Skippy
It's been a week since I said good-bye to Skippy--The first dog I got as a "grown up". I still look for him and at times think I hear him in the house. When I hear Lucy's collar, I look for my little guy. When the baby cried the other night, I thought it was Skippers. And last night as my sweet husband snored, I awoke to look for Skippy, because I could have sworn he was whining at the end of the bed wanting to cuddle. I guess when some"one" is a part of your life for 14+ years you don't just remove them from your life.
When I was 19 years old I went to the pound and was taken in by sweet brown eyes and ears big enough to fit a great dane. My roommate, Vanessa, and I couldn't resist the urge to fill our apartment with a four legged friend. Minutes after we got him home we wondered what we had gotten ourselves in to. Man that dog was crazy! But as years, and puppy stages passed, I found myself with a steady companion. I found in Skippy someone who knew my emotions as well as I did. He knew when we needed to cuddle, he knew when to chase a ball and run through his list of tricks, and somehow, no matter what, he just knew what I needed.
When my son was born I expected Lucy, our big shepherd, to be the one to keep watch. And she did...she sat in the window at the front of the house every night to make sure we were safe. But what I didn't expect, especially from my 13 year old dog, was that every time I got out of bed to nurse his baby brother that he would be there at my feet. His nose to the door, protecting his family. He was certainly as weary as I was, but somehow, just like me, found the energy to rise from the bed. I would pull myself from bed after hearing the baby cry, and just as I was settling in to the recliner, I would hear those four little feet hit the ground, and moments later he would nudge open the door to Truman's room. He would make one pass through the room to make sure we were o.k. and then he would take up his position halfway between us and the door. He wasn't a perfect sentry, as every now and again I'd have to carry him back to bed because he'd fallen asleep on the job, but nonetheless, I appreciated the effort.
In his last days it became evident that he no longer belonged here, but yet belonged in heaven. We awoke on a Saturday morning and I told my husband it was time. We loaded Skippy into the car and drove to the vet's office. The vet explained the process and how once it began, it would be quick, and he would not feel any pain. I held my little bubba in my arms and whispered into his ear "You're a good boy, Skippy. Thank you for being such a good dog." I wanted him to know in his last moments that he was loved and he fulfilled his role.
I didn't know how hard it would be, or how much would grieve, but a week later I still miss him..ALOT. As with all losses, I know it will get easier as time passes. Skippy was special. There was an outpouring from friends and family after his death, and I hope he knows how many people found joy in him.
Skippy-do-dah, Skippers, Bubba, Frank, Slippy and your million other nicknames..Thank you. Thank you for 14 years of love and loyalty. I hope there are lots of squirrels in heaven.
XO
Mama
When I was 19 years old I went to the pound and was taken in by sweet brown eyes and ears big enough to fit a great dane. My roommate, Vanessa, and I couldn't resist the urge to fill our apartment with a four legged friend. Minutes after we got him home we wondered what we had gotten ourselves in to. Man that dog was crazy! But as years, and puppy stages passed, I found myself with a steady companion. I found in Skippy someone who knew my emotions as well as I did. He knew when we needed to cuddle, he knew when to chase a ball and run through his list of tricks, and somehow, no matter what, he just knew what I needed.
When my son was born I expected Lucy, our big shepherd, to be the one to keep watch. And she did...she sat in the window at the front of the house every night to make sure we were safe. But what I didn't expect, especially from my 13 year old dog, was that every time I got out of bed to nurse his baby brother that he would be there at my feet. His nose to the door, protecting his family. He was certainly as weary as I was, but somehow, just like me, found the energy to rise from the bed. I would pull myself from bed after hearing the baby cry, and just as I was settling in to the recliner, I would hear those four little feet hit the ground, and moments later he would nudge open the door to Truman's room. He would make one pass through the room to make sure we were o.k. and then he would take up his position halfway between us and the door. He wasn't a perfect sentry, as every now and again I'd have to carry him back to bed because he'd fallen asleep on the job, but nonetheless, I appreciated the effort.
In his last days it became evident that he no longer belonged here, but yet belonged in heaven. We awoke on a Saturday morning and I told my husband it was time. We loaded Skippy into the car and drove to the vet's office. The vet explained the process and how once it began, it would be quick, and he would not feel any pain. I held my little bubba in my arms and whispered into his ear "You're a good boy, Skippy. Thank you for being such a good dog." I wanted him to know in his last moments that he was loved and he fulfilled his role.
I didn't know how hard it would be, or how much would grieve, but a week later I still miss him..ALOT. As with all losses, I know it will get easier as time passes. Skippy was special. There was an outpouring from friends and family after his death, and I hope he knows how many people found joy in him.
Skippy-do-dah, Skippers, Bubba, Frank, Slippy and your million other nicknames..Thank you. Thank you for 14 years of love and loyalty. I hope there are lots of squirrels in heaven.
XO
Mama
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