I'm sure you've heard that saying. When you're having a bad day, or you're upset and someone asks, "What's wrong with you? You look like your dog just died."
I guess you could say I've been having one of those weeks. First there was the news that Travis won't be home in August as we had originally hoped. It looks like they won't be done with the job until October. So he would really like to come home in July/August for about 10 days to help me out with my surgery and to spend time with Cody before he leaves. Needless to say there's been some stress over how we're going to manage this. It's not an inexpensive trip. Then there's the fact that I spread myself a little bit too thin this week. I haven't been home before 9:00pm any night this week. I've literally had something going on every single night. (I love our church and I know the Gospel of Jesus Christ is true, but 4 nights this week have been tied up with different church socials and responsibilities. Sometimes it just seems a little much.) Add to that the splitting headache I've had for two days (I tried to schedule an appointment with my chiropractor hoping that a long overdue adjustment would help, but he couldn't get me in until next week.) There are other factors, but I won't go on. The point is, I'm really on the verge of a meltdown anyway.
And then today Two-Socks died. Two-Socks, the family dog. We got him when I was in high school, so early '90s. He was techincally Cody's dog, but he outlived every other pet we had during his lifetime, so he really became a family mascot of sorts. And yes, he was old. He was almost totally deaf, mostly blind & suffered from crippling arthritis. Then again, this is to be expected from a dog that's lived largely outdoors in a harsh climate during his lifetime. But he was loyal. And a great protector. (Just ask some of Cami's friends who tried to toilet paper the house one night. Of course, he was much younger then.) I like to think I'm not the kind of person who gets attached to pets. In my life I can only recall crying over two others when they passed. Molly Murphy, bassett-hound we had when I was very young. And Pixie, the rat terrier mix we had for some 15-odd years who had to be put down when I was 18 or 19 because she had cancer.
But it's harder to lose Two-Socks. I don't know why except that he was really the last "family" dog we had. All other pets that have come and gone have really been the pet of one or two particular family members. Like I said, Two-Socks was technically Cody's dog, but he was definitely the family dog. (Unlike Tolouse, Skye's spoiled cat, or Mowgli, Hillary's evil snake.) And now that all the kids are basically grown up and moved away, there won't be anymore "family" pets. Am I so pathetic if I just want to curl up in a ball and cry? I don't think it's just Two-Socks, although he's a big part of it. After the week I've had it just seems like the straw that broke the camel's back in a way. And I know that he's better off now. He's no longer in pain. He can run and play like he used to. He's probably chasing around with his pal of many years, Brownie, the three-legged mutt, who died a couple of years ago. (Is it weird that we've had two three-legged dogs in my lifetime?)
Anyway, I think I'm going to go take something stronger for my head (again) and lay down in a dark room and hope I don't throw up. In the meantime, here are some pictures mom took of Two-Socks just this past winter. He even looks old. When he was younger he didn't have that much gray hair. In fact, the reason he got his name was because the only parts of him that weren't black, were the two frong paws which made him look like he was wearing two white socks.