January 3, 2012
My brother came for dinner last evening.
It will soon be a year since Kat passed away.
He is hurting so bad.
And yet he gets up everyday.
Puts one foot in front of the other, whether he wants to or not.
Seeing him made me realize that we have to work through our pain.
Through the hurt, the gaping holes, the voids so big that you could drive a deuce and a half through them.
A line of them.
If he can move forward everyday, even half-heartedly, I can surely work through the pain and loss of losing Tikka.
I have to.
Annette the best dog trainer in the world is now also working at the SPCA.
This is a good thing.
She called me yesterday.
Expressed her condolences about Tikka.
Talked about a companion for Frankie.
The dog we were contemplating, the male lab. . .not such a good choice.
A lotta boy.
As is Frankie.
And two "lotta boys" strike me as being a bit more than we can manage.
Especially given that Frankie isn't just a lotta boy, he is the ONLY boy.
And perhaps wouldn't take kindly to another male coming into his territory.
The female Stephen was drawn to. . .doesn't like cats.
Aggressive towards them.
We so need that.
Four cats and a dog who doesn't like them?
So the best thing, it would seem, is to take our time.
Not rush into anything.
Wait for the right, confident, laid back female. . . .
. . .just like my Tikka. . . .
. . . to come along and be the best companion for Frankie.
Given the circumstances, I can wait.
I can wait.
Somewhere out there is a lovely dog looking for a good home.
She'll come.
I know she will.
With our new found resolve, Frankie I woke up at 4.30 am, laid in bed talking and cuddling until 5.00, when we got up and went for a walk.
A leashed walk.
Which for Frantic Frankie is a big deal.
A 5.00 am leashed walk works well for Frankie.
No pedestrians to get in his way, on his nerves.
No cars passing to and fro, back and forth, irritating him with their lights, their cars.
Just Mummy and Frankie.
Alone.
Cool early morning air.
Lots of unfettered sniffing.
Under these circumstances, I can control my 80 pound beastie boy.
With the understanding that the more we do this, the better he'll get at it, to the point where I can take him out.
In public.
With people and cars.
Plus, I've been somewhat off the SFL wagon the past couple of months.
Dealing with waves of looming chronic depression that seem to have, for whatever reason, chosen now to roll on in and out, unexpectedly.
Catching me unawares at the worst times.
They're all the worst times.
Challenging me to eat things I should not be eating.
Challenges I keep losing.
Doctor's appointment tomorrow.
5.00 am Frankie walks.
One foot in front of the other.
Taking time.
Being patient.
Knowing that this resolve may flicker.
But at the end of the day, it's all about making sure that you move forward.
Even if it is hard.
And it is.
Title Lyric: You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive by Brad Paisley
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