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Missing my baby girl

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I thought all the crying was done, but instead I find the one-week mark floods me with fresh emotion as if it were just moments ago I was holding my big girl and whispering into her ears as she lay slowly slipping away from me.   Colin Hay has a beautiful song that captures how I feel right this moment,  the lyrics haunting and confiding moments that paint little pictures of my life this past week.  It starts:

 

“I drink good coffee every morning
Comes from a place that’s far away
And when I’m done I feel like talking
Without you here there is less to say.”

 

As is my nature after I awaken, I shuffle to the kitchen where my husband has left a pot of brewed coffee, knowing that in my morning fog and left to my own devices I might forget the filter or the coffee grounds or even to place the pot in its position and wander off as coffee spills onto the counter and down to the floor.  I rarely speak until I’ve had at least one cup to clear my stuffed sinuses and my clogged throat and my fuzzy brain. 

 

My dogs have gotten used to this routine and they wait patiently for me to come around, not asking for pets or attention until I am ready.  They know that soon I will call them each by name and tell them how much I love them and what good pups they are, and then jabber mindlessly in their direction.  I’ve even come up with a nonsense language that I use when I look at them and my heart swells with happiness and I have no real words to express the feeling. 

 

Now, without my big girl here, the easy chatter sometimes gets caught in my throat and I fall back into silence.

 

Bebops

Beesh bongh  chipao.


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Living up to the name

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We got Boinks from the shelter while we were doing dog fostering. Here’s an excerpt on how she came to be called Boinka from back then:

9 pm: The Saint is so weak and unsteady on her feet that she has been falling on her big, sweet face all day. It reminds me of a bloopers show with the “Boink” sound effect, so I’ve been following her all day ridiculously saying, “Boink.” It’s starting to stick, so we’ve named her Boinka.

It’s a bit bittersweet now to see her unsteady on her feet once again, and hard  to hold back the urge to say “Boink” when she faceplants into the carpet or grass. Ok, mom’s getting teary now.

Here’s the story of her first few days with us.

http://www.chathamanimalrescue.org/eme_princessboinka.shtml

Some veterinarians use jargon. Translation below:

She’s doing wonderfully! = At least she’s still breathing.

It’s pricey. = Have you considered delivering pizzas on the weekend to help pay for all this?

You can visit. = You can look at your sweet baby through a glass window for 5 minutes after getting off work early and driving 35 miles to whisper some love into her big, floppy ears.

Her incision might look a little scary at first. = Try not to vomit, scream, or punch yourself in the head after you see what you consented to.

She may be a bit unsettled at first. It’s normal. = She will whimper, cry, moan, and flail about when the meds are wearing off. This is not her telling you how much she wishes you hadn’t done this to her or using her psychic powers to rip your heart in two.

She’ll need extra attention. = You will barely sleep or eat the first few days, much less go to work or even shower.

Make sure to feed her with her meds. = Good luck with figuring out how to get her to lick filet mignon, much less whatever pedestrian offering you hope will entice her to eat.

Figure out how you’re going to get your precious bundle of morphine-addled, newly zippered, in pain and freaked out because “ACK! NO LEG!” pup home from the vet hospital after amputation BEFORE you go to pick her up.

We have a 2-door hatchback and a large Saint that does not like car rides to begin with. The hospital folk were very kind to use a nifty doggie stretcher to get her in through the hatchback… and then we had a fairly uneventful 40-minute drive until we got home.

The sudden disappearance of several helpful, trained vet techs to maneuver her out of the vehicle left us slack-jawed and puzzled at how we could have overlooked this crucial piece of information.

Lifting her out of the hatchback… We couldn’t get a blanket under her, and her zipper was oozing fluid and we were scared we’d do something to cause it to rip wide open and then….oh hey, look, bunnies.

To make matters more unpleasant, it was 95 degrees and the sun was beating down. Boinks’ daddy was, uh, frustrated with mommy. Boinks’ mom was cheerfully and cleverly suggesting all kinds of ways daddy could *just lift her out*…like a chihuahua.

Out through the door… Daddy finally managed to get her out by half dragging, half pulling her stubborn, furry dog butt out the side door, but it was not without a yelp or two. Mommy was horrified by it all and clucking like a chicken on meth.

Minus 50 pts for lack of planning.

Boinks is brought to you by Tripawds.
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