Goodnight, Smoky Moon

Smoky Moon, aka Little Miss Piggie Pie

June, 1998-April 2017

Sometimes I forget...

that MS is a killer.  Then I go to the calling hours of a man only three years my senior, who only in the last few years has re-connected with his grown sons and met his grandchildren, and I remember.

I have been so lucky that MS has only lightly touched me, and overall has not diminished my quality of life.  But the flip side of that coin is that I have a responsibility to be mindful of my luck.  I don't always know what is right, but I know that I can always try harder.

So as I wish healing to the family of a man too young to die, I resolve once more to think about who I am and how I treat others.

Mouse's last day

When I got home from work Tuesday night and Mouse didn't greet me at the door, I knew something was wrong.  When I went into the living room and found him wedged in a corner and stuck in a pile of poop, I knew it was time.  I helped him up and outside, did a quick cleanup and went to let him back in, only to discover he'd fallen again because his back legs wouldn't support him.  I got him in, but he didn't want to settle on his bed, so I checked it and discovered it was soaked with urine.  That was when I called the vet and scheduled the appointment.

I spent as much time as I could with him that evening, petting him, talking to him, scritching behind his marvelous, soft ears.  Little Miss Piggie Pie demanded her share of the attention, of course, but I managed to send her off with a toy.  I sang his song to him, and fed him treats, and tried my best to let him know that I loved him.

Wednesday morning I got up, helped Mouse outside, gave him his pain pill and settled him back on a clean bed.  Then I called off work, and the two co-workers with whom I spoke were very sweet and sympathetic.  I did some work for Mom I'd brought home, and eventually it was time to get dressed and go to the vet.  I discovered that Mouse had once more lost control, and frankly, given what all is in my trash can right now, I'm glad it's freezing here.

The vet had squeezed us in after a surgery, since they were closing early, so Mouse and I waiting in the surgery prep room while the doctor finished up surgery on a Goldendoodle.  The vet tech I spoke with claims that Goldendoodles get stupidity from Goldens and bad hair from Poodles.  Mouse wanted to leave, and it broke my heart to see him trying to walk out and knowing that he wasn't leaving ever again.  I petted him and cuddled him and told him how very much he'd meant to me, and finally it was time.

Dr. Mark came in, and I helped the vet tech get Mouse to lie down, and then I petted his head and crooned silly things to him and stayed with him until he was gone.  Then I took off his collar, said my goodbyes to the hospital staff, came home and cuddled Little Miss.

Mouse was with me such a short time, but he was so sweet and silly that I couldn't help but love him.  I'm glad I got him his own set of bowls so he didn't have to eat from hand-me-downs, I'm glad I got to see him bounce like a low-rider, I'm glad he got one last snow and one last visit from Mallie, and despite the sadness I'm feeling, I'm glad he could come to live with me.

The name on his records is Amos, and sometimes I called him Mouse, or Amouse, or Amoos,e or Mr. Mouse, or Mr. Moose, but I always used his "real name" when I sang to him.  It's probably blasphemous, but I don't care--just replace one word in the following song with my dog's name, and you'll know what I sang:

R.I.P. Mouse

My sweet old man, November 1, 1999-November 27, 2013.

Once upon a time...

I had a job that became unbearable and I quit.  Before I did, though, I had three years of working in an office that looked like a ski lodge and had floor-to-ceiling windows all the way around the first floor.  In winter, it was like working inside a snow globe.

Driving to and from work, I passed a cute little mid-century ranch with a breezeway connecting the garage to the house and sighed over it.  Three years after quitting the job, I saw a for sale sign on the house and bought it.

The daughter of one of my co-workers at the apartment complex replaced me as Mom's assistant when I went to work for Hyphenated Corp.

So there were a lot of complex emotions roiling around inside me when I heard about this:

Fire rips through apartment complex.

And when I saw this:



I sent one of the property managers an e-mail telling her to let me know if I could help, but I don't know if the address is even still valid.  *sigh*

My condolences to Sherri and Jay

who lost their beautiful black and white kitty Ophelia today. I had the pleasure of hosting Ophelia twice, and she was as sweet as she was pretty.

*hugs Sherri and Jay*

*sigh*

Well, now I'm disillusioned and a bit sad--NeighborBoy was apparently busy cutting more wood today while I was at work. So much for doing a favor for a neighbor, if it was that, he'd have quit when I asked him to stop cutting. :(

Sadness colors everything

I don't even know where to start to describe the last few days. If I start with the good things, my nephews were up for a visit last week, and Mom and I took them to an Akron Aeros game Friday night. Even though the Aeros lost, the fireworks were even better than last year's, and the boys had a good time. On Sunday, since Mom and Dad had to leave at 10:00 to get the boys back to Columbus, I was at my parents' house at 9:30 to give Dad his Father's Day card and gift, and he seemed to really like the book I got him. Then I headed home, stopping on the way at Temptation Nursery and picking up a peach-flowered verbena for Vegan Lawyer and two black and white dianthus for me. I spent the rest of the day doing laundry, putting away groceries, taking a nap, reading, goofing off on the computer.

I wish I could end there, with just the good things.

But I can't. Because on Friday morning, Mom found out that one of our probate court magistrates, someone I have known since I started working for Mom and someone Mom has known and worked with for twenty years, died utterly unexpectedly at the age of 53.

That loss has colored every day since then. I am sad for the court's loss of someone I thought should be our next probate judge, for community's loss of a woman with an impact above and beyond her job, for her sixteen-year-old daughter's loss. I wish I believed in a heaven, any heaven, and I wish I believed in a god or goddess or whomever would allow Ann to watch over her daughter, but mostly I just wish it hadn't happened.

If you've never had to hear a sixteen-year-old say through tears "I love my mom. I miss my mom." then count your blessings.