There are prints all over my windows, and I'm having a hard time bringing myself to clean them. These are not the sweet little greasy handprints that I am used to. They are the wet nose prints of curiosity that were usually accompanied by a whine or two. It used to drive me nuts and was one thing I always liked to clean before company came over. Lately, erasing them has felt like I'm erasing a part of my life. Harley (our beloved Weimeraner, not to be confused with my dad) died at the end of August. I've already vacuumed and laundered our throw rugs, but his nose smears have remained.
When a friend of mine recently posted a picture of her deceased father hugging her, it reminded me of a long forgotten memory. I remember people asking me how I was doing after my dad died (when I was 13 years old), and I would always tell them how much I missed his hugs. I had totally forgotten about that, and I was flooded with a mixture of guilt and sadness...not just because of that loss, but that I had forgotten that.
I realize now that fear of losing the great memories of our dog are trying to keep me frozen in disgustingness (or to be more precise, snot on my window). Well, this month has been all about realizing that fear is dominating my life and my decisions (read "The Louse-y Month..." post for more and a chance to win Joyce Meyer's newest book). It's a good day to clean, so here are a few things that I learned that I hope I'll never forget:
1)There was look of utter panic and shakes at the mention of the word "bath" (and this time I'm not referring to my pre-teen Mary). I never realized it that a 90 lb. dog would take on a Fed-ex truck, driver and all his packages...and still be petrified of a bath. Harley had to be enticed to the edge of the tub with his favorite treats, while someone would "heave-ho" his rear end into the tub with warm water waiting.
2) I had the dawning realization that all that "sand" in the bottom of his kennel that we first brought home with him was just dirt ground to bloody pulp from a hundred pounds of dog flesh tromping and circling in the kennel before laying down. I realized my feet would basically never feel a clean floor again since he couldn't take his shoes off when he came in. I also mourned the loss of once clean white stuffed animals that were quickly dinged by being drug across the floor.
3) I never realized that having a dog meant never sleeping in again...EVER. Dogs are even more ridiculously schedule dependant than babies. Babies would occasionally sleep in until 8am, but the pathetic whimpering that started at 7:30am rarely gave a morning's peace. The girls learned to sleep through it, but I did not. I even got an occasional wet nose wake-up. Oh, the horror! He also shook his ears out so much in the middle of the night that I was glad he never slept in our bedroom.
4) Dogs are the gateway pet. Once you take on that much responsibility, what's another eight cats, or twenty-four chickens, or fifteen ducks, or two turtles (and turkeys and guineas, and lizards)...need I go on?
4) Listening to your husband and getting a dog (even when you are not a dog lover) can be a really good thing. Yes, you can get a winner of a dog off of Craig's list. Harley was amazingly obedient (especially if food was involved, and especially if that food was hot dogs). I never knew a baby to love a dog the way our Gracie did. She was only 11 months old when we brought home our 87 lb. Weimeraner dog, but she found his head was the perfect height to walk under. His ears dangled down, and she exclaimed "tick-a, tick-a" when she felt them on her head. Her first word besides "Mama" and "Dada" was "Ar-ley". She stills tears up just mention his name. He also turned me into a dog-lover. That last moan of knowing when we went to say "Goodbye" to him at the vets office said volumes. It said, "I love you!" and "I'm hurting" and "I'm so glad to see you again" and "It's Ok" all at once. I've never heard quite so much in one me-ow, and I've loved and said goodbye to a lot of cats.
The nasal drips are getting erased, but the marks on our hearts will be there forever. The week that we waited to see how much he could recover from his stroke and seizures while staying at the animal clinic was full of nightly dreams that Half-pint would share each morning. Each one was different, but the same in that he ran away from the vet to come see us each time. They were beautiful. He even had puppies in one of them (though that was physically impossible due to surgery and that he was a boy dog). In my mind, I can still see him running as fast as the day we brought him home. His ears are flapping in the wind, and his muscles are flexing easily as he races a rabbit and wins. There is no paralysis. There is no knowing groan. There is a happy spring in his step when he bounds over for a pat on his head and a victorious "Good Boy!" from my lips.
He was the best dog ever.
