As I sit writing about the loss that we feel, I admit it comes with almost a feeling of guilt. There are others who have lost so much more than us: families who have lost loved ones, those who are suffering from horrible illnesses or injuries, a friend who recently lost her oldest son, taken from this life far too young.

We can’t possibly know or understand what they feel, and our hearts hurt for them. But to us, our loss is painful. Without children, our dogs have become, in a way, our children. They are our family. They are who we look forward to coming home to each night.

Harley liked to live life his own way. We did our best to try to teach him to live by our rules, but he was his own man. His life had gotten off to a rough start, but when he came to us, he brought something that we’d been missing for some time and really didn’t even realize.

Harley was a Doofus Maximus. In other words, a goofball. A lummox. A dingbat. He brought us joy, laughter, and silliness. Over-the-top boisterous fun, which we hadn’t had for a long time.

Jimmy’s heart really had never healed after losing his beloved Maggie. You see, the other girls are sort of Momma’s girls. He really didn’t have a buddy anymore.

And then Harley came along. For a few weeks, there was unrest until everyone figured out their job  in our household. Once that happened, it came easy: Harley looked after Jimmy, Ekko looked after me, and Charra looked after both of them. And for the most part, we had peace.

Every day, Jimmy rejoiced that he “had a wiener in the house!”

Little did I know it was a ploy.

He’d been out once already. Our potty ritual was for me to let him outside, and I would stand on the front porch and watch. Once he realized I watched, he would watch to see if I was watching. It became a game.

So for the second time this morning, he acted very excited to go outside. It was an emergency! He needed to go now! I assumed he needed to poop.

I opened the door. He shot past me off the porch, running full speed toward the front of the yard as if he were after something. Knowing he wouldn’t listen to me (as in the past), I sighed and walked to the kitchen, stuck my coffee in the microwave, immediately walking back to the front door. That probably took 20 seconds or less.

I thank God that he protected me from seeing it.

By the time I got to the front door, it had already happened. I saw him lying in the road, the vehicle just past him slowly moving, then speeding up and driving away.

It didn’t register.

“What is he playing with that he’s lying in the road?” I thought.

I called to him.

He raised the front of his body up, barked twice and yelped, not so much in pain, but more as in telling to hurry up, he needed help.

Realizing what happened, I ran to him as fast as I could. My worst nightmare would be seeing him ran over yet again right in front of my eyes. Our yard seemed to be huge, but in reality it probably took less than 15 seconds for me to reach him.

By the time I reached him, he was taking his last breaths. I couldn’t believe it. Surely this was a bad dream.

Dragging him off the road, I called Jimmy and laid there snuggled up against him (pajamas and all), until Jimmy could get here to pick him up.

A neighbor, whose kindness I am grateful for, turned around and waited with me until Jimmy came. Several vehicles stopped, but there was  nothing to be done.

My heart hurt for my husband. His heart hurt for me. We talked about every hour or two, because we didn’t know what else to do.

Harley made Jimmy smile again. He finally had a dog of his own, a buddy. They were inseparable. I knew he would feel the loss acutely.

Thankfully, we are not “what if” people. What is, is.

We all suffer setbacks. But to torture yourself doesn’t change anything. All it does is make you miserable. Life will always hand you lemons, and sometimes it makes you feel weary, as if you don’t want to go on.

But the quality of your life and your character are determined by how you react to things.

You see, we believe that things happen the way they are supposed to. We don’t always understand them, and may not for years. But at some point, it all makes sense. By no means does it hurt any less. But our faith helps provide us perspective and logic.

I have experienced premonitions in the past that have always preceded a loss.

I didn’t remember until this evening that I’d had somewhat of an ominous feeling the last few days. I couldn’t explain it, and it wasn’t terribly intense. Just a feeling that something bad was going to happen.

Our friend Jenny (who also happens to be our veterinarian) came by to bring us a card this evening and to offer her condolences

“I don’t understand why God would give us something to fill such a void only to take it away,” I said tearfully.

“Because he needed you,” she said wisely. “He lived a wonderful life with you that he most likely wouldn’t have had otherwise. Not many people would have been willing to take him  and his situation on. And in spite of your best efforts to train him, to calm him down, he wanted to live life his way.”

And just like that, it all made sense.

Our time with Harley was way too short. We had him less than a year, and he was only 15 months old. And to quote my husband, “he lived life full bore until it was over.”

We all should be so lucky. And at the end of the day, it’s about him and not us.

Thank you Harley, for all that you gave us. I’m so glad we were able to share our lives with you. We’ll miss you always.

This is the first post in a series about me, my dogs, and everything I’ve learned from them. I am smarter, and a much better person because of them. (I wish I was as cool as they think I am. HA) These posts are especially appropriate because I just found out I’m allergic to dogs. Not that I intend to do anything differently, of course, except spend the next few years getting shots. 😀

This is me and our dog Skippy when I was about two.

Skippy is the first dog I ever knew, and one of only two purebreds I’ve ever lived with. He was a beautiful English Shepherd.

He was never vaccinated or neutered, lived outside (except in our basement when it was cold outside), and ate nothing but table scraps.

And he lived to be about 18 or 19 years old. Go figure.

I grew up as an only child. (I wasn’t an only child, mind you.)

I had older brothers and a sister. But I was an accident (my mom was sure she had cancer), so I came along much later after my siblings. In fact, they were all pretty much in high school when I was born.

Eventually I had nephews around, but much of my early years was spent with my barnyard friends, since we lived on a farm way out in the boonies.

I had a pet pig named Curly, and chickens, and bottle calves to play with.

In fact, I spent so much time with the chickens that one of my mom’s friends became concerned. But that’s another story for another day. 😉

I suppose I learned to be resourceful spending so much time by myself.

Skippy was my buddy.

Skippy taught me how what a good friend, and good company, a dog could be. He and I hung out together, went on picnics with Miracle Whip sandwiches out in the pasture, and explored. If my mother wondered where I was (or any of my siblings when they were younger) she called Skippy.

He was a great dog and a terrific friend, and although I don’t have many pictures of him, I have lots of great memories. 🙂

Titan really is an amazing little boy.

It’s not so much that he has rebounded after being so near death.

What makes him so remarkable is his capacity for love and trust.

Rescued dogs are always special. While they often will bear emotional or physical scars from whatever trauma they’ve endured (sometimes at the hands of people it’s hard to think of as humans), they always seem to have a sense of gratitude.

I told our vet that Jimmy and I didn’t think Titan had been abused…just simply abandoned. Once in a while he can be a little timid when meeting new people, which is normal for most puppies his age…he is friendly towards everyone he meets.

Our vet agreed. “Either that, or he just simply has an amazing capacity for love,” she said.

Titan always receives raves when he visits the vet. He is such a good boy, he doesn’t seem to mind going there. They are friendly, they give him attention and treats. And, he seems to know that no matter how much he’s poked and prodded, they are all helping him. He trusts in the goodness of people.

When we went back to the vet for his follow-up after 3 weeks, they were very busy. We waited patiently in the waiting room. While we were in there, a number of people came in with their animals.

Each time the door opened, he would stand, ears and expression alert with curiosity and friendliness and tail wagging, as if to say, “Oh, hello!”

One dog and his person waited in the room with us for at least ten minutes. When the dog had to go outside to go to the bathroom, Titan looked at me, his face questioning. “Why are they leaving?” his expression said.

“They’ll be back,” I reassured him.

Titan came into our lives March 4. On that day, he weighed a mere 27.6 pounds. Most of that surely had to be his frame.

As of Tuesday, he has gained 20 pounds.  He is still underweight, but of course he is also growing at the same time.

Just last week, he finally began to act like a puppy. Clearly feeling better, he is running, playing, shredding papers, and teasing us. All normal puppy behavior.

Another victory.

He hasn’t quite grown into his large feet yet, and when he walks, he looks like someone who’s wearing shoes that are too big. 😀 Sort of like a clown, he pads along with those large feet…it’s comical and sweet at the same time.

With praise and love, he has blossomed. I have only had to scold him once, and that was because he wandered too far from the house and didn’t come when I called. He’s never done that since.

In the beginning, he simply wasn’t well enough to leave the house or to socialize. We’ve started doing some things this week, like practicing car rides and meeting some new people, but I’m still being very careful what I’m exposing him to. He is still very vulnerable to illness.

It takes some time for a dog so close to starvation to fully recover. His body is nourished, and amazingly, his spirit is as well. He doesn’t seem to be starving emotionally: he doesn’t show any food-aggressive issues, doesn’t try to steal or beg human food, and doesn’t raid the trash.

But his system is still playing catch-up.

When we went back for his check-up late on a Friday afternoon, my vet and I discussed his plans and his pending move to Chicago for his forever home. (And that is another story for another day!)

“When’s the last time he ate?” she said.

“At breakfast this morning. I wanted you to swab him for a DNA test, so I didn’t feed him all day.”

“If you want to leave him overnight, I’ll neuter him before I leave today.”

“You’re a Rock Star,” I told her.

Three weeks after his rescue, the complete blood panel they ran prior to surgery showed he was still as anemic as the day they first saw him.

Our vet told me later that normally they wouldn’t have even done the surgery with an anemic dog. But Titan had improved so much from the day she first saw him and looked so much better that she thought it was just a matter of his system not catching up.

We’ve made some dietary changes and he’s on a multivitamin. Hopefully another blood test next week will show an improvement.

He has a crusty, itchy skin issue which is causing him some hair loss. We’re treating him for mange, but our vets believe that it simply may be a skin barrier issue. Healthy skin keeps out bacteria which can cause illnesses.

His skin may simply have not recovered from his severe malnutrition. A special shampoo, Omega 3 and Omega 6 supplementation, and a special skin medication seems to be gradually helping.

 “Mother, you really need to stop this picture thing. It’s getting embarrassing.”

His first bath here at home was like wrestling a greased pig!  Jimmy and I only have 4-5 more to go. 😀

Today I’m picking up a prescription for a sinus infection for him.

“He’s a bit of an enigma, poor little guy,” our vet said.

Next week, we go back for another blood test and his last booster shot, and we’re hoping to see improvements across the board. Time will tell.

He didn’t reach near-starvation overnight, and his system isn’t going to recover overnight.

But overall, he is rebounding wonderfully, and shows us every day what a truly remarkable and amazing little boy he is.

He’s funny, sweet and loving. He snores, prefers to sleep with a fan as he gets hot at night (and it covers his snoring!), and is curious about the world.

Terrified of cars at first, he now gets in and out all by himself. (He prefers to ride in the middle of the back seat, where he can see straight ahead and sniff out of both windows.)

He is enjoying going to the shop with me, and I can tell that his car rides and the people he’s meeting are building his confidence. 🙂

Nearly every day is a new ‘first’ or a small victory, and I can’t tell you how much it warms our hearts to see him grow and blossom. It’s incredibly rewarding, and been an amazing journey already.

(How many times can I possibly say the word AMAZING in one post?!)

For us, watching him is a good reminder of how important it is to embrace life fully, one day at a time, to keep a loving heart, and always be open to new adventures. :-)

This post isn’t so much about getting my new car that we’re trading for later this week. I know most of you really.don’t.care what I drive. You have WAY more important things going on in your life.

This post is about letting go of the old one. 

We bought this Acadia “way back” in the summer of 2009. My life has undergone some dramatic changes in the 5 years I’ve owned it.

I remember showing it to my mom for the first time. It was more than a year later that she passed away.

This is Daisy checking it out right after I brought it home.

This is Raven. She’s checking out the backseats.

“I don’t really care for these seats, Mother. I prefer a bench seat. Can you take it back?”

None of the dogs who lived with us when I bought this car are alive now. They are all gone. 🙁 And that was less than 5 years ago.

It was the first MuttMobile.

The Black Dog Saloon looked like this. (Actually, I don’t know that we had even thought about a Black Dog Saloon yet.)

 We adopted a new baby, and named her Charra, because she was the color of something that had been ‘charred’.

We didn’t name her Charro because  I did not want someone thinking she would ‘koochie koochie koochie!’ And if you’re too young to know what that means: That’s what they made Google for. 😀

We flipped our first house.

Club 88 was born at Daytona Speedway.

And my dear friend Christine and I looked through the world with (blue) colored glasses.

We have a different RV. We’ve started a new business. We have another new project in the works.

And we’d never been to the Florida Keys, had never heard of Key’s Disease, and had no idea how it would change our lives.

So much has changed, yet so much remains comfortingly (is that a word?) the same.

The Acadia has seen us through a lot, and all of it safely. Thank goodness.

If she could talk, what stories would she tell? That I’m a terrible singer, probably. And clumsy. And sometimes not a very good carkeeper. 😉 And that I sometimes forced her to drive over curbs. 

I remember the very first ding.

I was airing up a tire at Casey’s wearing platform shoes. Somehow, I lost my balance on the edge of the curb. (I really, really wish I could tell you this was the first time I’d engaged in curb wrestling.)

To regain balance, I began waiving my arms wildly to save myself. And, BANG! I threw the tire guage right into the side of the car. 😀 Ooops.

As exciting as it is to get a new ride, it’s also sad to say goodbye. It’s funny how cars can become so personal to us.

Is it because we spend so much time in them? So many times, it’s just us and our cars, sort of like a friend. I’ve had light bulb moments when driving that car, and times of great sadness.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very excited about my new ride.

“I’M NOT WORTHY!!!” I thought when I laid eyes on it for the first time.

“I’ll keep you cleaner! I’ll lose my last 20 pounds! I’ll be more professional! I know I’ll be a better person with you!…”

Yes, I really thought all those things about an inanimate object. 😀

Like a New Year, a new ride brings opportunity. It’s sort of a fresh start, a Do-Over, a new adventure. The slate is clean, it’s a chance to right all the wrongs. The Tahoe doesn’t know that I’m clumsy, a messy eater, and bring with me all sorts of black dog hair, which is usually connected to black dogs.

Or that I’m going to stuff it with all sorts of things that I probably shouldn’t. Or that realistically, this is the cleanest it will ever be.

The Acadia learned this, and still carried us tirelessly.

Fairwell, MuttMobile One. I’ll miss you. Thank you for serving us well. 🙂