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Lucky.
Cash, January 2016.
Sunday when I took Cash up for his nap -okay, our nap- I gave him his treat but didn’t throw a few of his toys on the bed like usual. Not that he actual played with them– more than anything I think he just liked having them around him. Seeing this, Cash took matters into his own hands (paws) and somehow managed to open the door to Belle’s crate and took her bone. With it hanging out of his mouth like an oversized, cartoon cigar he climbed up on the bed, turned around in circles and laid down– pressed against me– to go to sleep. Michael had Belle and Dudley in the other room, so this time was just about us.
I have a lot of memories like this- simple, not profound but beautiful.
My boy.
Cash.
Cashman. Boogey. Boogers. Boog. Goofy. Goof. Son. Brother. Big Brother. Baby Boy. Old Man. My Cash.
Yesterday, I had to say goodbye. Time simply ran out.
Twelve years and nine months. He outlived his sister by just over two years and has been my constant companion since then.
But it was time.
Saying Goodbye.
I thought I was losing him twice earlier in the day but Cash always was a fighter. He hung in there. He hung in through the ride to vet, where they were able to give him medication to make sure he was comfortable and he hung in until Michael could get there.
Nose to nose and staring into his eyes I told him I loved him. I told him it was okay to let go. I whispered it was time for him to run and find his sister. Nose to nose I felt him take his last breath.
Through it all I tried to stay calm, to not cry, to reassure him. When he was finally gone– through the sadness and grief– more than anything I felt lucky.
Lucky.
Cash was a gift. The last two years when I really got to know him and bond with him on a different level were the greatest gift.
Lucky.
Fall 2015
I’ll miss his smell. I’ll miss the upturned corners of his mouth–that I call a smile when I’d kiss him or stroke his fur.
I’ll miss him pretending to sleep, one ear flipped up so he can hear what’s going on and not miss anything.
I’ll miss Michael getting out of bed every night when it was time to go to sleep and kneeling at the end, scratching his ears and covering him in kisses.
I’ll miss Cash waiting for me at the door, begging for treats, snuggling with me on the couch and in bed… his guilty looks… his playfulness.
And most of all– those eyes. I’d swear looking into his eyes connected our souls.
So very Lucky.
Cash and Dudley Two Weeks Ago.
Before posting on Facebook, I posted the following:
I want everyone reading this to stop what you’re doing, close your eyes, take a deep breath– and be grateful for all the good things you have to be thankful for. Life comes with no guarantees. The only thing certain– is this moment.
I wanted to share– but not make this all about me. Grief and loss is something we all experience throughout our lives. So many times we get caught up and forget the important things.
Earlier this month, it seemed a lot of friends were experiencing grief and loss. I found and posted this:
When we got home from the vet, we let the babies out and I had to plug my drained phone into the charger… next to Cash’s empty food bowl. A while later, I opened the refrigerator to find his half can of dog food, covered in foil, staring me in the face. Little moments of grief and remembrance. There will be a lot of those moments over the coming weeks. The empty space on the couch, toys only he played with, tags in drawers forgotten long ago. It’s all part of the process.
Within hours of posting on Facebook, over a hundred people has expressed their condolences. Reminding me once again that I am so Lucky.
At bedtime, there wasn’t even any discussion. Belle and Dudley got their peanut butter, their crates were left open and they both climbed up on the bed. They played a little before settling down and going to sleep. I didn’t sleep well– but mostly because it’s hard to sleep with a sixty-pound boxer pushing me to the edge and snuggling with her head on my chest– snoring softly. I was blissfully uncomfortable.
So very, very lucky.
Cash & Roxie as puppies.
Thank you Alyssa Davis for putting this together.
Cash and Belle. 2014.
One of my most favorite pictures of Cash and I.
Remembering Roxie: One Year Later
Roxie loved lying outside on the cool concrete. (2005)
Roxie the Hunter. (2003)
One year gone. I can’t even begin to recount the many ways I miss her. She’s been in my head constantly this past week. I celebrate her daily. She was one of the greatest gifts in my life.
Even as a puppy, Roxie had the most expressive eyes. There’s truth in the saying, the eyes are the window to the soul. Her eyes were always full of love, mischief and wonder.
January 11, 2014 – Michael left for work and I’m sitting here in silence feeling numb but thankful. It’s been three days.
My boys are curled up, Collins in the crook of my arm, eyes half closed– purring. Cash is snuggled against me with his head in my lap. I think he slept like I did last night, tossing and turning. The slightest sound and he’d raise his head– looking for her.
Roxie on Cash, Snuggling as usual. (2006)
Roxie and Cash were brother and sister from the same litter. Roxie was the runt of the litter which might have contributed to a number of her health issues over the years. She was always much smaller than Cash and never really had the traditional Boxer’s physique.
Roxie was the hunter. If there was a critter in the yard– she’d find it. Roxie would track them down and alert Cash, who would go in for the attack.
This was particularly troublesome with skunks. Roxie usually found them– but Cash always got the worst of the spray.
Roxie was the one who found and rescued Cozette, as a newborn kitten, in our backyard.
I also think she instigated most of the duos adventures, getting them into trouble. She was just better at not getting caught.
Roxie and Cash play-fighting in the snow. (2004)
Roxie loved the snow. She loved to run and play in it; and of course, eat it.
She loved to eat! She was always hungry– Furniture, toys, books, Christmas ornaments, pillows, sticks…. it was all a buffet to her.
September 17, 2014 – A stuffed monkey head. What’s the big deal? It’s just a chewed up monke– Scratch that. Her monkey head. I found myself going through the toy box cleaning it up, time to throw out some of the old. worn out toys. Another step in letting go.
Roxie, May 2013.
As time passes I see her so differently in my head. The image of her spirit and soul take over and blur my memory. I see the younger, more vibrant Roxie. I see her love and affection. My mind has started to erase her frailties. It’s startling to see pictures of her from her last few months. It’s not the way I remember her.
December 18, 2014 – That moment when you’re decorating and you go to hang an ornament… And it spins around and you see where Roxie chewed it, her last Christmas and the waterfall starts and doesn’t want to stop. #loveneverdies
No matter what the challenge– even after she was diagnosed with diabetes insipidus, she was always happy and affectionate. Though her body started to age rapidly, she remained a spirited puppy at heart.
Today, in remembrance, I want to put the grief aside and celebrate the pure joy she brought to our lives. I’m remembering her playful mischief. I’m smiling, remembering her crazy excitement, twisting her body– doing her kidney bean dance, whenever we’d come home. I’m thinking about hours of warm snuggles and wet sloppy kisses. My sweet, sweet, angel- baby girl.
Roxie, November 2013.
Napping with a much younger Roxie, 2003.
A Boy and His Dog
Last night as Cash climbed up on the bed, he did something he hasn’t done in a while.
He snuggled.
I don’t mean he laid against me– he does that every night, or, for at least part of the night. After he did his little spin around in circles, deciding where to land, he sat against my side and then inched his way down between Michael and I, until he was laying and his head was nuzzled against mine.
At first he lays with his shoulder on my arm and buries his face in my pillow. I wrap my other arm around him, snuggling until he eventually signals (shifting around) that I need to pull my arm out from under him so he can be truly comfortable. Then he takes a deep breath and sighs and falls asleep. I love that so much. He slept by me all night like that. Snoring softly next to my ear.
Cash was never a snuggler. Not much of a licker (kisser) either. That was always his sister Roxie’s job. Roxie would spend five minutes every night licking my face before digging in the blankets, flopping down and snuggling. Cash would just climb up on the bed and lay at my feet. It was the same thing every night.
And then Roxie died.
Cash, October 2014
I’m not sure if it was out of his own grief and feeling of loss or maybe a need for a greater connection– but all of a sudden Cash was snuggling. For the first six weeks after Roxie died, he snuggled every single night.
Then little by little, he did it less often. Or, not for the whole night at least.
I miss it. Every night I hope he’ll snuggle– but now when he does, it’s even more special. It warms my heart and fills me to the brim with contentment.
Just a boy and his dog.
I never really knew Cash before Roxie died. He was always aloof, letting Roxie take all the attention. She never asked for it– she took it. Like Cash does now.
After Roxie was gone, we had a lot of time alone together– Cash and I. He followed me everywhere, never wanting to leave my side. That’s when I started trying to go to the gym or grocery shopping, only early morning, while he and Michael were still sleeping. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being in this house alone.
Cash and I, May 2014
Whatever room I’m in– Cash is there. He helps me with whatever I’m doing. If I go outside, he wants to go outside. If it’s wet or cold– things he never particularly cared for before; he’d rather be outside with me, than inside by himself.
We bonded.
There’s something about the look in a dogs eyes when you really get to know them. I can tell when he’s happy, sleepy or distressed. He has good days and bad days, as do I; and we seem to be able to comfort each other.
Sometimes Cash will just sit and stare back– talking without words. Other times, he’s laying next to me, head in my lap.
We connected in a way I never expected we would. I couldn’t be more grateful for this time we’ve had to just– be. Co-exist. A boy and his dog.
It took a lot of thought and consideration before we were sure we wanted to try to bring home a furry companion for Cash. We weren’t sure he’d be able to handle the energy of a puppy; and were even less sure he’s be tolerant of a rescue dog’s baggage.
We took the risk with Belle and Dudley– and it’s worked. Cash get his exercise, playing with toys like he hasn’t done in years. He let’s Belle snuggle up against him while he sits as proud protector.
With the puppies, he seems to be pretty content to let them have the bulk of the attention; knowing he’ll have his time.
They have their crates– he gets the bed.
And we always find our moments throughout the day that it’s just he and I. I make sure of it. If for some reason I wait too long, he reminds me.
Maybe because it took so long to get here is what makes our bond so special.
I enjoy it. Love it. Treasure it.
A boy and his dog.
How Do You Measure 525600 Minutes? 