Goodnight WildDog

I read this article recently about pet hospice and realized I was already doing it. WildDog, our elderly sheepdog was a funny, orderly, mischievous devil of a dog.

We got WildDog from a rescue, by accident. He was supposed to go to someone else, and they decided they didn't want him. We were looking at another dog when they told us he was ready for us.  Dahey knew he was the dog for him as soon as he saw him, so we hurried down the highway on a cold, snowy day and picked him up.

The foster family told us he got queasy in cars. Dahey held him all the way home in his lap. He did just fine as long as he was petted while he was riding in a car. This always made going to the groomer and the vet an adventure. I told WildDog, "If you are good, you'll get a cookie," and he'd watch me put the cookie in my purse or pocket. He'd try to get at it, if he thought he could get it. However, he could be a perfect gentleman. It just varied.

WildDog was famous for flying through the air and snatching things off counter tops. Dahey was an eyewitness or I never would have believed that he really did eat all those blueberry muffins I wrapped up for my sister for breakfast from the MegaWarehouseStore. He also loved good loaves of bread. Not those artisanal ones Grumpy may talk about, but good, slightly soft, bread that is not cheap. I cannot count the number of loaves that he "opened" (i.e. chewed a hole in) to eat a couple of slices and leave the remaining loaf lying on the living room floor (since this is where he liked to eat his snacks.)

He was a great companion. He came from a breed known for herding, guarding and sticking close to humans. He was really my dog, because he picked me, but Dahey was his alpha dog. When Dahey travelled for work, he didn't always listen to me. It would take a couple of weeks. Sometimes, I had to put Dahey on speakerphone for the dog to listen. Occasionally, he relented.

When Bubba came along, he bonded with him over fistfuls of spaghetti. Bubba loved launching handfuls from his high chair and watching WildDog run. They had their spats (he even bit Bubba once), but the boys got along well.

Tonight, even after the gentle warnings, I had given Bubba about WildDog dying for months, Bubba cried and cried. WildDog was the only dog he'd ever had his entire life. He was his furry brother.

We will miss the pet, but character and spirit of WildDog, the charming little herding dog, will live on in our hearts.

Good night WildDog. See you at the Rainbow Bridge.

The good news and the bad news

The good stuff first (aka Why wait until dessert?)

Big boss was thrilled once he saw my article that was published. Immediately sent it to one of the bigwigs.

WildDog survived his yearly trip to the groomer recently, even if he is becoming eccentric in his old age. He tried to swim in a shallow bathtub, the groomer told me. What he most likely did: tried to escape. He hates water with a passion.

I got my toes painted Tutti Frutti Tonga. I skipped the French manicure, though.

The bad news

Brother was readmitted to the hospital...yet again.

In my haste leaving the meeting with travelling partner and the boss, I ran into a concrete pilon at work. I called security on-site to report it, and they did not want to write a report.

Everyone needs a little paint and new plastic once in a while. More to come...