We are going to remodel our living room. Thoughts? Is the red to much?
Running
I started running again yesterday. I don’t know how long it will last, but it
was what I needed to do yesterday.
I am still dealing with the loss of Oscar. And it’s still hard. Someone said recently, “I don’t understand he
was only a pet”. I will not get into
that now. All I will say is that I felt
bad for this person because they have never had the true bond that happens when
an animal becomes so much more then “just a pet”.
I knew going home yesterday after work would be hard. It was my first time coming home with the
baby after work and knowing that behind that ever familiar blue door was
emptiness.
So instead I brought E right upstairs, changed my outfit,
put on my neglected running sneakers and left.
I strapped E in her equally neglected jogging stroller, bundled her up,
and went off.
The Mister says it was a great day for a run. I just needed to run away.
I greedily pushed forward and gulped the cold air into my
lungs. I pushed my legs to keep going, I
relished in the sound of my feet hitting the street and the squeals of joy from
E. The more I ran the easier it became
to turn off my brain.
I kept going when it got hard. One foot in front of the other, just to the
next corner, etc.
I would see people out with their dogs, and would push
myself a little harder to avoid being to near them for to long.
I was running away from something and I knew this. I knew that right behind me was that
emptiness and I wasn’t going to let it catch up to me. I kept going.
I kept pushing. I kept allowing
the cold air to cool me down.
I ran until I completed a loop and realized that I couldn’t
outrun the inevitable. That it was there
waiting for me. That it was never behind
me, but in front of me; waiting.
When I was tired, with my lungs heaving, and my legs hurting
it was right there in front of me; that familiar blue door that I could never truly
run from.
It was home.
I miss my friend so much
I miss my dog. He was
always so much more then just a dog. He
was my best friend. No matter what kind
of day I had, or what kind of mood I was in, he was always there with a wet
nose and a wagging tail. If I was sick
he would be there laying in bed with me, no matter how snotty or germ infested
I was. He would lay in my leg nook with
his head propped up on my leg keeping watch.
He was always my little furry shadow.
I could always count on him being there when I turned around.
When I walk in the door I get so sad and teary because
something or better yet someone is missing.
There are no wagging tails to greet me and no sound of paws on the
hardwood floor coming to see me. It’s
empty. I keep expecting to see him in
his favorite places and I’m disappointed when he isn’t there.
When I walk down the stairs I hopefully look to his favorite
chair in the living room half expecting to see him curled up and asleep in
it. Or when I go upstairs to bed I look to
his dog bed when I enter the room only to find it empty. He isn’t curled up on his seat on the couch,
or laying in front of his food bowl in the kitchen because it is five minutes
past feeding time. And the silence of
the house is over whelming.
I never realized the subtle sounds that Oscar filled our
home with. The clipping sounds of his
nails on the ceramic tile or pergo floors.
The jingling of his collar when he moved around. The contented sighs he would make in his
sleep {unless he was dreaming of bunnies in which case he growled}. Now our home has none of these.
It’s still filled with a baby’s laughter and squeals, but
when she goes to sleep the silence is enough to bring me to tears.
Oscar was never just a dog to us, he was and always will
remain a member of the family. He was
there for so many important moments in our lives. He was there when we got engaged, when we
were married, when we bought a house, he sat outside the bathroom door while we
waited to see if we were going to have a baby.
He was there willing to go to bed with me at 7 PM during my first
trimester when all I wanted to do was sleep.
He was so gentle and loving while I was pregnant that we just knew he
would be great with the baby. He always
kept a paw or his head on my big pregnant belly.
When we brought the baby home he loved her immediately. He would sit by anyone’s feet who was holding
her. If he was iffy about the person
holding her then every few minutes he would give the baby a sniff, give the
person holding her a stern look, and go back to his baby watching post. Out of all of the things we had to worry
about when we brought the baby home, Oscar was never one of them.
I wanted Elisabeth to grow up with Oscar. I had visions of them. I would imagine Oscar waiting for the bus
with Elisabeth on her first day of school and running out to great her when she
came home from school. I would picture
Elisabeth reading her books to Oscar and one day drawing all over him with
markers. He was going to be the white
rabbit at her birthday and this Halloween she was going to be Little Bo Peep
and Oscar was to be her lost sheep.
It’s difficult to accept that Oscar is no longer with
us. There is a place in my heart that is
empty for him. He was never just a
dog. He will never be remembered as just
a dog. He will always remain our
companion, and my best friend. He was
the best dog in the whole world and I miss him so much that it hurts.
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