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. 🙂

I feel badly for people who believe canines are “just dogs”.

In our hustle-bustle busy world, taking time to connect with a pet is like a blessing from God. It’s a quiet joy, really, that puts you in touch with nature and reminds you of what’s really important.

Statistically, having a relationship with a pet even improves your health!

We’ve been experiencing a lot of quiet joys this week since Titan came along.

I took the picture above just this morning. We can tell he’s starting to fill out just a little bit. He’s starting to look ‘fluffier’. His coat is shiny, and looks healthier already.

This is Mr. Man on the ride home from the vet. He has a quiet intensity in his eyes that speaks volumes. And makes me laugh sometimes.

Like when he looks at me, and I can totally tell with his eyes that he’s saying, “I don’t like this leash.” 😀

He had some wounds on his face from a tussle with something, but those have pretty much healed. Hopefully the fur will grow back in; it’s amazing he didn’t lose an eye. Whatever he fought with gave him a pretty good fight.

Welcome, Titan!

When I brought him home from the vet, I had to work at it a little to get him over the threshold. I’m guessing it was his first time ever to be inside.

He was all fresh and clean from his first bath. He’d spent nearly 24 hours hooked up to IV’s, had what was probably his first shots, and came home with four medications: antibiotics, pain pills (for his swollen, sore infected feet), and ear drops for both his infected ears. He was also anemic, so we’ve been giving him an iron supplement all week. And what a good boy! He stands perfectly still for all his meds, and has from the very first day.

He knows we’re helping him. He knew that from the beginning.

He was encouraged to see we had other dogs. Ekko (AKA Miss Leadpants) was excited. Now she had someone to play with!

Except Titan wasn’t well enough to play.

Charra? Well, let’s just say for Charra, he was irrelevant, for the most part.

And he’s still irrelevant, unless he is near where she is. And then she’s cranky.

He discovered dog beds! Soft, fluffy dog beds. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…..

Some of us snore, some of us sleep with our tongues sticking out. 😉

Clothes will do in a pinch.

“I’m ready for my close-up  now.”

For the first several days, he rested most of the time. Sleep and rest were the best things for him.

We worked on crate training and gently getting on a consistent schedule. Until last night, the only peep we ever heard from him was the first night. He objected to being crated in a different room than us; and he objected to the door on the crate being shut.

Now, he’s used to his crate, and does really well. He’s tried to tell me a couple of times that he should be able to stay out like the big girls.

“No, Titan, until little boys learn not to potty in the house, they have to be crated.”

“You’re boring me, Mother.”

Each day brings a new change now. On Monday, he began to play.

Yesterday, he began to tease me by trying to ‘get’ the laundry I’m folding.

He has also started barking at cars that go by.

In other words, he is acting like a puppy again. 🙂 That is a very good sign.

Housebreaking is coming along; as with any puppy, it is a slippery slope. At this point in the game, he is still learning to ‘signal’ us when he has to go. Sometimes he’ll go to the door; sometimes he’ll just go to the other room. Sometimes he’ll go on the deck and just stand there, until I walk out and ‘encourage’ him to step off the deck.

Each day brings improvement.

And poor Daddy still doesn’t do it right. 😉

When I first brought him home, I took him outside to potty for the first time. He didn’t know what I was doing yet, and assumed he was going to have to stay outside. (Really, what else did he know?)

He skulked behind my tall pampas grass and crawled into it and laid down to hide.

It was what he knew, what he thought he was supposed to do. 🙁

In the beginning, he hated going outside the house; he was afraid he would never get back in.

He is a handsome, sweet little boy.

He still doesn’t like the snow. (Can you blame him?)

He is scared of the dark. I can’t blame him for that either. How many dark, scary cold nights did he spend alone, and afraid?

We’ll never know.

He will probably always have some little quirks associated with his experience.

His growth may be stunted from severe malnutrition.

Whoever adopts him will probably always have to be careful with their trash. Nearly starving to death has made him opportunistic. Only time will tell if that ever goes away.

What I DO know is that he will remain ever grateful and appreciative of the opportunity to be loved, and not squander that opportunity.

It’s what makes rescues so special. It’s like they know. They remember.

I’ve had several people suggest that he’s home already. Without a doubt, we love him and are really enjoying him here. BUT…(there’s always a but, isn’t there?)

I made a promise.

I promised my husband that if we took him in, that I would find a home for him and that we wouldn’t keep him.

Where is trust if you can’t keep your promises? What does your word mean if you don’t stay true to it?

If we kept Titan, I couldn’t help anybody else. What do you think he would say the next time? Probably the same thing anyone else would say:

“I’ve heard this before!”

And so, once he has gained weight and been out in the world a little bit (as well as gotten neutered and the rest of his shots), we’ll work at finding a furever home for this most-deserving little boy. 🙂

Our hearts are heavy tonight with the passing of Maggie (Magnolia Moose Pickle, AKA Magpie, Magda, Large Marge, Farticus, Stinky and Brutus Beefcake). Charra and Ekko are subdued, not quite knowing what to do with themselves. And neither do we. I write this post not to dwell on sad things or to make you, the reader, a part of our drama…but because there’s a larger message here that I think should be shared. And if you read my post about saying goodbye to our old friend and felt what we feel, or have ever lost a beloved pet, may this also bring you closure. And peace.

Maggie had a great last day.

It began much the same as any other day. Through this whole process, we have worked to keep her routine as normal as possible. Routine and consistency mean comfort and security for a dog. And so, our days passed quickly, one after the other, blending all together.

We had planned to take a short weekend getaway at Christmas, but opted to stay home and not subject Maggie to any change of scene or anything that she might find stressful. The last few weeks have been all about keeping everything calm, peaceful and comfortable.

She got me up by 6:30 this morning, much as any morning, whether I wanted to or not. 😉 After breakfast came a nice nap. It’s usually during this nap time that I go work out; today, however, I stayed home, not willing to miss a minute.

A little later in the morning, as I typically started my work day, it was time for her to ‘supervise’ from the dog bed behind the desk. Once she retired herself from going to work with Jimmy every day, she became more attached to me. She needed to be close to me, and would become anxious if I were out of her sight for long.

Most of her favorite people (whom she remembered) were with her today.

Dad came home once to spend some time with her, but he had competition: the housekeepers were here! Maggie adored Traci and Tiffani. They were always here on Thursdays.

It was ‘Donut Day!’

The donuts started as a bribe so she would let them in the house. Of course, they became fast friends. Especially when they brought donuts.

She barked for donuts.

And she got the donuts.

She had a last walk with Traci, cruising around the yard. This was also a regular routine. As they walked, Maggie would check periodically to see if Traci was still walking with her.

The day passed quickly.

I have learned that it is a tremendous blessing, almost an honor, really, to be at someone’s side when they pass from this life into the next. Sometimes I think death can be scary, because it’s something we don’t really know about until we’re there. (And it’s not like you can tell anybody about it once you’ve been there.)

But to be at someone’s side when they pass is an incredibly peaceful, special time. It’s almost as if the world stops, and becomes hushed for a minute, and the arms of heaven reach out to bring you comfort as they escort your loved one away. There’s no pain, no anxiety, no hurt.

I’ve also learned there are fates worse than death. To bring eternal peace and life to a suffering soul is a beautiful thing.

My mind began playing tricks on me last night; I was awake, restless, unable to sleep.

“Maybe we should just cancel this appointment. Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe we should wait.” After so much certainty, why was I suddenly uncertain, questioning our decision?

I did the only thing I knew to do at 3:00 a.m.: I prayed. I prayed for guidance, strength and peace.

And so it came.

I am a big believer in signs. I believe that if you look for them, the signs to guide you are there. You just have to learn how to read them. (Sometimes the universe has had to provide billboards in my case, but that’s another post for another day.)

We’d had signs we were doing the right thing, which comforted us about our decision. She had failed noticeably in the last week, falling multiple times a day. If we waited too much longer, we risked waiting until she broke a hip or leg. And then she would suffer.

She had been too good a friend to us and given us her best for almost 15 years. She deserved better from us. She deserved to have us protect her from suffering; she needed us to be the strength that she didn’t have.

The final sign was there this morning; she had an accident in the house and didn’t realize it until later. As she sniffed the paper towels in the trash, she looked at me, bewildered, as if to say, “Where did this come from? Was this me?”

It was time.

Jimmy came home in the early afternoon, and we all spent a quiet hour together in the den, in her usual spot. I was at the desk, and Jimmy sat on the floor with her. Her people were with her. She was content. Life was good.

This is the last picture I took of her today, in that spot in the den.

About 5 minutes later, the vet arrived. While they got set up, I got her a “cookie” and she and Jimmy and I all went to a nice sunny dog bed in the living room. She ate the cookie (a jerky treat actually), and laid down on the bed between both of us. Soon, with the help of a sedative, she was in dreamland chasing groundhogs.

After everyone had left, it was quiet. Too quiet.

Jimmy asked me, “Well, what are we going to do now?”

“We’ll put one foot in front of the other,” I said. And so we will.

December is turning out to be a  bittersweet month for us.

Not tomorrow, probably not this week, and maybe not next week, but soon we will have to say goodbye to Magnolia Moose Pickle (aka Maggie, Large Marge, Farticus, Stinky, Magpie, Magda…).

It’s a bummer that a  dog’s life is so much shorter than ours. In a lifetime, that can add up to a lot of goodbyes. She will be the 5th one we’ve had to let go in the last 10 years. It doesn’t make it easier; but it does give you more perspective on why it becomes important to let them go sooner, rather than later.

Maggie came to us in early 2000. It was a cold, blustery March evening, and pitch dark. Some nice people on their way into town had hit her on the highway; there was no way they could have seen her. She was lying in a ditch with icy water. She would have died.

They came to our house to see if she was ours. Soon, she was. We collected her out of the ditch and brought her home to our basement. To warm her up, I fed her chicken noodle soup. To this day, she still drools, always hoping… 😉

She was in bad shape; she was in heat, wormy, had the mange, her pelvis cracked in 3 places. She’d had puppies at some point, and her tummy still sagged. Who knows what happened to them. The vet said she was about 2 years old.

When you rescue a dog, you can sometimes piece together their history by their behavior. She wore a choke chain; we surmised that she’d been kept on a chain, tormented/teased by older children, and abused by someone (or several someones) in a big heavy coat. Her body healed; her spirit took a little longer.

Dr. Wayne Dyer calls people who come  into your life to teach you lessons ‘scurvy elephants.’ Maggie was our scurvy elephant.

She taught us patience.

She taught us that sometimes what you see on the outside is not what’s really there.

She taught us that love really can wear down rough edges.

She taught us that while you never forget really, really bad things, it is possible to forgive.

She showed us that she had a large vocabulary, and that she could actually understand words, and names.

She showed us that really, she would have preferred to be an only child.

She was a Doofus Maximus; big, goofy, with a sense of humor and she loved to tease. You could always tell she was teasing by the way she held her ears.  She was naturally loud, boisterous, and an incredible escape artist. She embodied exactly what you would imagine a Weimaraner/Rottweiler mix to be.

She was my alarm clock (and still is), making sure I’m up by 5:30 or 6:00 whether I want to be or not. And she loved to carry my purse.

She could be intimidating; she knew it, and liked it. But inside, she was a big, sensitive, dramatic baby who just wanted love and attention.

For 12 years, she went to work with Jimmy nearly every day. Two years ago, she retired herself. The long hours in the truck didn’t agree with her anymore, and that left hip, the one damaged when she was hit by the car, began to limit her mobility. Short trips with me, and once the shop office was done, a nice soft bed at the shop suited her much better.

She is now about 16. She is not the same dog as she was.

Tired most days, and no doubt stiff and sore, she has increasing anxiety when we’re out of her sight. Even in the house, she’s not content unless she can see us. She has more bad moments than good ones. She doesn’t hear or see very well, and doesn’t remember many people. The world is a much scarier place for her now.

We do our best to make life easier for her, but we’ve arrived at a point in time where it’s becoming harder to watch her. She has increasing trouble walking, and can nolonger navigate stairs; there’s no muscle left in that hip, and when I lift her into the car, I can feel those hip bones grind together.

She doesn’t want medication; she began refusing that last year. And we’re not going to force her. Because then it’s more about us, than her.

We know where this is going. She has no desire to live forever, any more than we do. If we wait much longer, we risk an injury. And then she will suffer. Because we love her, we’re doing the last thing we can do for her: we’re letting her go while she still has some dignity. In the meantime, we’re keeping her life as comfortable and peaceful as we can. Soon, we will say goodbye.

And we’ll think of her as she used to be,  running and playing with everyone else in heaven, with her head out the sunroof, and the wind blowing her big Dumbo ears.

In our lifetime, we’ll go through this again and again, and it will hurt every time.

But we’ll keep doing it. Because the joy they bring us and the things we learn from them not only make us better people, but brighten our lives more than you can imagine.

Thank you for the ride, Magpie. You’ve been a huge presence in our lives, and we’ll miss you.