Hello blog,
It's been some time since I've written. I'm never sure why I do or when I will. It seems part of me does it as some type of cathartic release. Maybe it's because I have something I want to remember.
Today has been difficult. One of my little princesses, Cleopatra, has been on my mind all day, as she has been often lately. She's getting old - though to me, eleven years and one month doesn't seem old, not even for a dog. She's been with Tracy and I for her entire life, and we've been through a lot together. Cleo will forever be remembered by me as the dog that we "saved". Though, I wonder who saved who really. Cleo has had many health issues in her short life. First was the condition she was in when we first discovered her at the SPCA in Richmond. Covered in insect bites, we found she'd been discarded in the woods and left to die. Getting found was her first big break; getting found by Tracy and I was her second. But it was a break for me too. Though Cleo wasn't my first dog, she was the first that I really had to take care of extensively. She was the first that needed parenting and nursing. Though I was always a very responsible person, even as a young kid, more mature than my peers, it was Cleo that first made me feel like someone's "Daddy".
Last night I cried, and I'm fighting it back even now. My little girl is at my feet, under my desk, as I take a break from my work to type this. I was thinking about all that we've been through together in the past eleven years. There were the constant ear and urinary tract infections she had as a puppy - we racked up some serious vet bills. There was her destructiveness which seemed to take forever for her to outgrow and which taxed my patience. But we got through it all. Then there was "the attack" in Richmond. Me, walking with her, my headphones in, listening to music, and not paying attention to my surroundings, something that I consider inexcusable considering my army training. I'm the one who preaches "stay alert, stay alive." Then, another dog, also named Cleo I found out later, and much larger, attacked from behind. At least I reacted well, but my Cleo still had bite marks on her face from the attack. My heart didn't slow down until after we left the vet several hours later.
Then there was the life-long weight problem. My little girl loves to eat, and I unfortunately like to spoil her. She developed two large fatty tumors, and though the surgery to remove them was deemed successful, ever since then she's had more issues. Tracy and I are convinced she's had a stroke. She's been walking sideways, her back left leg seems very weak, and she has a hard time walking, as evidenced by her routinely walking into walls now. Ironically, she can still seemingly run OK (for her). We had a very good walk today at Concord park - just me and her. She went swimming (twice!), so she had a really good morning.
But since coming home, she's resumed making these very strange, and scary, convulsive noises with her stomach. It's like she constantly needs to throw up. And the drooling - she's like a rapidly leaking fawcett, and we're constantly walking around with napkins in our hands, ready to wipe her face.
I marvel at her strength and courage. She has never once complained. I know she's not comfortable, but she never moans or cries. And yet, she's demanding more of daddy's attention than ever. She will rub against me, leaning on me for support. She wants to be petted (is that a word?) more than ever. It's as if she knows what I fear - that her end is not far off.
And I fear that. She means so much to me, and always has. Now, as she lays at my feet, trying unsuccessfully to sleep, and I hear the gargling sound she routinely makes, I think of happier times, and how much I will miss her when she's gone. I'm thinking about the time we took them to the ocean, and they actually swam in it, despite being very confused by the waves. I think of the times we went camping, and of the thousands of walks, and the tennis balls chased that usually weren't returned to me. Especially, I think of the countless jeep rides with the top down, and how much Cleo loved hanging her head over the side of the jeep. She's still the only one who wants to go with daddy in the "jeep" whenever I go anywhere, and I love this bonding time we have together. I think of my nicknames for her - fat girl, wide load, and of course, Princess Cleo. I think of how she used to greet me at the door when she was young - sitting back and doing the "Hi-o Silver!" I think of how she used to lay in the bathroom on the floor when I would be in the shower, waiting for me to get out. I remember her hiding behind Bill and Allison's couch when she was a puppy, when we had our incident with Lexi and a piece-of-crap teenager. I remember how she reacted to Maggie May when we brought her home, and how Maggie finally won her over. I think about how Cleo is Tracy's dad's favorite out of all of our dogs. I smile when I think about Cleo's personality traits, like how she almost does a tapdance when she's excited, and how she'll look at me and make her little guttural sounds which lead to yelps when she wants attention or wants to go outside.
I've never had human children, but I can't imagine how I could love them more than I love my little girls. I don't know how much time we have left together on this earth, so I hope to do all we can to make it count, and to make it good for her.
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