Dog Makes Everything Better

Sometimes my animals astonish me, and last night was no exception. A random, innocent gesture (calling Gus a nickname I used to use for Mr. Squiggles, but had forgotten) eventually led to a full-scale meltdown later in the evening, as Jim and I were laying in bed with Indiana. I try not to think about Mr. S too much, because I can't cry every day, as I would otherwise want to. Add all of our other losses to that, and I repress a lot of grief. That has to come out every once in a while, and last night, the nickname was the straw that broke the camel's back.

I hate crying in front of Indiana (it makes her upset), but I just couldn't help myself. Jim was so sweet and understanding, encouraging me to let it all out, and knowing he was crying and hurting too made it all that much worse. In the midst of all the tears, Indiana got up from the foot of the bed, walked between us, and laid down. We used to call this "Mama-Papa Puppy Time," because she used to do it nearly every night with us. She'd start between us, with us kissing her, petting her, talking to her, and after 5-10 minutes, she'd grow tired of the affection and would get up and lay back down at the foot of the bed. Indy hasn't given us Mama-Papa Puppy Time (or MPPT, as we call it) in ages. So when she did it last night, we were astonished.

This amazing dog read our emotions and was trying to comfort us. Boy, did it work.

So as I dried my tears and tried to put on a happy face for this sympathetic dog, I found I actually did feel better. And Jim was right when he told me that we have so many things still left to love in our lives. One of the very best was laying right between us.

After Something Gets Too Many Holes, It Eventually Cannot Be Repaired

As if my family hadn't experienced enough loss in the past 10 months (Mr. Squiggles, Jim's Great Aunt, my Aunt Carole), my Uncle's dog, Sara, went missing a week ago. She and her sister, Amanda, dug a hole and escaped under the fence. Amanda was found. Sara was not.

Putting aside the fact that I love Sara, my heart is breaking for so many reasons. For one, it kills me to know what my Uncle is going through. He just lost his wife, my Aunt, seven months ago (has it been that long already?), and to lose one of their children...

And two, I've been providing advice on finding lost animals to both my Uncle and my Mom, who has been instrumental in trying to find Sara. This is bringing back all sorts of bad memories from the early days after Mr. Squiggles went missing. I remember the heartache, the fear, the confusion, the guilt, guilt, and more guilt, and the overwhelming urge to plunge headfirst into a lake and never come back up. I hate that my Uncle is going through this, and selfishly, I hate that I have too.

I don't know why bad things happen, and I don't understand a higher being who would heap so much suffering onto one family. I only hope with all hope that Sara will be brought home, and that, through some miracle, Mr. Squiggles will be too.

Gus is 2-ish

Today is our Gus' birthday. He is two...ish. Since he was a rescue, we just estimated his birthday as August 1 but recognize that we could have hit it right on the nose, be several weeks off, or likely, somewhere in between. And because we bought him an awesome cat house for his birthday and didn't want to wait a day to give it to him, we decided to celebrate July 31 as his 2nd-ish birthday. But the party comes today.

Gus really is the brightest spot in our lives. He has brought us joy since day one, but ever since Mr. Squiggles went missing, Gus has really kept us going. Regardless of what he's doing, he makes us laugh or smile. Sleeping? Adorable. Playing with catnip mouse? Laughing my head off. Sleeping on my lap? My heart is going to stop. Standing around doing nothing? Still freaking adorable. (And I think he has the most adorable man-parts ever. Is that weird?)

I am grateful every day for my little man, and I have to say, he's extra special in my heart because he too knew and loved Mr. Squiggles, and perhaps knew him better than anyone else in the world. I am envious that they could communicate in a way I cannot, and I wish I could talk to Gus and ask him what he's thinking. What was Mr. Squiggles like? What did he really think? Did we annoy him, or did he love us? Or both?

But alas, I don't speak cat, and besides, Gus is curled up asleep on my lap, looking devastatingly adorable, as usual.