Thursday, September 12, 2013

Grief


I am on the couch again. I just finished some ice cream and I am tempted to open the bag of tortilla chips. The couch has been vacuumed and the cushions laundered. The rug has been shampooed. The bottom drawer in the kitchen has been reclaimed. Spaces once occupied have been refilled and in a quick manner. The gaping hole in my heart cannot be refilled and therefore, I am eating my pain. It does not seem like I can eat enough to fill the hole left by one teeny dog.

Last night I stayed up late just to cuddle our dear Wicket. We knew back in April that the end was looming. Knowing the morning could not be delayed, I desperately wanted to soak up a little more time with our once feisty friend. I cuddled and cooed, snuggled and gazed into his tired, trusting eyes, refusing to go to sleep. Dreading the morning.

Six years ago our family grew to include the furriest and most loved member of our clan. We named him Wicket. I carried him home in the palm of my hand. He was THAT small.  His personality and massive under-bite made him formidable. You can see that we used a weed whacker box as a barricade. It worked.

Previously, I had a life long fear of dogs. Whilst in therapy for the attack in Kenya, I found that I was no longer afraid of dogs and I hankered for one BAD. Despite Wicket's size, he was still able to strand me on the couch with his tiny and ferocious bark. Hubby found it endlessly hysterical that I was not sure how to handle this teensy but feisty ball of fluff. Honestly, it took several months for Wicket and I to adjust to each other enough for me to risk stepping down from my safe perch on the couch.

We had a terrible time trying to potty train puppy. He was a drinking and peeing machine. Admittedly, it is hard to potty train a dog that has you cornered on the couch for so many hours a day.
My brother dog sat for us when we went on our honeymoon and I remember him saying, "this dog never stops peeing!" Unbeknowst to my dear brother, who kept Wicket's water bowl filled to the brim at all times he was exacerbating the piss machine. He ended up taking Wix out for a pee every 20 minutes for a week and we came back to a house-broken dog. Best wedding present ever!

Eli and Wicket have grown up together. (Sigh, must stop here. The screen is too hard to see through the tears.) Eli was the only one that thought Wix's "trick" of dragging his butt on the rug was gut bustingly funny. They had a special understanding.


When he was just one year old he was diagnosed with poor back legs and he had surgery on them to stabilize them. Once he could finally be groomed again, the groomer found a lump on his front leg. . .cancer. Another surgery. Poor pup had 3 sore legs but continued terrorizing the socks in our house and protecting us from the mailman and our pesky bills. He continued to prance around the neighborhood with such swagger. He was unstoppable. Or so we thought.

Wicket never met a cat he didn't want to chase; a dog he wouldn't stand up to; a stick he wouldn't turn into saw dust;  a yard he didn't want to roll around in or a person he would not lick to death. Wicket loved people and the feeling was mutual. Everyone that met Wicket loved him. Most chose not to lick him to death, though they may have been tempted. He was one of a kind and will be missed tremendously.
Rest in Peace Wicket! I love you!

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