Doggy Done

Doggy Done

In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril,  Amlodopine,  Omeprazole, Tamsulosin

On The Stereo: Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues: Nina Simone

When last we discussed our dogs, we had built our new home in Tuscaloosa and were vacationing  at Bald Head Island, in North Carolina.  Buddy, the great Lab monster-sized dog had tolerated our new pet, Toby, who had been thrown from a pickup truck, onto our lawn.  Toby lived with us by the grace of Buddy, who mostly ignored his existence.

Buddy called it quits in 2000.  Toby howled forever, improving our supposition that he was part wolf.   His grief was palpable.  He tolerated his then solitary walks and whined at night alone in his bed.  Toby's requiem would break our hearts.

And, as always, the unexpected occurred.  Kristin had been dog shopping and had found a Labrador puppy, she would name Mayzie.  She phoned us to let us know and to ask if we would be interested in her brother, who was still available.  Kath and I looked at each other, realized what a stupid idea it was, and with barely a tick of the clock, agreed to take him.  Toby needed him.  He would become our Grady.

 

We believed that Grady would be a companion for Toby.   But Toby had other ideas.  Illusions of grandeur.  He became the new king.  Alpha beast.  He remembered how Buddy had directed him and the household for years.  Now he donned the crown and became the big boss - a remarkable turnaround, considering how docile he had been previously. The weak became strong.  Poor Grady did not know what lay ahead.

                                                         Toby takes charge of the puppies.

Those boys lived with us for years to come.   Our home on Commodore Drive was my personal favorite.  It was on the lake and had 5 and 1/2 acres of land, most of it wooded.  It was doggy dreamland.  They swam, boated, and ran around our property like squirrels on speed.  Every now and then, Toby would run off, and eventually return with a gift - massive branch, a lost ball, a rendered deer leg - he was a wanderer that boy.

Mostly, it was a great place for the boys, me included.  We had our chance to run and play fetch and enjoy water sports for all.  We shared our pre-bedtime pee in our yard.  Me and my boys.  Not another house in sight.  Private and beautiful.  We boys lived. 

                                                            SuperToby the wonder dog.

Our neighbors were exceptional.  We still remain in contact with many.  They were caring and fun.  Rarely a week would go by that did not include a gathering at someone's home.  

In retirement, we found a new home in Fort Myers.  Much more modern, on a golf course and in closer proximity to new neighbors.  We would have to change our bathroom habits.

Our boys accepted the change, and as we did not receive any official complaint from them, I must presume their new digs were acceptable.  Toby remained in charge.  Grady did what was expected of him.  He loved us, but he followed his leader.

Then we lost Toby.  He was Kat's favorite of all our pets.  But he had lived enough.  It was a sad occasion. Grady took it with a grain of salt.  The king was dead.  Long live the new king.  

Our time in Fort Myers gave out.  We were spending much of our time driving to and from Tampa, and Moffitt.  Our existence was battling cancer.  It had been my Fort Myers oncologist's opinion that my time left on earth would be measured in months.  And he thought that using one hand to count those months would be about right.  

                                                                   They're always gone

And then our Grady breathed his last breath.  Our last dog.  Gone.

Each and every one of our four legged family members lived thirteen years.  No more.  No less.

Maggie, Buddy, Toby and Grady.  You were, and remain, our family.

Fathers Day has come and gone.  The Tysons joined us for evening cocktails, thanks to FaceTime.  We miss our family.  We really do.  And I am certain we are not alone.

I had five biopsies taken on Friday.  And freezing on areas of concern on my hands and face.  I experienced some issues with the closing of the wounds and by the time I got home, my shirt and pants were blood soaked.  Yuck.  Today things are finally better.  I don't think we have any sheets or pillow cases that have not been colored in my blood.  Years and years of wounds.  We talk about buying new bedding, but realize it would be a waste.  We do not believe the end of the operations to be in sight.  Full speed ahead.  Ignore the damage yet to come.

There was a difference at the grocery store today, according to my bride.  Every single person wore a mask.  Everyone.  That has not been the case on earlier trips out.  Our Covid case numbers in Florida have jumped, and perhaps that news garnered the attention of more people in our area, who had previously been a bit cavalier.

Please stay healthy, my friends.  Thank you for dedicating some of your time to be with us. 

Your notes and calls (and criticisms) are, as always, welcome.

Love from the land of sunshine.

jrobinmullen@gmail.com