Before everything changed

There’s only one thing in the Facebook “Memory” at right that’s still the same: That barely-in-the-photo black cabinet at the top of the photo is what the TV sat on, and still does. The obvious changes are that Bella and Jake are both gone, but the footstool in front of me wore out after I moved to Kirikiriroa-Hamilton, my jeans are now cleaning rags, and whatever shoes I had on are probably long gone, too. Even the midday news I mentioned was cancelled by TVNZ in a “cost cutting” move (must’ve been more than a year ago now). And, of course, that scene happened in our last house together, nearly 8 months after we’d all shifted into it.

For me, this simple photo represents all the massive losses that began in early 2019, however, as is always true in life, it wasn’t nothing but bad news and sorrow after this photo: So MUCH good stuff happened after this photo, too!

Later that year Nigel and I went to Australia with the family to surprise his eldest sister for her birthday, and we visited Brisbane for the first time. Leo joined the family the following year, we made cool changes to the house (well, Nigel did the cool ones… I did the more ordinary-but-nice ones), Nigel had successes and recognition at work, and, as always, we had a LOT of fun times, sometimes with the wider family, sometimes with the fur babies, and even many adventures with just the two of us.

2019 was, of course, when everything started changing, and so much of what made us a happy family started to end. But even now, good things still happen, and that fact is how I managed to survive all the horrible stuff.

I still have a very long way to go, both in healing and in life in general, but the important thing is that my adventure continues. My former wonderful life travels with me everywhere and forms the foundation of the life I’m trying to build.

So, yeah, nearly everything in that photo from eight years ago has changed, including me, but my adventure continues. I hope you’ll continue to follow along to see what happens next.

I blogged about this at the time, and that post provided more background, as well as including the other photo I took, moments after the one in the FB “Memory”.

Photo memory and realities

Yesterday, I was served up yet another Facebook “Memory”, this time for a photo I made my Facebook cover photo. As always, it sparked all sorts of memories and thoughts, which I share on my personal Facebook:

This was one of my favourite photos of the kids as they waited for their other daddy to get home from work. All four of them are gone now.

Around a year and a half after I took this photo, we all moved to the southern edge of the Manukau Harbour, and a little more than a year after that, Leo joined our family. Some nine months later, we lost Bella, seven months after that, we lost their other daddy, nearly a year and a half later, Sunny left us, and Jake around seven months after that. Sometimes even I’m shocked I managed to survive all that loss so close together.

I still have the mat Jake and Sunny are laying on, and the dog rope, too—though no one plays with it anymore. On the other hand, I’ve upgraded my phone several times and my photos have much better resolution now—and the fact that was one of the first things I thought when this photo popped up in my FB “Memories” is an indication of healing (so called…). The fact I remember in detail when each member of our family left us shows that healing from grief isn’t actually a thing: We adapt, we grow around it, we move forward with it, but usually without the searing pain it once produced. I miss them all as much as ever, and I can tell that Leo does, too, but we have each other and some days that’s everything.

After I posted that, I naturally wondered if I’d shared that photo on this blog ten years ago, but I hadn’t at all in all of July 2015. Today, I looked though my stored photos and I found the original, which I took on June 5, exactly a month before I made it my Facebook cover photo. That’s not remotely important—the date I took the photo and the date I made it my FB cover photo were both ten years ago, and the real point wasn’t the date, it was how much things had changed since then.

The whole thing gave me a chance to underscore the fact that grief never diminishes or ends, instead, we grow around it. I’ve talked about this many times, and I’ll talk about more into the future because I think it’s the biggest thing that people don’t understand about grief, and also what they most need to understand.

Still, the photo I took ten years ago was a great example of what my life was like only a decade ago. I miss that life, everyone I’ve lost. But I’m still here, and so is Leo, and together we continue moving forward. And that’s the way of things.

Four years turning a key

Four years ago today, I unlocked the front door of my house for the first time as the owner. That was sixteen weeks to the very day after Nigel died, and that, along with pretty much everything I’ve done since that horrible 2019 day, was made possible by the help and support of family and friends. That’s something I can never forget—nor should I.

In the time since this house became mine, life has been a non-stop rollercoaster: A bit more than two months later (and a few days more than six months after Nigel died), New Zealand went under its first Covid Lockdown, and there were several more after that, with varying degrees of strictness. I lost Sunny, then Jake, and that was against the backdrop of me still trying to come to terms with the loss of Nigel. Last year, we were hit with three major storms, pretty much literally washing away our summer. I’ve waged war with weeds, I fought fatigue, and I battled to make sense of what was and is the nonsensical reality of my unexpected solo life.

Also in this house, took on and successfully completed many projects, I entertained friends and family, and I enjoyed TV, music, reading, and also playing games on my iPad. Leo and I played The Chase Game, or just cuddled, and he’s repeatedly demonstrated his huge talent for looking cute.

Through all of that, the good and the bad, this house provided me and the furbabies with shelter and safety and security. I always knew that when the world made the least sense to me, when I needed a safe harbour the most, this house was it.

Which is not to say it’s perfect: If it was, I wouldn’t have made or contemplated so many changes to it. However, nearly all of the things that I may dislike about this house are things I dislike because I didn’t come into the picture until after the house was built, so I didn’t get to make choices that I’d like better. Still, there’s pretty much nothing I can’t change, should I want to do it and decide the cost is justified.

I still don’t know what my life will be like in the years ahead: I have no plan nor any idea about what may be possible. I don’t know where I want to live long term, and right now, this is as good a place as any. Future me will figure it out eventually. Maybe. Probably.

For the time being—or forever, who knows?—I’ll continue to enjoy what’s good about this house, and to plan things I want to do to make it better for me and Leo. As I begin my fifth year here, I have a list of projects and also the necessary strengthened resolve to get them done. Right now, that’s enough. And so is this house.

The photo above is from my 2020 post about this, “Rehoming myself”. I published it a couple days after I got the keys, so that post has some more of the story than I shared on my Facebook at the time. I used the same photo again in a post last year.

Furbabies have magical powers

I’ve often shared Facebook “Memories” here on this blog, some of which can spark feelings, good or bad, or are just interesting to me in some way. Today’s was one of the sad types.

The photo above was today’s FB “Memory”. I shared it to my personal Facebook (via Instagram) on October 12, 2017—six years ago today. In that 2017 post, I said:

Bella decided to visit me at my desk again. A welcome diversion! I never have photos like this with the dogs because they don’t do laps—plus, they both need haircuts!

I remembered that photo, and taking it, but it was the caption that caught my attention today. When I shared it on Facebook this morning, I said:

I miss those days more than I could ever find a way to express, because Bella, the two dogs I mentioned (Jake and Sunny, of course), and especially their other daddy, were all still alive on that day. They and that house are all gone from my life, but the stuff that was in it is mostly still around, not that it matters to me. What’s important, though, is that Leo joined our family the year after this photo, and that little guy fills up a lot of the cold void the rest of our little family left behind. Leo is the real secret to how I managed to survive all that loss over those two years that began in 2019. Furbabies really do have magical powers.

I was feeling as melancholy about it as that probably sounds, and it was probably all because I’ve been in a sometimes reflective, sometimes quite sad, head space since the weekend, something I referred to obliquely when I talked about not knowing “what my long term plan is” in my post about this past Friday and Saturday. There were other things that triggered similar feelings this week, too.

This goes to show, I guess, that it’s not just FB “Memories” that can make me feel reflective or sad—in this case, I pretty much already felt that way. However, seeing the “Memory” while still sometimes feeling that way, it was the obvious what sort of reaction I might have.

My reaction the “Memory” today is so completely different from what I felt about the photo on that day in 2017. Back then, I published a blog post sharing that photo and telling the story behind it. My photos often have stories behind them, of course—and it seems that my reactions to photos can have stories behind them, too.

Today’s reactions weren’t all sad, though—at least, not at first. I looked at the photo and thought about how much better coverage I got with my beard dye back then. But, of course, that created reflection of its own: Inwardly, I feel like I still look like I did in that 2017 photo, but I’m also aware that when I see myself in a mirror or a photo taken recently, what I see is how much my appearance has aged since Nigel died (and I feel it’s even more true if I don’t keep up with dyeing my beard).

I was reminded of that today when I looked at myself in the mirror when I had my shower. Then, I started thinking about a blog post in which I’d mention the house where the photo above was taken, and that led to me remembering bringing Nigel home for one last night before his funeral, and I cried. It was a few brief seconds, as such moments usually are now, and ended with me thinking that at least being in the shower meant I just needed to rinse my face. That thought made me kind of chuckle.

So, with all sorts of memories and feelings flying around these days, it’s no wonder this photo from six years ago would make me remember all I’ve lost. However, there’s another side even to that. This morning I picked up my iPad, and before I even had a chance to check Facebook, I noticed Leo laying in his bed looking particularly cute. I shared that photo of him (below) in a comment on my Facebook post sharing the “Memory”, and said: “Coincidentally, I snapped a photo of Leo a little while before I looked at FB and saw this ‘Memory’.” And, I knew that Leo also needs a haircut, but unlike Jake and Sunny that 2017 day, Leo is partly shorn in that photo.

I take two lessons from today. First, stories are literally everywhere, sometimes in multiple layers. The other lesson, though, fits right in with my mood this week: Everything changes. Oh, yeah, there’s the third important lesson, which is more of an important reminder: Furbabies really do have magical powers. And I’m certainly glad they do.

Leo’s big outing

It was an early start this morning: Leo had a 9:15 appointment for his annual jabs, and it was my job to get him there (and pay for it all). While I’ve never been a “morning person”, the actual reason I don't like appointments that early is that it means dealing with morning traffic, and it’s impossible to know how heavy it’ll be until I’m in it. On top of that, at this time of year, thick morning fog can be another problem, and it was today.

Leo was actually due for his jabs in February, and they sent me a reminder text. I kept forgetting to deal with it, so they sent another text. I kept forgetting again, mainly because I was thinking about changing vets (the one we’d been seeing left that branch). However, the main problem, as it so often is, was that I only remembered when it was after hours.

Last week, I was sitting at my desk and decided to go the chain’s website, then navigated to the vets at my local branch. I wanted to see if they had any vets at the moment, but noted I could book online. With a shrug and a “why not?”, I set up an account (separate from the retail store one I already have…) and went to book an appointment. They had two available this week: 9am and 9:15am today. I chose the latter, hoping that traffic would be better, with most people who needed to be at work by 9 off the roads.

The traffic was mostly tolerable, it turned out, and were delayed just by two red lights and slow-moving trucks. I was well aware, though, that I could’ve shaved around ten minutes off my trip if the long-promised road connecting our houses directly to the rest of the city was open (still no announcement of an opening date—of course—more than a year after the first already three-years-late date was suggested).

Leo got the American expat vet that one of the kids first saw there after we’d shifted to Hamilton (we hadn’t seen her since; we saw a South African expat in the following years). She was good and nice (which I already knew), and won Leo over with treats. After that, I smiled inwardly when she noted that Leo was 400 grams heavier than last year, so he needs to cut back a bit—like father, like son! Although, I’m carrying around a bit more than an extra 400 grams…

I asked for her advice on cutting his nails (something Nigel flat out refused to do—he was afraid he’d hurt them). She said they’d do them right then, and saw that they were quite long. It seems unlikely that the groomers actually cut his nails last time (November), even though I specifically asked if they did that and was told yes. Two claws on his back paws were so long they were curling back into the pad of his foot—poor guy! And, bad daddy!!! for not noticing. The vet suggested I bring him back in six weeks for another trim (because some were too long to properly cut this time).

Grooming, however, is another issue entirely. It’s still very difficult to get an appointment with a groomer, especially with my trust issues adding another barrier. So, some months ago I started watching YouTube videos by a professional groomer who believes that not only can anyone learn to groom their dog, it’s also a bonding opportunity. Aw!

Around 15 years ago, we had a wheaten terrier named Saibh. We had a wonderful groomer for her, but she left the industry and recommended another lady I took Saibh to. That lady complained about Saibh, said she’d never groom her again unless Saibh was sedated, and demanded more money for having to deal with Saibh. I felt awful—for Saibh, obviously; I couldn’t possibly have cared less about the grumpy groomer’s feelings, and I knew I’d never go back to her.

Saibh had some “quirks”, likely caused by her breeder, who was later prosecuted at least twice for bad practices and banned from breeding dogs (many of his dogs had congenital defects, or severe behavioural issues, and several were put down because of them). Not surprisingly, Nigel and I both thought the guy was contemptible scum, but we felt fortunate that Saibh got away so lightly, with mere quirks.

With few options, I started grooming Saibh. I was getting pretty good at it when Saibh died suddenly of a heart attack. Her own congenital conditions had caught up with her.

Jake came into our family, then Sunny, and while I found some pretty okay groomers, we decided to start grooming them ourselves. Nigel bought several pairs of dog clippers, including some professional grade ones, all of which I still have, of course.

When Leo joined the family, he was just shy of one year old, so when Nigel and I tried to groom him, he was still a puppy. The last time we groomed him, around the time of his second birthday, he bit us both and drew blood (well, a tiny bit…). We never really finished grooming him, and then we ran out of time: That last grooming attempt was around three months before the furbabies' other daddy died.

When Nigel was in his final days, he kept pushing me to get the dogs groomed—and he was doing that, I knew, because he was well aware that he was running out of days. He knew people would come round to the house after he died, and he was embarrassed (For me? Imagining how he’d feel? Both?) that people would see the dogs looking so shaggy. That was, obviously, the absolute, very last thing that could ever be on my mind at the time.

My brother-in-law organised grooming for me one of the times I was visiting Hamilton in the weeks after Nigel died. It was such a small thing, really, but, to me, him doing that and even driving us there and back was a huge act of kindness at a time I needed it most. And, the dogs were awfully untidy.

So here we are in 2023, it’s difficult to get a grooming appointment, and Leo’s fully adult now (me, not so much…). I know he hates being left at a groomers because he wants to stick with me. Over the past several months, I’ve been getting him used to me trimming matted fur with scissors, and also with the clippers )so he can used to the sound). I’m about ready to start, and I hope he is, too.

Leo’s spent much of today sleeping, as dogs often do after getting their jabs. Early this afternoon, with another shrug and “why not?”, I lay down on the bed so he and I could have a nap together (it was an early start this morning, after all). He thought that was a splendid idea. He’s a good boy.

Today’s cuteness ration

Leo is very cute, obviously, and a very good companion and entertainer. I frequently share photos of him on my Instagram (which is public) or on my personal Facebook (which isn’t public), however, I don’t always share them here, too. That means that not everyone gets to see Leo’s cuteness. This post is a bit of a catch up—and includes blog exclusives!

The photo up top is one I shared a couple days ago, and it depicts what I found when I was ready to crawl into bed. I said in its caption:

Last night, Leo climbed onto my pillows while I brushed my teeth & got ready for bed. He usually lies on Nigel’s pillows, but I’m lazy about re-fluffing them, so last night he climbed onto my unsquished pillows instead. A moment after I snapped the photo of us, he crawled to the other pillows and I was allowed to go to bed. In the photo of just him, he has a “What?!” look on his face, but he was probably waiting for me to tell him to move. Every morning I wake up and find Leo snuggled up against me, not on any pillows. He’s a good boy.

This actually isn’t even a remotely new thing for him. The first time I shared a photo of him on pillows was in June of 2019, and there was the time in this house, back in September 2020, when he decided to sleep right next to my head. He’s also not the only furbaby to do something like this.

Back in January 2018, I woke up with Bella asleep on my pillow, on top of my head. Even Jake got in on the act back in 2012.

Sunny probably did it, too, but I didn’t share any photos of her doing it.

Here are two more related photos: The one at left is Leo laying on top of my pillows, before I took our selfie. The photo at right is one of Leo on “his” (actually Nigel’s…) pillows, taken last night:

Next up, Leo unintentionally making me laugh:

I said in my caption for that photo:

Yes, I’m (very) easily amused, but I always laugh when I see Leo carrying his toy like this, as if he’s a cartoon with a big blue smile. That stuffed toy, btw, is—was?—a blue dog, which he knows as “B-Dog”, and whenever I ask him where B-Dog is, he runs to get it (all his toys have names he knows). At first, I thought it was a little creepy, him having a toy dog to chew up and destroy, but, then, when I was a little kid I had the original “GI Joe” toy human. On the other hand, I didn’t chew it up, so…

I actually had other toy humans, including two dolls—sorry, “action figures”—from Marx Toys, the first was Johnny West and also Chief Cherokee (a toy I’m sure couldn’t be sold these days).

And finally, at the bottom of this post is a photo of Leo and me that I took yesterday afternoon, but didn’t share anywhere (I’d already shared several on social media over two days, so I decided not to). That concludes today’s cuteness ration.

Picturing memories

Isn’t funny how old photos can stir up all sorts of associated memories that weren’t present, or weren’t made yet, at the time the photo was taken? The photo above, from this very day and date in 2016, is exactly like that. And, I must say, I really upped my selfie game that day, getting the dogs' poses just right.

Nigel and I were in Hamilton that afternoon six years ago today for a family birthday party, and we’d stopped at the New World supermarket at Rototuna for some snacks for the party. I stayed in the car to help keep the dogs calm, and because the weather was weird at the time: It was a bit too warm to leave them in the car without all the windows open quite a bit (the one next to me was wide open), but also the afternoon was threatening the possibility of rain. A bit like today, actually.

A bit more than a decade earlier, Nigel and I were living in Paeroa, and when we drove into Hamilton (usually to get supplies we needed for renovating our house), we passed where the New World would be built. At the time, there wasn’t much in the area but a petrol station.

Three years after this photo, I was looking at houses in this same area, and one I was interested in was within walking distance of this shopping area. Unfortunately, the owners were selling the house themselves and had an, um, optimistic view of its value. If the house went on the market now—well, when the market recovers—it’d probably be on for at least 40% more than what they were asking in 2019 (the house I eventually bought would be worth at least that much more, too, actually).

These days I sometimes go to that same New World, though by myself. The last time wasn’t all that long ago, right after I’d met my mother-in-law and one of my sisters-in-law for lunch at a nearby café. I still like that area.

And all of that is what I think about when I see this selfie of me and the kids, with them earnestly watching for their other daddy to come back. Sometimes, I do that, metaphorically speaking, too, though it's usually only in memories or old photos. Just more to add to the memory pile.

A day better than expected

Every once in a while, days turn out differently than we expected at the start. When it’s a better than expected day, it can be pretty great. Like yesterday, for example.

Yesterday ended up being a good day because of lots of unusual things. I caught up with my cousin-in-law, which is unusual because of all the plague and winter illnesses (on top of ordinary busy-ness) have meant the family hasn’t had much chance to get together over the past few months.

Next, I looked through some boxes of my own stuff, packed away for years, to look for something I need for the Super-Secret Project. Didn’t find that, but found lots of personal treasures I thought were lost in the sands of time. I was surprised, but also happy to find those things, relics of my life from decades ago.

I made my awesome dinner, fed Leo, and that was followed by the most unusual thing of all: I took Leo for a little walk.

The back story is that walking three dogs alone was impossible, but Jake was arthritic and couldn’t go on walks, Sunny always pulled on the lead (then her health started to fail), and Leo couldn’t walk far, so I always ended up having to carry him home. Plus, I have a large fenced yard and the dogs could run around as much as they wanted to, though Leo was the only one who actually ran.

On top of that, I’ve had that ongoing issue with often deep fatigue, so I wasn’t up to walks. Leo and I play The Chase Game all the time, though: He has me chase him around the house, sometimes he chases me, and he clearly loves it. He especially likes it because he gets far better grip on the carpet than he gets outside, and he can change directions quickly (important for the game). I haven’t been up to playing the game with him as much or for as long as I was last year, and I’m pretty sure the medication I was changed to late last year is the culprit (a few days ago, I talked about the new medication I hope will help this problem, and that starts in about two weeks).

So, why a walk last night? The neighbours over the back fence were having a small party, sitting outside in their covered area (I presume they have some sort of patio heater…), and Leo does NOT like people on the other side of his fence! If they’re talking and laughing, he hates it even more. Just before dark, I had to go outside because he was barking at them through the fence, and then I had to make him walk back into the house. He just kind of glared at me when I gave him a verbal command, so I had to herd him into the house. I knew he’d run right back there if I let him out into the yard, and that’s something I always do after he eats his dinner.

So, the only solution was to take him for a walk. Thing is, Nigel and I only walked him once or twice, and I haven’t since I’ve been in this house, so he doesn’t quite get the concept: He never sniffed the spots other dogs had visited, and he never, um, emptied his tanks (which was the whole point).

We walked down to the end of the street, and then someone from the area walked their dog toward us a young (>2 years?) black Lab sort of dog who was on lead, of course, but a little rambunctious (I wasn’t sure whether the guy had complete control). I picked Leo up, and he was NOT happy about that: He did his high-pitched bark/whine thing, which seemed to echo; I was a bit worried that neighbours might think he was hurt.

I carried him part of the way back to our house, and he squirmed. I put him back down (I still hoped he might empty his tanks…), but he wanted to go find that other dog, and I was afraid be might wriggle out of his harness (he’s done that before), and I’d have no hope of catching him if he did that.

I picked him up again, walked a bit further uphill toward home, and put him down again. We got to our house, but he wanted to keep going. I walked him onto our front lawn (which he again never sniffed), and still wasn’t keen on going back inside. I, however, had reached the end of my energy reserves.

The walk was short, but apparently enough to tire him out: He usually plays with his toys in the evening, but yesterday evening he mostly slept. In the end, he didn’t wee in the house, and preventing that was the whole reason I took him on that short walk. Maybe he was too tired?

We were lucky that it wasn’t raining at the time (it’s been raining a lot in recent days), but we’d have been luckier if I’d had the stamina to walk him farther/longer. Hopefully one day we’ll both get to have longer walks. But last night, we got a little one. And Leo got to have his very own good and unusual thing his day, too.

Sometimes, unusual things can make a day turn out better than expected. Yesterday was just another example of that.

Jake would've been fifteen

Yesterday would’ve been Jake’s fifteenth birthday, but his fourteenth turned out to be his last. Jake died here at home a bit more than five months later, only about a week and a half before the second anniversary of us losing Nigel.

The the photo at left is from Jake’s fourteenth birthday last year, and what strikes me about it is that he’s as subdued as Sunny was in the photo on what turned out to be her last birthday, her twelfth. That’s coincidence—it was often not easy to capture a photo of either unless they were laying down. However, both were unwell when I took their last birthday photos, and both were already in their final decline, so capturing a subdued moment was probably most likely for both.

Over the past three years, I’ve endured a constant parade of loss, what I referred to in February last year as “a Danse Macabre”. The first to leave was Bella, a loss I was really sad about. Then Nigel’s death ripped everything apart, especially me. Sunny stayed with us nearly a year and a half afterward, and Jake left about seven months after her. Throw a global pandemic into this mix, and sometimes even I’m amazed—or shocked, sometimes—that I’ve managed to survive.

All of this loss has definitely held me back and made it impossible to truly move forward, or to find a new life without Nigel. So, when I say I’m stubborn, I’m absolutely not joking, as the evidence of my continued existence proves.

But I do miss Jake. And Sunny. And Bella. And, obviously, Nigel most of all. I think Leo does, too, and that’s been on my mind lately.

Leo still sniffs Sunny and Jake’s collars, Sunny’s especially (they were best friends), but recently something odd happened: He started standing at the baby gate I put up to keep the dogs from running to the front door. Then, he’d cry softly, the same way he does when his ball rolls under the sofa, or when he wants to go outside. But there was nothing in the entryway that was even remotely related to any of that, and I hadn’t changed anything in that area for months. What was up?

I lifted Leo up and let him sniff around, but he didn’t seem fixated on any one thing. That didn’t stop his crying, so I again carried him to the entryway. I had him sniff the harness I bought for him, something I hung on the coat tree in the entryway. Maybe he’d seen it, I thought, but he wasn’t remotely interested—but he still wanted something.

The only thing I could see was another dog lead, the one I used to take Jake to the vet the day before he died, though I could've used it for Sunny at some point, too (I had two that were identical, so I probably mixed them up frequently, for all I know). Was that it? It’s been there since that day last September—why now?!

I had no other ideas, so I took the lead into the house and put it on a low shelf where Leo could sniff it—and he now does that several times a week, sometimes several times in a day. He also hasn’t cried at that gate even once since I put the lead within sniffing distance.

Then yesterday, another oddity: I was in the bedroom folding washing, and Leo was there—until he disappeared. I walked past the door to the en suite and saw Leo in there, staring at the toilet roll holder.

For many years, right up until many of her teeth were removed, Sunny used to steal the toilet toll from the holder and pull out the cardboard core, which she’d eat (she never ate the paper, but she left a shredded paper mess for us to clean up). Nigel and I started putting the toilet roll on the cistern when we went out, but Sunny still tried to get it. To stop that, we put empty cores on the floor below the toilet roll holder, which Sunny would grab and chew up. I dubbed it her “tasty, tasty snack”, and Nigel and both thought it was weird behaviour, but funny.

A little while after I’d caught Leo looking at the toilet roll, and thought about how odd it was that he did that, I remembered Sunny and her tasty, tasty snacks. Leo then walked into the en suite, and he looked again at the toilet roll holder. I had an empty toilet roll core that I hadn’t yet put into the recycling bin, and I gave it to Leo, who grabbed it and ran to the front of the house, tail happily wagging.

Before Sunny got sick, she and Leo both got toilet roll cores—Jake was never the least bit interested. However, Leo’s shown no interest in them ever since Sunny could no longer chew the cores and they both stopped getting them.

Again, why now? Why not months ago? And what was up with the toilet roll core obsession yesterday? I don’t know, of course, but I wonder if maybe he’s mourning Sunny and Jake. I know the feeling, obviously, so it’s logical to think I could be projecting; I just don’t think I am.

All of that’s been on my mind the past few days, starting with thinking about Jake and his birthday, and on to all the thoughts that go with that. Mainly, I just miss the family I lost, and I really do feel that Leo does, too. Jake’s birthday is what sparked all these thoughts for me, and while I have no certainty about what’s sparked Leo’s recent behaviour, mourning is as plausible an explanation as any. It’s also good for both of us that we still have each other.

Related posts:
Jake is 14 – What turned out to be his last birthday
Jake is 13
Jake is 12
Jake is 11
Jake is TEN
Jake is 9
Jake is 8
Jake is 7
Jake is 6
Jake turns 5
Jake is four
Jake turns three
Jake’s Birthday 2-day
Jake is one year old!
A new arrival
All posts mentioning Jake

A very, very good boy

It might not seem to have been the best idea, but I took Leo to the vet for his first round of vaccinations today, which is also the first anniversary of Sunny’s death—at the same vet practice. Thing is, I only remembered the anniversary at all because Facebook served it up to me as a “Memory”. It was fine, and Leo was a good boy.

The worst thing wasn’t the coincidence of the date, it was that’s Leo was a little more than two years late for his jabs. He would’ve been due a couple months after Nigel died, and maybe I got a reminder from the vet we went to, maybe I didn’t, but whatever the case, I absolutely was in no state of mind for it to register. At that time, I was looking for a house in Hamilton and getting ready to put our last shared house on the market. Then, I moved. Then, I sold our old house. Then Covid Lockdown—and out and back in lockdown, then Sunny got sick, and then Jake's health declined, and—there was a lot going on.

Meanwhile, I’ve been trying—and really, really struggling—to get Leo groomed. His former groomer has moved much too far away, and it’s been difficult to find a new one. It’s not that there aren’t any, it’s that I have to TRUST them, and that’s a HUGE ask. I’ve had an awful groomer in the past (she was not a nice person, at all), but the main thing is that Leo is all that’s left of the family I still had at this point three years ago.

So, in the meantime, I’ve been trimming away his matted fur, and I keep trying to use the electric clippers for dog grooming—but they just don’t seem as good or useful as when Nigel and I groomed the dogs at the old house. I can’t work out why that is, but I do know that Leo hates the sound of clippers, anyway. However, after a lot of patient effort, I now have him tolerating me using scissors—for awhile.

This is where his jabs come into the story. I was researching groomers online (with raised eyebrow and staunch scepticism…) and the site associated with the groomers at the vet/pet place mentioned that owners had to present their dog’s vaccination record before the grooming (because the shop and vet clinic have sick dogs coming in). That’s when I suddenly remembered Leo was late for his vaccinations. I, of course, see and appreciate the irony in me being such a staunch promoter of Covid vaccination, yet being totally oblivious to the fact my little mate was WAY overdue for his normal jabs. Life’s messy.

I immediately booked an appointment for Leo to get his jabs. The grooming can wait.

So, today Leo got his first round of vaccination: They have to start from scratch because it’s been too long since his last ones. Today he got the vaccines for parvovirus (important because there are currently outbreaks in various parts of NZ), and he also got, um, other stuff (I forget what the rest were; it was the parvo one I was most keen for him to get). He goes back in three weeks for his next round, which I remember includes kennel cough vaccine.

I still have to solve the grooming conundrum. The vet told me they’ve been having trouble finding a groomer for their facility (I didn’t ask why), but it’ll be weeks before Leo’s vaccines are fully effective, anyway, and he can’t go to a groomer until they are. That means at least two weeks from today’s, or even five weeks from now for the next lot to be fully effective, too. In the meantime, I’m going to give him a bath on Friday, and I’ll trim him some more with scissors (I know from past experience that he’s more compliant/cooperative when he’s wet). That’ll buy me time until (at least) today’s jabs are fully activated.

The situation is what it is. I could feel guilty about it, because I definitely should’ve been paying attention to Leo’s vaccination status—the fact that there was so much on my plate is no excuse. But I won’t feel guilty about what I can’t change—what’s the point of that?! Instead, I’m going to do what I always do when I discover that I made a mistake: I’ll do better.

One way or another, Leo will be groomed, and the truly important thing is that the vet practice will now remind me when Leo’s coming up on his vaccination time. To be extra sure, I’ll also set up a Reminder so all my devices will let me know in case the vet doesn’t.

This obviously isn’t the first time I’ve screwed up, and it absolutely won’t be the last: Like I said, life’s messy. But to paraphrase one of my favourite writers, Maya Angelou, when I know better, I do better. There’s no sin in screwing up, but there’s definitely salvation in seeing one's own mistakes and then doing better.

But, yeah, this probably wasn’t the best day to have this opportunity for personal growth. Leo, however, was a very, very good boy.

The photo above is of Leo in one of his beds this evening. He was subdued when we got home this afternoon, but was pretty much back to normal by evening.

AmeriNZ Podcast episode 358 now available

AmeriNZ Podcast episode 357, “Projected Living” is now available from the podcast website. There, you can listen, download or subscribe to the podcast.

The five most recent episodes of the podcast are listed on the sidebar on the right side of this blog.

104 weeks ago today

Today is 104 weeks since I lost love of my life, Nigel. By date, the second horrible anniversary will be on Monday, but it’s today when measured by weeks. That’s really just semantics, and changes nothing about the reality of what’s being remembered. But that was about an ending, and not about what happened before it, so this horrible anniversary is really about me, and those who mourn Nigel. Which is why I’ve been so surprised by this day today.

I don’t want to oversell, over promise, or in any way raise expectations, but, something feels different today, and positive. Nigel’s been on my mind all day, of course, and I’ve missed him like crazy, like always. However, I’ve also been okay.

I planned a quiet day today: I needed to pick up a prescription refill, and I wanted to pick up a few things for a couple projects. I also thought I might get a haircut, but, in the end, I found shopping under Level 2 restrictions somewhat confronting, and I’ve never gotten a haircut at Level 2. So, I decided to just be kind to myself and skip it for now. Especially because of my next stop.

I had to go to Countdown to get my prescription, and I’ve never been to a Countdown at anything other than Level One because I found it too stressful (I've been to New World under other Alert Levels, though). I did some grocery shopping while they got my prescription ready.

Then, I went home, because what I wanted most was just a quiet day at home with Leo, and for a simple reason: Today wasn’t only about Nigel, because we lost Jake one week ago today. Leo and I had a good afternoon, in the end. Dogs are really good at making us feel good, even when they're not trying.

I suppose I could’ve expected something positive today: The sun was shining this morning, after a week of rain and clouds, and that’s always a good thing. But the skies grew cloudy, and the temperatures stayed stubbornly cool. That could’ve ruined things—but I still felt okay.

I don’t know if this is the start of a new phase in my grief journey, or just a calm patch; maybe things will be worse on Monday? I have no idea. But I do feel like something has changed, something I can only think to call, I don’t know, peace? No wonder I’ve been so surprised by this day. I’ll soon know if the surprise continues.

Still, Nigel’s been on my mind all day, and I’ve missed him like crazy, like always. However, I’ve also been okay, and that’s just a surprise, whether it lasts or not.

Related
”52 Weeks” – My blog post from last year.

The image above is something I posted to my personal Facebook this morning. The original text of a short comment I made on that post is incorporated into this blog post, though revised, expanded, and updated.

Careful adaptations

It can be hard to adapt to changes, especially when it means adapting to sad changes. It’s even harder for our furbabies who can’t discuss things or even understand what’s happening. I have strategies I’ve been forced to learn; I hope they’ll help others.

The first and most important thing to know is that dogs in particular can and do grieve the loss of one of their pack—human or animal. Even so, individual dogs can seem, or actually be, unaffected. Cats may mourn, too, but they’re less social by nature, so grief, it it’s there, may not be as obvious as it is with dogs. In either case, watching a furbaby’s behaviour can direct how we can help them.

The most important thing is to try and stick to routine: Feed them at the same times, take them for walks or let them out into the yard as normal. Treats are best given like normal, and no extra treats. Furbabies don’t tend to “feel better” just because they get a treat, even though they’ll no doubt like the treat.

While keeping normal routines, it’s also important to not move too quickly to remove the things associated with the one who’s been lost. My own advice is that when you do start removing things, do so as surreptitiously as possible.

Here’s how I’m doing all of this for Leo.

First, I haven’t removed the towel Jake was wrapped in, nor have I removed the blanket he was laying on when he died. I planned to start that this evening, beginning with the towel: When I let Leo outside after his dinner, the plan was, I’d go get the towel and put it in the laundry area in the garage. Then tomorrow I planned do the same thing with the blanket. One step at a time.

I left Jake’s bowl alone for a full day, but over the weekend I picked it while Leo was outside, did a quick wash by hand, then put it in the dishwasher. Later, I took the bowl out of the dishwasher after the drying cycle was completed, and quietly put in the bench to cool off. Later that evening, I put away the step stool Jake’s bowl was on while Leo was outside. The following morning, again while Leo was outside, I put Jake’s clean bowl in the garage with Sunny’s bowl (and this is where it’s obvious I’m a human: I can’t yet bear to do anything with those bowls).

The common thread in all this is that I remove things when they’re out of Leo’s sight. This works because they’re not stuff he’d normally pay any attention to, anyway. Removing the blanket may be challenging because he jumps onto the blanket box, and crosses that blanket, every time he jumps up to get on the bed. So, he’ll notice that it’s missing while it’s in the wash, and that’s precisely why I’ve left that until last.

One other thing I do is to try to make sure I give Leo plenty of attention. I’ve always done that, of course, but I’m making sure I do it. Part of that’s about sticking to routine, but also making sure he feels safe, secure, and loved amid the confusion and the unsettling events.

Still, I do make mistakes. The first night after Jake died, I put Leo’s dinner bowl in the kitchen, rather than in the lounge, where he’d always been fed (because he wouldn’t eat unless he was fed well away from the others). He didn’t want to eat. It took a couple more days, and some moves back and fourth before he adjusted to eating in the kitchen. We got there, but it was a slow process, and probably more difficult than it needed to be.

The bigger failure was tonight. I picked up the towel as I’d planned, but Leo came back into the house much faster than I’d anticipated (it was raining). He caught me moving the towel, so I dumped it on a different part of the floor, and he duly gave it a thorough sniffing.

Ultimately, the important thing is to do the best we can, not try to be perfect: No one’s perfect, obviously, and we’ll get some things wrong. As long as we try to make a furbaby’s adjustment to loss as easy for them as we can, and as long as we try to help them feel safe, secure, and loved, they’ll be fine.

One last bit of advice: All grief, human or furbabies’, is highly individual. There are no timelines or timetables, and things will take as long as they take. If we focus on helping our furbabies get through their grief, they’ll be fine. And so will we.

Jake is home

I posted the photo above on my personal Facebook this afternoon after I got home from picking up Jake's ashes. As is so often the case, there’s a lot more to the story.

It begins at the beginning, oddly enough: The place rang me around 10:30 this morning to tell me Jake's cremains were ready. I was ready to head out shortly after lunchtime, but I realised I didn’t know the actual address so I could have Apple Maps guide me there (it’s a part of Hamilton I’m not familiar with). Apple Maps couldn’t find it. I Googled it and Google Maps could find me directions, and told me it would take me more than two hours to get there—until I realised it was set to give me walking directions. It was about 17 minutes by car.

Once I was ready to head out of the driveway, I realised that Google Maps was sending me toward a road that doesn’t exist (though it’s under construction, it won’t open until somewhere toward the middle of next year). I went the correct way, though I was worried this was a bad start.

As I got close, I found out that the road I was headed for was closed for construction (as so many are in that part of Hamilton). I missed my turn and it seamlessly directed me in a big loop back to the turn I missed. However, it turns out the road I missed was no more than a few hundred metres from my destination—a win.

I parked my car and rang them, as I had on Friday. There was no answer. I waited a few minutes and rang again. Same result. And also a few minutes later.

I moved my car out on the road and rang again. Nothing. I knew the place has a small staff, and I thought that if they were dealing with someone dropping off a furbaby, there might not be anyone to answer the phone. I completely understood that, and how some folks could have trouble leaving after bringing in their loved one.

However, that was the worst possible thing for me, that sitting here waiting. It made me picture Jake lying there when I dropped him off, and also remember leaving him there. Remembering such things is always a trigger for me, and sitting there like that, watching the front door to see if the person left, just prolonged the possibility that I might lose it.

Luckily, after waiting more than half an hour, I was annoyed, and that cancelled out the rest. Though I couldn’t be sure until I was back in the car with Jake.

I rang again and let it ring, and finally someone answered. I went to the door, she joined me, and I collected Jake. I had another stop to make, so I put is ashes in the boot of my car where I knew they’d be safe, and then left. A few metres down the road I stopped: I realised I was so anxious to get out of there that I hadn’t properly looked at what they handed me to make sure it was Jake. It was, and I continued on.

My next stop was the vet which had offered to give me credit for the medicine I bought for Jake only hours before he died. I tok a credit to use for future vet services. Meanwhile, I also had a large bag of Jake’s dog food that I’d never opened, and the pet store in the complex agreed to a refund (they don’t do store credit). Then, I got a harness for Leo so we can go on walks and I can secure him when we go in the car. That wasn’t smooth.

I’m still on a diuretic, and sometimes, with little warning, I have to go to the loo. Except, due to Covid restrictions, their loo was closed. I knew if I was there much longer I’d wet myself, but the very friendly and helpful clerk was explaining all the benefits of the various harnesses, then, when I picked one, she told me all the colours available—it would’ve been hilarious if it hadn’t been my pants that were about to get a big wet spot. When I sat back down in my car, I was much better.

Traffic was a bit heavy (school was out by then), but not too bad. I got home, gave Leo his welcome home treat, went to the loo, and then we sat down and I took the photo above. How I got to that point was a bigger deal than I’d expected, but there’s even more to it, a background to everything.

Nigel and I had all our late furbabies cremated and put into small cardboard boxes because we always planned to do something with them.

They all ended up in our buffet cabinet, and we often sadly joked about our “collection”. We talked about getting a big rimu box to put all those little boxes in, but we also talked about what, ultimately, should happen to them.

We weren’t going to scatter them because there was nowhere special enough to them or us. One time we even talked about which furbabies should go with whom when we died. Years passed.

In Nigel’s last few days at home, we talked anything and everything, as I’ve said many times. What to do with the furbabies’ ashes was one of those things.

“I want you to put the furbabies ashes in the box with me, and you can take Jake, Sunny, and Leo with you,” he said to me—and immediately interjected, “Unless you want to take Curzon!”

Curzon was the cat Nigel gave me for my 40th birthday, and he was my special boy: I was the only human he allowed to pick him up outside where the other cats might see. But he was also Nigel’s special boy: Every night when Nigel went to bed, Curzon would curl up beside him, Nigel’s arm wrapped around him. Then, when I went to bed, he’d move over and curl up against me. It was pretty magical for both of us.

“No, that’s okay—you can take Curzon,” I told him. I was happy that our beloved babies would be mixed with Nigel’s ashes—it felt like the perfect thing to do. Besides, I thought I’d have a long time with the other three, and they’d all live out their lives with me. I now completely understand that there are no guarantees whatsoever in life.

I’ll keep Jake and Sunny’s ashes right next to Nigel’s for now. Eventually I’ll put them all away, just not now, not yet. I’m not ready.

The bigger question is what will happen to Nigel’s and my own ashes. Nigel left that up to me, which is actually one of the biggest burdens I faced, even though I’m pretty sure I know what I’ll do (a topic for another day; some details aren’t settled yet).

My advice is to think thoroughly about what you want to happen with your mortal remains and write it down so no one has to guess. Still, since Nigel and I did talk about everything, I instinctively know what’s right, and what isn’t. I also know he completely trusted me to make the choice that was right for us both, me in particular.

Our furbabies never had to think about such things, of course, but they were always a part of our plans, just as much as they were a part of our lives. Working out what to do with their ashes and our own was just another, logical part of that.

Collecting Jake’s ashes was hard on me, and incredibly sad in what’s already a sad month for me. But I carry the strength of certainty that comes from having spent so many years talking about so much so often with Nigel. I have no confusion or uncertainty. So, sad, yes, but the truth is that I’m incredibly lucky to be so centred.

And all of that carried me through the entire day. I’ll take it.

This post includes revised and expanded parts of something I posted to my personal facebook this afternoon, and is also based on notes I wrote while waiting in my car.

Just the two of us

It’s kind of hard to get my head around this: Leo and I are all that’s left of the family of six we had on February 14, 2019. Bella died that day, Nigel a bit more than seven months later, then on February 2 of this year, Sunny left us, followed by Jake yesterday. So, roughly two years, seven months ago, we were a happy family getting on with life, but on Valentine’s Day, 2019, life started to leave our family. And now it’s just the two of us.

I think that, in a sense, I’m shell-shocked by all the loss and grief over that time. I never get the chance to just sort of adjust to my new reality because death has been always hanging around, just out of view in a shadow somewhere, but I could sometimes catch a glimpse of it, and usually sense it, just waiting to come and take away another member of my family.

This leads to unpleasant thoughts: What if something happens to Leo? What if something happens to me? Something will happen sooner or later, but is death still hanging around waiting to harvest one or both of us sooner rather than later?

The truth, as I so often say, is that none of us has the slightest idea when, precisely, we’ll take our last breath, unless, maybe, we choose the time and method of our departure, but even then nothing’s certain. That’s why I keep harping on about living for the moment, not the hour, day, week, month, or year, because sooner or later the very last moment for ourselves or someone we love will arrive.

At the same time, we can’t live our lives with the expectation of imminent death because it could be years or decades away. Focusing only on the possibility of death would waste the moments we so have, every bit as much as if we ignore our mortality completely and pretend we and those we love will live forever. The balance, I think, lies in being prepared for the inevitable, but to also try to pack as much life as we can into however many moments we end up getting. In other words, I think we should focus on every moment, not on how or when it, or any other moment, might end.

I’ve been trying to do that for the past two years in particular, often succeeding, actually, but sometimes failing miserably—I’m not perfect, shocking though that may be for some people to hear. But this parade of tragedy and grief I’ve been enduring keeps me determined to continue striving to live every moment, not just pass through them.

Toward that end, yesterday we gathered for dinner at my brother- and sister-in-law’s house, and I brought Leo. I could never bring three dogs, especially with Sunny’s lengthy illness, nor even Jake as age began to catch up with him. It also had to be all three (then, two…) or none.

Leo has a history of being carsick unless someone is holding him (no, I wasn’t driving last night), and my plan is to slowly try to get him used to riding in the car so I can bring him with me when I go visiting some people. That, and maybe to take him for walks in different places.

Leo hasn’t been on many walks since he came to live with us. Jake and Sunny were much older, and Jake was already getting arthritic, when Leo came to live us, but even so, Leo was too little to be able to walk as far as them. After Nigel died, I knew I couldn’t handle walking three dogs by myself, then Sunny got sick and Jake got even more arthritic, and walks with them became impossible. Leo will get them now.

I need to add here that my fully-fenced yard is quite large by Hamilton standards, and the dogs were always able to wander around the yard as much as they wanted to, and Leo often ran around the yard—or insisted that I run around inside the house chasing him. All of which means that they had lots of opportunity for as much exercise as they could tolerate, but Leo will now get to come on walks with me, something I need to do for health reasons. That was something I’ve put off mainly because I didn’t want to leave the dogs alone, sitting in the front window watching me walk away, and them not understanding why I was leaving them behind (they were used to seeing me drive off).

Life for Leo and me will be very different now that it’s just the two of us in our (very) little family, but I’m going to do the best I can to make sure it’s a good one for him—us—so that we can have many wonderful moments together for however long the fates allow. And if I do catch a glimpse of that dark, figure lurking in the shadows, I’ll do what I’ve always done: I’ll ignore it. Leo and I have far too many great moments to experience, even though it’s now just the two of us. I intend to make the most of as many as I can.

Leo and I took the photo above earlier this evening.

Farewell, Jake

This morning our beautiful boy Jake died here at home. He was 14 years, 5 months old.

It was only yesterday that I took Jake to the vet and got some prescriptions that might have made his condition better so he could have a better quality of life. I was going to start them this morning, but never got the chance.

I woke up around 8 this morning, intending to sleep in. Jake was laying on the blanket box at the foot of the bed, panting, much as he did the day before. The fast breathing wasn’t unusual, nor was where he was: He often lay on the blanket box when he got too hot. About 10 or 15 minutes after eight, I got up to go to the loo, but first I went to the bottom of the bed and petted Jake and spoke softly to him, much as I’d done yesterday morning, I was hoping I might calm him a bit.

I went to the en suite, and then realised it had become quiet in the bedroom: I couldn’t hear Jake panting. I went back out to him, and realised he wasn’t breathing anymore. I stroked him, told him he was a good boy, everything was okay, and that I loved him. It then became clear that he was gone, but I talked to him some more, anyway. I lay a “dog towel” over him like a blanket—not that it made any difference to him or anything else, but it felt like the right thing to do.

I rang my brother-in-law, and he and my sister-in-law came round to be with me for awhile. I rang the crematorium that handled Sunny and made arrangements to being Jake in. My in-laws left to run a few errands while I fed Leo and had a shower, then when they came back, I picked up Jake and his towel, carried him to my in-laws car, laid him on the back seat and then sat next to him. I held one of his legs and gently stroked the fur.

Once we got to the place, things were a little more complicated than they’d normally be because we’re still at Covid Alert Level 2. For example, I had to go into the room by myself (I was meeting with a staff member, and the space was too small to have more than two people in there.

She took the information, I paid the bill (I could’ve paid on pick up, but by paying today I could have someone else pick up Jake’s cremains for me, if need be). They should be ready on Monday or Tuesday of next week.

I spent a few last minutes with Jake. I removed his collar, and the towel I’d wrapped him in, gave his some final pats and a kiss, told him I loved him and thanked him for everything. Then I left. I didn’t want to spend any more time there because I knew other people might be bringing in their lost furbabies, but mostly because I won’t cry in front of others, especially strangers, so I needed to leave.

We had lunch after that, which was a nice diversion. They dropped me off at home and headed out. Once inside, I put the towel on the floor for Leo to sniff, just as I did with Sunny’s towel after she died. I got out Jake’s collar and let Leo sniff it, then I hung it on another knob on the dresser in the my bedroom. Leo sniffed it again.

Leo was acting a little off, not sitting in my lap as he ordinarily does, and a couple times he lay on the floor in one of his spots that was near the towel. I think that was coincidental, though, because when I stood up I realised he wasn’t as close to it as it appeared when I was sitting down.

I went to the bedroom and looked at the spot where Jake died—which was hard not to do, since it’s directly in my line of sight as I approach the room. I sat down on the edge of the bed and started sobbing. Leo looked at me, then walked over and sniffed Sunny’s collar, then Jake’s. He walked back to were he had been, and looked at me again. Then he looked at the collars, back at me, back at the collars, and back at me. I felt like he was telling me he understood, and maybe he did. He’d sniffed Jake after he died, and they can smell things we humans can’t, so maybe he understood far better than I could’ve known. Later, he sniffed the spot where Jake died.

My brother- and sister-in-law told me later that while they were waiting in the car at the crematorium a tui landed on a branch and started singing loudly, and two smaller birds landed near it. Some people, some Māori in particular, believe that birds showing up after someone dies is their spirit coming to say hello and goodbye, to let the survivors know it’s okay. In this case, it seemed to them like it was Nigel, Jake, and Sunny. I don’t think there’s likely to be any sort of afterlife, much as I’d like to think there’s something, but I do like the idea of the furbabies being reunited with Nigel, all of them happy and free of pain or suffering. Whether I think that’s likely or not, and so, whether I think birds can be messengers or not is irrelevant: The thought comforts some people, and that’s a good thing.

I know that if Jake could choose, he’d have chosen to die at home, a place he knew well and felt safe in. And, if he was capable of such a thought, he’d want to spare me from having to make the decision to take him to the vet for the final time. Just as with the birds, I don’t know if any of that is actually what happened, but I like to think it is, for his sake as much as mine.

The main thing for me is that my family is now just me and Leo, and the all of the beings that made up our family for most of the 24 years I had it have all died. Leo came into our lives only about 16 months before Nigel died, and since he arrived he lost his best friend Bella, then his other daddy, then Sunny, and now Jake. Our family may be greatly diminished by our losses, but we still have each other, and that’s a good thing.

However, my family is still dimmed a lot. When I shared the news on my personal facebook this morning, I added in a comment, “I fucking hate September.” I truly do, and this is just more reason for that. That feeling is so strong and real that only the strongest curse word I use would come even close to conveying the depth of my feeling. Losing loved ones is the worst possible feeling, I think.

The only other thing to say is to adapt what I said after Sunny died: Goodbye, Jake. Thank you for the honour of being your furdaddy. And if there is something after this life, then please give Daddy Nigel an extra kiss for me, and also kisses from Leo, too. ❤️

The photo up top is of Jake on his fourteenth birday back in April. The photo at the bottom of this post is apparently the last one I took of him, about a month ago. It was shortly after that day that he stopped trying to jump onto the sofa.

Now, it’s Jake’s turn

This morning I noticed that Jake was breathing quite fast, faster than normal, and fast enough for me to notice. I tried cuddling him in case he’d just awakened from a bad dream, but his breathing didn’t calm. I watched him for the morning, then I rang and booked him into the vet.

The thing is, Jake’s now considered “geriatric” and, at 14, is the equivalent of an 81 year old human. I knew he had a lot of problems that could be expected of a guy his age: I often say, “He’s hard of hearing, hard of seeing, and hard of moving. But he’s happy.” Even so, I know he’s declining as he ages, and I could tell something had changed today.

Jake was diagnosed with heart failure, which is common enough in old dogs, and he has problems with his mitral valve (like Sunny had). This has led, the vet believes, to a “collapsed trachea”, which makes him cough. It’s also led to a bit of muscle loss along his back.

Even so, he’s in good spirits and seems happy, he has a (very) healthy appetite, and he doesn’t seem to be in any distress, so we’re going to try medication to ease his symptoms. We’ll see how he goes and decide what to do after he adjusts (he’s got a recheck on Tuesday).

The thing is, I’m well aware that he’s an elderly dog now, and even under the very best circumstances, the time before him won’t be long—we just can’t know how long. I’ve said for some time that I don’t know if he’ll see his 15th birthday, but that’s up to him.

As always, I’ll do whatever I need to do to help him be as healthy as he can be for as long as he’s happy and content. He’ll let me know when it’s time (they always do), but that’s not now, and probably not soon. Hopefully.

So, that’s where we’re at. Leo (who, by the way, at 4 is 30 in human years) was NOT happy about being left home all alone. When I got home, he cuddled up in my lap to keep me home. Meanwhile, Jake lay on the floor next to my chair. I hope both will continue doing that for a long time, but none of us knows how long we have, do we? I learned that in the hardest possible way. So, I’ll just be glad for what I have in each moment, and for the gifts those moments truly are.

This is a revised and extended version of something I posted to bt personal Facebook when I got home from the vet. The photo above is of Jake saying hello to me on his first night in our home, back in June 2007, and it was included in my blog post about his arrival.

Seize each day

This photo is from two years ago yesterday, one of my last photos of Nigel. I ran across it last night when doing something else, but since I’d already shared a memory on Facebook, I didn’t share this one there, nor here. I have a lot of photos like this, showing Nigel and the furbabies napping together, and I took them because they looked so adorable. I don’t think he knew I did that. But this particular photo carries far more than mere cute nostalgia: I now know that the cancer that would kill Nigel was already working on doing that. I wish I’d crawled in among them, but I probably didn’t—this was nothing new or unusual, after all, and I naturally assumed there were would be maybe hundreds more opportunities for a family nap over the decades to follow. I couldn’t have known how wrong I was, or how our blissful ordinary moments were quickly running out.

We all live our lives as if we’ll live forever, even though we know we won’t. Here’s my advice: If you have the opportunity to spend a quiet moment with your most-loved person, seize it with all your might. One day one of you will be gone, and the chance to have such moments will evaporate, leaving the one left behind with memories, and maybe photos, of what you had. I’ve learned that there’s literally nothing in the universe that’s more important than love, and focusing on that fact is what matters most of all. I wish I understood that simple truth when I took this photo of my family napping, but I didn’t, and, I know, I couldn’t have.

Focusing on each day won’t make it any easier when the last one arrives, but having a storehouse of memories of days shared—or even just hours—will lighten the burden of loss. I’m extremely lucky: I have hundreds of photos from the life that Nigel and I shared, and even more happy memories. But I still wish I’d joined that family nap two years ago, and I wish with every fibre in my being that I could do so right now. Of course.

Seize each day, embrace the love that surrounds you. If you’re the one left when the shared days run out, you’ll never regret doing that. I learned that too late, but you don’t have to. Get into the special moment that’s right in front of you. Please.

This is a slightly revised version of something I posted to my personal Facebook this morning.

A good, cold, subdued day

Yesterday was a cold and busy (though subdued) day. That morning, I got a delivery, my second set of lightning cables to replace the one that someone (who we’ll call “Leo”) accidentally broke. This set is reinforced with woven aluminium shielding, However, they feel a little less robust than it looks like in this photo—or in the photo on the website of the Australian company I ordered them from (and they took a week to get here from Australia).

I got three cables for roughly the price of the other one I bought (which so far is working well), and I chose the mix of 1 metre, 2 metres (the length of the one “someone” broke…), and a 3 metre one. I’ve never needed a 3 metre cable, but if I do, then a reinforced one sounds like a good idea. The 1 metre one will go in my car to replace the too-long one in there now. And, yes, they’re all certified Apple compliant.

That evening I decided to make a roast chicken dinner, and I wanted to try using the spatchcock method, something I’ve never done before (best to try it out before I try serving it up for the family!). First effort wasn’t bad, but I should make one more attempt before serving it up to family. The roast potatoes were perfect, though: Crispy on the outside and floury on the inside. I almost never make potatoes, so it’s always good when they turn out good (Nigel and I weren’t all that fussed about potatoes). I also made gravy from scratch, though I’m a little out of practice doing that.

It was also cold yesterday. At my house, the low in the morning was -1.4 (29.48F), and the high was 9.1 (48.3F). The official high in Hamilton was 6 (42.8F). I decided to hunker down and stay warm, a decision made easier because someone (who we’ll call “Jake”) woke me up at 2.30am to let him outside to go to the toilet. Then, “someone” made me get up around 7am, and I was tired all day—until my afternoon nap.

So, added up, today was a cold, subdued, and yet still busy day. It was a good day, in other words. I’ll take it.

This post is based on something I posted to my personal Facebook last night.

Sunny would've been thirteen

Today would have been Sunny’s thirteenth birthday, though that was not to be. At this point last year, she was still doing okay, and was still happy and loving, but she was also in gradual decline, something that slowly got worse for her until she told me she’d had enough.

Back in March, I hung Sunny’s collar on a drawer pull so Leo could sniff it. He still does that, usually in the morning when he first gets up, and/or sometimes later in the day. I think he misses her. We all do.

Nigel and I always used to say, “Sunny by name, sunny by nature”, and while her last months weren’t her best, this one day a year ago today was one of her good days, one where she lived up to that saying. In fact, that day she even gave me one of my favourite photos of her (above). When I posted her 2020 official birthday portrait on Instagram, I said:

Our girl Sunny is TWELVE today! She deigned to let me take a photo of her, though she’s not really into photos. Despite recent health issues, she’s still the same loving, happy girl as always. Happy Birthday, Sunny!

Sunny was the last of us to have their first birthday since Nigel died, and the first to die since Nigel did (Bella died the February before Nigel). I always thought that I was the only one who was sensitive to any of that that, but since Leo seems to miss Sunny, I’m wondering if I was wrong about that. On the other hand, they don’t seem sad or distressed, and never did except, maybe, right after she died. They don’t take any notice of their birthdays, either, of course, and are no doubt blissfully unaware that today would’ve been Sunny’s. Dogs are lucky like that.

If Sunny were still here, I’d say Happy Thirteenth Birthday, Sunny! I can’t tell her that in real life anymore, but I still think of her often. And we all still miss her—and her sister Bella, and especially her other daddy. Our family is much smaller now than it was at the start of 2019, but we manage. Together.

Related posts:

Sunny is twelve – What turned out to be her last birthday
Sunny is eleven
Sunny is ten
Sunny is nine
Sunny is eight
Sunny is seven
Sunny is six
Sunny is five
Sunny is four
Sunny is three – Her first birthday with us
Sunny has arrived – When Sunny came to live with us
All posts mentioning Sunny