Dog Gone It

We've been talking about and planning his departure for literally months now.

It certainly didn't make it any easier this morning.

The vet showed up right on time.

Tiny Asian woman, she made me look overweight...

and old.

She was very efficient, nice and extremely compassionate.

Believe it or not, Ham actually got up off his dog bed in our bedroom the first time we called him. It usually takes us ten to fifteen minutes to get him interested in getting up at all.

He knew.

He was ready.

We weren't.

He meandered out on a leash with Massey and hiked his leg on one of our palms by the carport.

Then he simply followed Massey over to the sheet we had on the driveway and stood there...

patiently.

The vet gave him a sedative first. She told us to hold and hug him because the shot would hurt.

Ham never flinched or moved.

He was ready.

We still weren't.

Tim silently stood by in the garage, a few feet away.

Ham's head was in my lap and his paw was in Massey's hand.

The vet said we needed  to give the sedative a few minutes to work, so as we waited...

 I told her Ham's story.

The Boy had a story, that's for sure.

I don't think any of us said much after that, as she administered the finality cocktail through his vein...but I remember hearing her quietly, almost chortling (as she slowly shook her head) saying, as though in bewilderment...

"He had his own Facebook page?"

And just like that...

Ham was Dog gone.

I knew it would hurt (me) and it did.

I lost a a part of myself on that sheet, spread out to take Ham away.

As we all sat around, after the fact, the vet asked us if we wanted her to stay for a bit?

Nice to ask, nice to hear but we needed to be alone...

she knew, and expected that, so she left.

I went inside to get ready for work as Tim picked up a shovel.

 This is our forever home now, and where Ham needed to remain.

I can see where he is going to be now, every time I look out my kitchen window. I just won't be able to actually see him. 

That's okay, he couldn't see us either.

Our neighbors from across the street came down. The husband helped Tim dig a pretty massive hole,without having to ask for help...the Big Fella weighed almost as much as I do.

The wife stayed with Massey after I left for work.

We've been lucky enough to land in a really tight knit community, all living together in a protected nature preserve, with people who are all very conscientious about this wonderful gift of Mother Nature we are blessed to live in.

Ham found the perfect place to be remembered...

and he will be.

Til next time, COTTON

There Was A Dog

 We had to say goodbye.

We didn't want to.

We had to.

For over fifteen years you have been one of the family.

 Sir Charles, the bulldog, had to leave us last year.

We still miss "Chally-Too Phat."

Now we're going and have to live without you as well...

so you can be well, again.

You were chained to a tree before you first came to live with us.

Now you're chained to our hearts.

This was your equally handsome father, Boss.

You were the result of his one night (afternoon) stand.

...Oops.

You lived the first year of your life chained to a tree. It was a hot Georgia summer.

Talk about the dog days of summer.

Then we got Ziggy.

Now you're fifteen. Charlie was almost fourteen when he died and Ziggy just turned seven.

We've never had a more loyal or humble dog.

You started to go blind before you were seven years old. Your father (Boss) did as well.

It was genetic.

You adapted like it was nothing. You knew the house, yards and lay of the land. We never rearranged the furniture or left a chair pushed out from the table.

Then after you went totally blind, the dog fights started.

Charlie was a brat who's bark was worse than his bite...and he would lay in the middle of a doorway or middle of a room, or any other terrible choice of a place to plop down. Then when you'd bump into him,  he would elicit that gravelly, mean sounding growl,which he could not back up, in the very least.

As Tim once said:

"Ham never started a dog fight, but he always finished one."

Then we uprooted and moved you to Florida, to a house, yard and climate totally foreign to you.  It didn't take much getting used to, it was the size of a sardine can  (including the yard).

Then almost a year ago, we uprooted you once again and moved you to our new/old forever home.

It's been a tough move for you...I know.

We all know.

The yards are massive and totally strange to you. Plants, palms, oak trees and cacti are every where, in every part of the yard. Flower beds and vines cover the entire perimeter as well as right next to the house.

It's been really stressful on you...

and I am so, so sorry you are hurting.

We took Ham outside the other day...per his recent ritual.  He eats, goes out in the morning, sleeps for about ten hours, then goes out again to do his business and is back to snoring after a bumbling, now stumbling walk around the perimeter of the inside of the house.

That's no life for a dog who used to do this, on a daily basis:

We took him out the other day and he couldn't even stand up while he attempted to relieve himself.

It was humiliating.

He doesn't deserve that.

The mobile vet is coming in the morning to give Ham his wings back so he can soar again.

Nobody puts our Baby in a corner.

Not any more.

We've gone back and forth about when it was going to be time to do it, for way  too long... and has now ended up being not soon enough.

That's not fair to Ham.

He totally deserves every ounce of dignity we can afford and allow him to have...and we almost let him down, to make ourselves feel better, by simply having him around for us.

Humans are selfish.

 Dogs are selfless.

Once we bring them into our home and lives, they have to rely on us for every single thing, every single day, every single time.

And never complain about when or if, they even get it, at all.

What a concept to live by.

I've always had a dog and it has always made me  better person.

True story.

"Out of the mouths of babes."

Oh Ham.

It breaks our hearts to let you go, and we feel awful about making you suffer, at all.

Our bad.

It's hard to let a piece of yourself go.

Especially such an intricate, seemingly vital part.

Rest easy Big Fella.

You will be sorely missed.

Til next time,

COTTON

Back From The Brink

           Every year or two I do the same thing, knowing full well it isn't going to end well for me.

(pun intended)

I work hard and I play hard.

I always have.

We finally moved into our forever home  here in Orlando about nine months ago.

I simply love it.

It screams 'Me'

I hit the ground(s) running and haven't stopped. I do all the yard work and wouldn't have it any other way. I appreciate the offer of help but am so meticulous when it comes to yard work, I get on their nerves.

Even more....

If you can believe that!!

I always dress to work in the yard just like I am dressed in the first picture of me above, in the lime green top and blue shorts.

Trust me, I also had on flip flops.

I don't mind working in the heat, but I gotta be as comfy and cool as possible...I still suffer from hot flashes.

I don't wear gloves, I just rip the weeds out or toss away the clippings by hand to be raked up later.

I've tried wearing work boots, hats and gardening gloves.

It's a miserably hot outfit to me.

I already wear one of those when I'm on the clock at work.

I want to be comfy at home.

Call me crazy, you won't be the first... or last.

It has been raining like crazy and my yards are blooming and booming like they're on herbal growth hormone.

I usually work four days a week, sometimes five.

On my three days off, I spend two of them doing the front back and both side yards.

On the days I work

I go to work around ten AM, get home around four.

I putz around in the house, feed and water the dogs and head straight out to our wonderful screened in  porch, or as they call it here, lanai.

(still not used to that word)

It has a pergola off the porch, and is an awesome place to chill as well.

How can you not  have a cocktail or two after a hard days' work?

I sit out there and write friends and family or blog on my iPad until eleven or so. Then I go to bed, get up...shower, rinse and repeat.

It's the yard days that got me.

I started feeling puny last Thursday after getting home from work and by Saturday after work felt pretty much like do-do.

By Sunday morning I knew I wasn't getting out of bed any time soon. Thank goodness I was off until Wednesday.

I'd be fine and dandy by then!

Then like an idiot, while scrolling through my phone while resting in bed, I see a Monday lunch shift up for grabs on our employee site.

My daughter told me to  not pick the shift up and stay in bed.

But an opening shift?!  I'd go in at ten thirty, be cut by one and back home in bed before two.

I took it!

By the time Monday morning rolled around, I felt like the dude in a black shroud with a sickle was close by, just waiting for me to try and get out of bed.

I got up and went in anyway...Mondays were always slow.

When am I going to learn?

I got to work, the bartender wasn't there yet, and our manager was setting the bar up. The first table walked in right before we opened. I had five tables going before the next server got there at 11:15. Then a ten top walked in. Then a six top. Then another six top. Then lucky for us, just a five top.

Oops, then another five top followed by two tables of four.

It was insanity and the insanity didn't stop until well after three o'clock. I was sweating like Trump at the Apollo Theatre in Harlem.

My sinuses were killing me, I had a fever, It sounded like a blender was going off in my chest when I inhaled and exhaled and my both ears were stopped up. My equilibrium was off and so was my timing.

I was a wreck but plowed ahead.

I apologized a lot and tried to stand as far away from the tables as possible so they couldn't see when the (luckily) clear snot began to trickle out of my nostrils.

I knew I wasn't contagious but really didn't think I should even bring up the fact that I didn't feel well.

I felt like collapsing.

But I didn't.

When my manager finally told me I was cut, I told them if they needed me I'd be on the floor in the dish pit.

(trust me, it's not a place to lay down)

Guess what time I clocked out from my little  Monday opening shift?

5:35 PM.

You usually sell around $300 on a Monday opening shift. 

I sold almost $1100.00 and by the Grace of God made almost $250.00 in tips.

I fell into bed around six on Monday night and didn't get out of it until Wednesday morning.

Massey brought me home day time and night time medicine when she got home from work and I gobbled it up. I've been taking it every four hours since then.

Tim let me vegetate and slept in the spare bedroom Monday and Tuesday.

Ziggy went with him...

that's how bad I looked, felt and sounded.

We had a bad storm blow across the lake on Tuesday morning, knocking out the cable, Internet and Wifi before noon.  I just stayed in bed, slept and stared at the wall while I was awake, then flipped and stared at the other wall after I woke up again.

The cable, Wifi and Internet stayed off until Wednesday evening.

It was kinda nice being so quiet inside the house that I could hear the crickets and frogs outside the house.

I went into work today feeling a little shaky but 99.9% better.

I'm not sure why I refuse to take better care of myself, but think I'm finally catching on at the tender age of almost sixty.

I got on the scale this morning after getting out of the shower and found that I'm back down to a ninety eight pound weakling.

I'll be back to  triple digits in no time!

You learn from mistakes. You'd better, especially at my age.

I took a licking but that clock's still ticking.

I wanna enjoy the home stretch as long as I can.

Everyone was so nice to me while I was feeling poorly. My family was, my neighbors were and all checked in to see if I needed anything. My managers and coworkers were super supportive as I bumbled my way through that horrifically long (controlled chaos of a) lunch shift.

Even when I'm sick, I'm blessed!

Till next time...COTTON