My family seems so small now.
I’m sure to those of you with one or two dogs I sound like a crazy person, but I can’t begin to tell you how pervasive the thought “where did everyone go?” is right now in my household. First Rhumba got adopted, two weeks ago, and though she wasn’t mine, she was with us long enough to notice her missing. Then I lost Tweed and I can’t begin to tell you what a gaping hole he leaves in his wake. God but I miss him. Nobody attacked the vacuum cleaner this week. I didn’t have to tell anyone to “get out of the shot!!” What am I going to do with the cardboard paper towel tubes now?
I thought Tweed was going to live forever.
But now my pack is divided into perfect duos; two border collies, two whatever-WooTWoo-ares, two terriers and two Littles. No odd man out, no compact fluffy red beast huffing at me, making his own path through the world. Last Thursday morning he got the zoomies in the yard and cavorted around all over the place like a puppy. And on Monday he was gone. It beggars belief.
Although this doesn’t make a whole lot sense either.
And really, this never did.
(As I forced him to wake up from his nap in the sun and pose for a family portrait, he stole the Chuck-It as revenge)
Regionals was, as you can imagine, ruined for me. I couldn’t run Spring with my best boy dying. I am sure she felt the stress – first run on the line and she did two obstacles and then peed in the ring (automatic elimination). We simply left the event after that, as neither of us were having any fun.
Clearly, she’s over it now.
I went back the next day to get all my stuff, and brought Tweed with me so he could say goodbye to his friends. I had a bucket list planned for him for my vacation – swimming at a real beach, playing at agility class one more time, an ice cream cone all for him, with a cheeseburger chaser … I didn’t know he had only one more day. We didn’t get to do any of those things. On his last day, he didn’t want the ice cream. And there were so many tears. Many of my friends have known Tweed his whole life, or near enough to make no matter. Many of you have “known” him for a decade or more. And he was just that kind of dog; you couldn’t not like Tweed. You couldn’t not be sad when he died.
Unless you are my other dogs, none of whom seem to notice he’s missing. I brought his body back for them to see, and only Piper seemed concerned. The rest of the assholes just seemed grossed out, and Addy walked all over him – something she desperately wanted to do when he was alive, but he’d have eaten her for her trouble. I have heard some dogs grieve for their fallen comrades. I apparently do not know any of those dogs.
For them, bless ’em, life just keeps pushing irrepressibly forward.
I’m carried along in the wake of their enthusiasm for just about everything. And I’m glad of it. Tweed didn’t understand sad. We did his bucket list for him this week – we went real swimming. We went to agility practice. We did NOT all get individual ice cream cones because that’s too many ice cream cones, but I ate a sundae in his honor.
And now vacation is over and I go back to work, and every day gets just a little bit easier to bear.
Thank you for all your condolences. I read every one.
My friend Keryn owns a knitting store called Farm Fairy Fibre in Pitt Meadows. She has taken to dying her own yarn, and came up with a lovely dark red/burgundy colour that she asked if she could name “Tweedles.”
Knitting is not one of the skills I possess, but if you do, buy a length of it and make something whimsical. Tweedles would have loved it :)
I miss you, buddy.