Fallen

Two and a half weeks have flown by since we lost Lil’ Rick.

Matt picked up his ashes from the vet yesterday. I guess they will mingle with my good crystal until spring rolls back around and we can give him a proper burial. Returned to the earth under rose bushes dedicated in his name.

He was such a part of our routine. The first few nights I kept calling him, annoyed that he didn’t answer.
‘Come on dude, it’s time to go out. I want to go to bed!’
I’d go to grab a cookie, to shake the glass lid that housed them to rouse him from slumber upstairs, and the jar would be gone from the counter top. I’d freeze, futilely fighting the burn at the back of my throat. He’s not coming downstairs because he is no longer here.

We were grateful that Grace really didn’t ask questions about Rick’s where-a-bouts. She would mention him in passing when going through lists of family and things that she loves.
‘We’re going to go to my happy birthday party. You and Me and Daddy and Clare and Maga and Unkey Jer and Ricky!’
‘Ricky isn’t going to your party Love.’
‘Oh. OK. He’s a dog. He can't go.’
And then she would start talking about Curious George or the leaves she picked up off the ground that morning or what she ‘wants for eat’ that night.

We didn’t correct her. It was still too hard of a thing, and we figured why bring pain to her if she’s not specifically asking questions. The other day she asked. Or she said something about him that made us think she should tell her.

‘So Grace, you know how you haven’t seen Rick in awhile?’
‘Yeah. Where is he?’
‘Lil’ Rick had to go away Love.’
‘Oh? Where did he go?’
‘Well, he was really old – way older than you or me or even Maga – and he went away and isn’t going to be able to come back anymore.’
‘Where did he go? I want him to come back.’
‘He died sweetie. You know how the leaves are falling off the trees right now? It’s because the leaves are old and the tree can’t keep them attached anymore. The leaves die. The tree has to let the old ones go. Ricky was kind of like an old leaf.’
‘Oh, OK…. Ricky fell off??’
‘Kind of Grace. He was old and tired and ready to go to heaven.’
‘Oh. OK. I will miss him. Can I have another cookie?’

She’s mentioned him in the same passing ‘things I love’ way a time or two since that conversation, but hasn’t really asked more questions about him.

Nor has she played with the leaves in the morning though.



Now what?

Big Things in Little Packages

Lil' Rick was the dog I didn't really want.

I wanted a BIG dog. A Great Dane or a Bullmastiff. Something that weighed as much as a human, could do some significant damage to an intruder and had a heart and spirit as big as their body.

Instead, we got a Corgi.

During the normal course of a work day we were usually offered Corgis' several times. See, a coworkers wife showed dogs. Think the Thanksgiving Day Westminster Dog Show. The people who trot the fancy dogs around the ring. That was what she did- she trained, groomed and showed fancy pedigreed dogs as a profession. (Yeah, a little crazy, I know.) Anyway, once these fancy dogs won enough blue ribbons to be dubbed 'champions' and then went on to breed enough future champions, they were often abandonded by their true owners.

Hence, our possession of Lil' Rick. Champion of Corgi's with a google-able name, daddy to many more little champion Corgi's, and master of none of the tricks normal people expect your dog to preform whe the phrase 'show dog' is uttered.

When we finally broke down and agreed to a visit to meet the dog selected for us. I was by no means enchanted with him.

He was released from the dog pens with a fury. He ran into the room with a streak of orange fur. He jumped on furniture. He jumped on people. I backed away and sat down in a chair. He spied me and ran full speed in my direction to cover me in Corgi kisses. But he didn't stop soon enough. He launched himself into the air and only stopped due to a nose to nose collision. The tip of his snout to the bridge of my nose. Oh-my-God did it hurt.

I didn't want to take him, but Matt was taken with him. One week later we brought home our 5 year old puppy. We weren't always the best parents.

Over the last two years, Rick started having old age issues. Cateracts, bad teeth, arthritis, hearing loss. Last Christmas he started coughing. Several hundred dollars in vet visits couldn't bring a diagnosis. Allergies? The medicine didn't work. Fungal infection? The antibiotics didn't help. Cancer? What was the point of more tests to tell us something we couldn't do anything about.

Over the last few months he'd taken to coughing under our bed at 2am. We started putting him in the laundry room overnight. We always felt horrible about it, but sleep in this house is a fleeting, precious thing.

Last night was Lil' Rick's final night with us. I'm glad he spent it under our bed. Today when Matt got home from work, Rick was cold. The wag of his happy old-man body was gone.

13 years old. 91 in dog years. That's a pretty good run. I hope the last 8 were his favorite.


We'll miss you Lil' Rick.

Lost But Found

Little Rick is getting old.

This July he will be 13. That is 91 in people years. I hope I live to be that old.

But like humans, old age is taking its toll on him. He does little more than eat, sleep, shed and poop now-a-days. I swear he can’t hear us 90% of the time we call his name. He’s can’t see more than 5 feet in front of him, giving the bunnies rule over our yard and crumbs that he was once in charge of cleaning up rule over our floor. He’s had some sort of cold since Christmas, that seems to be immune to antibiotics, and has taken to coughing like it is his last breath at 2am under our bed. His teeth are starting to turn green, his breath has been black for ages and he’s developed some sort of benign growth between two of his toes. This last list will hopefully be corrected soon for the low, low price of $300+ for doggie sedation, dental work and extraction of miscellaneous parts.

In fact, the high priced visit to the vet was supposed to take place yesterday. Instead we spent the day explaining to animal loving people how we lost our dog.

Over the last few months, particularly since the 3am coughing started, we’ve been joking about how maybe Lil’ Rick’s time has run out. We keep throwing money at the Vet and they can’t seem to fix him. He’s never been a talker, so there is no whining or barking to let us know if he is miserable, just more and more sleep. He’s an old man though, so I figure if he wants to sleep 18 hours a day it is his right.

His low key attitude is part of the problem though. We are worn down ourselves. I am just shy of 7 ½ months pregnant, Gracie spends most of her day visiting the terribles of being two and Matt has never been a sound sleeper. Tuesday morning he woke shortly after 3am and could not fall back to sleep, so instead he worked on a white paper due at work. I woke early myself and went into work an hour early, leaving Matt to do daycare drop off on his way into meetings.

*You see, we changed the schedule. The ritual of mornings.*

During his morning outdoor time, Ricky took his time and Gracie decided to have a meltdown, diverting Matt’s attention from the dog to his daughter. Ricky DOES NOT BARK. He just sits outside the back door and stares at you until you let him in. Matt put on coats, gathered lunches and turned off the lights. Lil’ Rick DID NOT BARK. He just sat there looking in the window.

And Matt left.

Rick got tired of waiting and decided to take a walk on the busy, curvy road near our house, with the added bonus of leaving his collar behind. The good Samaritan that almost hit him scooped him up and took him to the vet in town that we don’t use. *we know this now*

Upon returning home, we realized that we were sans dog. We drove the neighborhood and any major road he might have gotten to, looking for flashes of orange Corgi. We put up dozens of ‘Lost Dog’ signs. We called OUR vet, the local animal shelters and the non-emergency police. Nobody had him.

Yesterday morning, the vet that had him called the animal shelter who immediately called us. Our dog is safe and was warm overnight. Go get him when you can.

Happy Birthday to You.

So now, we have our smelly, blind, deaf, old-man-river-of-a-dog back. I can now go back to waiting for him to die of natural causes, not our inept ability to keep track of creatures that don’t scream at us.

Oh, and here is his picture in case you ever find such smelly, blind, deaf, old-man-river Corgi roaming around your neighborhood. It is probably ours.

And no, we have no plans on getting another animal before Gracie is in college.

Tactical Mistake

Upon Matt's return from Boston, he presented both Grace and me with gifts.

I got Beacon Hill Chocolates and Mike's Pastry cookies (becasue he couldn't figure out how to keep the cream in my beloved Lobster Tails freash for a day in the hotel and plane ride. Personally, I think he just wasn't being creative enough :) Seriously though, these things are good enough to be the sole reason for your trip to Boston.)

Gracie was presented with a Lucy the Lobster and Her Clacky Claws and this little finger puppet. ------------------>

Despite the truly clacking claw on the top, the book was a meh for Gracie. The tiny little finger puppet though! That is a winner. The puppet ate dinner with us last night. Literally. We had to tell her several times that plush toys do not belong on your dinner plate and that the lobster does not need to eat himself. Especially not my famous, I make them once a year because they are such a pain-in-the-butt, eggrolls.

Do you hear that Grace? Toy lobsters do not eat eggrolls!

Anyway, the lobster is LOVED. And at the grocery store I made a TACTICAL. MISTAKE.

At the fish counter I pointed out the live lobster tank. Shit.

I wasn't thinking, at least not all the way though to the repercussions of what I was doing. In my small minded 5 second thought process before I spoke, I assumed Gracie would squeal with joy over sighting the real thing and we would be on our way. Nope. The fish counter is only 1/2 way though our shopping routine. The first half of the trip she ate contraband, unwashed fruit and the second half she lamented with a wayward bellow for the lobsters.

Lober, where are you lober? Mama, where is lober? Is lober OK? I want it. I want to see lober. I want it. Lober, where are you lober? Mama, go see lober?

See what I mean? Shit.

I spend the next few minutes ignoring her questions, which were increasing in volume and pitch, to come up with a story. After Matt's request for Uncrustables was fulfilled (don't ask, but if you ever need them they are located on the bottom shelf of back corner behind the tequitos and pizza snacks at my gocery store), we fought traffic back to the fish counter.

OK, Gracie. One more stop by the lobsters. But they are sleeping and they can't come out of the water, OK? We will stop by and say hi one more time, but you'll have to wait until next week to see them again after, OK? OK?!?

And so we did. It went smoothly. Mama, I see them! Shh! lober sleeping. OK, we go now. I see again though?

When we got home Grace promptly told Matt, "Shh - lober sleeping" and walked away. But now? Now an extra 5 minutes is going to have to be built into every visit to the grocery store. Stuffing Lil' Rick into his Halloween lobster costume should be a big hit this year though.

The Magic of the Bee Bo

Over the last week, she has taken to once again tormenting the dog. I know she doesn’t mean to hurt him and in the end she only wants to hug him, but right now it is torment.

The new game is to chase Lil’ Rick around in circles while she cackles like a lunatic. When she finally does catch him, (and lets face it Rick is easy to catch, he’s got little legs and is 12 years old) Gracie clutches handfuls of his loose old man skin and pulls out big chucks of hair that are still firmly in place.

Thank God he is the gentlest creature on the planet, because frankly, if I were him I’d bite her.

Grace is very familiar with the phrase ‘not nice’ and uses it willy-nilly when she is mad at us. Like when she shimmies up a chair and onto the kitchen table to dance and we have to forcibly remove her. This, apparently, amid the shrieks and tears qualifies as us being ‘not nice.’ So be it.

So I’ve been working on the expansion of not nice. As in “When you pull on Ricky’s fur like that it is not nice. It hurts him. Hurt. Ouch. Hurt. And that makes him sad.” I must have repeated that phrase 20 times yesterday alone. Grace kept looking at me like I had two heads and then went on to rip some more doggie hair out.

She must have been paying attention though because last night we had a communication break through.

When Matt was putting her to bed, she started crying and fussing which was uncharacteristic. He pulled out the old, 'what is wrong? use your words' on her. And you know what? It worked.

She said ‘bee bo’, which translated from Sandra Boynton, means belly button. So she kept saying ‘bee bo. bee bo hurt. bee bo hurt’ which Matt was able to further translate into ‘my tummy hurts’ and then soothes with belly rubs until she fell asleep.

Now it is never a good think when your kids stomach hurts, but this is the first time she’s been able to tell us. Which (obviously) is a fabulous thing. Now I just need to figure out how to make her understand how much it hurts the dog when she body slams him and pulls hair.

Mature Corgi Free to a Good Home

My family always had pets growing up.

In fact, we’ve had 3 dogs, 5 cats, 1 bird, 2 turtles, 1 alligator (Jerry’s but I’ll still count it) and billions of fish. So I am rarely surprised by pet antics.

Until now.

Our 2nd dog, Scooter, used to go on what we titled his “spring walk-a-bouts”. Every year when the nice weather hit after a long Chicago winter, Scoot would take off once or twice. Besides the obvious problem of a dog running around in traffic, we also had concern for the fact that he terrified most people. He was a BIG dog, gentle as a lamb, but BIG. A Shepard-Collie-Malamute mix that was easily over 100 pounds. When he stood on his hind legs, he could put his feet on my shoulder. I’m 5’10”.

We don’t have those issues with Little Rick. He is a pure breed Corgi and a little pork sausage of a dog. For the most part he was impeccably trained by his previous owners, despite the fact that he doesn’t respond to the fun dog tricks people expect like, ‘paw’, ‘roll over’ or even ‘sit’.

Over the last few weeks though, he seems to have had a late onset of Scoots walk-a-bout fever. He escaped from our fenced in back yard at least a dozen times in April. This prompted a round of spring maintenance (e.g. gluing the crappy plastic picket posts back onto its crappy plastic frame) but that dog is resourceful. Tricky. He was not about to be outdone. With the posts back in place, he is now squeezing his little body through the pickets.

So what do we do about his?

Rick is dumb. We don’t trust him to go pee on someone else’s yard and then come trotting back. He has no idea where he lives (but I guess that isn’t entirely his fault – we don’t walk him nearly enough and all the houses look similar in our neighborhood.)

Maybe with the upcoming summer we will need to start going for walks after dinner to get it out of his system … or place an add in the paper for a free Corgi to a good home.

Nighttiming

Things went downhill yesterday, just like the roll of stones or the flow of water. Except our version of water was slightly digested and smelled like feta cheese.

I 6:40 pm last night I set about our nighttime routine.

- 8 oz bottle √
- tomorrows clothes √
- jammies √
- bath water warming up √

Then my mom called. Grace wasn’t actually in the bath yet, so we ran to see who was calling. Sorry Grams. Not answering.

Gracie gets in the bath and starts that play routine.

Phone rings again. What the ????. Not answering. It is now 6:50. People know better.

We get out of the bath, get dressed and start the bottle. Lights are off. Sleep Sheep rain is pattering. Humidifier is blowing.

7:00 phone rings again. Son of a !!!!!. Gracie sucks down the last drop of her bottle and starts looking around.

We go downstairs to make another bottle. 6oz should be more than enough. And the message light is blinking on the phone.

Back upstairs we settle back in and Gracie starts working on bottle #2. At 7:10 the phone rings again. ####. Grace looks around for a second but is getting sleepy.

Two seconds later my cell phone starts to ring. The dog barks. Gracie sits up in my lap. #### #### ####!

She settles back down quickly, entire bottle gone, and I rock her to sleep.

I am amazed that she drank a new record amount of 14 oz in one sitting and am thinking about how I have to call Matt to announce this big news, once I yell at all the people who have been calling.

We get up and as I stand Gracie opens her eyes and smiles at me.

Then she gives me the look. Uh Oh.

BLAH…..

Yack. All over my neck, shirt, pants. We start to move towards the bathroom.

BLAH…..

Yack. All over the hall carpet. We take the final steps into the bathroom.

BLAH…..

Yack. All over the mirror and sink.

I sit her on the counter with her feet in the sink.

BLAH…..

Yack. All over her footie pajamas.

I strip off all our clothes and wipe down my shaking baby. I curse and kick at Lil’ Rick, who is in the process of eating the carpet yack.

Once in new jammies, Gracie fell asleep quickly. I on the other hand, had the joys of parenting to attend to.

And a lot of phone calls to return.

Tis the Season

This will be Gracie's first real holiday season.

Sure, she was here last year, but she was still brand new and not very fun.

I recall screaming 10 minutes into the Thanksgiving meal I had spend hours preparing and days obsessing over. The complaint is only about the screaming though. I L-O-V-E the cooking and obsessing part of Thanksgiving.

I also recall the lump of 2 month old baby that didn't enjoy Christmas morning either. I'm gonna go out on a limb and say there was crying involved that morning too. Despite our efforts to crinkle paper, decorate her with bows and then drown out the cries with mimosas.

This year will be different though. In fact, it already is.

Much like retail stores, my satellite radio is moving up the start of Christmas too. Sure, they have a million stations so it makes absolute sense, but I will still surprised when an alert came up that my favorite Christmas song was playing somewhere in the box. The music, much like the decorations are supposed to start the day after Thanksgiving. Not weeks before.

Anyway ...

This has turned out to be a wonderful thing for me. Why? Grace seems to L-O-V-E Christmas music. You know, jingle bells and all make for great head bobbing. So far, Sleigh Ride is her favorite. Lots and lots of bells.

So this year's holiday season is filled with hope.

Thanksgiving will be served during the happiest part of the day, 3 pm-ish(right after her nap). I know she is a fan of yams, so they will only be better with butter and brown sugar. Cranberries will be a hit with their sweet squishability. Turkey will be tasted and shared with the dog.

It's a win-win for everyone. She will be happy, Lil' Rick will be happy, I will be happy and (most importantly) there WILL BE NO CRYING.

Here me kid?

So Many Firsts....

This weekend was the weekend of firsts.

Matt completed his first marathon.

He did great and we are so proud. I tracked him like a little rabbit via text message and a little blinking dot that showed me where he was on the course.

Unfortunately, the technology was about 15 minutes behind his actual pace. When he shot me a text saying he was OK during the run, I thought I would encourage him with stats.

Doing great! 11 min miles. Will finish 4hrs 50 min.

Apparently, giving specifics and stats will be added to the things not to say.

I guess during that 15 minutes of delay, he hit his wall, which slowed him to 12 minute miles and gave a final finish time of 5 hrs 17 min 51 sec. Yeah, that’s how specific these things are. He knew he wouldn’t make his under 5 hour goal and was sad.

He did however live out a dream with photographic evidence. He chugged a beer during a marathon. There is a known group of guys with a big keg that hand out beers around mile 22.

Matt partook.

And grabbed a big handful of Goldfish crackers too.

NOTE TO SELF: Stop thinking and just say "I love you!" from now on.

Another first was Gracie’s disappearing act.

Things were quiet for more than 2 minutes so I started to get nervous. I started frantically searching the house and couldn’t find her. When I called her name I heard a jingle.

Up above me.

It was my little mountain climber with her face between the rails looking down from the 2nd floor. I had forgotten to put the baby gate up at the base of the stairs and she went on the Mt. Everest expedition all by herself. All 13 stairs in less than a minute.

NOTE TO SELF: Make sure you put the baby gate up religiously now.

We also made the full switch to whole milk this weekend.

Gracie has been going hot and cold with the idea. So I gave her some juice and put her on the kitchen floor to play while I wrote thank you cards.

Then I heard splashing. My dear daughter had her entire face planted in the dog’s water bowl, slurping away. With her juice cup right next to her.

So gross, so gross. How do you get dog germs out of the inside of a baby’s mouth? You don’t. I tried.

NOTE TO SELF: Always pick the water bowl up off the ground while she is awake. Sorry Rick.

Mountain Climbing

We took a big step this weekend, to prevent an even bigger leap. We have installed the hard-mount baby gate at the top of our stairs.

Over the last few days, Gracie has taken a huge interest in the stairs.

She kept inching closer and closer to the edge to look over, and has started flinging toys through the banister from the second floor onto the first. I will give her some credit, they do make a nice bang when the crash. It is almost the same level of bang that my heart made the first time I heard it.

Now that she is focused on walking, crawling is at lightening speeds. One second she is sitting there chewing in a shoe, the next she is on the landing flinging toys. Or more heart stopping, looking over the edge of the landing and down the stairs.

Hence the official installation of the gate and several holes in the hardwood banister. Eh, it is contractor grade though, so this just means that I will be able to replace it in a few years, right? Right??

So this is a win-win project! We keep our baby safe and I have the illusion that I will get some high priced home improvement in the years to come. Well, Lil’Rick doesn’t seem too happy about the arrangement. It is cramping his style.

We have a second mobile gate at the bottom of the stairs now too because when I caught her peering through the rail on the 3rd step of the stairs, my heart once again stopped for a moment. I yanked her off the stairs and slapped up the gate. What I didn’t realize is that I was trapping the dog on the stairs. Stuck in the limbo between the couch and our bed. 2 hours later, I noticed the whimpering.

Maybe if he starts peeing on the carpeting, we can add another home improvement project onto the list sooner instead of later!

Don’t Your Prefer Cheese?

Grace has had full control of the fine motor skill, index finger to thumb grasp, for quite awhile. She can pincer grasp things with the best of them, but still won’t say “Ma Ma.” Go figure.

With this skill she self feeds herself completely on the weekends. I still send mashed food with the finger snacks to daycare because I figure if they don’t mind having the food spit back on them, why should I? Grace is a champion with beans, shredded chicken, peas, pasta, fruit, Cheerios and cheese shreds.

You know what her FAVORITE snack is though?

Yeah, I know, all the major kiddy food groups are in the list. It’s because its not food.

It is ….. hair! Gross huh?

She sees our Corgi, Lil’ Rick, as a buffet. A smorgasbord. Between the snacks of hair that she finds on the floor and the drive by plucking, she eats hair all day. I keep thinking, “Don’t you prefer cheese? What are you doing kid?!?”

So I am constantly trying to feed her at home. Most of the time I will put her into the high chair, give her a snack and – Freak Out – OK, go back onto the ground and eat dog hair then. And she does.

It is not just dog hair though. Of course not. My daughter is apparently not that picky of an eater. Human hair seems to be just as good. She likes to rip fists full of hair right out of my head. I think they must taste better if it has the root too. I am fairly certain I will be bald by the time she is 2.

This past weekend, Grace and I met my friend Jen at Panera for lunch. Apparently, while I was refilling my drink, Grace lured Jen in with whispers of baby love and … BANG! … ripped out a chunk of her hair. Which went straight into the mouth.

To be on the positive side about this tendency that I can’t figure out how to stop aside from giving away our beloved pet:
1) She appears to be taking only what she is willing to eat.
2) It’s just another form of protein, right?
3) Given all options, eating hair is better then boogers. Although she has been trying to stick her finger up her nose lately. Hmmm ...

Puppy Love

Our dog Lil’ Rick is the most gentle animal in the world.

Proof of this is that moments after this photo, she poked him directly in the eye – twice – with sharp finger nails – and he didn’t even flinch. I actually had to tell him to move. And then bribe him with a cookie. He was having fun and just didn't want to move.



For the first 8 months of Grace’s life, he ignored her. Completely indifferent.

He did notice the fact that he wasn’t crated for 4.5 months and that he wasn’t getting as much attention as before, but eh, it was made up for with the ability to spend 24 hours a day sleeping on our bed and extra snacks.

But lately he is taking an interest in her and her in him.

I don’t think it is a coincidence that Ricky’s interest spiked around the time she started on finger foods though. How do you resist a child that has banana crumbs on her fingers?

Slowly, but surely, he started coming around.

At first it was just drive by lickings. He would sneak up, slurp the side of her face and scurry away.

Over the last couple of weeks he has actually started “playing” with her. The play is more like sitting inches away watching her smack wooden blocks together, but still he is watching her. When he feels more interactive, he lays down touching her, which incites her to clutch handfuls of hair and poke eyes.

None of which seems to bug him. Go figure.

So during the play last night, Rick sat nose to nose with her licking cheeks, neck, arms, hands, fingers, whatever she would present to him. All the while Grace giggled.

I am so glad that our love puppy has finally decided to dish out his puppy love to Gracie.