My Sweet Sophie and a Lesson I Will Never Learn

I guess I will never learn. My sweet darling Sophie left us yesterday after having a fit of severe vomiting and bloody diarrhea for 24 hours. It was like her insides just exploded. She passed peacefully though, wrapped in a warm blanket in my arms, with her family around her, telling her how much we loved her and thanking her for being a part of our lives. She wasn't with us very long, only 7 months. She was born on my birthday last year and we adopted her after Gidget died. She was supposed to help me over Gidget's death. I guess now I know that death is not something you get over. It's something you get past.



Sophie was such a joy... a new soul, obviously, from her lust for life. She ran everywhere. She loved to follow Rocky outside, springing out of the crate every morning and running her heart out. We adopted her from a breeder in Arkansas and drove past Little Rock to get her. Chelsea was in the crate with her, and the breeder gave Chelsea to us as a bonus. The two were fast friends and did everything together.



Where there was one, you'd find the other. She was a love... she loved to snuggle. She would get right up behind my backrest and just snuggle against my back... and she would crawl right next to Steve when he came home from work and sat down in the living room. She love to have her belly rubbed, and she hated baths. She had a very inquisitive look about her and was interested in absolutely everything. Jason would come running through the room (on purpose) and Sophie was in hot pursuit, barking and running after him until he changed direction and ran after her. She loved that game. She didn't let Jason hold her much, but she didn't let me hold her much either. She was funny that way. Snuggling was to be done on HER terms.



We don't know what happened to cause Sophie to get so violently sick and die. We've checked the yard and the house for any telltale signs of poison and have come up empty. I've cried my heart out for her. I miss her so much, I feel like I'll die from heartbreak. I firmly believe that there is a lesson in everything that happens to us. I have screamed out to heaven to tell me what is my lesson in all this. First I lost my brother in April of last year... then my sister in August (Happy Birthday Norma)... then Shelby in October... Gidget 6 days before Christmas... Tucker in February... and now Sophie. This has been a terrible year. In some ways, the year has been good, such as me going back to school and the boys doing so well in school (all expenses paid). But this... this is too much. Steve is having a hard time at work and now with losing Sophie. He loves her as much as I do. We are struggling. I guess every evil thing my siblings wished on me is coming to pass. All I can hope is that there is light at the end of this long dark tunnel. I'm ready to see it end one way or another.



Steve tells me that I have to stop beating myself up for Sophie's death and there was nothing we could do (we suspect it was parvo). Many friends have given me their condolences and one of them cried with me last night (thank you Alice). A very good friend of mine has told me that I'm a good mom (thank you Annie). I just don't feel like a good mom right now. If I were such a good mom, why would my babies keep dying? Steve says they are here because I need to love them and that I need their love in return. I get plenty of it, but it's never enough. Sophie gave me the sweetest kisses (except when she dined in the cat box and kissed me smack on the mouth afterward - YUCK). I still get kisses from Chelsea and Rocky, but my sweet little Sophie is gone. I wish I still had her. I wish I felt like a good mom. I wish so many things that I just can't see through right now. But today I feel like I can't or will never be able to leave this house now that there are 4 of my babies buried in the backyard. I don't know. I just don't know. My heart is broken. Again. I guess my lesson in all of this is to learn to let go. And I will... someday. But I'll never learn not to love an animal... especially one as sweet as my Sophie. I named her after my grandmother, because I know I'll never have a daughter or a granddaughter. Busia, if you're listening, please take care of your namesake for me. I'll see you both on the flipflop.



I love you, Sophie.

Mommy




Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

A Tribute to Tennessee Tucker Blue, our "Tucker Bug"

It seems that lately the only posts I have been doing have been about the loss of a dear friend, and today's post is no different. Yesterday we lost our beloved Tucker.

Tucker's full name was Tennessee Tucker Blue. He was a full-blooded bluetick coonhound with seven generations of purple champions in his bloodline. Seven documented generations, that is. He came to us in July of 2002, after we lost our black and tan coonhound, Rebel. Our family was still aching from the loss of Rebel when I saw an ad in the paper for bluetick coonhound puppies. Steve had always wanted a full-blooded bluetick, so off we went to see these puppies.

There were three of them left. We saw both the momma and daddy, and they were beautiful. The puppies were running around in a pen with the momma. Tucker was the only boy and was the runt of the litter. We picked him up, and Jason promptly dropped him on his head. Actually, that's not accurate. Tucker squirmed and got out of Jason's arms, but we like to say that Tucker was stupid because he was dropped on his head. Tucker took the ride home in Jason's lap. Although Tucker was registered to Steve, he was definitely Jason's dog. Jason needed a friend, and Tucker needed a family. It was a perfect fit.

Tucker was a handful as a puppy, as most puppies are, but we were used to Rebel, who would come when called, had grown out of the chewing stage, and would stay in the front yard with us when we were outside. Not so with Tucker. Tucker chewed everything that didn't chew him first. He made toothpicks out of our furniture and it was an adventure to wake up every morning to see what destruction he wrought throughout the night. There was newspaper scattered everywhere... chewed up into little bitty pieces. I don't know what the fascination was with newspaper, but it carried over for any paper we had... tissues, toilet paper, mail, and whatever we had on the table. The possibilities for the destruction he wrought were endless.

We tried taking him to the park a few times. Rebel had loved the park, and we thought Tucker would too. He did... but with that pure bloodline of his, his instincts for hunting were so strong that once let off the leash, if he caught the scent of something, off he went, with us running after him. He probably would have kept on running and never looked back if we hadn't caught up with him. So the park was out for him. That was too bad, because that was our Saturday mornings with Rebel and we looked forward to having another dog that we could let run.

As he grew out of the puppy stage, we trained him to a leash. And boy, did he love to go for his walks. He grew too strong for me to handle, and Jason was usually the one to take charge of him. He would get so excited when he saw the leash, and would tug hard to just go! Once out the door, he would go and go... and think "Boy, this is great... oh wait... I gotta take a dump." And dump he did. Everywhere. You could always tell Tucker's dump. It looked like a mountain lion had been on our street. It grew to be embarrassing take him around the block because you could tell Tucker's dump, and it lasted a long time. He especially loved his walks in the snow. The last snow we had was a few weeks ago, and Tucker loved to run around in it. We would skid and slide, all the while having the time of his life. We loved him for it.

The 4th of July and New Year's Eve were a special time for Tucker. He loved bottle rockets and would run circles around them and try to catch them. I think he might have gotten singed by one once, but that didn't damper his enthusiasm for them. He barked and ran around and around. We took a video that showed how crazy he was during those times. We laughed at him, but we loved him all the same.



Tucker's backyard was his world to him. Safe within its confines, he could run and chase squirrels up a tree. The problem was that he would see a squirrel run up into a tree, and for three days afterward, that was where he would first run to when we let him outside. He would look for that darned squirrel and bark his fool head off. After the three days, we would chide him for it and he would finally realize that the squirrel had long since gone. He was stupid that way, but we loved him for it.

There were times when Tucker would get out of the backyard. He grew to be so strong, he would break the boards in the fence. Jason had a tough time keeping up with the broken boards sometimes. And when Tucker couldn't break them, he would dig out. Once he got stuck in the fence and we knew there was something wrong when we heard a loud crack and a howl. We went out to find him stuck halfway in and halfway out of the yard. We called him stupid a lot... but we loved him anyway.

Tucker was the only dog in our house until Gizmo wandered up the driveway one day and decided to stay. Tucker had a new toy! He would play with Giz and put him down on the ground with one push of his paw. He never hurt Gizmo, but sometimes when he was jealous, he would stick his big nose under Gizmo's butt and lift him off the ground. Tucker was especially jealous when Gizmo got a bath and he didn't. He "sludged" him until he was dirty. "Sludging" was how Tucker licked us. He didn't give nice clean kisses, but sludges. I don't know how many times I had to change clothes because I was obviously sludged by Tucker. I would get irritated by it, but I knew that he loved me and the feeling was mutual.

When Tucker was 6 years old, he still thought he was a puppy, until Rocky came along. Rocky found Tucker to be a great playmate, and Tucker quickly found out he was no longer a puppy. Rocky would grab hold of his neck and not let go. Round and round they would go in the backyard, and they got into lots of trouble together. The two were famous friends and loved to play. Rocky would instigate him into doing things he would normally not do. I don't think Tucker knew he was doing something wrong until I would come into the dining room and find both of them on the floor, chewing the heads off my Christmas tree angels. I wish I had a video of it. I found him with an angel between his paws, chewing once, twice, and then stopped with the angel in his mouth and looked up at me. Busted! It wasn't the last time the two would do something like that. I was angry at the time, but it makes for a funny memory and I love him for it.

Tucker had the most beautiful howl I had ever heard. And the most annoying when he got going and wouldn't stop. But we knew that as long as Tucker was around, he would let nothing and no one into the backyard or the house. He was fierce about protecting his home, and woe to anyone who came to the front door. They had to contend with Tucker at the window, and we couldn't open the door, because he wanted to make sure we were protected. He never bit anyone that I know of, but just the same, this was HIS house and he was going to rule it. No one ever came inside. I felt safe with Tucker here and loved him for it.

We were greeted every morning by Tucker's trademark "Roo", telling us "Good Morning! Time to go out! Time to eat! Time to play!" I remember one day when I was just coming home and heard him rooing at me outside the door. I said "Tucker!" and he went "ruh". It was so funny, but so characteristic of him to recognize my voice. As he started to get older, Tucker loved to sleep on Jason's bed. At first, Jason would kick him off. But after a while, he just let him sleep there, unhindered by the little ones who loved to jump on him. He loved Jason's bed, and he loved the loveseat in the living room with his afghan on it. We didn't mind him sleeping there. He'd earned it.

Mealtime for Tucker consisted of eating everything we gave him and everything he could get from the other dogs. It's safe to say that he ate about three cans of dog food daily, and all the kibble he could get. He was a tank. He grew to be the strongest dog I'd ever had. Not bad for the runt of the litter. But Tucker started to slow down in the last year, and it he was about to take a turn that none of us expected.

One morning we awoke to hear Tucker crying out in pain. We ran out of our bedrooms to see him lying on the padded bed in the hallway, trying to get up, but in obvious pain. We helped him up and got him outside. Over the next few days, the strength in his hind legs gave out, not strong enough to hold his 72 pounds. We took him to the vet and was told that he had a ruptured disk and had to be put down or have $3000 surgery. I didn't believe it and we took him home with steroids. The steroids worked for the first few days and then he got worse. I took him back in to the vet, who put him on massive painkillers and steroids. He wanted to keep Tucker for a few days. I slept peacefully that night, knowing that Tucker was in good hands. Or so I thought.

I made a surprise visit the next day to find Tucker in the worst possible conditions. He had been heavily sedated (of which I didn't approve) and in a cement cell with only a small blanket for warmth. They had not given him our clothes, his pillow, his blanket or his ball for comfort. They had catheterized him, which I also did not approve. I took him out of there immediately and brought him home, where I knew he would be well cared for 24/7. And he was. He was in far better comfort at home and he loved being there. But he couldn't walk... he couldn't run... he couldn't even get up. We had to carry him outside to potty, and had to tend to his every need. Eventually, he couldn't hold his potty anymore and I knew we were going to have to make a decision soon.

On Sunday, February 28, 2011, we knew he couldn't take anymore. It was a family decision to put Tucker out of his pain. Tucker said goodbye to all of us one at a time, by licking our faces or hands. We cried with him, but knew that he was at the point of no return. We found a wonderful emergency vet, who was kind to both Tucker and us. Steve and I told them to give Tucker a sedative so he wouldn't be in pain when he died. But he knew I was with him, because when I talked to him, he blinked hard and shivered a bit. Tucker passed very peacefully at 11:55am and our lives are forever changed.

The house seems so empty now. Even with 4 dogs and 4 cats, there is no commanding presence like Tucker. It will take us a long time to come to terms with him not being here. He enriched our lives so much, that it's hard to know what to do without all the love he gave us. He will be forever missed. We are picking up his ashes on Wednesday, and we will have him back with us, but it won't be the same. We will always miss his "Roo". We will miss calling him "Moron". But most of all, we will miss his kisses. Jason keeps his afghan on his bed. Tucker was a smell, and the afghan smells just like him. What a great dog. Our own Marley.

To those that understand about dogs, thank you. For those that don't... for those that say this is the reason they don't have dogs, because it hurts so much when they leave us, I say this... how empty your life must be. Tucker enriched our lives so very much. We are better people for having him as part of our family. Yes, it hurts that he's gone, but he lived. My, how he lived! He was happy and loved. He had all the love he could ever want for, and he gave as much in return. I'm gonna miss that old boy. I miss him already.



Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta, Tucker's Mom

Farewell to Our Gidget, My Little Love and My Life

How in the world do you say goodbye to someone as sweet as my baby girl... There have been too many losses this year, but none more devastating to me than the loss of Gidget. My poor baby... my heart is irretrievably shattered. I can't even look at her picture without sobbing. She was such a good girl.

Gidget was 6 years old when she came to us 3 years ago. Was it really only 3 years ago? Seems like she was always with us... and it seems such a short time as well. Gidget was a puppymill rescue. I saw her little face on the internet and fell in love with her immediately. Steve and I drove an hour and a half through a monsoon to get her from the Corinth-Alcorn County Humane Shelter. I knew she was a gem... and she was. They called her Noelle, but she never had a name, so she took to the name Gidget very easily.

The poor dear was strutting around her cage like a showdog when we walked in... or so we thought. We found out later that she was terrified of thunderstorms, by how she acted during them. She would scramble around, trying to find a place to hide, even if it meant walking on my head. It was annoying, but understandable since she spent her first 6 years in a cage outside. She needn't have worried... I'd never have left her in the elements, but I couldn't get that across to her. Anyway, there she was, strutting around in that cage. She was so tired out and frightened that she slept almost all the way home. When we got her home, we opened the cage door and let her out. The little darling ran around on her butt in circles because she didn't know that her world was bigger than a cage. Gradually she began to explore her world, always scampering back to me for comfort. We put her up on the couch, but she didn't have enough strength in her hind legs to jump down, so we got her some stairs. She was always going up and down those stairs to be wherever I was. If I moved to the bedroom, there she was. If I went to the bathroom, she was right behind me. I would put up a finger and say "I'll be right back", but she still followed me wherever I went. I got used to it and would wait to hear the jingle of her tags outside the bathroom door. I'd open it and say "You want to come in?" The answer was ALWAYS yes. She would just sit on the rug and wait patiently for me to be done before we left the room.

Gidget didn't make much noise when she first came home. As she grew stronger and more confident, she would bark a little, going "Bur... bur... bururururur..." Her eyes grew bright and her legs got strong. She would go for walks on a leash, always trying to keep up with Gizmo. What a darling she was... she had a habit of pottying on the floor, so I took it upon myself to help her a little in the past couple of months. I would take her outside and tell her to make potty. When she squatted, I would make a big fuss saying "OH GOOD POTTY!!! Such a good girl! Big potty! Yayyyyyy!!!" and I clapped like a fool. She loved it.

What else did she love... tater tots with cheese... treats... even the pill pockets I had to use to get her to take her medication once we found out she had a heart murmur. She had started coughing all night long and I took her to the vet to find out the cause. That's what it was. So she went on a medication regimen and I made sure she got her medicine every morning and night. I even made up her pill pockets in advance if we were going out of town. She always had plenty of food, water, fresh air and sunshine. She had toys to play with, and a wonderful playmate in Gizmo. She loved to give kisses... and I miss those kisses. She had a mommy who loved her beyond comprehension.

She loved to run through the house. It was so funny watching this little dog that used to run around on her butt hauling ass throughout the house. Steve used to call her a runaway featherduster because her tail was so bushy and it went everywhere when she ran. She really hauled too! It was adorable to watch. And I loved making her happy.

She got really weak in the last couple of weeks and started looking like something was really wrong. She would put her nose up in the air and her eyes were really wide. She had two episodes... one a couple of weeks ago (from which she recovered) and then one the day before she died. She had a rough night that last night. Her cough was weak and she wouldn't settle down. She still had that strange look on her face. The next evening, Sunday December 19, 2010, she was lying next to me on the couch like she had done so many times before, and I told Steve I wanted a picture of her in her Santa outfit. He fumbled around a bit and I said to hurry before she dies. We took two pictures... the last one with Gizmo in it as well. After the camera flashed, she pushed away from me with her hind legs, as if to get away. I eased her on the cedar chest, saw for a split second that she looked at me, and then she collapsed. I watched as her tiny body struggled to live, although I told Steve and the boys that she was dying and to get my stethoscope. Listening to her brave little heart told me the story. Her heartbeat was faint... then I heard BUMP BUMP BUMP... then sinus rhythm, which was impossible because she had stopped breathing by then. I gave her two little breaths to ease the transition. Her heart just slowed and stopped. I knew she was already gone before I heard her heart stop. All the while, I whispered "Go now... Go... go home... don't worry about me...". She literally jumped out of my arms and into the arms of God.

We buried her in the backyard next to Shelby. It seemed fitting. She was still warm when I laid her to rest. I had to put her in... I couldn't just let her lie in the house... the rest of our pets were upset. Now I wear her collar around my wrist and can't seem to take it off. I don't know what I'm going to do without her. She was here for such a short time... and yet she was my whole world. I will always love you, Gidget. You made such an impact on me. You made me a better person. I know it was your time, but I wasn't ready yet. Please wait up. I'll be along shortly. I love you. Always, Mommy.

Na zdrowie'

Paczki Puta

UPDATE: Steve just reminded me at our Christmas Eve dinner how Gidget would wake up every morning just as if it was Christmas every day. That's a thought I'm going to take with me forever.

CHRISTMAS MORNING: Those we love sometimes pass beyond our present sight,
Leave us and the world we know without their radiant light.
But we know that like a candle their lovely light will shine,
To brighten up another place more perfect, more divine.
Merry Christmas Gidgie, my little love.
I love you and miss you. Mommy

DECEMBER 27, 2010:
It's been a whole week... don't know how I've gone this long without you. I woke up this morning, expecting to pick you up, take you outside and watch you stretch. I loved watching you stretch when you woke up. It was as if you were saying "Ahhhh... this feel so good!" Every morning was Christmas morning to you and I loved you every single minute. Last night I was remembering taking you for your walks, and you would have to check out every place that Gizmo pottied. You tried to potty in the same places that he did. He misses you as much as I do. I'm watching for your sweet spirit to come back, Gidgie. We all are. Love, Mommy.

Goodbye, Norma Jean

Sounds like a song, doesn't it? It is, but is also what I had to say earlier this week when my sister (in-law) ended her battle with ovarian cancer. She was in her second phase of chemo and had just received the last dose. It was that last dose that killed her, not the disease.

Norma was a tiny little thing for most of her life, interested in health and wellness. She spent most of her years as a vegetarian, and for two years, I followed her lead and then decided that I liked meat, so abandoned that lifestyle. In retrospect, maybe it wasn't a bad idea to go back to meat. Norma's body developed some allergic reactions to the foods she was accustomed to eating and had to take meat into her nutrition plan later in life. I'm not sure, but my uneducated mind says that a change of that kind is harsh on the body. Who knows what happened. All I know is that her body started to reject her usual lifestyle and she had to eat meat. Then all of a sudden, she had an "unwelcome visitor" (her words) that led to an emergency room visit and removal of 8 liters of fluid from a tumor that was pissed. Chemo to shrink the tumor followed, and then surgery for removal of it. The doctor said he couldn't get all of it and additional chemo should take care of it. Boy, did it. It killed her.

Goodbye, Norma Jean. I wish we had longer together. I wish we had taken that fishing trip that you and Bob didn't want to go on. LOL! I wish we had done more things together. We were so different, you and I. You were the country girl who went to the city. I was the city girl who loved to get her hands dirty in the country. But somehow we got along. There was a period of time when we didn't speak, but we came back together in the final years of your life. I am grateful for that. I don't know how I'm gonna do the next 30 years without you... I haven't spend ONE hour since your passing when I haven't thought of something I wanted to share with you. Sometimes sisters-in-law are closer than sisters. We were. And I will always be thankful for it.

Yes, I will take care of Michele for you. That's a given. She can come to me for anything and I will be there. The same for Darrell. I think they need us now more than ever. We're here. We're family.

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

Shards of Glass, Broken Dreams and Picking Up The Pieces of a Shattered Life

My husband and I were jolted out of our reverie yesterday evening by the news of the death of an acquaintance of ours, a very promising bluesman in Memphis by the name of Corey Osborn. We had seen Corey perform on numerous occasions, had numerous friends in common, and his death came as a shock to us. You see, Corey was only 23. Corey had been driving on an unfinished part of Tennessee Highway 385, and was found dead at the scene. His vehicle had rolled several times before coming to rest in the opposite direction of where he was headed... home from work. He had just called his parents to let them know he was driving home, but never made it. Visitation is tomorrow from 5pm to 7pm. God rest him.

I suppose it was fitting then today, when I did something stupid (like trying to open a window in the office) and knocked over my grandfather's coffee mug and the lamp on my desk. Both were broken in the process. It seemed to be a message for me. I worked feverishly gluing the mug back together, and when completed, it only vaguely resembled the keepsake I remember seeing in my grandfather's hands so many times and that I fought so hard to save. Oh, it still looks like a mug, but it looks like it has been through a war. It will never hold anything in it again, but will remain dear to me nonetheless and will be up safely out of reach on a shelf, in a place of honor.

Looking at the mug made me think of the hearts of Cory's parents, Scott and Lisa Osborn, shattered beyond belief, and never again to be the same. They too are battered and broken, and will gradually glue their hearts back together, but they will keep their memories of their beloved son safely tucked inside, and will somehow find the strength to hold together.

It also made me think of my own family... that of my brothers and sisters and my parents, my grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins that, in all likelihood, I will never see again. It's saddening. Somehow you all go on, and forge your own lives after someone disappears from view, but I wonder sometimes if anyone feels the loss of family the way I do. I lost a great portion of my family at a young age, and although I haven't written about it and, won't in a public forum, it still plays an enormous role in my life today.

With the passing of my father last month, it closed a chapter for me. I suppose all the cleaning out of my house has something to do with purging my soul. My husband and sons have told me "you never get rid of anything". I'm doing so now. It's not that I don't love the family I grew up with or cherish some of the things I'm forced to live without... but that's just it... I have to live without. But... age brings maturity (I hope) and with that maturity may come acceptance. I certainly hope so. I'd hate to have to live with shattered hopes and dreams like Corey's parents. We all have to learn to let go.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta