happy national dog day.
Normally I'd be all over that crap, posting selfies with my pooches and posing them in ridiculous positions, but this year, my dogs have decided to die. Well, I'm sure they didn't decide, it just kind of happened, but either way it sucks. I am a dyed-in-the-wool, card-carrying, Facebook- and Instagram-posting, crazy dog person. I love them all: big ones, little ones, long ones, tall ones, skinny ones, fat ones, but especially Winston Buddy and Daffodil Shmoopie(no, you're a shmoopie). After Greta, the Wonder Dog(RIP),
Winston,
What do you do when things start falling apart? Me? I use a lot of profanity and then I cry at inopportune times, like walking in to the grocery store, then I try to muster the troops and keep on going. Mostly, I'm making a lot of uncomfortable jokes about dogs dying, which is super fun for everyone around me, and then filling my cheeks with air and slowly exhaling in a big, dramatic sigh. I'm in this weird middle place, waiting for these dogs to give up the ghost or, really, figuring out when to help them on to the next life. E says it's dog heaven, where they will play fetch with Jesus and be whole, young dogs again. E has a real connection to Jesus so it's pretty much guaranteed.
Why do I love these dogs anyway? On paper, Daffodil is a terrible dog. She's not affectionate, kind of a biter, intimidating to strangers, and as soon as you start to make a connection, she gets uncomfortable and moves 1cm out of arm's reach. But she's so chatty and asks for cookies by barking three syllables(biscuit, please!)and used to ask for water by standing at the garage door and howling "wa-wa-wa." When E was born, Daffodil was her constant protector, lying at the foot of the bed or next to her bassinet or anywhere she was. And in the middle of the night, she jumps up on the bed and lies in-between Michael and me and she scootches closer and closer to the top of the bed and might softly lick our hands if she thinks we're sleeping. Winston has fecal incontinence, gas that would wilt sturdy oaks, grabs sandwiches out of our hands and gets warm, viscous slobber on every surface in our house, including the ceiling. Every morning when he gets out of his kennel, though, Winston leans against us and gazes into our eyes and wills all of his love into us. In happier times, he would jump up with front paws on our shoulders and make out with all of us when we got home from anywhere, including just out to the mailbox. He used to kick a soccer ball and Daffodil used to catch everything you threw for her(unless she didn't feel like it). I haven't had to talk to a Jehovah's Witness or a traveling salesman or the people casing the joint in years because of my big-ass dogs. I'm going to have to start locking my front door.
What am I going to miss the most when these guys are gone? Standing in the middle of the family room and Winston coming to put his head under my hand. Daffodil lying on my feet during Thanksgiving dinner(because after a couple of glasses of wine, I start to drop food). Knowing that the dogs are just downstairs whenever the family goes away for the weekend and I have to stay home and work. Having someone who acts like they're listening on all of the worst days, with no judgement and really cute expressions if I add the words "snack" or "cookie" or "biscuit" to any sentence.
When will our family be ready for a new dog? Probably as soon as we have new carpeting put in, because our life is like that. What screams puppy more than clean, cream berber carpet?
Can I love a dog again? Will any dog ever entertain us like Daffodil or love us like Winston or calm us like Greta? Probably not. Will we treasure the memories of these wacky canines? Forever. Sigh. Say a prayer, or think a happy thought, for Winston and Daffodil and us, friends, we're kind of a disaster.
Love,
Corks
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