Good Grief, Enough with the Grief Already

We took him in last week for what we thought was a respiratory / sinus infection, onto to learn that the old vet had never picked up on the fact that he had a genetic heart condition. He was too far gone, even for the canine cardiologist, which was a mere glimpse of hope, at best, even if he hadn't been too far gone. It was with great sadness that we said our final goodbyes. Our new vet (who we ironically met when Gingerbelle got sick, a mere five months ago) was awesome, the perfect level of clinical information and compassionate emotion.

I am choosing to think of it like this. Gideon was just so heartbroken without Gingerbelle, that he couldn't manage one more day without her.

Losing both dogs in such a short period of time is sheer hell, and only manageable due to Gracie. Without Gideon here, Gracie has turned me into her playmate once again. The scars from her using me as her teething / chew toy as she cut her puppy teeth are just healing over. She is so mischievous. Maybe the most mischievous dog I've ever had in my life. And smart! One night I watched her climb and hop billy goat style over the barrier that should have kept her contained in the living room. And that was before she got tall.

I keep looking around for Gideon. Waiting for him to bark. Waiting for him to climb on the couch behind me and put his head on my shoulder, like he was watching every word I typed out on the laptop screen during freelance writing assignments. Waiting for him to discover that the little redhead canine girl up on the hill is in heat again, so he can race through the woods in wide circles until exhaustion forces him home again.

We had Gideon from the time he was around six weeks old. He turned 4 in March. Almost harder than losing him is watching the fireman experience this amount of grief.

No more dogs. Not right now. Maybe not ever. We still have Amazing Gracie and Gibson Girl, and they're enough. Our two little rescued mutts, who in turn seem to be rescuing us. Earlier I had this moment where the feeling of missing Gideon was so overwhelming, that I froze in place and the tears just started rolling. Gracie appeared like magic at my side from wherever she had been (likely somewhere she was not allowed, the rascal) and launched herself into my arms, licking the tears away.

It was adorable.

It was adorable, until I noticed the odor on her breath and found the slime from stink bugs she'd been eating on my cheek and jaw. A very good friend asked me the other day, "How do you do it? You've had such a rough several months. You've lost both dogs, your dad...ad yet here you are, still going." Gracie. Gracie is how I manage. I had no idea when choosing her name how well it would suit her personality.