life

Max

~ thedailydish ~ Leave a comment

My dog Max died two weeks ago.  Although his legs had begun to fail, he was otherwise in good health and spirits, and his passing was wholly unexpected.  We’d taken a long walk the day before and he’d been so full of joy!  Rushing ahead, leading the charge, till finally he was so spent he’d practically collapsed.  He woke us early the next morning, about 3:30 am, crashing around downstairs.  My husband rose to let him out, thinking he had to go to the bathroom.  Max went out into the yard and laid down in the grass.  He wouldn’t get up, even after John called him several times.  His breathing was labored, his tongue hung to one side and his lips felt cold. Something was seriously wrong.

John came and got me, and together we went outside and rolled Max onto a blanket and carried his heavy (150 lb.) frame inside.  We placed him gently on the rug, then fetched blankets and pillows for ourselves.  We laid, side by side, as if on a camping trip.  Petting him, speaking to him, sensing – somehow – that this was the end.  Just shy of 4:30 his breathing became almost imperceptible, punctuated only by a few deep gasps. He didn’t seem to be in any pain. John woke the girls in time for them to say goodbye. And then Max was gone.

His swift departure has left a hole in the heart of my family.  Max lived with us his entire life, from 7 weeks to almost 10 years.  He grew up side by side with our daughters, and neither can remember life without him.

We miss him terribly.  But even in death Max remains a steadfast presence in our lives.  I see him when I walk the woods, I feel him beside me at the beach.  Each morning as I rise, I meet him in the hallway where we parted, and every meal I fail to finish I take out to his yard.  2 weeks ago, Max died, and we buried him under the apple tree.  And next year, when flowers bloom from his grave, I will think of him all the more.

A dear neighbor gave us a book of poems to help us through our loss.  Many are consoling, some difficult to even read, but the one which has touched me the most was written by Rudyard Kipling and is entitled Four-Feet.

I have done mostly what most men do,
And pushed it out of my mind;
But I can’t forget, if I wanted to,
Four-Feet trotting behind.

Day after day, the whole day through —
Wherever my road inclined —
Four-feet said, “I am coming with you!”
And trotted along behind.

Now I must go by some other round, —
Which I shall never find —
Somewhere that does not carry the sound
Of Four-Feet trotting behind.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

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My 20-year high school reunion is coming up next month, and I’ve yet to RSVP.  In true blog fashion, I’ve decided to put the question to my readers.
Should I Stay or Should I Go?

BASICS: The reunion is being held over Thanksgiving weekend in Philadelphia.  About a quarter of my HS class has committed to going, and another quarter said “Maybe.”  I am one of them.  Tickets cost $50 – 70 each.

BACKGROUND: I no longer live in Philly, where the reunion is being held.  I presume Thanksgiving weekend was chosen to accommodate travelers who’d be returning to the area to visit family.  Unfortunately my family lives in Atlanta, and my husband and I had planned on celebrating Thanksgiving here in Maine. 

MY HUSBAND: Is supportive of the trip, but financially it would be a burden.  My parents are tied up for the weekend, so we wouldn’t have anyone to watch our kids (or pets) here in Portland.  The reunion would necessitate a hotel stay for two nights, boarding of our pets, as well as a babysitter for our daughters during the event.  It would also mean purchase of reunion tickets, gasoline, food for four, travel expenses.  In sum: NO SMALL CHUNK OF CHANGE.  Add the fact that it’s Thanksgiving Weekend, guaranteeing the roads will be packed.

BUT: A part of me really wants to go.  It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone from high school.  I had many close friendships and have reconnected with many friends via Facebook.  The reunion should be fun.  They’re having an open bar & food, music, a video montage and even swag bags.  A lot of people have already bought tickets, likely more will attend.  For the sheer pleasure (and curiosity) of seeing what people look like after 20 YEARS (!) part of me says YES!

MY DILEMMA: Attending the reunion is possible, but it’s a big unnecessary expense.  I also suffer from Meniere’s Disease, a condition often exacerbated by travel and stress.  Portland is 7 1/2 hours by car from Philadelphia; a do-able drive, but in traffic it will be longer.  Bottom line: ???

POSSIBLE SOLUTION:  Enjoy Thanksgiving here, then go to the reunion by myself. If I went alone, it would be a much smaller burden, involving less stress and expense – one ticket, one room, food for me, and my husband could stay home and take care of things.  But how much fun would that really be?  How many spouses attend reunions solo?  I’d hazard a guess at very few.  It’s not that I don’t feel comfortable or confident enough to go alone, it’s just.. not ideal. 

SO. SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO? I don’t want to ditch my husband for my reunion, but I don’t want to miss it either.  Is it worth the hassle and expense of us going as a family?  Is it better to simply stay home??  Would I have a good time if I went by myself or would I just feel awkward?  Has anyone been in a similar situation?  What do you think?! Give me your 2 cents!

NOTE: My two friends above WILL be at the reunion!

Big Foot? That You?

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Last night my husband & I were out on our back porch, stargazing.  It was late (around midnight), and dark.  After viewing through the binoculars and telescope for a while, we decided to relax for a few minutes before turning in.  We’re sitting there quietly, when we hear this rustling noise coming from the other side of the yard, maybe 60-70 ft away.  The first time we heard it, neither of us said anything, but after the 2nd or 3rd time, my husband asked, “Do you hear that?”  I said, “Yes.”  But it was hard to make out what it could be.  We keep a box fan in the room right above the porch, and the whirring noise of the motor was drowning out the sound.  Another rustle.  Then another.  My husband announced he was going in to get the flashlight.  “But what if it’s a Yeti?” I joked.  He went inside.  The rustling noises continued.  Sitting there in the dark, alone, I was getting a bit nervous.  I started thinking about Big Foot.  You know, I don’t think they’ve ever truly discounted his existence completely..  What if…?  I counted the seconds.  John seemed to be taking his sweet time.  That big flashlight was just in the adjacent room, what could be taking him so long?  I heard the fan switch off above me.  What the hell-?  HE’S UPSTAIRS?!  Another few minutes ticked by.  I was starting to sweat, wondering whether I’d be carted off by the time he got back.  The rustling noises had increased slightly in intensity and volume, perhaps b/c the fan was off – or maybe b/c Big Foot was getting hungrier.  And Closer.  FINALLY. John stepped back out onto the porch.  I breathed an audible sigh of relief and said, “WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU?”  He explained he had to go to the bathroom.  I told him I could have been eaten by the Yeti, which at that point was nearly visible across the yard (in my mind, anyway).  He laughed and sat down beside me.  Very quietly we counted 1,2,3, then ON with the flashlight.  Light blazed across the yard, illuminating the guinea pigs’ pen, and one extremely determined red fox perched right on top!  The fox stopped pawing the lid and looked up, as if to say. “Excuse me?”  We stared at each other for several seconds, before John stood up to make chase.  The fox took off, hesitantly, and we went to check on our poor pets.  They were all fine.  Fortunately the handmade pen is super sturdy and has a thick, wire lid for exactly this purpose (to thwart would-be predators).  I petted the piggies, and then worried out loud about the fox coming back.  My husband reassured me, “Oh, I’m sure he will, babe.  He’s probably here every night.”