Bye Bye Baby

We first met at an outlet center, he was there in the Big Dog store, looking forlorn and oh so damn cute. We checked him out, played with him a bit, and then decided to walk away and think about whether or not we wanted him.

We walked about twenty feet before I made up my mind that I had to have him. He was cute, cuddly, and was calling my name. I could hear it.

We brought him home and named him Sebastian. He was a 6 week old Chow/Golden Retriever mix. We took him to the PetSmart and spent the rent money on getting him the "essentials". We bought him a dog dish, some toys, a leash and collar, a brush, some more toys, some treats, some shampoo, some more toys, puppy pee-wee pads, and this wonderful stuff you put on your carpet after they boo-boo, so they don't boo-boo there again. Oh - and some toys.



At first, he was not having anything to do with going up and down the stairs of our apartment, so we had to carry him. After a little while, and a lot of dog bones dipped in peanut butter, he was getting a bit large to carry up and down the stairs, so we made him climb them. He got over it and was soon a champ.

We moved into our house shortly thereafter and bought Sebastian a doggy-door. It took us two days to train him to use it, but he got the idea. We also trained him to sit, lay down, stay, and give a high-five. Yes, my dog would jump up and paw your hand in a high five gesture. He rocked.

When Chris got transferred to San Diego, Sebastian rode in the back of the car, loving life and the fact that we were finally taking him with us on a "vacation". He acclimated to San Diego quickly, loving the milder temps and the doggie beaches. He really LOVED the doggie beach.

About three weeks ago, Sebastian stopped eating his food. We figured he was just tired of his food, because he is a little Jewish man with fur, and stubborn and spoiled as hell. So we changed his food. He didn't like that either. So we boiled chicken and cut it up, and hand fed it to him and he ate that. And he would eat his T-Bonz. Problem is, we fed him a T-Bonz on Sunday night, and on Monday morning, he puked it up. Whole.

Chris took him to the doctor. Tuesday the doc called and said that Sebastian was in severe kidney failure. There was treatment, but he was pretty bad, so it wasn't guaranteed. We made the heart-breaking and immensely difficult decision to put him down. Chris and I took him in on Wednesday, said our goodbyes, and let the staff take him away. Afterwards, they set him up in a room, and we went in and said goodbye again.

This was the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my entire life. Chris agrees. We miss him, and strangely enough, we both sometimes still hear the click-click of his nails on the sidewalk, or his whining at the door. Give 'em hell up there baby! Give 'em hell.

Daddy

My dad called me today.

For some of you, this may not be a life-changing event, but for me, it's HUGE. My dad is a great man. It took me a long time to realize it, but I did right around the time I pulled my head out of my ass and realized I was a young punk kid who had no idea what the hell I was doing in this world. I was about 25.

My dad married my mom when I was about 6. I remember the wedding and thinking how LONG it was taking, cause I was only 6 and therefore, had the patience of a gnat. I was my mother's flower girl (of course) and my godmother was her Matron of Honor. My mother made her own dress, because my parents weren't well-off or anything, and my dad wore his best cream colored polyester suit. He looked like Elvis.

My dad raised and took care of me like I was his very own flesh and blood. The sperm donor who contributed to my zygote is and always will be a pathetic loser who has no sense of responsibility, but I'll save that for another post. In the meantime, let's move on.

I never felt like I was the red-headed step-child (which is funny, because I WAS a red-headed step-child!), because my dad included me on everything. He taught me how to swing a bat, throw a football, and change the oil in my car. He taught me how to chop wood, climb trees, and swing on a tire. My dad rocked.

Then I turned 15, and my dad sucked. At least, in my eyes he did. I hated how tough and strict he was, and I hated that he didn't understand what it was like to be a teenage girl. Most of all, I hated that he wouldn't let me do the things that all of my other friends got to do. Like date, and wear make-up. Yep, my dad was STRICT.

My dad was a deacon in our church. He taught us from the very start that God loved us unconditionally, and he emulated that love as much as possible. Sure, I got my ass busted, but you know what? I am a productive member of society. I have never performed a drive-by shooting. I have never robbed a bank. I have never beat someone to within an inch of their lives and when asked in court why I did it, blamed it on the fact that I was spanked as a child. As far as I am concerned, there aren't enough children getting their asses busted these days.

Whoa - before you get all high and mighty on me and tell me how awful I am for condoning spanking, I repeat - I had my ASS BUSTED on more than one occasion. And I am JUST FINE. There's a difference between having your ass busted, and getting beaten by an abusive parent. And truth be told, abusive parents are going to abuse their children whether spanking is against the law or not. So get over it. Moving on.

My dad adopted me when I was 16. I had always used his last name, but this made it official. Not that a piece of paper made me any more his daughter, because there was never a hiccup in the process.

When I turned 18, I high-tailed it out of that little town I grew up in and headed to the big city of Phoenix, Arizona. I thought I knew it ALL. My dad was disappointed, and I knew it, but I didn't care. It took me 7 long years to realize that I had been an idiot, and to this day, I feel terrible for hurting my dad like I did when I left the way I did.

But, being the awesome guy that he is, he has since forgiven me. He gave me away at my wedding. The first time the man has ever worn a tux, and I got him to do it.

Monday was his birthday, and I called his cell phone to wish him a happy birthday. I got his voice mail, so I tried again. I got his voice mail again, so I left a message. I sent a homemade card too. He called me today, to thank me for calling him and to thank me for the card.

I love my dad. Happy Father's Day, Dad. I love ya!

...and Release.

I have been working my tail off. To the bone. Working for the man. Nose to the grindstone.

Now it is yet again another weekend and I am dreading it. I am dreading the passing of yet another weekend in a flurry of activity that the husband and I partake in to pass the time.

I want to relax.

The problem with that, is that I see what needs to be done around the house, and I can't relax.

So tomorrow night, I am doing laundry, and vacuuming, and cleaning the bathroom.

So I can relax.

And...release.