For Summer

August 9, 2011 - 15 Comments by Mishelle - Familija

It was a hot, summer morning and we were visiting Michael’s parents in Covington.  We usually planned to stay the whole day, driving an hour from our home in New Orleans.   This particular morning, however, our visit lasted less than an hour.

I opened up the Times-Picayune and found myself on a classified page.  The ad was for Boxer-Lab pups and the price was insane—only $20 for a sweet new pup, and a sister for Sadie.

We jumped into our Honda Accord and raced over the Causeway towards Kenner.    We were going so fast that we ultimately got pulled over by the Causeway Police, and luckily for us a group of unruly and mouthy kids got pulled over at the same time.  Michael was all “yes Sir, sorry Sir, I understand Sir” to the cop, and it got us off with a warning.  We got off the Causeway, at the posted speed, and then sped the rest of the way to check out the puppies.  We didn’t know if we’d get one or if there would be any left when we got there, but I knew–deep down–that we would leave with a new part of our family.

The street looked like any other street that I’d ever seen with houses that looked like the house next door.  We found the house and went up to the front door.  A few minutes later there was a box on the grass, at the bottom of the steps, with two of the sweetest, smallest, cutest little puppies.   One male. One female.  And, it was settled, we handed over a crisp twenty dollar bill and headed off to our house with our coffee-breath bundle of puppy love.

She was the puppy that traveled, in a pink basket, around the French Quarter, swaddled in our best towels.  She was the puppy that made me cry (hard) when it was time for her to get a shot to rid her of those nasty butt-worms.  She was the puppy that brought bikini clad girls, on the white sandy Destin beach, to my father’s chair to ooohh and aaahh all over the small, precious ball of sweetness.   She was Sadie’s little sister.  The spunky one.  The one who told everyone how it was.  She wasn’t a boxer.  She wasn’t a lab.  She was a mix of everything perfect, with eyes that were seemingly drawn with the finest charcoal.

Fourteen and a half years later…  She was the dog that stepped into the role of “main family dog” when her older sister passed away.  Gone were the days of hiding in different bedrooms to get away from the noise.  No, she was content to be in the thick of the noise, though I think she was always happy when we gave her a break by leaving for the day.

It’s hard for me to even find the words.  I hated having to make the decision to put her to sleep.  Mostly because Michael wouldn’t be here to say goodbye (that was the worst part about it because I know how much she loved him.)  But, she was in pain.  Her hind legs were giving up. She hadn’t eaten a decent doggie meal in over a week, and if she did she threw it up, along with bile, and, at the end, blood.   I wanted so desperately for her to hold on for her Papa, but, on Monday, when she looked at me I could tell that she wasn’t right.  I could tell that she was hurting, and I wanted to do what I could (what I should) to ease her pain.   Michael agreed, and early in the afternoon I made an appointment.

After the call, I took her outside and she stood in the middle of the yard not wanting to come in.  She was staring at the ground, her hind legs sinking with every second that passed.   Somehow she decided to come to me, and I brought her in and I sat on the couch with her for a while—a good hour or so.    She rested while I told her, Davey, and Benny stories about her younger years.

That was the only rest she got that day, until about 3:45pm when she went to doggie heaven to run and play and get her ears cleaned by Sadie.

I know some people say that dogs don’t go to heaven.  I call bullshit.  They are the most soulful, loving, happy creatures; how could they not end up heaven?   I refuse to believe they aren’t up there waiting for us to come to them with milk-bone filled pockets and tears of joy for the reunion.

I’m gonna miss her talking barks, her eye boogers, the jingle of her dog collar, her cold nose bumps for a pat on the head, her pretty feet, and her total doggie spunk.

She’s Summer Girl Lane and this post was written for her
She’s Summer Girl Lane and she is the one who defined [our special word] for the person who steals your seat when you go to the bathroom or get up to get a drink.
She’s Summer Girl Lane and I will always love and miss her.