I Hate You, 2011

My dog died on New Year's Day- the first freaking day of 2011.  He was 10 years old.

I guess technically he was my brother's dog, but for all intents and purposes, he was mine.  Shadow was a Scottie dog- they can be a little bit aloof and they like their alone time.  But he loved me and earning his love meant something because he didn't feel that way about most anyone else.  When I was pregnant with Spencer, it was as if he could sense I needed him and he slept beside me every night.  He didn't really like to sleep with anyone because he was afraid of heights, couldn't jump very high, and liked having his own space to stretch without touching anyone.  But during those months he'd jump up beside me and settle in the crook of my bent legs, never leaving my side.

When we first brought him home, I was ridiculously allergic to him- so much so that I went on allergy shots- 12 injections a week for 52 weeks.  I loved that dog so much, I went on allergy shots for him!

He'd been really sick recently, but it looked like he was getting better.  Since my brother was at school and my parents both work during the day, I did the majority of taking care of him.  And he was getting better.

But then something just stopped working inside him.
 
And I wasn't there.

And he died.

When I needed him, he never left me, but when he needed me, I wasn't there.  He died and I wasn't there and I should have been. 

My eyes are swollen into little tiny slits because I can't stop crying.  

I don't like 2011; it stinks.  I guess the only good thing is that it has to get better, right? 

I am going to miss you Shadow, my little Stinky Stinkerson, Little Man Boy.

Attack at the Beauty Parlor

Saturday afternoon Spencer and I were in the car driving to her PGP's house.  I called my mom to let her know what we were doing and to find out where the plans were for Sunday- Father's Day.  When she didn't answer at home I tried her cell, which she never answers.  I should have known immediately that something was wrong, because not only did she answer, she answered after the first ring.

I was a little startled by her voice, since I wasn't expecting it, and she sounded funny.  It was the exact same voice she answered the phone with eight years ago when I called from Italy and she told me that she'd "accidentally" killed my two year old fish. I asked her where she was and she hesitated and then said "the vet."  I could feel the panic beginning as I asked her why she was at the vet on a Saturday afternoon.  And that's when she told me.

My 13 year old dog, Josie, had been attacked by a German Shepard at the groomer's that morning.  I didn't hear anything else because I was started sobbing uncontrollably.  All I could think about was my precious senior citizen Josie, who was an abused puppy that I'd rescued 12 years ago, and that she was going to die.  Then I heard my mom yelling through the phone to calm down- Josie was going to live, but she'd been hurt pretty badly and had to be stitched up and stapled in several places. I started to cry again.

It didn't make sense how this could have happened- we always paid extra so that Josie could have a walk by herself on a leash and to have her own outside time.  Not because she can't be around other dogs, but because she's so old and we were afraid that if something happened she wouldn't be able to defend herself.  Well, as it turns out, she can defend herself, because the dog that attacked her also had to be stitched up.  But here's what happened.  After she received her hair cut, one of the dog walkers put Josie on her leash and took out to the enclosed play/park/yard.  The sign was up that said no dogs were in area- meaning it was supposed to be empty.  A few seconds after getting out there, this huge German Shepard, who'd been outside all along, ran up and attacked my Josie for no reason.  And it was just that one dog walker with them and she couldn't get the dog off of Josie.

It makes me sick to think about it. She is the sweetest dog and she had such a difficult start to her life (many of her ribs were broken as a puppy due to being kicked) and it was just not fair for something like this to happen to her in "Golden Girl Years."  My mom has been on a crusade for the past few days, the person who left the German Shepard out in the yard unattended was fired and she's meeting with the manager today.  They are paying for all of Josie's medical bills and, get this, they said she could be groomed there for free for the rest of her life... Ha, as if!

Josie is at home now and she's a pretty sad girl, although, I think shes enjoying getting spoiled by everyone.  On Saturday night she had a hard time walking and just wanted to have me rub her ears, but by yesterday she was doing much better.  She even got off the sofa to meet me at the door!  The vet said it's pretty amazing how well she's doing considering her age.  I guess that out of everything that could have happened as a result of her injuries, this is the best case scenario, but it should have NEVER happened.  I'm trying to be grateful that she's "okay," but I really mad that she has to go through this.

Here are some pictures that I took of her yesterday.  I could only get pictures of some of her injuries because she can't roll on her back, which means I couldn't get the ones on her tummy.  If you get a chance, please say a little prayer for her!

Show Us Your Life - The Pets

This week's Show Us How You Live blog hop is about our pets. Technically, I'm the current owner of two dogs, but in reality, it's just one. But I consider all of my parents pets as mine too, because they were all there when I was growing up and were our family dogs. (I think leaving them was the one of the hardest parts about leaving home, ha!) But I am the owner of my old gal Josie, I rescued her when I was 16.




It's still a bone of contention with everyone in my family, because they don't believe my story of how I found Josie, but it's the truth! I was driving my friend home from cheerleading practice, I pulled into her driveway and she got out. She stood there for a moment with car door open, and all of a sudden this little bundle of fur jumped in and started licking my face. She had no collar and was so sweet, so sweet.

I took her home and my parents were like, Nope, No WAY, NOT Going To Happen! You see, just a few months before I found a crate of puppies someone dropped off on the side of the ride and I brought all them, too. And it took a few weeks to find homes for all eight of them. So they were not looking to take in another stray dog. We hung up signs all around the neighborhood and posted an ad on the public access channel, but no one knew anything about her. Which turns out to be a good thing, since after we took her to the vet a week later, he told us that she's been abused. Two of her ribs were broken by someone kicking her and she'd pee on the floor whenever a man would walk by her. My parents felt so bad after hearing that, and they we'd could keep her.

I love my Josie, but she has some quirks to her! She can't stand feet, probably because of being kicked, and if you put your feet near her she runs away. Josie also doesn't know how to play. The vet said if a dog isn't exposed to playing activity when they are young, they often don't understand it when they're older. Every time we'd try and play with Josie, she'd look at as like we were torturing her. Later, when more dogs came along, she'd watch them play and try to mimic them, but we could tell she had no clue why she was shaking a stuffed animal or bringing us back a ball.



Josie is now about 13 years old and very set in her ways. I would have loved to bring her with me, but my dad grew especially attached to her when I was in college and Josie got very used to the other dogs. Whenever one of them as to leave the house for grooming or a vet appointment, they sit at the door and cry for them until they come home. So I knew I couldn't take Josie with me, it just wouldn't have been fair to her. Thankfully, we only live about about three miles away, so I get to see her all time. But it's not the same, and I miss her.

The other members of Josie's dog pack of which she is the Queen Bee:

Shadow the Scottie, and

Gus, the dog we inherited when my Mema died. Gus is six and Shadow is eight.

Spencer and I now have a Great Dane named Vivian Leigh. I've been delinquent in taking her photo recently, so I only have pictures of her from when she was smaller.

She's now 9 months old and 120 llbs, she's a very big, very sweet girl!

And those are "my" pets!

**More Show You How I Live Posts**

School Spirit Pride
Halloween Costumes
Baby Gear Favorite Dessert Recipes
Favorite Go-To Dinner Recipe
My Baby Shower
School Pictures
Favorite Vacation Spot
I Have a Child. The Jig is Up.
Here Comes the Maid Of Honor

Life Categories

It always intrigues me as to how people categorize their lives. It seems that most people use one or two ways to define a certain period of time- my aunt does it with her cars. If you ask her about a certain period of time, she will say something like "well, I was driving the white Honda then, so that was May of '95."

I am entirely different. Depending on my mood, or when you ask me, or what your asking me about, I use all different categories and phases. There's the obvious, before and after Spencer, but that's so recent to me, there are still 25 years before that, that need some sort of organization.

After Spencer, there is before and after my MeMa died. She passed away during my first week of law school, completely unexpectedly. It's a day I would love to forget, but every second of it is etched into my brain. We were waiting for her at church on Sunday and she was late; my Mema was never late. My mom was worried and we sat outside of church waiting for her to drive up. My Dad drove over to her house and when she didn't answer the door, he broke in and found her in her bedroom. She had died the night before of a massive heart attack, all alone, except for her dog Gus.

Gus, the dog we inherited.

My Mema was a huge part of my life, she had lived in the house behind us for my entire childhood. When she died, I felt like my world had shifted. She had the personality most like me and I was the only person who she let tell her what to do. I would have to say that her death had the biggest impact on my life, except for Spencer, and I tend to automatically put things in the "before or after" she died.

Next on the list is what perfume I was wearing. Weird, huh? I'm one of those people who wears a scent for a certain period of time and then retires it. I wore CK One for all of the 8th and 9th grade, after that it was Curve, then Glow, l'eau par kenzo, Light Blue, and finally Coco Mademoiselle. Whenever I smell one of these fragrances, I immediately go back to that period of my life. Right off the top of my head, I know that I wore Light Blue during Italy and for my Junior year of College.

After the perfume category, it's on to coats. I tend to do the same thing with coats that I do with perfume, I wear one for a certain period of time and then I retire it to the salvation army. The red faux fur coat, I wore for three years in a row in college- it was like my signature item. These are all the coats I've worn (there are more, I just couldn't find any pictures of them).

There are few other, like before and after my first dog Dusty died. I got her for my 5th birthday and she died the day after I got back from my mission trip to Peru. She was sick when I left and I was so scared that she was going to die while I was gone, but she waited for me! Dusty was the sweetest dog, and I had for 13 years, so I sometimes use my sweet puppy as a defining category.

Sometimes I think about things in terms of when I had faith that "could move mountains," and then when it became smaller than the requisite "mustard seed." When I was a "good girl" and then when I wasn't. I use this mostly when I'm trying to make a decision or answer a life question, like what would "the good Katie" have done? Why don't I want to do that? Was that version of me the real one or is this the real me? Was she wrong or am I right?

But for the most part, I tend to stick with lighter fare of coats and perfume to help sort out and define periods of my life. I don't know why, I didn't plan on making such a method, but it happened.

So how do you sort out and categorize your life? Is there just one way, or do you use many, like me? Are any of them as ridiculous as coats or perfume? Yes, I know they are ridiculous!