Dr. Daniel R Grayson: aka my cousin Danny

 

I have never been impressed by smart people.  I know, as people, we all hope to be smart.  We also hope that for our children.  We take pride when our kids get good grades, and especially when our kids show an ability to pick up things rather quickly.  I mean, no one wants to be a dummy.  

I am no different.  

I like to think I'm smart.  I know my kids are smart, and I know my grandkids are smart.

However, the reason I will never be impressed with how smart anyone may be is because my cousin was Dr. Daniel R. Grayson, and my cousin Danny had the most brilliant mind I have ever known.

Danny was ten years older than me;  we did not grow up together.  We only really got to know one another as adults, but my whole life, I always knew what my cousin was up to and how smart he was ... even if my little pea brain could never even come close to understanding the complexities of his mind.

I will post his obituary.  Read it and be impressed.

So that explains Danny's mind, but that is only a small part of what made Danny Danny.

Danny also had a beautiful soul and a fun heart.

Danny loved learning about things, but Danny also loved learning about people.  He literally was that guy who never met a stranger.  He made friends with everyone, everywhere.

I cannot honestly remember if this next story is true or not, but with Danny, it absolutely could be.  

There was an incident where Danny accidentally hit a parked car on the side of the road.  He pulled over to check it out.  Now most people may have left a note.  Not Danny.  Danny went door to door to find the owner of the vehicle, which he did find.... and got himself  invited in to join the family in their supper.  That was Danny.

Danny was engaging.  Danny was charismatic.

Mark and I recently recalled a trip we took with Danny.  We were retelling the story to my sister, who had not been with us.  Mark mentioned his favorite part of the trip was the night we went to a Mexican restaurant, and Mark managed to get Danny drunk.  Danny decided he wanted to try tequila, and Mark was getting him to try the actual good tequilas.  

Now that is not the best part of the story.  I mean that happens to people all over the world every night.  

What makes it special is that before the night was over, Danny had all the waiters and the hostess over at our table laughing, joking and offering their own favorite tequilas up for Danny to try.  That was Danny.

Danny loved to learn, and Danny loved to teach.  He loved passing his love of learning onto others.  Danny loved people, and Danny loved kids.  He would take almost any opportunity and turn it into a learning moment. I don't think Danny tried to simply give people answers or even how to simply solve a problem or equation.  It was more than that.  Danny tried to teach others how to think.  

The love of Danny's life was Carol.  Sadly Carol passed away a couple years ago, and I believe that was the beginning of Danny's decline to his own passing.  I may be wrong, but Danny was never the same after losing Carol.

Danny had a remarkable life, a remarkable mind and a remarkable personality.

He will be missed.

To some he was a brother.  To some he was a father and a grandfather.  To many he was Dr. Daniel Richard Grayson.  To me... he was my wonderfully brilliant, kind cousin Danny.

Aaaaaargh..

 Our lives were too easy.  Too simple.  Too neat. 

So I had to go and muck it up.  

Of course.

I have had cats and dogs my entire life.  Multiple cats and multiple dogs throughout my entire life.

As our animals, who thankfully led nice, long lives, started leaving us one by one, I had to fill the silence.  

I wanted a rescue.  

I wanted to save the one who needed me most.

I prayed about it 

I tried not to rush out and just do it..  but to  honestly think about it and pray about it.

And then I saw this face.

I wanted her.

I have no idea if God wanted me to pick this one or if I wasn't listening at that point, but I wanted her.

I kinda felt like it was meant to be, because, before I saw her picture, I had an appointment to meet with a different doggie.  Then I saw THIS PICTURE and felt drawn to THIS DOGGIE. 

I felt a commitment to the first dog and planned on keeping my appointment, however, the day before my meeting, that dog was adopted, which opened me up to now proceed with "Pinkie".

We made an appointment to meet her.  

Even before meeting her, I had already made up my mind:  she would be ours.

Conversation between me and Mark about her name:

Me:  Her name is Pinkie.  We can keep her name and make everything of hers pink!

Mark:  No.

Me:  Pinkie Tuscadero?

Mark:  No.

Me:  Leather Tuscadero and we make everything leather??

Mark:  Who is Leather Tuscadero?

Me:  Pinkie Tuscadero's sister.

Mark:  You're making that up.

Me:  Google it.

Mark: Hmmm. There was a Leather Tuscadero.  She was played by Suzi Quatro.

Me:  Suzi Quatro?  I like it!  We'll call her Suzi-Q!!

-----

We went and met her.  They literally drug her into the room to meet us.  She would not take a treat.  She barely responded to us.  She was shaking as she lie on the ground.  My heart broke for her.

We came back and got her the following week.

She was so scared.  And withdrawn.  We knew she needed to decompress.  We brought her home, and we gave her space.

Initially, wherever we put her, that is where she stayed.  If we put her down in the living room, she would change positions, but she would not change locations.  Same with the bedroom. Same with any room.

We finally put her in the back yard.  We knew she needed to move around, and we were hoping being outside would do the trick.

It did!  

She really seemed to be enjoying being outside and having her freedom.

Problem:  She would not come to us. Not for a treat.  Not for food.  Nope.  Not gonna happen. She would get close as we sat and talked with her, but she made a point of staying just out of reach, so we could not catch her.  (We were not trying to catch her,  but she didn't know that.)

We weren't too worried about this.  We knew everything was new to her, and we knew she was safe in our yard, but we weren't happy about it either.

What would we do when night fell?

Ah, when night fell, she was scared.  She simply curled up into a little ball and shook and shook.  We picked her up and carried her into the house.

Not ideal, but at least we had her inside for the  night.

OK.

That plan only lasted a few nights.  I guess after some time, she realized how safe she was in the yard, because she no longer curled up in a ball shaking.

Pro:  She was no longer shaking.  She was becoming more comfortable.

Con:  Now we couldn't get her into the house for overnight.

I didn't love the idea of her staying outside all night, but we knew she would be safe.

Fine.

Next morning go out and check on her.  She had moved my shoes from the back door to down in the yard where I had been sitting.  What?  She didn't chew them up or anything, just moved them.  And moved them to the location where I had been sitting with her.  She also took an old towel off the deck and was sleeping on it.

We took that as both a sign of progress and her being quite smart. 

This is how our days passed.  We would spend as much time outside with her as we could.  Talk with her.  Place food and treats nearby.  And she would get closer and closer and closer.  She would sleep close to where we sat.  But always staying just out of reach.  She did, however, get along with the cats, especially Billie.

We eventually got her eating treats out of our hands, but she would get that treat and back away from us to eat it.

So, at this point, we get into a routine where she spends all her time outside.  We spend as much time as we can outside.  She seems comfortable with us, but still not trusting.  She keeps us close, but not too close.

But now she is also becoming more and more comfortable in our yard.  And she is getting into places and things she should not be getting into.  Now she is chewing up my shoes.  Now she is getting into our plants and potting soil.  That is NOT gonna cut it.

Mark had been working on trying to get her into the house by leaving a trail of broken up treats.  

Last night, between all the rain storms and her tearing up our yard, we decided we needed to change things up.

Today marks three weeks since we brought her home.  We have given her time and space and even her freedom.  Now it's time to do a few things our way.  

Mark made a trail of treats, and as she walked into the house eating them all up, Mark shut the door behind her.

He also went to Walmart and got a stake and some cord.  She can have freedom, but not unlimited. Now we can bring her in each night and let her out during the day where she can roam and get in a bit of trouble... but not too far and not too much.

So this is where we are in our rescue dog adventure ... ANY and ALL tips for what we are doing right and what we are doing wrong are greatly appreciated!  

She really is a sweet dog, we do not know her history, and we really want to give her a great future ... we just hope we are not in over our heads.  Help!!

Life Keeps On Lifing....

 This is where I am at these days:

Recap:

Once upon a time we had a house full of animals.  Four cats, three dogs.

Life was good.  We were all young and healthy.  

But time passed, and we all got older.  

Dusty went to live with my mom.  Dusty never seemed to like being part of such a big family, and my mom had no other animals at the time.  They needed each other. Dusty eventually succumbed to cancer.  

Not quite three years ago I came home from work.  Cecilia was acting wonky.  I wasn't sure what was going on.  What was happening.  When Mark was home at 2pm, she was fine.  Her usual, playful self.  When I got home by 4pm, she was dazed and confused.  By 6pm, she was gone.  The vet surmised she had had a stroke.  Somewhere in that window between when Mark left the house and when I arrived home.

Three months later, in August, Georgia cut her foot. It was just a stupid cut.  That's all. But from there, she went straight down hill.  Her foot took forever to heal, but, even as it healed, something else would come up.  It all started with that cut on her foot, but from there she, we and the vets were just battling one thing after another.  We spent the next three months in the revolving door of the vet's office trying anything and everything to make our precious girl heal.  Sleepless nights and worrisome days. But in the end, it was time to let her go.  

We got a reprieve for a little while and then late last summer we noticed our little Mitzi was blind.  OK, we thought, we can work with that.  Then she went deaf.  It got a bit harder, but she got our time, our attention and our patience, because she was ours to take care of.  And we did.  But she went down quickly.  In the end, she left this world without our help.  

Then my little Dolce.  As with the others, our free time was spent making her as comfortable and as spoiled as possible.  She gave us seventeen years, hopefully we gave her a peaceful good-bye.

Each and every one of these broke our hearts, and, if you go back, there is a blog post or two on each of them.  

With almost all of them, when they were restless at night, I would go outside with them.  Sit out in the grass.  Contemplate the stars.  Pet them.  Talk to God.  Feel those special moments when there are no other distractions from the world.  Just me, God, the night and my absolutely wonderful beloved family pet.  Those nights could be so hard knowing what was coming, but they were also so so beautiful.

That leaves us with two cats.

Ray Ray is my latest "project".

Ray has always been an outside cat.  He comes in during inclement weather, but otherwise, his entire life, he has preferred the great outdoors.  

Early in life, Ray got into a fight with a cactus. The cactus got him in the eye.  He had a bad eye, but it never seemed to bother him.  Until about a year or so ago(?)  All of a sudden, one day, his bad eye was a completely black eye.  We had it removed.  At this point he obviously wasn't using it anyway.   OK.

Then last autumn, Ray started licking all his fur off.  We don't know why.  We honestly don't know what started it. He has now been into the vet quite a few times himself.  There is no physical reason.  He's had the blood work, X-rays, tests etc.  Was there a new pet added to the home?  Nope.  A new cat in the neighborhood?  We don't know.  It did begin about the same time our neighbors began a huge construction project in their yard.  Lots of noise, lots of activity, lots of people.  Did that cause his anxiety?  We don't know.  But we have been battling this for months now.  

Just a few days ago, as I noticed the licking continue and no physical reason for it, I brought him into the house and gave him a cone.  Hoping to give his hair some time to grow.  However, I am sure both the cone and being inside are causing even MORE anxiety.  Also, with the smaller  one, he can still reach his tail, so he's licking the ever living stuffings out of his poor tail.  Put a bigger cone on him, and he figured out how to shake it off.  

Whilst he has been inside the past few days, he has been sleeping on me.  Yes, ON me.  Not by me.  On me.  This morning, roughly around 3am, I startle awake, because I thought he fell off the bed onto the floor.  I quickly sit up, which, I guess, has now startled him, because, he had not fallen but rather jumped.  He must have jumped onto the headboard, because once I sat up, he jumped from the headboard to my head, to my shoulder to the bed.  All with his nice sharp claws engaged.  Mark wakes up repeating "What?  What?"  I'm bleeding, Mark's confused, Ray is scared.  It's great.  

Yes, I will be calling the vet yet again today.

And after all this, do I learn?  

Nooooo.

Of course not.

Because, after all this, after ALL OF THIS, we're supposed to be going and picking up a scared, previously injured doggie who we are adopting, because some yay-hoo abandoned her and let her down, and my heart cannot take that.  

And after all this, my house NEEDS a dog.  Life could be easier.  Life could be cleaner.  But people still don't spay and neuter their animals.  There are still far too too many animals out there who need a home.  And, as hard (and as expensive) as it can be, it is always worth it.

Even when it hurts your heart... and sometimes your head.

Ready to Cry "Uncle"

 Mark had to run into Houston today, and he wanted me to ride along.  I did not want to ride along, because what I really wanted was to stay home and be sad.  

I decided I should ride along.

And I am SO GLAD I did.

Somewhere around 11ish o'clock, we both got a "ding" on our phones alerting us that our PIN on our phone carrier had been changed.

I knew it wasn't me, and because we were together, I also knew it was not Mark.

I call Cricket.

Gentleman on the line informs me someone has changed our PIN and has added a line.  I assure him exactly how many accounts we have, what our phones are and what our phone numbers are.  He is quite helpful.  He "cleans up" the account.  We get a new PIN, new security question, new password.  

Thank you very much.

Not ten minutes later, we get another text alerting us that our PIN has been changed.

What the heckity heck??

I call Cricket back.

This time the call is not as good.  He wants a lot more details about Mark's phone.  

(Somewhere in the discussion we did figure out it was Mark's phone that they were now controlling.  Mark did not lose his phone.  Mark did not misplace his phone.  Mark physically had his phone, but these hackers were completely taking over control of his phone number.)

Me, being the wonderful techie that I am, cannot give the gentleman on the phone exactly all the information he wants.

Fine.

Fine.

FINE.

I may or may not have hung up on him.

We find a Cricket store.

We go through our entire morning explaining what has been happening.  The PIN. password and security question have all been changed again.

Are you kidding me??

At this point I am ready to shut down the account and just start over.  But, if we go that route, we don't get to keep our numbers.  And Mark has had his number forever.  He wants to keep it.

This guy, again, cleans up our mess.  Gets rid of anything that isn't ours.  Wipes it all clean.  New password, PIN and security question.

We were hoping this time would work.

Of course not.

We are now headed home.  Both in a bad mood.  One of us is at least handling themselves pretty calmly.  The other of us is pretty snippy and snappy. (I'll let y'all guess on that one.)

On our way home, we get yet ANOTHER text informing us, of course, the PIN has been changed.

We stop at ANOTHER Cricket store.

"Uncle."

"Uncle!"

"UNCLE!!!!"

We get a brand new account with brand new phones and brand new phone numbers. The people at Cricket suggest we also get brand new emails as well.  We agreed, as much of a pain as that will be, it is probably a good idea.

Get home.

Now I know I need to call the credit card people, the banks, etc. etc. to change our information.  Get rid of our old numbers on all our accounts;  give them the new.

And, of course, the first place I attempt to log into doesn't recognize my username, because, OF COURSE, it has been changed.

OF COURSE.

Now, I'll keep this part relatively short, because I don't want to give out too much information, but Mark and I both got to spend quite a bit of time talking with the credit card people, and , OF COURSE, whilst talking with the credit card people, we get a call from the bank.  Because why wouldn't they also try to hack into our bank account??

And, the best part, is that, while these accounts have now been flagged and marked as "fraudulent", we still cannot get into our own accounts until we show up in person with two forms of ID.

I have said it over and over, but how the heck these people can get into MY accounts, when I can't even get into MY accounts.

Grrr.

Grrrr.

Grrr.

Anyway, I was so mad today, I almost didn't have time to be sad, so there's that.

I didn't take any pictures of my wonderful day, so here are a couple cat pictures for you to enjoy.

I Never Even Wanted a Small Dog

 She wasn't supposed to be mine.

She was supposed to be for my ex-husband.

He didn't want her.

He IS a huge animal lover, but he was not ready for a dog.  He had a dog.  She was absolutely HIS dog.  She loved him.  He was her entire world.  And he loved her too.

And then ...he watched as she was in a horrific accident.  He held her as she took her last breath.  It gutted him.  

He did NOT want another dog.

However, my ex has an aunt with a big heart.  

She decided what he needed was another dog.  Right away.  And she just so happened to have a puppy.  

For some reason, I was the "go between".

She kept telling me to tell him she was bringing the puppy.  

He kept telling me to tell her, "no!"

She was adamant. She was bringing the puppy.

He was adamant.  He was not ready for another dog.  He did not want it.

I get it;  she really wanted to help him get over his grief.

I get it;  he was hurting.

She brought the puppy.

He didn't want the puppy.

The puppy became mine. 

And I will forever be thankful.  

I'm Getting Better ... not really, but whatever

 Three things that happened recently:

I told Mark I would work on Saturday.  He asked if I was sure.  I was.  He said he would be ready to come in any minute if/when I felt I needed to come home.  

I decided I can be sad at different times every day,  and I can be sad all day on certain days, but I cannot be sad all day every day.  

My head has been pounding from all the grief;  my eyes feel like sandpaper from all the crying.

I also knew, at work, chances were good that no one I saw throughout the day would know anything about my Dolce, so I could "busy" myself without thinking about her too much.  

I knew I would still be sad, but I also knew I could put it on the "back burner" when needed.

Off I went.

And oh how sad I was. 

The store does not open until 10:00am.  I go in around 8:00am to do the books and get the store ready.  

When Mark recently was out of town for a week in December, Dolce went to work with me.  

I work 8:00am - 5:00pm, and, at this point in her life, Dolce could not be left alone that long without being checked on.  Because she slept most of the day, we decided she could simply go to work with me.

Before he left, Mark took a nice big dog kennel up to the store, placed a nice big dog bed in the kennel, and we were in business.

Each morning, when I did have to work all day, she would go in with me. Before the store opened, I would let her walk around the store.  

Some mornings she would walk, walk, walk around the store.  Sniffing around and checking it all out.  As I went about my business, I would hear the click, click, click of her little claws as she scoped everything out.  

Other mornings she would simply lie on the rug in front of the front door in the warmth of the sunbeam.  This was fun, because when she chose this spot, the door chime would continuously go off. Which did not bother her in the least.  I would laugh, roll my eyes and try to ignore it.

Just before opening, I would place her in the kennel.  She would sleep, and I would go about my day.

It wasn't perfect, but it would work while Mark was out of town.

So yesterday, when I told Mark I could go into work, I did not factor any of that in.  And those two hours before the store opened just wrenched me.

I was alone, getting things ready, and I kept remembering her walking around.  Click, click, click.  I remembered how she slept in her huge kennel (the only size we had) while I worked, and I remembered her beloved sunbeam, because there it was again.  Showing me.  Taunting me.  Hurting me.

I was not ok.  I talked to God a LOT yesterday.  I informed Him that He had to help me get through the day, because no way was I doing this alone.

-------

The second thing that happened:  As my Dolce died, a good friend was going through much the same.  Her little doggie was nearing the end of her life as well, and my friend was in much the same situation.  What do I do?  Is it time?  What is "the right" thing? ....and then God took her doggie.  In the end, she did not have to make the decision;  it was made for her.

Her doggie is SO CUTE!!  And she and I are hoping that our two babies met and made fast friends.  I told Mark maybe Dolce introduced Pippin to Georgia.  Georgia would make friends with ANYONE!  It's fun to think so.  It helps to think so.

-------

Lastly, I am so NOT a computer geek.  It saddens me because I know over the years I have lost many photos.  Between both phones and apps changing over time, as much as I try to back everything up and save things, I know I have still lost things.  And I hate it.  Even though I know I have those memories, I hate losing the tangible evidence.

Yesterday whilst just being my regular OCD self, I noticed a box.  "What's in that box", I wondered.

OLD PHOTOS!!!

Old photos.  A few of my grandkids, but mainly (MOSTLY!) old photos of all my beloved babies throughout the years.

Oh how happy I was.  

I spent the next few hours going through my box of photos.  Laughing.  Crying.  Remembering.

Her Place

 Georgia never had her own bed or her own place.

Cecelia never had her own bed or her own place.

We had four different "big" dog beds strewn around the house.  We had a few blankets thrown over a couple of the beds.  Our home has hard wood floors, so we have rugs of different make, model, material and size.  

Our big dogs slept wherever, whenever.

But Dolce was different.  

I don't remember exactly when we bought her dog bed and blanket.  I don't remember where she slept before we bought her dog bed and blanket, but Dolce did have her own bed. Her own blanket.  Her own place.

Mark and I love street fairs, farmer's markets, etc., and Las Cruces has a great one.  Each weekend, I believe.  We often went because THE BEST kettle corn, by far, was found at the Las Cruces farmer's market.  We would stroll the market eating our kettle corn.  Oftentimes we would take Dolce with us.

On one of those days, we saw it.  

Her bed.  

We knew it was perfect, and we snatched it up 

Followed by a trip to Wal-Mart where I bought a baby blanket to go in her bed.

That was probably fifteen years ago, and it has been her bed since.

No telling how many times I washed both, but the bed always held its shape, and the blanket faded very little.

They were hers from then on, and she loved them.

I later bought her another bed, so she, too, could have multiple beds in multiple locations, and, while she did try it out and use it a time or two, she remained faithful to "her" bed.  

When we moved into this house about eight years ago, I placed her bed down in the living room, and that is where it stayed each day.

I would move her bed each night and place her right next to my bed.  Mark tucks me in every night, and every single night, I would say, "Don't step on her.  She's little."  And pretty much every night, Mark would roll his eyes and say, "I know she's there.  I won't step on her."  And I would laugh and pat her goodnight and snuggle into my own blankets.

Then each morning, I would move her bed back to its rightful place in the living room.  

Where it remained.

Until this past Thursday.

When I took Dolce to the vet that terrible, horrible, no-good day, I took her in her bed.  Blanket and all.  

I told the vet the bed and blanket went with her.  That's how it had to be.

And now her bed is gone.

And her place is empty.

Her Scent

 I sit in my recliner, and I can still smell her there with me. 

If we were at home, unless I was outside or in bed, we were in my recliner.

Together 

Always

And now I sit there, alone, and I smell her scent.

She's in the blanket.

She's in the leather.

Over time her scent will fade.

Eventually I will forget her smell.

But for now, for today, I smell her.

And it makes me so happy.

And it tears me apart.

Letting Her Go

 I wanted, with everything in me, to keep her here.

God said, "Let her go."

"I can't", I told Him, "I can't lose this one.  Not this one."

"Yes", He said.  "You can."

"Let her go.", He repeated.

And, in the end, the only way I could let her go, is because I know God has me.

Dolce .... Run Wild, Run Free

 We thought it was an ordinary Wednesday.

It was not.

Morning routine.  Very much the same.  Very mundane.

Wake little Dolce up, take her outside to potty.  Let her walk around the house as she waits for her breakfast.

Make her breakfast.  She eats.

After breakfast oftentimes she would go lie down again.  Take her morning nap.  Not always, but more times than not.

All good at home, so ran into work to do the books.

Come back a bit later.  I don't work Wednesdays, because Wednesday afternoons I help Jenni shuffle kids to various activities.

As I am sitting around that morning, I noticed something "off" with Dolce.  Can't really put my finger on it, but she is not herself.

Hmmm.

I take her outside to potty.

She doesn't go.

Hmmm.

That is unusual, because almost every single time I take her out, she "goes" even if it is simply a trickle.  Not this time.

I bring her back in. Throughout the morning I watch her.  She is lying in her bed, but she is not sleeping.  Her eyes are open.  She is still.  She is in bed.  Not sleeping.

About time for me to leave.  I take her for a potty break before I go.  As before, she walks around, but she never goes potty.

I'm concerned, but it's time to go.

Mark promises to keep an eye on her.

I leave.

Thankfully, I get home early evening that day.  

Again, Dolce is in her bed.  Still.  Quiet.  But not sleeping.  I pick her up and just hold her close to me.  

Mark informs me she did eat lunch, but not supper.  (As she was getting older, she was eating less at a time. We gave her smaller meals, but more often, because she was just so skinny.) He said she walked to her food, but just stared at it; like she didn't know what to do.  He also informed me she had still not gone potty.

I held her.

And held her.

And held her.

She was my entire evening. 

Mark had been working up in the attic all day, he is replacing all the insulation, and he wanted to go relax in the hot tub.  He asked me if I wanted to join him.  "I'm not putting her down", was my reply.  

When it was time for bed, I did put her in her own bed, and then I placed her bed next to mine. As I did each night. (**sidenote:  I did buy her a second bed.  One for the living room;  one for the bedroom.  She never liked the second bed as much, so I moved "her" bed to the bedroom each night and back to the living room each morning.**) I spent the night on my stomach watching her, petting her, speaking to her.  She finally did sleep.  I suppose I dozed at some point, but I know I didn't "sleep".  I was too concerned with her.

Another thing she did Wednesday.  Mark told me about it, but I forgot until I was writing about her night. As Dolce aged, she would get "lost" or "stuck".  She was never physically lost or stuck, but in her head, to her, she was absolutely stuck or completely lost .. and she would cry out.  Well she did that Wednesday afternoon once or twice, but she was in her own bed when she did so. That caught Mark's attention.  She did it only once in the night, but she did cry out.  I'm not sure what that means.  Was she just lost in her head?  Did she not know where she was?  Was she in pain?  As soon as I spoke, she quit crying.  That leads me to think she was more "lost" than in pain, but what do I know?

I spent the night watching her and watching the clock.  I knew the vet opened at 8:00am, and I knew we would be there.

I did not want to go.

I did not want to make this trip.

I knew I would not be bringing my baby home.

It took EVERYTHING in me to load her into my car and make that trip.

I told God I could not lose this one.

I told God, He was gonna have to give me strength, because I could not do it.

We made the trip.

I walked into that clinic at 8:00am looking disheveled with red, swollen eyes as I carried my dog in, bed and all.  

Every eye in that clinic looked at me.  

Every face grew concerned.

I blurted out, "I don't have an appointment!"

They told me they would get me a room. 

For some reason I just kept saying it between sobs, "But I don't have an appointment!"

They put me in a room.

They took such good care of not only Dolce, but me too.

The vet thinks Dolce had a stroke.  She informed me that Dolce still had a strong heartbeat, but that she was numb on one side of her body.  The entire side.  The vet would pinch and poke, and Dolce gave no reaction. 

When did she have the stroke?  She was already not herself Wednesday morning, but she was up walking and eating until the afternoon.  She didn't eat supper, but she was still walking.  I don't know.  And I never will know.

The vet said we could pump her full of steroid shots.  "This is Thursday.  We can pump her full today and see how she is tomorrow."

And for a moment, I was considering it.

I was seriously considering it.

**sidenote:  When Georgia was dying, we took all the heroic efforts.  We tried anything and everything.  She was our girl, and we would try anything to save her.  In the end, it only prolonged her "suffering".  I promised myself I would never do that again.**

And here I was .... considering it.

Again, it took God and everything inside of me to look at that vet and tell her to put my baby down.  

She took Dolce away to put a catheter in her little leg.  She brought her back to me and said we would do it whenever I was ready.

I called Mark, told him what we were about to do.  Asked him to come quickly.  

While waiting on Mark, I pet my baby and told her that soon she would feel better.  Soon she would be running wild.  Running free. We were just waiting on daddy.

Mark came in...

The vet came in...

And my precious little Dolce left this world 

Oh, how I hope she found Georgia.

Oh, how I hope they are running together.

Life Lately ... the Dolce chapter continues

 This is the last photo I took of Dolce.

Like many "lasts", I didn't know it would be my last.  

I laughed, because she often would try and sleep on the "big dog" beds, which we (obviously) still have around the house, even though we no longer have any big dogs.

All too often, she would climb up, walk around on the dog bed, snuggle in, make herself comfortable... only to slide right off.  

I would laugh at her and move her to her own smaller dog bed.

Tuesday brought a nice, cold morning.  All the animals had been fed and were sleeping in different areas of the house all safe and warm.

I took a picture of each of them in their respective snuggling spots.

This one made me happy, and I believe I even laughed.  Said something to the effect of "good for you!", because she had managed to sleep on the big dog bed without sliding off.  

I wonder if she was proud of herself. (?)

That was Tuesday morning.

Today it took everything in me to allow that doctor to euthanize her, when inside my head I was screaming, "No.  No.  No!!!"

The vet thinks she may have had a stroke.

I don't know.

I'll write more about it and her in days to come, but, I was up almost all night with her, so for now, I'm gonna be sad and cry myself to sleep.