The Duke

I haven't posted a blog since May 8th. I just haven't really felt like writing. End of the school year, kids are busy. Work is busy. Life is frankly, busy. I've started a number of posts but nothing I really like.

Tonight I sat down - going to force myself to write. Exercise my brain. Post something funny. Because I'm funny, dammit.

Sadly, this is what came out. I didn't want to write about it. But this is what is coming out so this is it. And, when I really think about it, I have been sad lately. Maybe getting this out of my brain will help. Get the sad blocker out of the way, something funny will fall out later.




My dad died suddenly March 8th, 2011. I went into a bit of a spin. My biological father had died a few years before, also suddenly. We weren't close. I had always felt like an abandoned kid. And now, it was official. I was dad-less.

We went 'home'. For a week. Did all the things. All the plans. Stood up and cried in front of a couple hundred people. Not my favorite thing to do. Came home.

Welcomed home by my 105 year old Border Collie. The week away magnified his issues and it was clear. It was time.

I spent several nights lying on the floor with him. I wasn't ready.

I don't know if it was an effort to cheer me up. Or just looking for a change in the house but the husband found an ad in the paper for some seriously cute puppies. Seriously cute. Mother was a Cavalier King Spaniel. Dad was a Shih-Tzu.

Cava-Tzu.

I was adamant. No puppy. Paco was nearing the end. Dad had just died. I just couldn't do it.

Then he did something evil. He showed a picture of the puppies to the kids. With the question of, "Should we get mommy a puppy?"

He called the number.

There were two left. I wanted no part of it. But, if he was going to force me - it should be the brown one. His name should be: The Duke. It fit his picture. Dad died while watching a John Wayne movie - it just fit. And face it, little dogs with big names are hilarious.

On March 23rd, I drove up to Goldendale and picked him up. Spring break, time to bond with the little guy. But, he wasn't mine. He belonged to the husband. I just happened to have the day off. I didn't want him and wasn't going to take care of him. NOT MINE.

Picked him up from an odd dog lady. Well, odd if you think large oil paintings of your dogs is a good decorating call.

MINE.

Put him in the kennel. He was riding in the kennel. Not going to start yet another dog off with bad habits.

Got through Goldendale and down onto I-84. Trucks going by. Loud. Raining. He started to cry. From that day on, MY little dog sat on my lap in the car. And slept in my arms.

He was what I needed then. He was something to focus on. A distraction. And, damn he was cute.

We took Paco in on March 31st and helped him leave. I closed out the month. Declared it the worst month ever and wrapped it up.

Took my cute little funny dog everywhere. Baseball games, soccer games, Home Depot. Everywhere. He was my little guy. I joked that we would have had a third baby but we got The Duke instead. He wore clothes. I became 'that' person.

Even though I loved my previous dog. It just didn't compare to Duke. It didn't. We bonded instantly. I joked that if he lived to be as old as Paco, I'd be 50 when he died. That's what I hoped anyway. But somewhere, somewhere in the back I had a feeling I wouldn't have him that long.

He could do exactly two tricks. 'Sit Up' and 'Say Please'. But hey, when you're cute and have a good personality, that's really all you need. (Trust me on this.)

Never stressed.

He charmed people that didn't even like dogs. He sat in flower pot full of Daisies. All the time. His job was to cheer me up. And, he did.

Grandma died late that fall. I sat with Duke and sobbed. Maybe that makes me pathetic. I don't know. I do know that year sucked. Back at moms house after the funeral he 'worked the room'. Sat on laps. Charmed all the people.

On New Years Eve I gave 2011 the F YOU.

Spring came. The sun came out. Duke got sick. Oddly sick. I had been out of town and he had gotten some treats that weren't his normal. The vet was pretty sure it was just an upset stomach. Treated the symptoms. It should clear itself up.

I sat on the floor feeding him boiled chicken and rice while telling to get better soon because I wasn't going to sit on the floor feeding him boiled chicken and rice for another 14 years. Knowing that I would, of course.

He didn't get better. Our vet referred us to another vet. A specialist. As an after thought, she mentioned that the one thing we knew it wasn't was cancer. He was too young for cancer. Cancer never even crossed my mind until then. My stomach fell.

The specialist saw a problem in his kidney. On a Friday night. We were to take him in on Monday morning to have the kidney removed. It happens they said. The kidney had probably never functioned properly and now that he was older it was causing a problem.

And then the second vet said at least we know it's not cancer.

The vet on Monday morning didn't like the diagnosis of the Friday vet. Sent Duke to another vet. A specialist with a human grade ultrasound.

That was the end. It was cancer. A cancer the specialist had never seen. All of Dukes organs. Everything. Full of cancer.

So for the second time in 15 months I sat with my dog and said goodbye.

I believe that everyone and everything has a purpose. When you're done, you're done. You move on. You learn your lessons and it starts again. Maybe Duke's purpose was to help me through a really shitty year. Might have been better had he not caused another one... Maybe picking 'the brown one' was a dumb idea. Maybe one day he'll tell me.

I have another Cava-Tzu. Actually two this time. They're funny and silly and love to snuggle. They do ride in a kennel in the car. They don't sit up or say please. Just like him, they know when I'm sad. It's apparent right now as they are on my feet as I type this. They are almost two. If they live as long as Paco, I'll be 51 when they die.

And, boy, I hope that we all make it that far.