Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Keep on Keeping on

I hid out for a week. Rachel came over twice; Rose came up. Kristy did what I needed her to do because I just couldn't do it. Then I was back. You've got to keep on keeping on. If I had a job, I wouldn't have allowed myself to take a week, I'm sure. I was doing better.

Then the other day, Kristy brought me Goober's ashes. I don't know what to do with them. They came in a decorative tin, one in which you might otherwise place cookies. The tin was in a cello bag. There was also a wooden box shaped like a chest, with "Goober 1996-2007" emblazoned on it. It is more appropriate than the tin. I wanted to put the ashes into the box, but the tin wouldn't fit inside and when I lifted the tin, the ashes slid around and something inside clunked. No way was I opening the tin. I did NOT want to see what went clunk.

So the box is on the mantle above my fireplace for now; the tin is resting on top of the box. I think the box is meant for her collar and other mementos, but I don't know what to do with the ashes. I can't bury them in my yard; I rent, and who knows how long I will be here? I can't think where to scatter them, and all I can think as far as what Goober would want is that she'd want to be near me.

But I can't keep the stuff on my mantle for too long; people will think it's creepy.

The Big X's dad kept the ashes of his dead cats in a closet, with the understanding that when he died the ashes would be buried with him. Still, I can't help thinking that people will think that's creepy too. Every option seems either creepy or not respectful of what Goober would want. I'm probably putting much too much thought into this, but I can't help it.

. . .

And in the spirit of trying to keep on keeping on, I am leaving later today on my UK trip. Check up on me at my travel blog if you like.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

. . . There Is a Dark Cloud

Come on. You knew this was coming. If you have any sort of sense of foreboding, you knew.

On Monday, I put Goober to sleep. I put Goober down. Those are very nice, acceptable ways of saying that I killed her. Yes, I know all the reasons it was ok. I know why I decided to do it when I did.

The last time I went to the vet with her, she told me I would know when the time was right. What a frigging weight to have on your shoulders.

On Sunday morning, trying to jump up onto my bed, Goober tore something in her leg, and began to bleed profusely. I applied pressure and was able to eventually stop the bleeding. But here is the problem: She never cried. She. Never. Cried.

You know that hurt her. No animal bleeds that much without pain. Yet there was not a single yelp. And that made me realize that she has an incredibly high threshold for pain. That just because she does not cry, does not mean she is not in pain. (A lot of double negatives there; did ya follow?) And since I have had my new pup--about a week--Goober cries a lot if the puppy jumps on top of her. So I am thinking that she has been in pain for some time but (like my mom) holds it in. But with the pup jumping on her, she just couldn't keep it in anymore.

It has been up to me this whole time about when to put her down. I though I would keep her alive as long as she didn't seem to be in pain. But now. But now, if she doesn't cry when she is in pain, how do I know? She is keeping up a brave front for me. I know she is in more pain than she lets on, because of the tear in her leg, and because of the yelping from the pup. She has also been having trouble breathing of late. Which is another sign the doc said I would see near the end.

So I did what had to happen. I called everyone that loved her. I called Rose, I called my dad and mom, my sisters. On Sunday, Goober sat on the love seat in my living room and received all these visitors with the grace with which she has done everything in her life.

On Monday morning, I called the vet and made the appointment. Kristy went with me. Kristy is the other "strong" person in my family. I don't know how I would get through things without her. We got there with Goober and Ginny walking in on leashes. I told the receptionist my last name, and she instantly knew what I was there for.

I then picked up Ginny. The receptionist became quite alarmed. I could see in her face the thought process that I was here to put to sleep a little puppy. Of course, I immediately corrected her by asking if she would look after my puppy while we had our appointment with Goober.

I waited an appropriate amount of time before pointing this out to my sister. It was funny in a grotesque way, but when you live with death constantly there, you learn to laugh at the grotesque.

When they gave her the shot, Goober went down quickly. I think she was ready. The last day, she had walked to all her favorite spots and scented them. She asked for rides in the car. (She never had before.) She gave me lots of kisses on my face. (Again, she never had before.)

I went home and cried. A lot. My dad called and Whitney called. Rachel came over that night and I held it together for them. I knew they were there to comfort me, but still, my WASP instinct was to hold it together. The next day, I resumed crying. I called the doctor. She prescribed a sedative. I took it.

I've been getting through each day. I know I am overreacting partly because of my mom's sickness, and partly because the thing with dogs that people who don't own them never get is: They are family.

Goodbye, Goober. Goodbye, my pup.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

For Every Silver Lining . . .

I took an impromptu road trip to Virginia last week. It was to get a new puppy. After much research, I decided I wanted an English Cocker Spaniel. In the US, American Cockers ar much more common, and that is what Goober is, and what my previous dog, Missy, was before her. The thing is, Americans are over-bred, and therefore have more genetic defects and tend to more illnesses.

So I went with the (in the US) much more rare English Cocker. There are maybe 100 breeders in the US and you can be on a waiting list for a year or more before receiving one, so when one became available, I decided to jump on it. There are benefits to getting a new puppy when you have an older dog. The older dog can help teach the puppy mannerisms that humans just can't teach; they can help show that the human is the alpha and the puppy must respect the owner.

And so away Kristy and I went to Virginia to get her. It was supposed to be an 8-10 hour drive each way; we ended up driving for about 28 out of 32 hours that we were on the road. (We slept for 3.) Here is what happened: There were two fatal accidents while we were on I-95, which resulted in highway closings. There were, of course, numerous minor accidents and construction sites.

Regardless, after a hellish drive, I arrived home with a beautiful new pup, whose name is Ginny (I think). It might also be Pippa. Here is her picture:

Sunday, June 03, 2007

The Weekend

Three people saw me naked this weekend--one man, and two women. And all three satisfied me.

Okay, I tease. Only one satisfied me sexually. One gave me a sweet massage, and the other gave me a facial so relaxing that I nearly fell asleep.

See, I was in New Hampshire this weekend. I went up there to do a visibility event for Chris Dodd at the Presidential debate, and decided to stay at Whit's in-laws' for the weekend. They have a house on Lake Winnepesaukee, and Whit and Jake were up there for the weekend so I visited them for a bit.

We went out the first night to the local country club where Whit's future brother-in-law flirted with all the waitresses. He thinks he's like the shit or something. But it was cool--we hung out with the townies and had a drink after dinner. Then it was back to the lake house for pool (which I suck at--didn't sink a single shot) and more drinks. We watched The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Whit and Jake got tired awhile into it so they went to bed.

Jake's brother and I stayed up to the end. We cuddled a bit. Then we went upstairs. We did it. Then I grabbed my clothes and got the fuck out of there before we could cuddle or anything. I am so not in the place for a relationship that even though I know that Jed doesn't want one either (and is probably in fact seeing like 3 girls right now), I still had to make it clear by finishing and getting the fuck out of there in a minute or less.

Okay. I need therapy. I get that.

This summer, my summer of unemployment, is meant to be one of self-discovery. Perhaps I will not sleep with anyone again until I am in touch with the real me. Until I am ready to--you know--not run away as soon as coitus is complete.

Saturday we went to the spa, where I had a massage by the second person to see me naked. It was good, though I prefer a Swedish massage, where more pressure is applied. Then I had a facial--which I had never had before. The woman said to take my shirt and bra off, and my pants if I felt comfortable, since she was going to give me an upper body massage during the facial. So I did.

She came back in and said, "Oh my God, I forgot to give you a cover-up! You must think I'm a freak!"

So then I put on the cover-up and had a very nice facial.

I WILL become normal. I WILL become normal.

P. S. I did not go to the Dodd event after all. I decided I wanted to get back to CT at a decent hour so I could be rested to get my new puppy!!