only did Jaime drop us off at the hotel, he carried in one of the chairs for us.  As he was leaving, I remembered that I had two dozen eggs in the truck and asked if he liked eggs.  He has two teenaged boys, he was thrilled to get the eggs.  Mark tried to give him a tip, but he would not accept it.

Mark and the chairs in our hotel room.

I decided I need alcohol.  There was a Mexican restaurant close to the hotel.  Perfect.  Beeritas and fried stuffed avocado.  Perfect.

Got up Sunday morning, called a cab to take us to Firestone, went to breakfast.  We dropped by the front desk of the hotel to explain what was going on with our day.  They weren't there when we, and our chairs, came in the night before.  Jerry told us that he would change our check-out time from 11:00am to 1:00pm.  Thank you, Jerry!  Off we went to Firestone.

The manager at Firestone was also so helpful with us.  Flushed out the radiator.  Had to flush it again.  And again.  But even with all that, something was still not right with the truck.  (remember, I'm not mechanical.  That's the best I got again.)  Mark knew at this point we would not be going to Houston.  The truck may have been able to make it home, but Mark did not want to risk it.  Especially with me along, so he decided to rent a trailer to get the truck home.

We called U-haul.  Here's the fun part:  Victoria had a truck for us, but we had to go to Rockport for the tow trailer, then back to Victoria to pick up our truck then home.  See?  FUN....!!

After we got our U-haul, and before we got the tow trailer, we went back to the hotel to pick up the chairs.

And after all of that .... we made it home.  With our truck.  And the Adirondack chairs.

Now I realize that probably doesn't sound like a good weekend, but we honestly had a good time.  We were not happy the truck broke down.  Not happy we'll have to spend even more money to get it fixed...and RIGHT this time.  Not happy we missed Mark's father's birthday.  Not happy we missed Mark's family.  Not happy we didn't get Jenni and Dustin their chairs.  Not happy we didn't get to visit with Jenni and Dustin .... and Eden.  But the fact is, all of those things did happen, and being upset or angry or mad or sad would not change any of those things.  (Now, in all honesty, Mark did get all of those things ... for about 10 minutes, and then ... he got happy again.)

Mark was also questioning, and I was, to some extent, why, when trying to help someone out, it kicks us in the butt.  He was a bit upset with himself for taking the truck to this guy rather than someone else. But seriously, I love that Mark likes helping others out.  I don't want him to lose that.  I want him to keep helping people.  Even if, on occasion, it does end up hurting us.......

So while our weekend was not what we planned, and not even what we wanted, we made the most of our unexpected adventure.  And we talked.  And we laughed.  And I read Mark my USweekly magazines while he drove, because Mark is all about celebrity news.  (OK, maybe not, but he entertains me.)

...and we enjoyed ourselves.  anyway.

Still no dog.

It's still just us.
Mark.
Lisa.
Dolce.
Georgia O'Keeffe
Ray Charles
Eartha Kitt.

No Fritz.  No new dog.

I keep thinking when the time is right, it will happen.  There is nothing as special as a good dog.  And nothing as wrong as a bad dog.  I don't want the wrong dog just because I want a dog.  I want the right dog.  I want the right dog for us.
I've almost come to the conclusion that our little family is OK with only two dogs.  Mark, however, still feels that Georgia O'Keeffe does need to get out more.  She does need a friend more her size.  More compatible to her.
We've talked about different dogs.  Checked into different options ... but nothing yet.
I feel like when it's meant to be .... it will be.
We'll get (or not get) the dog we are meant to have at the time we are meant to have it.


...and my heart still breaks over losing Fritz.  I miss that dog every single day.  I look for him in the pasture.  I look at his empty kennel when the others eat.  His bowl sits empty.  I don't cry (as much) .... but my heart still breaks.  He was a superior dog.  I've been blessed to have many wonderful, fine dogs, and he was most definitely one of them.

new dog .....???

So ........ we might have a new dog.

To be honest, I am not ready for another dog.  I still have sad days, and I think of Fritz every single day.  I still miss HIM, and I want HIM back.  ...not another dog.

But Georgia O'Keeffe seems lonely without her playmate.  Oh, she and Dolce keep one another company, but it's not the same.  Dolce can't go over into the big pasture with Georgia O'Keeffe.  (Too many places where a small dog can sneak out.)  Dolce can't run the way Georgia O'Keeffe does.  (Legs too small. ha!)  Dolce is OK, but not ideal.

Some friends of ours knew all about both Fritz and Georgia O'Keeffe.  They knew the situation.  They found a dog that was about to be put to sleep in a local shelter, and they rescued her.  They knew they could not keep the dog, but they also knew they could not let her be put down.  So, not knowing what they were going to do, they rescued her from the shelter, and then they thought of us.

They brought Daisy by last night.  Daisy looks to be a pitt bull mix.  Whatever she is, she is beautiful.

And she had apparently been treated not too nicely.  She cowers when meeting new people, new dogs, new situations.  Her little tail was firmly tucked in between her two back legs.  It stayed that way for quite a while while she was meeting all of us.  She met Mark first.  Then I went out and let her sniff me.  After a bit, we brought out Georgia O'Keeffe.  The two dogs sniffed and sniffed.  And sniffed.  Little by little Daisy's tail came out from between her legs and began to wag.

After the two dogs sniffed each other and seemed to be getting along, we took the leashes off both dogs.  They rolled around together, sniffed each other some more, and then Daisy took off running.  She ran circles around the yard at full speed.  Georgia O'Keeffe chased her.  Then Georgia O'Keeffe took off running with Daisy chasing her.  They seemed to get along great.  GO'K seemed happy to have a running buddy, and Daisy seemed happy just to be able to run.

She's got a few tummy problems we noticed right away, so she did have to sleep outside last night.  We put her in the dog run, and we left Georgia O'Keeffe out with her just so she would not be completely confused and lonely.  This morning, I went out and fed them, and then I let them out of the dog run.  Daisy took off like ninety to nothing and ran circles around the pasture.  Georgia O'Keeffe watched a little and then joined in........

I am attempting to not get attached yet.  We're still not sure that we will be keeping her.  I'll call in the morning to get her an appointment with the vet.  We need to make sure that she is healthy and has no big problems or issues.  Also need to see if she is 'fixed'.  We need to see if she will stay in our yard.  We do not have a high fence around our yard and pasture.  It's 5' in most places, but there are a few spots it's shorter, because the ground is not always level.  If she is a jumper, she could easily get out, and we can't be having that.  If she is a digger, she could easily get out, and we can't be having that. Our dogs are in and out dogs, so they do come in for bad weather, HOT weather and in the evenings and night time.  But, we do let them outside during the day to run and play and get rid of some energy, and we can't be having a dog who gets out each time she's left outside.

So .... we'll see how this goes.


(oh, and she may not be staying 'Daisy', but again, still trying not to get attached just yet.)

Getting better .... slowly

I think about Fritz every single day.
But I don't cry.  At least most of the time I don't cry.
Sunday, July 7th, was the first time I talked about Fritz without crying, and I had two thoughts.  One, I felt guilty for NOT crying.  Two, I felt I was moving along.
But since then, I've cried twice while talking about him, so I've had to rethink things.
I now think that on that particular Sunday I didn't cry, because I wasn't at home where it is so obvious that he is missing.  The two times I have tried to talk about Fritz when I did cry, were both at home.
A couple of the neighbors have noticed the dogs missing from the pasture, and when I try to explain .... well, I have a hard time.
Each morning we used to put Georgia O'Keeffe and Fritz out in the pasture.  Let them run off some energy after being in the house all night.
Now .... no dogs.
And people have noticed.  They said how friendly the dogs were and how the dogs would run along the fence as they passed by.
A few times when Mark has been out working in the yard, he'll put GO'K out in the pasture to let her run and to keep him company.  But I cannot stand the thought of her out there alone.  So .... she stays with Dolce.  Either in the house (it's been so blasted hot, so the timing of this is not a bad thing) or in our backyard ... just not out in the pasture.  alone.
I don't cry anymore when I feed the dogs.  I've gotten used to filling only two bowls at meal times, but I still miss Fritz.  And I'm still reminded that he's no longer here.

His empty bowl remains on top of his empty kennel which houses a few of his abandoned balls.  The only thing we ever used the kennels for were meal times.  Someone once asked me if we did this, because the dogs would fight over food.  NO.  Our dogs were the sweetest of friends.  We did this because Fritz was quite allergic to many things and had his own special food.  Fritz also ate slowly and at his own pace.  Kenneling the dogs during meal times was a way to ensure each dog ate his or her own food.  period.  So twice a day, when I feed Georgia O'Keeffe and Dolce, I look over at Fritz' kennel, and I think of him.  And I get sad.  And I miss him.
but I usually don't cry.  usually.

I had a bad day, and it turned into a bad week....

(My title is from something said to me recently .... it somewhat cracked me up, and it was somewhat true.)

I have been doing better.  I have been able to not cry every day.  I have been able to not cry at meal times.  I have been able to not cry when I arrive home.  I have been able to not cry at bedtime.  I have been able to think and talk about Fritz with a smile on my face.  I have been able to look at pictures of Fritz and smile.

and then........

I remember it's Friday.  And I remember what last Friday brought.
It was one week ago that I called the vet and in my best blubbering voice said, "My dog hasn't been eating, and now he won't even drink water."
It was a week ago that the vet told me to bring him in.
It was a week ago that I thought that bringing Fritz in to the vet's office was a good idea, because they would make him strong.  They would make him well.
It was a week ago that I was excited when I heard the vet was putting Fritz in the hospital.  Doggies get better in the hospital, right?

It was a week ago, that Fritz didn't come home.

And when I remember that, a deep sadness, once again, consumes my being.

I saw something today I felt was appropriate:

"Beginnings are usually scary and endings are usually sad, but it's everything in between that makes it all worth living."

The beginning with Fritz was not 'scary'.  A better word might be 'unknown', and the ending was sad.  But oh the middle was absolutely worth living.  A few days ago Marshall said, "I always knew he wouldn't be a dog that lived a very long life, but I'm really glad I had him for the little time I did."

Mark is leaving me today.  He and Jacob are going to visit family.  And they need to.  It's important for Jacob to see as much of his family as possible while he's here.  It's always good for Mark to spend time with his family too.  Mark is always so relaxed when he is with his family.  And he laughs.  Not that he never laughs at other times.  He does.  But, somehow, it's different when he's with family.  The familiarity.  The love.  So I am happy the two of them are going.
 But I know after they leave I will be swept over with another wave of sadness.  Maybe it's good to be alone when sad.  Alone with my other animals.  Alone with my thoughts.  Alone with God.  I did inform Mark that my other animals (well, not the chickens, but the others) will be sleeping with me.  That will help.

Jenni....!!

I'm a day late, but what else is new?

Yesterday was July 2nd.  A special day.  A wonderful day.  What makes July 2nd so wonderful and special is the fact that on this day in 1986, Jennifer Leigh Marek entered the world.  (It is also the very middle day of the year in non-leap years.  A fact my father pointed out to me back in 1986.)

I know not everyone gets to plan out their family.  I know not everyone gets what they want.  But I did.  I wanted two kids.  I wanted them back to back.  I wanted a boy and a girl. ...but I wanted my girl first. Most people want the boy first.  The older brother.  The protector.  Not me.  I wanted my girl.

Jenni was such an easy pregnancy, that I never even had an ultrasound.  The doctor kept telling me (while listening to the baby's heart), "sounds like a boy."  I kept wanting my girl.  Unlike births these days, up until the moment Jenni made her appearance, we had no idea whether we were getting a boy or a girl, but Jenni came and announced herself,  and when they told me I had a girl, I was over the moon.

Unlike births these days, Jenni did not stay in my room.  They kept her down in the nursery.  One time I heard a baby cooing in the hallway, and I told James, "They're bringing me my baby."  James informed me I could not possibly know whose baby I was hearing.  I told him,  I did know, and that the baby I was hearing was my baby.  Just then the door opened, and the nurse walked in with my baby.  A mother knows.

Jenni has been such a blessing.  And I loved each and every step along the way.  I loved each and every stage she grow into and then grew out of.  Jenni was not a good sleeper then, Jenni is not a good sleeper now.  Jenni did not like crowds then, Jenni does not like crowds now.  Jenni was quite independent then, Jenni is quite independent now. Jenni was a voracious reader then, Jenni is a voracious reader now. Her personality, while it has grown and matured, it has remained the same throughout her life.

My little girl is now learning with her little girl, how bittersweet it is to watch your child grow.  You hate to watch a stage end, but you are so excited about the new stage she enters.  So often I hear that grandchildren are the best part of being a grandparent, but for me, the best part of being a grandparent is watching my little girl with her little girl.  Watching the love between the two of them.

I often tell people that my daughter is "too good to be true", and they look at me as if this is something that all parents say about all children, so they don't believe me.  But she is.  Jenni has one of the best hearts of anyone on this earth.  Especially when it comes to animals.  When Jenni was little, if we passed a dog who had been run over lying on the side of the road, Jenni would cry. She did not have to know the dog.  All she had to know was that a dog had died.  That was enough.  When Jenni was in high school, I forbid her to watch the news.  Jenni couldn't handle the news.  She would watch the news and cry.  Murders, destruction, mayhem, abuse .... Jenni's heart couldn't handle it.  Dustin caught her one time researching abortions on her computer.  She was frozen.  Staring at her computer screen with tears streaming down her face.  Dustin had to shut the computer and walk Jenni away.  Jenni also will not let us kill bugs or mice or other pests.  We must trap them humanely and move them, but not kill them.  The only exception is tarantulas.  Jenni detests tarantuals.

I still remember taking Jenni to kindergarten, and how I had to walk her to Miss Barlow's room, because the door was too heavy for her to open by herself.  I hate to say, but I did NOT always want to walk Jenni in.  Some mornings I looked more like a Walmartian than a soccer mom, and I was not ready for the world to see me.  I also had Marshall in his car seat, so this meant parking and taking him out just to walk her in.  But she would look at me and tell me she couldn't do it, and I couldn't resist.  So .... I walked her in, and I opened that heavy door for her.  Somewhere along the way, Jenni learned how to open her own doors.

I remember her complaining about the 'big' kids on the playground.  You know.  Those first graders.  They were so intimidating to her.

I remember her first year of tee-ball.  They didn't play in the baseball pants back then.  They were given the shirt and hat, but they played in their own pants.  Jenni played in white jean shorts  ....with lace.  Jenni was always a mix between pampered girl and tough kid.

I remember the last day I drove her to West End. I remember how she was scared to death she was going to be the smallest kid in Junior High and how happy she was when she found someone smaller.

I remember volleyball games and track meets and gymnastic meets.

I remember her learning to drive and her telling me to just shut up and let her dad handle it, because he was so much better than I was.  He didn't freak out.

I remember her going away to college.  I remember walking away from that dorm and crying as I left my baby behind.

I remember her telling me she loved Dustin.  And then they got engaged.  And we planned a wedding.  Oh the first time I saw her in a wedding dress.  Oh how my heart melted.  And then they got married.  And when the two of them drove away, I lost it.  I cried and cried.

I remember her graduation, and how proud she was of herself.  And how proud we were of her.

And then one day she told me she was pregnant.  And we were all so thrilled.  And it was not an easy pregnancy.  And we were all so worried.  And we prayed.  And we prayed.  And Eden entered the world.  And my little girl became a mother.

I could not imagine my world without my little girl.  At times she has been my little girl.  At times she has been my confidant.  At times she has been my best friend.  At times she has been my mentor.  At times she has had to set me straight.  These 27 years have been fun.  I have absolutely enjoyed each and every minute of being this little girl's momma.  She has been a blessing in so so many ways.

I'm OK .... really I am. I am. OK, I'll work on it.

Maybe not an exact quote, but another "Friends" reference for my title.

Each day does get better.  Oh, I'm still sad, and I still WANT MY FRITZ BACK, but each day does get better.  Each day does get easier.

I think what really hurt was the feeling that I failed him.  When a dog grows old, and we watch him labor, and we watch him age, and we know he had so many good years, while death is still painful, we reconcile ourselves to it.  We ready ourselves.

Fritz did not get the opportunity to age and grow old.  He had good years.  Marshall was so good to Fritz.  I have pictures of them swimming together, pictures of them playing together.  Heck, Fritz, as big as he was, slept in Marshall's bed.  Yes, Fritz was loved and cared for.  When he came to live with us, he continued in his good life.  He no longer got to sleep in our bed, but he had a good bed, and cool tiles and padded rugs, and hey, I even caught him on the couch.  He had room to run and roam and play.  He had, in Georgia, a companion.  And he was fiercely protective of her.  And she mothered him.  On second thought, he didn't have good years, he had GREAT years.  But he was still in the prime of his life, when that life was cut short.  That makes it so much harder.  Such a sweet dog should have the opportunity to grow old.  (There I go second guessing God again.  grrr)

But I did feel, the first few days, that I failed him.  I wanted so badly to get him well.  I promised him I would get him well.  I promised him we would make it better.  I made a promise I was in no position to keep.

The last day or two, I have had a new outlook on this though.  Ultimately, as dog owners, our responsibility is to take care of our dogs.  To make sure they have food. Shelter.  Shade. Water. Vaccines.  Love.  Care.  Toys.  Companionship.  And that they are taken care of.  To make sure they do not suffer.  That they are not in pain. Or sick. Or hurting.  And, in that regard, I did not fail Fritz.  In his last days, I comforted him.  I pet him and talked to him.  And I had patience with him.  (not always one of my strong points) I sat down next to him to hand feed him just hoping he'd eat even just a little.  Fritz was loved, and Fritz was taken care of .... even to the end.  In that, Marshall nor I ever let him down.

On Monday, I went to pick up the prints of Fritz' paw.  I knew that would be hard.  What I was not prepared for, was that I was also given Fritz' ashes.  I honestly thought it would take longer.  I walked in and told them I had come for his paw prints.  The girl said, "You had him cremated?"  I answered that I had, and she handed me a purple bag.  Purple, the color of royalty.  How appropriate for such a regal dog.  In it, was a beautiful sealed box.  "It's heavy." she informed me.  I couldn't answer.  All I could do was cry.  I tried saying "Thank you."

According to the paperwork, Fritz was cremated at 8:00pm the same day he died.

I have such mixed emotions about death.  Anyone who knows me well, knows I am in complete denial when it comes to death.  Oh, I believe in God and I believe in Jesus and I believe in Heaven.  I'm not scared of death in any way.  I'm just in denial about it when it concerns those I love.  When my dad was dying, everyone else knew he was dying.  I was waiting for the cure.  Same with Fritz.  I knew his heart was weakened.  I was thinking the doctors could give him glucose or a feeding tube or something to strengthen his body until we got his heart figured out.  Denial.

My mixed emotions stem from the fact that I think there should be more fanfare when someone dies.  It seems so sad that one moment someone is here, and *poof* in a heartbeat, in the blink of an eye,  they aren't.  but ummmm, doesn't the Bible tell me such things?  That that is exactly how it will happen?  Perhaps the fanfare comes on the other side.  The entrance, not the exit.  OK.  I like that.

Ivy Bath, a friend and wonderful woman sent me this link: http://www.youtube.com/embed/lJ7AfSO2fKs?rel=0

I love, love, love it.  And that video shows why, even as much as I hurt right now, I will have another dog.  Not now.  That's not fair to Fritz.  That's not fair to me.  .... but eventually.

getting easier....

It's getting easier, and that makes me sad.

Meal times and bedtime are the hardest.  I suppose, because I was busy on Saturday, yesterday was harder.  Saturday my mind was occupied, but yesterday I could just be sad.  And I was ... but then this morning I woke up, and I immediately thought of Fritz and my other doggies, and I realized, while I did miss him, I wasn't as sad.  So that, of course, made me feel guilty.  He was such a wonderful, wonderful dog he deserves for me to be sad longer.  Miss him more.

Then I went to feed Georgia O'Keeffe and Dolce, and a wave of sadness hit me.  That made me feel better.  (I know my family will understand this; we're woven from the same cloth.  Maybe others will understand it too.  I hope so.)

I walked down the hallway and saw a small clump of Fritz hair.  I started to bend down and pick it up, and then I thought, "No.  Leave it.  A little longer won't hurt."  (Aren't you glad you aren't visiting me and my house right now!?)

Today I go to the vets and pick up the Fritz' paw prints. I know that will be hard.  I requested two copies.  One for me and one for Marshall.  Hopefully that's what I get.  His paws were huge.  I was showing Mark his little baby picture, and I remarked, "See?  Even as a puppy, you could see how big those feet were going to get!"  ...and they did.

But overall, it's getting easier.  Last night Georgia O'Keeffe was even chewing on the bone they used to fight over.  The one she merely slept by that first night.  She still looks over at his bed...but not as much. Dolce still tries to get a dropped morsel of food from his kennel, and I wonder how much longer that will last.  I'm guessing not much.  (and, of course, that will make me sad and make me feel guilty.)

We're going to the beach today.  I know that will be good for me.  The beach is good for EVERYTHING, but I'll also feel sad.  I'll feel guilty for getting out and attempting to have fun.  I'll feel guilty leaving Georgia O'Keeffe alone without her friend.  ...but life does go on.

Another thing I feel guilty about:  I KNOW everything happens for a reason.  I KNOW God uses each and every situation and turns it around.  This is not something I simply think or believe, this is something I KNOW, and yet, I haven't turned this over to Him.  I haven't reconciled that God is in control and that Fritz was not really mine.  Fritz was God's.  He only loaned him to me.

My Bible reading today was the Beatitudes and I did love that God will comfort those who mourn.  Something I know, but I so often appreciate God's timing in reminding us of those things that we do already know.

Yesterday was a HUGE day in the world of Mary Kay.  It was the final day of the MK year.  My cousin, who is also my Director, was this close ----><----- to earning her pink cadillac.  So it was fun following everyone's posts on facebook as Beth's team and unit pulled together to achieve PINK.  That made me happy and made me smile and made me feel good.  I needed that.  My soul needed that.

God's timing is always perfect.  God's reasonings are always perfect.  God's ways are always perfect.  We may not always understand, and we may not always like it .... but we must always believe that He does have our best in mind, and He does know our future and what is best for that future.  He calls us to simply believe and obey, and I know my life has always worked out when I have followed Him, and I know my life has always screwed up when I didn't.  So, I continue to trust in God and plug along.

I've been teasing Mark about bringing me home a baby German Shepherd, but on a serious note, we've been talking about our next dog.  We don't want to get one now.... too soon.  But we also don't want to wait too long .... Georgia needs a companion.  We're thinking maybe the end of summer.  I want to look into German Shepherd rescue sites or maybe even German Shorthaired Pointer rescue sites.  Unless God steers us in a different direction, that's where we are leaning.

For some strange reason, Mark does not think Eva Braun is a good name for our next family member.  He's funny sometimes.  Other times he is really smart, because he thinks Martin Luther is the perfect name.  He may be on to something ....
Other suggestions are welcomed.  Some friends have made suggestions.  Of those I do like Marlena Dietrich and Sargent Schulz.  I somewhat like Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, but I'm afraid that name could be dog abuse, plus, I'd always have that stupid song stuck in my head.  (Rock Me, Amadeus!)  So .... we'll see.

we're getting there.  I'm getting there.
but I do feel guilty that I am......................................

and then I see his picture, and I lose it.

still sad...

I do know it gets better.  This is not my first time to lose someone I love.  I know life goes on. I know I will laugh again.  I've done it.  but dad-gum it's hard......

I absolutely hate being greeted in the morning by two dogs when I should be greeted by three.  I absolutely hate seeing his empty bed, but the thought of removing it is even worse.  I still hate meal times.  I hate his vacant kennel.  I hate his unused bowl.  But I love his bed, and his kennel and his bowl.  They make me feel (somewhat) still close to him.

Our yard is divided into two sections.  We have about 1.5 acres of pasture with a fence around it.  The pasture has a couple of nice shade trees along with a big barn and a smaller barn.  I often say it's big dog proof, but not little dog proof.  Dolce doesn't spend much time out there, because there are places where she could wiggle out, but this is where Fritz and Georgia O'Keeffe did much of their running.

Yesterday I had things to do.  That was a good thing.  It kept me busy.  But when I drove up to the house, I (again) just cried and cried.  I sat in my car and looked at all the places where Fritz and Georgia would be.   At the corner to greet me.  Next to the barn lying in the soft weeds.  Under the different shade trees.  I looked at all those places.  Empty.  And I cried.

Last year they had a swimming pool.  I hadn't gotten them one yet this summer.  May was still a bit cool and rainy, and somehow June just flew by too quickly.  I kept telling myself to go get their pool.  Of course I feel guilty about that now.  When they had their pool, Georgia would get in and cool off and then move along, but Fritz would lie in the pool.  It was his spot.  There was almost always a ball in the water with him.

I have a plastic bin full of dog toys in my living room.  It sits under a bar table.  Fritz would walk over to that plastic bin, pull out every toy until he found the one that he wanted, and then he would take that particular toy over to his bed to sleep with, chew on or play with.  I knew the day he quit doing that, it would kill me.  And it has.

If you know anything about me, you know everything comes back to "Friends".  And, of course, this is no exception.  I now know how Monica felt about Richard's hair.  My house has Fritz hair that needs to be swept up.  Same with my garage.  But I can't bring myself to do it.  Not yet.  I can't let him go.  Not yet.  I know I will in time.  And as sad as it is to see his hair lying around, the thought of sweeping it up and getting rid of it is even sadder.

I know I don't really play favorites, because Dolce is my baby and Georgia O'Keeffe is just such a great dog and absolutely no trouble.  ever.  But in many ways Fritz was also my favorite.  He was the most playful of the bunch.  He was the most gentle of the bunch.  He was such a good, good boy.

see.... I'm supposed to have three dogs

when I took this one, I was wondering why he was facing the corner....hahahahaha

so sweet

I want my doggie back....!

Mark:  I got you a surprise.

Me:  Is it a German Shepherd puppy?

Mark:  (softly) No.  Not because I wouldn't, but because I thought it was too soon.

Me:  It is.  To be honest, I don't want a new puppy.  I want Fritz.  If I got a new puppy, I'd probably be disappointed when it didn't have Fritz' personality.

Mark:  yeah.


I just want to come home and find him here.  find out it was all a bad dream.  that he's fine.  and happy. and healthy.
and home.

More Fritz

Obviously it was a hard day.  I honestly thought I would come home from the vets and crawl right back into bed.  Jenni told me that I should watch "Marley and Me", because when she's sad, she likes to just be sad.  And I was already crying anyway....  I thought about it.  Mark tried all day to get me to go and lie down.  But I was too restless.  I never did.  My head was pounding.  I didn't feel like doing anything.  ...but I also didn't feel like lying down.  I don't know.

Supper time last night was hard.  Even though Fritz had not been eating, at meal times I at least tried to get him to eat.  I tried hand feeding him a few morsels of his dog food.  (he'd take a bite or two)  I'd try getting him to eat an egg, and I'd become excited when he did!! I was eating goldfish one evening, and this got his attention.  So I began feeding him goldfish one at a time.  Probably not the best things in the world, but I was just so happy he was eating something.  But last night as I fed Georgia O'Keeffe and Dolce, both Fritz' kennel and Fritz' bowl remained empty.  I picked his bowl up and hugged it and cried.  Again.  I didn't hug his bowl this morning at breakfast, but I did cry.  

The past few mornings, as soon as my eyes opened, I'd rush out to the living room to check on Fritz.  This morning, when my eyes opened, I knew I didn't have to.  And I cried.

One memory that made both me and Marshall smile last night was the sprinkler.  Fritz loved water.  He loved running through the sprinkler.  He loved eating the sprinkler.  When Fritz first came to live with us, we went through a few sprinklers before I remembered that if the sprinkler was on, I needed to watch Fritz a bit more closely.  The other morning I had the sprinkler on.  This is when Fritz was sick.  He wasn't feeling good.  He wasn't eating.  But he was still getting up and getting around.  I took him outside to go potty, and he purposefully went out of his way to go through the sprinkler.  Got himself nice and wet.  I laughed.  I pet him and I told him, "I see what you did there, Fritz."  

His kennel remains in the garage.  I closed it up though.  Mark offered to take it down, but it's in a perfect place.  I told him to leave it.  I am pretty sure at some point we will get another dog.  I was made to be surrounded by animals.  As much as I complain about the amount of dog hair flowing through my house, I was made to have dogs.  My life is never complete without them.  And Georgia deserves another friend to run with.  Oh, it won't be anytime soon.  And it won't be planned.  God will give us the perfect dog when the timing is right.  So the kennel remains in place.  In time I'll wash all his blankets.  

Someone saw me feeding all the dogs in their kennel one day.  They asked if I separated the dogs at meal times, because they fought over food.  No.  I separate the dogs at meal times, because one is allergic to everything and on a special diet.  I have to make sure each dog eats their own food.  My dogs never fought over anything.  (playfully they did, but not seriously)  Fritz was a picky eater.  And a slow eater.  After he finished his meal, both Dolce and GO'K would go into his kennel and look for extra morsels of dropped food.  Dolce did notice the kennel door is now closed and she can't go scavenge for food.

I had also planned on drinking a bottle of champagne last night in honor of Fritz.  But by nightfall, I just could not bring myself to go outside and sit on my back porch with my husband and my dogs, when one of my dogs would be missing.  We nixed the idea .... maybe at some point.  But not yet.

Last night, as Mark was in the shower, I moved Dolce's bed and Georgia O'Keeffe's beds into our bedroom.  I placed them next to the bed.  When Mark came to bed, he said, "I'm sorry I couldn't make you feel better today.  I guess you just needed dogs to make you feel better."  Mark did try all day long to take care of me, but I am fiercely independent, and especially when sad.  I appreciated his attempts to comfort me.  I did.  But at the same time, I did need to go through the motions on my own.  I pulled away from him a bit.  He did make me laugh though.  As he looked at Georgia and Dolce lying on the floor next to my side of the bed, he asked, "Does this mean when I die, you're going to surround yourself with men when you go to bed?"  I promised him I would not have men sleeping on the floor of my room after he died.  (Although I keep telling him that I'm going first since I'm older............)

Life does go on, but sometimes we do wish it would stop at least for a little while in honor of those that we love.  I've wondered before, and I'm sure I'll wonder again how the world can simply go on 'business as usual' when I've lost someone so dear to my heart.

Fritz

A few years back, my son brought home the most adorable (as if there is any other kind) German Shepherd puppy.  We immediately fell in love with Fritz.  Well, not quite all of us.  Marshall said that our family dog, Ebony, bit little Fritzy on the occasion of this first meeting.  But for me, and for most of us, it was love at first sight.

Poor little Fritz came with a few problems.  He was allergic.  To everything.  OK, maybe not everything but there were certainly times it felt like it was.  The poor guy was constantly breaking out.  His coat was not as shiny as it should have been.  His eyes were often runny.  His ears were infected.  He got little bumps under his snout.  Allergies were not fun for him.  He had to have a special diet.  He lived on steroid shots.  Thankfully he had, in Marshall, a daddy who went out of his way to make sure Fritz was as comfortable as possible.  Marshall stayed on top of Fritz' diet and his vet visits and his steroid shots and his allergy medication.  But more times than not, the allergies won, and Fritz was miserable.  (and that is how he came to live with me and Mark .... but more about that later)

Fritz was gorgeous.  German Shepherds are such a beautiful breed, and he was no exception.  The way he sat.  The way he stood.  And especially ... the way he ran.  When he ran, he was majestic.  I loved to watch him run.  I can't remember who was here recently, but someone was visiting, and I told them they had to watch Fritz run.  I threw his ball for him to chase, just so we could watch how beautiful he is when he runs.  Fritz did not play 'fetch', but Fritz loved his balls.  He wanted us to throw them all day long, and he would go after them.  Sometimes catching them in the air, other times running after them with all he had .... but he did not bring them back.  They were his.  Period.  And he always had one in his mouth.  Fritz could not eat without having one of his balls nearby.  Fritz could not sleep without having one of his balls nearby.  Fritz could not go outside without a ball in his mouth.  Fritz could not come inside without a ball in his mouth.  I will miss so many things about him, but seeing him with a ball in his mouth will be at the top of the list.  Fritz would sit and just stare at you begging you to please, please, please throw his ball.  Sometimes I would.  It meant so much to him.  It was especially a treat when Mark would kick his ball, because then the ball travelled FAR, and Fritz got to run a long, long way to get it.  If we played long enough, Fritz would eventually get tired and hot.  He would take that stupid ball over to his water dish and drop it right in.  Then he would drink some water too.  I didn't always play ball with Fritz as much as I probably should have.  Last year, Fritz had a problem with his hip.  His X-rays showed that he did have fragile hips and knees.  We still played ball with him, it meant too much to him NOT to, but I did cut back and didn't do it as often as he wanted.  That, of course, makes me sad now.

When Fritz still lived with Marshall, one of the highlights of his life was playing 'fetch' with Sammy and Max.  Someone would throw the orange stick, and all three dogs would chase after it.  At different times, a different dog would win, and it was always entertaining and fun to watch them.  In the water, Max, the Labrador, had the upper hand.  He was beautiful in the water.  Not that the others couldn't swim, but it was much more natural for Max.  On land the upper hand belonged to Fritz.  Again, not that the others couldn't run, but Fritz excelled at it. 

As I mentioned earlier, Fritz had allergies.  Bad allergies.  Fritz came to live with me and Mark while Marshall was up at SMU.  Initially it was to help Marshall out.  However, a couple things happened.  One, Fritz' allergies quit flaring up.  Two, Fritz and Georgia O'Keeffe became best buds.  Fritz still had all his allergies, but down here, they just didn't act up as badly or as often.  He never once had a steroid shot while living with us.  On the occasions when his allergies did hit, they didn't hit hard.  And Georgia was such a mother hen to Fritz.  She would lick, lick, lick his watery eyes or his ears or his snout.  She took such great care of him, and he LOVED every minute of it.  Because of these two things, Marshall and I came to the conclusion that Fritz was going to remain here with us.  It was hard for Marshall, but he knew Fritz was better off.  And he knew I loved Fritzy.  He knew Fritz would be taken care of.

Fritz was such a sweet boy.  I loved that he looked scary.  Some of our neighbors told us that he scared them when they saw him in the yard.  Good.  I like that.  but Fritz would not have hurt anyone.  Matter of fact, when I handed all the dogs treats, he was the most gentle of the bunch to take it from my hand.  Fritz had this huge head and these big teeth, and yet he was so gentle in getting a treat from me.  So sweet. 

We were out of town for a little while, and my mom was here taking care of everyone.  She told us Fritz would not eat.  We weren't too worried.  Fritz was a picky eater.  Fritz was never a big eater.  But then he skipped too many meals.  We were beginning to worry, but we were wondering if he was missing me.?  or was it the heat?  Thankfully we were able to get him into the vets the next day.  By now he was not eating.  He was bloated.  The vet took blood.  The vet ran tests.  The vet took X-rays.  Fritz' heart was enlarged.  Fritz was having a hard time breathing.  We got prescriptions, and we came home.  But Fritz did not get better.  

Last night I knew.  I just knew.  Marshall said he knew the first time I called with the initial vet visit.  Marshall and I discussed everything each step along the way.  Each decision we made together.  I came out into the living room and slept with Fritzy.  I thought of bringing him to my room, but I didn't want to make him walk down the hallway.  So instead, I went to him.

This morning, not only would he not eat, now he no longer would drink.  I called the vet.  I started to have Mark call, but I thought I could handle it.  I was wrong.  I was crying so hard, I'm surprised the vet understood me.  (or maybe they didn't)  They told me to bring him in.  We still didn't know the answers, but I knew he was better at the vets than with me.  An hour or so later, the vet called.  We talked.  Fritz' heart was too damaged.  I asked if Fritz was his dog, what would he do.  He said he would consider putting him down.  I knew that, but I had to hear it  from him.  I talked to Marshall and headed back to the vets and to Fritz.

I was with him.  I stayed with him.  I pet him and told him he could go to sleep.  Just go to sleep.  He did.  And just like that, Fritz was gone. 

I mentioned Georgia O'Keeffe would be looking for him, so the vet told me to bring her in.  Let her say 'good-bye'.  So we did.  I did not go back with Georgia.  I didn't think I could handle that.  A vet tech took her back.  She sniffed him, her demeanor changed a little, she sniffed again, and she walked away. 

I came home.  I walked the yard gathering up all his balls.  He'll be buried with some.  Not sure which yet, but some.  Under his favorite big shade tree. 

And life, for the rest of us, will go on.  And we will be OK.  But not today.  Today I am not OK.  Today I am so sad and missing a wonderful, wonderful dog and companion.

Good-bye Fritzy.... oh how I love you.

My Eyes

Eyes were designed to work together.  Most people have two eyes that see, transmit the images to the brain, and the brain works to combine those images into one nice three dimensional image.  The eyes are a team.  They work together. That is not how mine work.
Never have.

Both of my eyes work.  Somewhere along the line, however, those two images are not combined.  They remain separate.  I have double vision.  I've had it my entire life.  When I tell someone new that I have double vision, they usually ask questions such as, "Isn't that weird?" or "How do you do that?" But for me, double vision is my 'normal'.  It's all I have ever known.  Because the images do not come together to form one three dimensional image, I also lack depth perception.  I live in a 2D world.  Watch me closely .... I'll go to pick up a pen, and I'll have to reach for it two or three times before I grab it.  I'll reach for a glass, and I'll completely miss it.  I'll have to try again.  It's not a problem for me.  Again, it's how I've always been.  I'll usually do it so quickly, most people won't even notice.

I also have Marcus Gunn Syndrome.
Marcus Gunn phenomenon - NIH Office of Rare Diseases Research ...

Growing up the Marcus Gunn got me lots of gum.  Kids would give me gum just to watch my eye move as I chewed.  Some of my friends thought this was horribly mean, but to me, it meant free gum.

Thankfully for me, one of the best opthamologists in her day was in Houston.  And thankfully for me, my mom found her.  I have no idea how my mom found her or how my mom afforded her and my surgeries, but I know my mom did.  I was a kid, it wasn't my job to worry about such things.  My job was just to go and do what I was told.  And I LOVED going to the eye doctor.  I'm not sure how many of y'all spent time at an eye specialist as a child, but it was fun.  Basically I got to watch cartoons as the doctor observed my eyes watching those cartoons.  OK, I can do that.  We'd play games where she would have what was supposed to be three dimensional images, and she would tell me to pick up the item that was standing out.  Ummmm.  What?  Hmmmm.  That one is harder.  Nothing is standing out, but I'll try.

I remember having my surgeries, but little else.  I suppose, being a typical mom, my mom worried about me and my eyesight if anything 'went wrong'.  And I know my sister was upset, because after the surgeries, I would be sleeping with blood oozing out of my eyes.  That made my sister so sad, but I don't remember any of that.  I slept through it.  (ha!)

At some point in my late teens or early twenties, I tried prisms.  Some people with double vision find they help.  I did not like them AT ALL, and I never wore them.  I much preferred my way of seeing.  At least I was used to my way.

Somewhere around my late thirties or early forties, my mom decided I needed to have my eyes checked again.  I was the mom who took her kids to the doctors, but rarely took myself.  I'm fine.  I'll make an appointment later.  I'll get around to it.  My mom heard that for so long that she decided that she would have to make my appointment for me.  She did.  At Baylor College of Medicine's Opthamology Department Double Vision Specialists.  I went.

While I am being examined, the Doctor keeps saying things such as "Hmmmm."  "Wow."  "Huh?"  "Hmmmm."

I spoke up and said, "Um, When I am at Baylor College of Medicine's Opthamology Department Double Vision Specialists, I do not expect to hear 'Hmmm.',  'Wow.' and 'Huh.'.  I expect to hear, 'been there, done that."

To which the Doctor replied, "Oh, no.  I've never seen this."  She went on to explain that in most people with double vision, even though both eyes work independently instead of as a team, there is usually at least a pattern.  a rhyme.  a reason.  It makes sense.  She said with my eyes there was no pattern and absolutely nothing working together.  My eyes were just absolutely independent of one another.  She'd never seen anything like me.  Great.  Fun.  Besides the double vision, my actual vision was fine.  Both eyes do work.  I can see.

Years pass, and I haven't been to an opthamologist, so I decide perhaps I should go and get my eyes checked.  Today was my appointment.

As the girl was taking all of my information, I mentioned that I had double vision.  She simply replied, "I know." I must have looked at her quizzically, because she said, "Your eyes are not working together. I can tell."  Oh. OK.

The Doctor comes in and examines my eyes.  He asks if my double vision is side to side or top and bottom.  (side to side)

He asks if my eyes were crossed or went out.  He asks if I remembered.  I told him that I did remember.  My eyes went out, because I had to exercise and exercise to learn how to cross my eyes.  He laughed and said, "Doctors do love to make you do that, don't they?"  yup.

He asks if driving is a problem.  Driving?  no. ...... parking.  That's another story.  The Doctor says, "No depth perception. Please do me a favor.  Do not ever park by my truck."  I laughed.  I said, "I never park by anyone.  I'm that car that is way off in the parking lot at the Wal-Mart.  I figure I can always use the exercise anyway."  He liked that answer.  I told him my cousin (she has double vision as well) and I have often laughed about how fun it is driving at night with ALL those lights coming at us.  (Next time you're driving at night, think about all the lights you see, and then double that....fun!)

He told me that my left eye is a bit far sighted, but he asks, "You don't really use your left eye do you?"

--Nope.

"You over-compensate for your left eye with your right eye, right?"

--Yes.

"And that works for you."

--Yes.

"As long as that is working for you, keep doing whatever you've been doing."

I told him that sometimes people think it's weird or must be hard for me to have double vision, but that it is the only way I've ever seen.  As I learned and grew, I adjusted to my world and my 'normal'.  He agreed and we talked about how resilient a child's brain is and how that brain will overcompensate in stronger areas to take up the slack of the weaker ones.

So ........... I'm still not old.  No bifocals for this young gal.  My eyes may be messed up, but my vision is good!!