I can't put these three things away...

OK, it's a bit odd, these three items sitting on our bar counter top; the half of the dog cookie with the DREADED PILL still stuck in the frosting that DadDadDad found in between the sofa cushions on the last day of your life; one of the homemade dog cookies I baked this past Christmas that I found hidden in a shoe in my closet; the beef bone you so carefully maintained outside all winter for which I posted a video here, that our grandson Vincent found when looking for Easter eggs , that you had reburied in an obscure spot in the yard a few days before you died.  I can't throw them away. 

The toys, except the two I have kept near me, your snake and Tiger Woods, went into the attic with the two sets of pet steps along with your "pet bed" (as we so lovingly called it, when your eyes were sleepy but you weren't ready for our bed), your water bowl, harness and leash, all painfully put out of sight in a futile effort to minimize the sorrow.

These three items remain in plain view for five weeks now, haunting me, reminding me

of your busy little life, filled with the plotting and the planning of the daily

routines you so methodically entertained.

We miss you WorldWideWillie.  We miss you chasing the h..o..n...k...e...r...s off of the lawn, now hugging our shoreline with a multitude of babies in tow.  We miss saying "get that bird" when the heron sat on the dock, as if awaiting your enthusiastic bark to send him on his way for which

he honked at you as his massive wings took flight. 

The bald eagle has swooped into the trees, looking down for you, hoping to lift you up with his foreboding talons, for his tasty meal and you aren't there.  We miss your inquisitive sniffing of the rip rap shoreline hoping to encounter a dead fish that you could drag onto the lawn to roll on  so we could laugh.  We miss sitting on the dock with a line in the water with you eagerly affixing your gaze on the red bobber, awaiting the catch of the day.

A few days ago, on a rare warm day, I sat in the rocking lawn chair, expecting you to jump up any moment bestowing those slurpy kisses on my face while firmly planting your butt on a comfy spot on my lap.  How can I ever enjoy sitting there soaking up the warmth

of the sun without you?

Eventually, these three little items will be gently wrapped and placed in the attic along with your other things, with the expectation of someday rediscovering them and to be reminded of how hard it was to let you go.  After all, its only been five weeks, and they will be put away when I stop counting the weeks on my fingers since you've been gone... and feeling the heaviness in

my heart without you. 

Letter to our Willie

My dear Willie,

Through a river of tears that flow from my sorrowful heart, my view of the world has changed without you.

When you were with me, I maneuvered my days around getting to you, often counting on my fingers how many hours had passed with you waiting for me to return.

When detained, I often became panicky stating, "I have to go now," without further explanation… knowing you needed me, assuming they wouldn’t understand.

 I never felt resentful.  I only felt joyful anticipation at seeing your precious little furry face, sparkling eyes and the whimsical expression that I always thought was a smile.

When you’d hear us drive up, you’d anxiously scatter about the house, seeking a favorite toy for your mouth in order to present an acceptable greeting at the door.  And, if ever you weren’t there when we entered, it was only a result of my most recent tidying frenzy, which sent you digging in the huge bucket in DadDadDad’s closet, where surely they would have been placed. 

You’d frantically dig to discover the one that felt perfect for the moment and run at full speed to the door, tail wagging wildly and the prize in your mouth.  It could be your four foot yellow snake, your Tiger Woods, your Fred Flintstone, the dangling baby rattle or the giant soft brown teddy bear we lay beside you when we laid you to rest.

So I go on our walk each day, sometime twice, and miss the endless sniffing of each protrusion all the while reveling in your amazing ability to dribble yet another few drops on each and every point of interest where some other dog may have been before you.

Each meal I eat, by route, I leave a few little bites for you and then I remember. Lying on my back at night, a habit I acquired to accommodate your sleeping with your chin on the top of my foot, I don’t move, for fear of awakening you and then, I remember.  

We miss you WorldWideWillie.  Forgive us for beginning to heal.  It doesn’t mean we didn’t love you with all of our hearts.  It merely means that we want to replace our tears with laughter while telling endless stories of your life, however short in the realm of ours. 

And now, I count on my fingers, how many weeks you’ve been gone,  knowing full well that in time, I’ll stop counting… as our world without will go on but our love for you… will go on forever.

Hi...its time to say goodbye...

WorldWideWillie's last day, Saturday, April 9, 2011 was a bittersweet day; joy for the wonderful life he so enthusiastically shared with us and many others and almost unbearable sorrow that his precious little life came to an end. 

Grief is a powerful emotion.  It comes as an unwelcomed visitor you must somehow entertain.  It starts in the pit of your stomach coming up to your throat in a rolling wave, released only by tears and sobbing.  You catch a quick breath, recover, and it rises up once again triggered by a simple thought, a sight, a sound, a smell, a well intended word or a memory. 

Doggie Heaven, here I come...today's my day...

Yesterday was a good day.  We went to Poop Park, my MMM helped me find good spots to bury my chicken drummies,  I had ice cream three times for the sake of THE DREADED PILL, we played with my snake, my Tiger Woods (stuffed tiger), my Ya Ba Da Ba Doo (stuffed Fred Flintstone), and I ate a little eggs and bacon, fed to me by my MMM, who stayed at my side every minute.

It was a a usual day with all its familiar comforts, distractions and love. My DDD came home early, played with me, let me lick his hand for quite awhile (some kind of dominance thing they say).  I coughed a little more than usual and later heard my MMM on the phone to Ricky, my human brother, saying that time was getting closer. 

I've tried not to be scared.  Only a few things have scared me.  There's one of those smoke detector things in the ceiling outside our bedroom door and once a year it goes off in the middle of night (go figure) and this woman's computer voice says, "low battery,"  "low battery,"  "low battery."  That scares me to death.  I usually get real close to my MMM in bed and she lifts the covers so I can "go under." 

One day she and I were playing on the floor and she looked at me and said in a computer voice "low battery" and I ran under the bed.  Humans sometimes tease us dogs.  She later apologized for doing that.  My parents don't usually tease me but my reaction was so funny to her she couldn't resist.  It was just the one time, though and I forgave her.  I have teased her endlessly by ignoring her when she came outside calling my name.  Oh, I knew she was calling me but I thought it was funny to ignore her.

Around 10:30 last night we went to bed.  About 15 minutes after laying down, I coughed and coughed and coughed.  She gave me more of THE DREADED PILL around 1:30 am.  I coughed all night long keeping us all awake.  They rubbed my belly gently, gave me a massage, whispered how much they love me and did one of my favorites:  "twirl this ear, twirl this ear, twirl both ears."  My brother Ben liked the ear twirly thing too.  Ben, I'll see you soon!  I'm almost there!

My MMM and my DDD had said that they would call the pet equivalent of Dr. Kevorkian, Dr. Rebecca who comes to the home, when I let them know it was time for me to go. As we all lay in a little pile in our bed last night, my coughing out of control, we all knew the time had come.  I had let them know just like they knew I would.

We wearily got out of bed this morning, eyes glassy and puffy over with all the tears during the night.  We had eggs and bacon (I spit out THE DREADED PILL.  She put it in ice cream which I gulped down). This morning she gave me another chicken drummie, I buried it in Bella and Buster's yard.

She called Dr. Rebecca who will this afternoon, only a few hours from now. 

I am a little scared.  Will it hurt?  I know they will cry buts it OK.  I will cry too.  Its been a great life, filled with enormous amounts of love, fun, toys, humans and dogs. The daily routines made it especially happy, the home cooked meals, the special treats, the bucket of toys in my DDD's closet, the surprises from the store or her trip to a garage sale for more toys, an occasional m...o...u...s...e, the spelling, the visits with the little kids, the rides in the car and the tablespoon of i...c...e......c...r...e...a...m every night.

And then, there were the special occasions; the 4th of July when I sat on my MMM's lap while she watched fireworks.  I wasn't scared 'cause they were with me; Christmas and all my gifts, neatly wrapped under the tree; the round trip road trip to Las Vegas when I learned to knock on the car door when I had to go potty and the fact that they always stopped right away;  the time spent with Ricky and Monty; leftover Thanksgiving turkey;  the trips to Petco; watching the bobber while fishing off the dock in the summer and scaling my own fish with my paws and nose; my family, the grownups and the little kids; my aunts who love me show much; and all the dogs who visited, near and far, here and gone.  I loved it all.

Thank you, my MMM and my DDD, for loving me unconditionally and patiently and for taking such good care of me always and, especially when the end came near when I needed you so much. Thank you for not making me go one day too early even though it was so hard for you.   Hopefully, one day we will discover that Doggie (and other pets) and Human Heaven are one and we will all be together once again.  I love you.

P.S.  My MMM will write here for me tomorrow since I won't be here.

The anti-bark collar...I hated it...

Before I started coughing, my MMM bought a anti-bark collar.  My endless barking was driving her batty.  I barked at the mailman, the UPS guy Jimmy, the meter reader, Tucker the lawn guy and neighbor, Sam the neighbor kid who doesn't like dogs, a boat going by, humans and dogs walking on the ice, a newspaper blowing across the yard and anything out of ordinary. Some dogs raise their heads into the air and bark at nothing.  Not me. I didn't bark at nothing. 

A few months before I started coughing, my MMM bought an anti-bark collar.  She was tired of shaking her finger at me while saying, "no bark, Willie!"  Sometimes I'd shut up for a few minutes to make her happy.  Sometimes, she'd give me a treat when I shut up.  I'd gobble it down and then run back to look out the window to see if the object of my barking was still available.  As I said, I didn't bark at nothing. 

The collar came in the mail and she had me wear it for a few days in order to get used to the feel.  Nothing happened.  No big deal, I thought.  On the 3rd days, I saw her push a little switch on the collar.  Nothing happened.  She was sitting on the sofa, playing with that silly PDA thing so I lumbered up and sat behind her head, sniffing her neck and nudging with my nose.  Oh, oh.  I saw a strange dog in our yard and l let out a hearty bark and whooooooooooosh!  I got sprayed with citronella in my face.

I was so startled, I barked again and when I got sprayed a second time I jumped on her head, barked again and we both got sprayed.  She laughed.  I ran and hid under the bed.  I hated the collar.  Once I started coughing, she stopped making me wear that darned thing.  When we found out I had cancer, she tucked it away on the counter near the bar.  Every so often, she'd look at it, sad for the reason I couldn't wear it again, sad that she ever made me wear it. 

So yesterday, she put the collar and the three unused cans of citronella in a little red bag and we walked to Bella and Buster's house and dropped it off.  Their grandma has a small dog, Lilly (ha! Sounds like my name!) that barks at everything and...nothing.  She'll run under the bed when she gets sprayed in the face.  Bella and Buster wear them too 'cause they also bark at everything and nothing.  Like I said, I don't bark at nothing.

Now I can bark all I want and my MMM and my DDD don't say "No bark, Willie."  Last night when I had to pee in the middle of the night, my MMM stood outside with me in the dark and I looked up at the sky and...barked at nothing.  As she bent down to pick me up so I wouldn't keep barking and awaken the neighbors, I saw a tear roll down her cheek and a smile on her face.  I didn't bark at nothing after all.