It's All Good...I Am Always a Believer for the Storytelling That Comes from Our Best Friends. And, I'm a Lucky Man for Them, Indeed

I often think of the day when my childhood dog, Dusty, no longer had control of his legs and couldn't walk up the stairs. For me, it was a Son of a Butch moment where I felt for my father, and was totally on his side. I remember from that life lesson, "It's not right to make a dog suffer." We all loved Dusty, and I can still smell the puppy breath he shared with us in Clarks Mills. I think Casey, Cynde, and I wanted to sleep in the kitchen with him those first nights, just to smell his puppy-ness. I also remember the raw paws he'd get chasing the boats at Loch Lebanon. He never stopped.

We went without for a while, but then Tizzophina Louise came into the picture, a puppy with wavy hair behind her ears ... a connection with Cynde's good friend, Stephaney. Tizzy was our junior high, high school puppy, and an angel to my two sisters and me. In fact, I'd say she was a bit of icon, a dog hard to replace or to re-envision in our lives - she was a best friend to us all. When my Grannie Annie passed, I remember sitting out front of my childhood home hugging on her. Her greatest gift was providing comfort. 

Since, there have been many puppies in our lives, and each come for a particular story. I can't name all the pooches of my two sisters, but I remember Smoker, my parents dog, that came later in our lives (after we moved out) and her love for the pool, tennis balls, and self-entertainment. 

In my own life, I remember being ready for a dog and entering EnviroPet in Kentucky to find Juliette Catherine Alanis Madonna Potato-head Olivia Scrappy Doo Dennis. I knew instantly I needed to bring her home. She was my early teaching dog during my state of half-marathons and hikes with Sue and Harley - the perfect dog. No tail. Pin head. So much hair in tiny spikes. I just loved her. But when the life went out of her eyes, and she no longer had control of her body, I knew it was time.

Baby was there, then, too. I realized she was not my dog, but a dog of one of my students, that ended up moving with me through my transition from K-12 teaching back to graduate school. She was there when Juliette (The Dice was loaded from the start - thank you, Indigo Girls...that was playing on the radio as I picked her up) passed away. She lost her bladder. Couldn't walk. And pretty much needed to be carried outside. But Baby was there with love and her Clydesdale-ness. Loved that gigantic dog. "Is that a horse? Holy Marmaduke, Batman?" When I moved to Syracuse for the Ph.D Baby came with me.

Phew. Pam reminded me today of the day my mom had to put Baby down. She was supposed to come to CT with me, but she got cancerous really quick. I couldn't find a place that would allow me to have a dog, so she stayed with my parents. She wasn't given long to survive, but did so for a while. My parents, especially my mom, had to endure that. She called me during a meeting with a grant proposal, and I remember putting it aside, and acting brave. I became a fool later on. Lois and Pam both got my hysterics.

Glamis was extra-special, though. Chitunga wanted a dog, and I didn't want to bother. I was done. Yet, when I saw her photo on a Facebook post of an ol' student I knew she was the one. That was Chitunga's dog. It had to be. I grabbed her quick, and timed it so she would be a surprise for him late that summer, and also a major part of my pre-tenure sabbatical. She was Chitunga's dog gift. Nothing made her happier than spending time with him. Now that I'm reflecting, I realize that Glamis was sent to us because of me, too. He went away to college, and I had Glamis all to myself. She was here during summers, our CWP shenanigans, our backyard parties. She loved Chitunga, but also took to Edem who walked her daily, and the Ubuntu Boys who would watch my house as I traveled. She was friend to Lossine, Abu, Rhiannon, Attallah, Kanyea, Ali, and Mustapha - whoever was living on Mt. Pleasant with us. She loved Michael, too, who live with us during his senior year. 

Yesterday, Glamis ran happily through Skittles, and crossed over to a better place. She's with the dragonflies, butterflies, and birds now, and let me know her primary goal is to continue looking over Chitunga. Covid-19 has been tragic for all of us, but it did bring Chitunga home for a year, newly employed, and ready for next steps in his life. More important to me, was that he had time to spend time with her. He was able to say goodbye. 

In January, we noticed Glamis would vomit form time to time, which grew worse, rather quick. Pancreatitis is real, and although we did treatments, a new diet, and all the medicinal prompts we could, she was not receptive for very long periods of time. The last month has been very rough and the last 24 hours was horrific. I knew, for all of us, that the suffering could be no more. I was relieved to learn that her vet felt the same (I will go to my grave appreciative of all she did for Glamis). 

Glamis was our transition dog. She came just as we moved to Mt. Pleasant, and was a tremendous a fuzz-nugget friend to neighbors, the kids, teachers, and all who visited. She was a fantastic writing partner, and even though she competed with my keyboard, I always loved that she'd distract me for games, walks, hikes, and runs. She was a runway model, too, and posed often in our bay window so people would come by to snap photographs. In the last 12-hours, too, I realized she was Chitunga's dog, yes, but also Chitunga's dog for me. While he grew up, moved on, adventured out, and made his own world, Glamis became my companion. He left, but she remained. 

There was nothing more predictable in our home than saying, "Is Chitunga coming?" for prompting Glamis to the front bay windows for hours and hours. She loved waiting for him to come home from work or school. I know my neighbors, too, will miss seeing her daily lounge festivities in the sun of our front bay window. 

Glamis is in flight now. I keep looking over my shoulder thinking she will wake up and want toast, or a walk, or to say Good Morning, Crandall. But, that is not the plan any more. She was a beautiful creature who will be missed entirely. The lack of her collar chimes this morning makes the house eerily quiet. I keep expecting to hear her paws on the hardwood floor walking upstairs to jump on my bed as I began my day with coffee. Instead, there's just a sunrise, and the memory of a beautiful creature that went too soon.

And my 5th April poem, somewhat channeling the Monday I knew I'd have.