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This damn dog

October 22, 2018 — 4 Comments

This damn dog may be the death of me

while breathing life into every moment of my day.

With no appreciation of who is master and who is follower

she yanks me like a rag doll around the neighborhood

yet also gives me a reason to want to walk again.

Those who pass are equally entertained and concerned with her antics.

I tell her I love her and ask about her day.

She leads me to believe I am the sole reason for her existence.

My fuzzy ball of fury is both devoted and demanding.

A faithful friend for eternity.

CoCo

This is the first (#1) in a series of 100-word posts I plan to write. My ultimate goal is to create 100 of these posts in no set time frame. If I follow into the same pattern of trying to reach a resolution (in comparison to diet or exercise aspirations), I may finish about 14 of them total before I decide to throw in the towel and move onto other pursuits. Humor me while this writing trend lasts by reading and commenting if you feel so inclined.

Written by Heidi Woodard

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My best friend is gone

March 1, 2016

Murphy goodbye

Waves of grief and gratitude have crashed down on me over the last several days. Yet I looked into her eyes and I knew she understood and that we would both be ok.

Like every soul-shaking loss I’ve endured in life, I just need time. Time does not heal, but it helps soften the blow…a little bit…day by day.

I’m normally frustrated by my mind. I have an awful memory. But in times like this, I need to wrap myself up in my natural tendency to forget the details over time like it’s a security blanket protecting me from painful flashbacks for which I am not prepared.

Trying to stop the tears proves as futile as trying to hold onto her forever.

Sixteen years. I was blessed to have my pug, Murphy, in my life…and in my family’s life…for 16 whole years. She started off with just me and Ryan. Throughout the course of her lifetime, she gained a brotha-from-anotha-mother canine companion named Eightball (who passed away on June 3, 2010 and now waits for me on this side of the Rainbow Bridge) as well as two human brothers (now 14 and 12 years old) and a human sister (now 7 years old).

My kids have never known life without her. Hell, it’s hard for ME to remember life without her…and even harder to imagine life moving forward without her.

It is clear to me that my heart has a tendency to latch onto and love those who snore the loudest: My grandma Peterson, Murphy, and Ryan.

(I’m doing my best to remember to laugh.)

She was not in pain. She simply had finished her journey here. She was tired. I am a lot to take care of, after all.

Dogs love with every bone in their body. I know they’re not for everyone and I never try to convince a non-dog person that they should change their mind. What I will say is “think of something in your life that you love so much that it’s incomparable to anything else.” That’s how my dogs have made me feel over the years. I couldn’t ever fully pay back their love, but I tried.

I could rehash 1,000 stories about Murphy, but I feel like pictures reveal more than any words ever could.

My best friend is gone. But not forgotten. And I have to believe that one day I will see her again.

October 4, 1999 – March 1, 2016

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Written by Heidi Woodard

$92

March 14, 2013

Sometimes life gets a little fuzzy as you fight to prevent something drastic from rocking your world.

Earlier this week, I noticed my dog, Murphy, wasn’t acting like her normal peppy self. (Read on…I promise there’s a happy ending.)

my best pal with paws

my best pal with paws on her human sister’s Dora couch

I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s slowing down. After all, she’s 13 canine years old, which I think translates to somewhere between the advanced directive phase and nursing home stage for people.

Problem was…she slowed down considerably in a very short amount of time and her eyes conveyed she was in serious discomfort. I can’t remember ever seeing her head hang so low or her tail tucked so far between her legs.

As I drove Murphy to the vet, my mind filled with fear. I am not yet prepared to make any decisions about her quality of life. In all honesty, I will never be ready for that.

I had to put her canine companion down in June 2010 and I haven’t fully recovered from that experience. I doubt I ever will.

Murphy epitomizes what it means to be a good friend. She won’t resent you for ignoring her. She’s simply there for you when you need her the most.

She was my first child before I had children. She was the first living, breathing soul who relied on me, who made me realize life was bigger than me.

And, yes, I know I sound like a crazy dog lady right now, but for anyone who thinks that way, I will simply smile knowing that you’ve never had a dog like her.

As I carried her into the vet’s office, her demeanor changed immediately. Her tail returned to its curled-up, wagging state while her entire body perked up. I thought to myself, Awesome. All she needed was a change of scenery. A very expensive change of scenery no doubt.

Turns out she needed to have her a_al sacs drained (edited for those eating right now). Ninety two dollars later, we walked away with two prescription meds and  a greater understanding of a dog’s anatomy than I ever dreamed possible.

Why would I take the time to share this diagnosis, you ask? Because I find it ironic that a pain in the butt made me rethink my life today.

I guess I needed to tell you all how happy I am to still have my furry friend by my side.

Created by Heidi Woodard