Friday, May 9, 2014

...

we spent a lot of time together, she and i. it was obvious that she was always going to be overshadowed by the big guy, he and i came along at the same time. she was already house trained and through the puppy years when i met her. but she followed me around anyway. sat butt to butt on drop cloth while i painted trim when we first moved. sometimes on my feet while i was sitting on the toilet. on the rare occasion i crawled into bed because of a headache, or something sad and upsetting had happened, i would hear a clackety clack of toenails on hardwood, and she would hop up on the bed and back her butt up into my leg and just sit there quietly and wait, whatever it was, out with me.
as i write this, i realize that i am still wearing the same pyjamas; when she was in my arms, running out to the car at 1am. trembling, drooling- not her. we were both scared.
the duvet is still covered with her fur, there are little piles of it that have collected in the corners of the room. the cleaning lady is coming tomorrow- soon they will be gone. no more sharp hairs to get lodged in the sole of my foot, no need for tweezers.
people 'check up' on you, 'check in'. they want to know how you're doing, how today went, if you're managing. the ones who haven't lost a pet yet, don't. they can't "go there", i get it. i didn't either. the answer should be "better", "today was a better day", "i'm doing better than yesterday". but it's not...better. it's a 'process', i get that too. i've acquired a new lexicon; 'rainbow bridge'. it's not for the people, 'who cant go there'. they don't need to.
it's a day made up of small things- it's always the small things. quiet meal times; dropping food on the floor that now stays there, waiting to be picked up by me; automatically leaving the bedroom door cracked for middle of the night 'diabetes bladder' breaks. things i don't think of until they happen, without her. then i notice her absence. and what her presence was.
i have broken up with my routine. i don't want to go home; to a quieter house. no welcoming committee circling the car and demanding to be fed before i can even turn off the engine. i have no interest in sitting on 'my chair', it was never just mine. i don't want to go to bed, because there's no one trying to beat me up the stairs. when i take a shower, there's no little blur shuffling around on the other side of the frosted door, making a nest in the dirty clothes pile, waiting.
i want to move. to be; not in the same house, same bed, same couch, same front door. change the location, solve the problem. i know how to do that.
i took her to all of her vet appointments. the routine ones and the 'scary' ones. she and i made a lot of road trips together. down to new hampshire, curled up on my lap to see the surgeon who was going to make her see again, after developing the cataracts. after developing diabetes. 45 miles an hour during a major snowstorm in january for blood transfusions, and another specialist. but like the diabetes, that became stable too. of course it did. this was a dog who, when she went to the park, joined the 'over 25lb' side. despite re-direction from all of the other owners. when their dogs took an interest, she 're-directed' them too.
before her surgery, when her eyes were so bad that she couldn't see a tennis ball, we used cat toys with little bells. she followed the sound. she still got to fetch. after the surgery she was back to chasing flies.
i had a dream this morning, a bad one. it woke me up with images of intruders wielding butcher knives. i get it; anxiety. i couldn't go back to sleep, maybe there were sounds outside. how would i know? the little burglar alarm wasn't there to go off and warn me now.
my eyes sting, my nose is raw and my throat is sore from choking back everything else.
i miss her. i want her back so much. i want to rebound on another rat terrier the way i did with boyfriends in my 20's. and i know i cant.

11 comments:

mindy said...

I knew I was going to cry reading this, but I read it anyway. It does get better even though I never would have believed it going through it myself. I think the depths of sadness we experience is evidence of our capacity to love. Your little girl will always be with you. <3

Disa said...

it's 'a process', i know. thank you for your words. but if i hear one more person tell me; "she wouldn't want you to be sad and upset"...

mindy said...

I know. Whatever time it takes you is how long it's going to take. But the waves do start to come less frequently. Those who get it can help shoulder the burden.

Dr DNA said...

Little critter left a huge hole for sure. we lost our little rattie Coco 6.5 yrs ago when he was only 9 months old and we, adults "of a certain age", cried like babies, along with the kids. Simple, mindless triggers would open the floodgates. (at church, "for God's sake!") Spontaneous sobs more contagious than Ebola would overspread the room. It sucked and it sucked the life and joy out of us. You don't want to hear this but you do need to know that this miasma will lift and, eventually (funny how that word suggests the finite but still indefinite) IT WILL GET BETTER. In the meantime carry the memories close and I guarantee there will be a day where a memory will evoke a chuckle, not a sob, and the healing commences.

ME Ranger said...

Beautifully written, Disa. It sucks, it hurts, it's a huge gaping hole in your heart, and it all takes time. One of the worst things is the loss of routines that you've built up over the years.

Disa said...

it's funny how we all become creatures of each other's habits.

Tammie said...

Nice tribute to the sweet little Rattie, Disa. I know how hard it is to lose a little buddy. Hang in there.

Scout said...

This was extremely hard to read, but it was a beautiful tribute to a beautiful soul. Your pictures capture a piece of her spirit.

Anonymous said...

I cried too.... it is a process.... it WILL get better.... it DOES take time.... IT will ALWAYS hurt.... but remember she blessed your life and you blessed hers
we keep Trixies ashes in the living room and pick her up heart shaped rocks/ pebble when we take ' the boy' to the B.E.A.C.H!
If you have ever loved a dog you never want or will forget but in time yet another pooch will NEED your love and will find YOU!

Ingrid. said...

This was really touching. I'm sorry for your loss. :(

Camilo Andrés Beltrán said...

They are a beautiful friends. We can never forget every little thing that they do. They are unique. Wonderful pictures.