Five minus two equals

[constance]

Hello, my little cauliflowers. I know that while I've been holed up sitting my own personal shiva, I've missed a great deal, and I'm sorry for it -- sorry for most of it, anyway, though I have to admit that a glance back through my friendslist indicates that perhaps I shouldn't be so sorry about missing some things -- and I'll be back with you soon, I think, answering comments and emails and, like, participating and stuff, but I did just have one more thing to fling out into the ether.

When I first got my dog Flannery, she was not at all like other puppies. She'd been abused and abandoned with the rest of her litter, and she came to me without, it seemed, anything like any sort of canine genetic programming in place except her perfectly delightful full-body wag. She had to learn to trust me (and my then-roommate), and she approached everything with such caution that my roommate and I agreed that she must be learning it all by rote rather than instinctively. For years, whenever she took an activity like barking or shoe-chewing to her heart, we fussed at her but also kind of cheered her on for displaying typical! dog! behavior! For getting all brave and comfortable! For reading her Dog Manual*!

She eventually settled in, though. She was never a very social dog, but she was friendly enough, never quite outgrew her original caution but became more adaptable. Was always polite, always slow-moving, always agreeable (except when it came to kittens, with whom she had not so much patience). She was my soulmate.

She loved me, and I loved her. She accompanied me through every house, every job, every pet acquisition, every relationship of my entire adult life. She was more than a pet; she was my constant star. Whatever else was happening or evolving or collapsing around me, she was almost always there with me, and on the rare occasions when she couldn't be with me, I missed her.

And now she's not with me, any more. She's been going downhill faster and faster, over the past months, as her Cushing's Disease has begun to accelerate, and after I picked her up from the vet last week where I had to board her when we left town, she never walked again. By Friday she wasn't eating or drinking, unless I was giving it to her by hand. And on Saturday, I brought her back to the vet and said goodbye to her.

I've been thinking, over the past months and weeks and days, that I was saying goodbye gradually. That when she took her last breath, it would be comparatively easy. In the last week, as I bathed her, hand-fed her, cleaned up after her, I was thinking that I'd probably even feel relieved when I wasn't spending all my disposable time and income on her.

How wrong can a girl be? I'm not ready. I'm not relieved. I don't care that she had a lucky rescue and a wonderful life for all but maybe the last six months. That I had her with me for sixteen years, which is at least as much as anyone can hope for with a dog. She can't be with me any more, and what I think of when I think of her is not how much she was struggling in her last months, it's only how much I miss her.

:::

During one of our carrying-the-fifty-pound-dog-outside trips last week, somehow my little amateur escape-artist cat Olive got outside without my noticing, and she's been missing since. Until last night, I went out looking and calling for her every night, to no avail -- she's very skittish -- but last night, I saw her as she went streaking around a corner.

I had been feeling more and more pessimistic as the days went by with no sign of her, but it's amazing how much hope one brief sighting can inspire. I know she's alive. I'm pretty sure she's uninjured. And I have a new plan. Tonight, and every night, I will get home and instead of marching around calling and looking, I will sit quietly and wait for her to come to me. That's the way life worked inside, after all, so possibly it's what's called for here. It's worth a try, anyway.

____________________
* The Dog Manual being the secret volume distributed to all pound puppies. Flannery, not being a secretive sort, used to talk about the Dog Manual quite a lot.

Comments

[violetisblue.livejournal.com]

*hugs* It's such hell to lose a pet. viedma and I have been there.

[jossish.livejournal.com]

Oh, Cammy. I'm so sorry. You always wrote about Flannery with such love. I'm sure her last months were better than they could have been, knowing she was with you. People are rarely ready for people and pets to leave them, but I hope it hurts a bit less having been slightly prepared for it, and I hope life eases off you soon. *hugs*

[gmth.livejournal.com]

Ohmygoodness, things have been rough for you of late. I'm so sorry. You're in my thoughts. *hugs*

[isiscolo.livejournal.com]

*hugs*

Pets are really parts of our hearts, aren't they. I can't imagine how hard it must have been to say goodbye to Flannery. And my fingers are crossed for you that Olive comes back soon.

[imkalena.livejournal.com]

The problem with pets is that they leave a special pet-sized hole in your heart that is too small for a two-leg person to fill and too deep not to hurt a lot.

I am so sorry for your loss.

[bethbethbeth.livejournal.com]

So, so much sympathy, my dear. {{hugs}}

[laurelwood.livejournal.com]

I'm so sorry. What a lot to go through, and all at once, too. I'm so sorry.

I've been thinking about you every day, and to that ritual, I'll add some finger-crossing that your quiet plan to lure back Olive works ASAP.

[ainsley.livejournal.com]

Normally I'm not a fan of wishing things over, because life is too short as it is. But maybe summer being almost over means the universe will stop taking from you. I hope so.

*hugs*

[lolaraincoat.livejournal.com]

I'm so sorry to hear this. You're right that sixteen years with a good-sized dog is great good fortune, and also that this is no comfort at all when it's time to say goodbye.

[somniesperus.livejournal.com]

Oh sweetie, I am so sorry. Losing a pet, especially a long-beloved one, isn't quite like losing anybody else, is it? You were a wonderful mom and friend, and she was very, very lucky to have spent her life with someone like you.

*many hugs*

[proteinscollide.livejournal.com]

Oh, Cammy. I'm so sorry to hear about Flannery. I know you love her very much from your posts over the years. *hugs* And I'm praying that Olive comes back to you soon of her own accord.

[bowdlerized.livejournal.com]

Oh Cammy, I'm so sorry about Flan and that things have been so difficult for you lately. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for Olive's return.

[venivincere]

You're always in my thoughts and prayers. I'm so sorry for your loss. You're having the same feelings I had when it came time to put my last cat to sleep, not so long ago; I'm still not ready for her to be gone. *hugs you*

[thalia]

{{hugs}} I'm very sorry about Flannery.

[amelia-eve.livejournal.com]

Oh sweetie, what sad news. I'm so very sorry. Many hugs.

[tilney.livejournal.com]

I am so sorry, T. It was obvious from your entries that you loved her dearly and I'm sure she had the best of homes with you. I cannot even imagine the feeling, but I know my heart breakes to pieces when I see my cat limping. It seems there have been many goodbyes in your life recently, and I truly hope time will provide comfort.

<3.

[friendly.livejournal.com]

♥ ♥ ♥ I'm sure Flannery's waiting for you, wondering where you are!

[tinderblast.livejournal.com]

I'm so sorry, lovey. She seemed like such a sweet dog, and I'm sorry that you didn't get to hear all of the Dog Manual's secrets.

[badgermoonhare.livejournal.com]

I am sorry, tofty. I made your acquaintance (tangential as it is) at what must be a slow hard time for you.

Well, I do wish you the best and I hope to get to know you better for better and for only very rarely worse.

David

[sunkentreasure.livejournal.com]

I'm so sorry. I've read so much about Flan over the years that I loved her too. She was a good, good dog.