The Beagle and I

I know that this spot has been technically saved for my mom but in this case, I think you will understand why I am writing. I also know that it has been awhile since I have been put thoughts to words on this forum.

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That sweet smile, always present. 

Our sweet beagle died on Monday of a short bout with congested heart failure. Barley had been diagnosed two weeks ago and the vet figured it would be six to twelve months before it took him but it went so much faster than we thought.

Barley was a rescue dog from Kentucky that we adopted five years ago through Second Hand Hounds in Minneapolis. We finally convinced my husband that it was time that our family get a dog and for some responsibility for our girls. I also thought it was a great idea for a dog to visit my mom. We always had hunting dogs growing up on our farm and one of the first dogs I can remember was a beagle named Happy. Rumor is I fed him way too many of my mom’s homemade doughnuts and he left the farm that day, never to come back. I think getting Barley was a way of saying I’m sorry about Happy and I will take good care of Barley.

I’m not sure of Barley’s life in Kentucky. I do know that he looked rough when we were finally approved to adopt him.  We also found out a few years ago that he is full of buckshot, which we are hoping wasn’t on purpose. We met him at his adoptive home and he rushed at us with tail wagging and slobbery kisses. I was smitten. I had to call and beg Steve that we would be a perfect fit. And I do mean beg. He has always said that Barley is “my” dog, especially when he would get into some trouble. And he might have gotten into a fair amount of mischief in his five years.

We are only going to mention briefly the sudden weight gain after a few months by girls who continually left out their food. He’s had it all. Girl Scout Thin Mints, Hot Cheetos (thanks Sophia), Frosted Flakes, waffles, blueberry muffins, chicken, Emme’s retainer and candy wrappers licked clean. His favorite spot was Sophia’s garbage can and shelf attached to her bed. We are also pretty sure he could move a chair and get to our stove. There is nothing he disliked except a healthy raw carrot. We tried numerous diets, only to be foiled by the girls leaving out food. As soon as Sophia would leave for the day, his first move was her room. Most of the time, he was lucky. And happy, no pun intended.

We are also only briefly going to mention his escaping the yard. Especially when we were gone for the day, accidentally being left out. The last Barley adventure landed him in the Plymouth police car. He was thrilled with the treats in the squad, the police were not as thrilled with his escape. No collar on, but he was chipped. Fortunately my neighborhood knows his cute mug and I was alerted he was on the run. Everyone knows Barley in the neighborhood.

He was such a good boy.

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Last May, I had some unexpected minor surgery to remove a mass that was benign. One ovary and both Fallopian tubes were removed. But what replaced my  body parts were a sudden onset of anxiety, self loathing, deep sadness and overall lack of my self-worth. It was awful. Drowning. Tired. Angry. Sad.

There were times I wanted to be sucked into the ground. Disappear.

I have never felt this way in my entire life. I saw my primary doctor, talked to my GYN doctor, went to a healer, started to see a wonderful therapist, shared with my close friends and even went to a vortex healer. I hated this feeling of despair.

It’s hard being a nurse and helping families, having an irritable teenager, church on Wednesdays, school events, family issues, sporting practices and games and overall managing a household. I felt overwhelmed.

There was talk of hormones, delayed grief, post traumatic from the emergency surgery and the term perimemopause.

One morning, I broke down at work. I could not stop crying. My heart was beating out of my chest and I could not control my sadness. I went home and crawled into bed and heard the thump of Barley jumping on the bed and him crawling in besides me. He settled in close to my head, one paw on my heart and just licked my face. He didn’t sleep but just stared at me like…how can I help you? What can I do?

And so there is Barley and I.

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Barley thought we might have run too far that night.

Over the last few months, he has been close to my side. Almost too close at times. Waiting to be petted, kissed or even better…a treat.

We have started to relax by the fireplace at night. He, in his bed, made up by the girls. Me, close by, normally reading. Sometimes he just stares at me and other times comes over to lick my face or lay on top of me. Right on top of me. Normally with a paw right on my heart.

I think he knows about the feelings I’ve been having. And in his dog way, becoming the best therapist a girl could ask for. No amount of medicine is similar to this.

When I knew he was going to die, I could not stop sobbing. Ask my neighbors Glenn and Mary. They graciously came over and got Emme to school, stayed with me while Barley took his last breath and Glenn helped me get Barley in the car.

I think Barley  knew he was dying because right before he died, he looked in our bedroom mirror for the longest time. Just staring at himself, while sitting side-saddle. I hope he knew how much we loved him and how much he helped me the last few months. Always a lick, smile or stare. My sweet boy. Better than any pill.

He passed away on the rug, right by the door. Peacefully and with me touching him, just like we’ve both done to one another.

When I arrived at the vets, they told me to go in the boarding door. I wanted to make sure it was open so I left Barley for a minute and walked in. There, staring back at me, was the cutest beagle puppy. No other dogs around and he was just sitting staring at me. I’m not sure if that was a sign from Barley, a younger version of himself staring back at me but still….

Man, we loved that dog. He will be missed.

Jodi

 

 

 

 

 

 

Matilda

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“Have you met my dog?” This happens every day that I visit.

Our conversation is on repeat. I think it is funny she calls it Matilda. That was the name she called me when I was younger when I knew I was in trouble. “You better clean that room, Matilda”, or “Listen, Matilda”. That was more than a flashback for me.

I’d like to admit that I have a love/hate relationship with Matilda. This dog came basically out of nowhere and ended up on Mom’s bed one afternoon. I brought it to the nursing station and told them it was most likely another residents. They looked at the tag and another womans name was written on it. She had passed away last month. They said if Mom wanted to keep her, she could.

I brought her back to Mom’s room and she seemed angry I took her in the first place. This is Mom’s dog. It is hairy and I had to bring some Febreze to eliminate some odor. I’m not sure where its been but I’m stuck sharing Matilda with Mom.

She’s never been a huge dog lover. My Dad and Ross had hunting  dogs so she didn’t get a choice really. Our one dog that she was close to, was named Rusty. Maybe a little similar to Matilda.

On the positive side, its brought her such joy. She takes it everywhere. Its traveled quite a bit in the last few months. We brought it to Ruby Tuesdays, the doctor’s office (were the doctor let her hold it during her chest x-ray), the eye doctor, Easter brunch and on a car ride were she kept showing the dog to people stopped by us. I’m sure they thought we were nuts. She would hold him so he’d be looking out the window. All the residents know it is Mom’s and ask to pet it. Some days, I’m not sure if she knows it’s fake. She talks to it a lot. Now I find myself talking to it. Great.

On the flip side, she pays it more attention then me and I have to keep track of it when we go out. Which I am now ok with. I have to be, it has brought her smile back, that has been lost. With her disease, her smile has disappeared. On occasion, my girls will get a smile out of her but it is rare. I miss that smile. Matilda has brought it back, and for that I am thankful.

Really, both of us can share her. Thank you Matilda.