Finding a home for Riley

I think about getting a dog- Lena's Bill made the point that she could easily make that happen- but I think now might not be the best time. I see people walking their dogs and I think I could easily change my life if a dog showed up, but for now I am playing tennis three times a week, I'm going out a lot, and I may join a pool players league. I had Riley through some very unsettled times, and I'd like to do it better. Of course, I could meet a dog and change my mind immediately.

It feels so quiet at home, but it's also nice to shake the routines up- I do not have to go home right away, I do not have to put on shoes and a coat last thing at night, and finding these things that felt automatic and are no longer necessary  remind me that they are not just obligations- there are values in them, and a choice.

Most of the time I feel like everyday Jenny, and sometimes I am blown over with sadness. I am not sad for Riley- she had a full, interesting life and it ended so beautifully, and I constantly think about how lucky we were to have that. I am sad for me, and I feel appropriately ungrounded, having lost my shadow.

I keep thinking of these memories and think I need to write them down or I might forget them. Riley was not an obsessive licker, but your hand might get a couple kisses when saying hello. When I went to do laundry downstairs, she would wander out on the grass while I kept an eye out, poop bag at the ready. My neighbors knew if she was out, I was nearby, but they always made sure.

My favorite thing- what warmed my heart every time it happened and every time I think of it- is that when she rode on my lap in the car (and she was always so well-behaved), she liked to rest her head on my driving arm. I always loved that, and hoped for straight stretches so she would stay longer, but it would only be for a few seconds at most before she'd lift her head up and look somewhere else. I treasured those seconds every time and tried to feel everything to absorb it and remember it and it worked, because now when I think about her, that's where she is.

When I said to Lena and friends that I had yet to pick out my own dog, they thought maybe I should continue in that tradition. I have no doubt that if I take too long, the universe will hand me one. For now though, I will just miss my girl.

Missing Riley

I've been changing things slowly as they come up: taking the dog food to work to leave on the free table, rearranging, picking up dog beds... I gave Ant a couple of her beds, but not her favorite one. Jasmine's bowl is washed and put away, and I gave Ant toys and bones and a brush. I feel fine through most of it, maybe a little sad, but I just pulled down the mortar and pestle Sean got for me so I could crush her glucosamine pill into powder and I cried my eyeballs out.

I think she was ready to go, I really do. I think about how she would stretch in her downward dog and just plop her butt down because she couldn't get back up from it that way- she'd have to lie down first. I think about the bloody drool and how she started declining hard treats. I think about her terrible vision and hearing and how through all of that, she was this sweet, happy girl and she didn't care what was going on as long as she was near me.

That last time I woke her up was after the vet had arrived and explained everything. Dad and I had just spent an hour at least outside with her in the shade and it was so quiet and lovely and cool and she just wanted to nap, right there outside. When we brought her in, she went straight to our room and curled up. When I woke her, she was a little testy, like "Would you please let me sleep?" Yes, baby. I apologized for waking her and apologized again for picking her up, promising it was the last time. She did not protest, as she'd gotten very used to the one thing she hated more than anything.

She was ready to go, and I am so fortunate to have been able to let her go at home, pain and panic free, napping in my lap with my arms around her- the safest place in her whole world.

I knew I wouldn't be able to move to a new home until after she was gone, because she wouldn't know her way around. I knew I couldn't move the furniture around or leave things on the floor. I knew I had to watch her pain and mobility and measure her food. I was her eyes on our short, slow walks and I knew which curbs she could manage.

Now Mini and I cry to each other and come running. We nuzzle and hold onto each other. She sleeps at the foot of my bed, and when I wake up at night, she crackles the barest noise to me and I feel the slight weight of her tiny paws. She noses at the covers and I lift them up as she burrows in beside me. She is not comfortable until her face is buried in my hand and I coo to her as she brushes me with her tail.

She is old too- 11- but she is a very small cat and her age is a quieter management than Riley's. I joke that I can make people in my neighborhood REALLY think I'm crazy- first, the dog stroller, next, walking my cat! Perhaps you remember my earlier attempts, but now that she is lonely and does not have a blind dog to harass or try to cuddle with, I feel like I should make her world more entertaining. I found some toy mice she adores and I marinate them in catnip, but it's usually too hot, too cold, or too mosquito-y to leave the balcony open, so maybe we ought to start venturing out. That's probably good for both of us.

Feeling Empty

Chris picked Jasmine up on Thursday, and I'm having the hardest time with the thought that I could stay inside for the rest of the night- no dog walk, no potties before bed. I have picked up some of her things, but it's a slow process. I just picked up her water bowl today. I am thinking about rearranging some things (Shocking, I know.) to better utilize the space- the same shit I am always trying to do, but there's this extra amount floor space, and I just suddenly feel so sad.

There's this neighbor who can't talk to me without mentioning how many shelter dogs need homes, and it makes me wants to club his kneecaps. It's not as if I am whining to him about missing Riley- he just keeps doing that, even though I keep telling him I am well aware. Somebody was bound to be the get-a-new-dog-immediately pest, so it might as well be someone I don't really know or care about. I don't feel ready to get another dog- I can't even consider it at the moment- but I will surely keep an eye out for any messages the universe sends me about it. I don't think anybody's really questioning whether or not I will have another dog.

When I look around, I see a messy place and I have been feeling so overwhelmed with everything and I'm playing tennis 3 times a week and hanging out with friends and I think maybe things need to settle a bit anyway.

Working on being here

Real quick-
Today was supposed to be cleaning and all the stuff I've been just unable to keep up with for the last month. (Has it been a month?!) Of course, instead I laid in bed for an hour and ran errands all day and when I was supposed to start cleaning, my feet hurt. It's how I do.
But somewhere around 8, I got the train moving, and have been picking up and putting away for 3 hours. My apartment is not cleaned but policed so that I can clean tomorrow, and I would not be horrified if someone walked in right now. I wanted to remind myself that this is in keeping with how I do everything, and while it's not for everyone, it apparently is for me, and it would be an incredibly kind gesture to not beat myself about the head and shoulders for it. Trust that the motivation will hit, and that it will probably happen at night. Make a note to look for jobs or schedules that allow you to take advantage of the motivation that often hits at 8 or 9 at night.
This weekend I let some of Riley's ashes go, and I want to tell you about that and share some pictures, but I will get that done when I get to it. :) I have been feeling so bad for not being motivated and productive and wondering if it's grief or just laziness, because I like to flog myself mercilessly. But HA, critical inner voice! Productivity wasn't lost forever, and besides- if a messy apartment comes along with losing my shadow, oh well, and I'm still doing the important stuff like going to work and paying bills. It can't all be up to par.
Tonight, while putting things away, I moved Riley's bed into the closet and found myself looking at things like the stroller and her leash and feeling a leap of panic, like oh my god, what the hell am I going to do with that... feeling all the guilt and sentiment and the mutual obligation to both keep things and give them to other dogs, and I had this overpowering and total unwillingness to let go...
Another day, another day. Leave that for another day.

Keep your circle positive

I went to a new Zumba class with Sarah this morning. It was intense and held in a studio designed strictly for Zumba, so there weren't a ton of mirrors, the lights were dimmed, the music was loud, and the instructor was animated. We want to go back, but of course it's intimidating for about the first 10 classes until you start to learn what's going on. Tracy, I really need you to come visit so you can come to class with me and show me what the hell they're doing. I am just going to have to go until it starts to look familiar. After the class, the instructor made his way over to us (in the back corner) and said he saw us trying and knows it's hard when you're new and can't see his feet, so he expects to see us up front next time. :o

So then I ran over to Walmart for a few things. I went to this specific Walmart because it's the only one that's got the trash bags I use and I'm pretty sure I was warned away from that one this weekend, because Burning Man is on. The parking lot was jammed full of rented RVs and U-Hauls and beautiful people were everywhere, decked out in their faux desert/steampunk/neon/Coachella wear. The Walmart had a trailer sized dumpster in the parking lot that was rounded over with cardboard boxes that were not broken down. Burning Man is carefully orchestrated and organized, and you have to haul out whatever you haul in, but some Burners can sure make a mess in Reno before they head out to the playa. I'm definitely not just talking about cardboard.

Walmart has pallets of water down a whole center aisle, and a sign that directs Burners to the garden section. They also have something like a two week no returns policy around this time every year, because a lot of the 75,000 people that will attend this year are flying in, so they buy everything here, then try to recoup some money by returning what they didn't- or did- use. The playa dust gets in absolutely everything, and some people have figured out how to take advantage of that business with specific Burning Man truck washes and such. For example, check out U-Haul's helpful advice:
https://www.uhaul.com/Burningman/

So not only was I at Walmart on a Sunday with all the Burners who are headed out to the desert today, but there were also some poor folks still trying to buy school supplies. I carefully navigated through the internal traffic jam and prepared to wait in line for a half hour. Some people behind me were getting seriously ansty, but it was really fine. Then I got outside with my few purchases, and some dickhead walking in with his friend makes a comment about my saddlebags. All I got in response was, "REALLY?"

Now, I know I shouldn't let that wide piece of shit bother me. If he really wants to ruin some stranger's day, his life probably sucks, and my guess is that he was coming from lunch rather than a workout, but I couldn't help but be mad and feel like shit. What a fucking jerk.

So I stop at Home Depot amped up, just willing the world to throw another comment my way. I went to the building materials to find some cinder blocks for my new tiny grill, but couldn't find a cart, so I picked up two and headed to the checkout. The cashiers say nothing as I approach, but as I pay, my cashier asks if I want her to find me a cart. The checkout is already halfway to the car, so I say no thanks and grab the two blocks. "You make it look easy," says Cashier #2.

YYEEEEAAHHH!

At home, making my lunch, I still felt pissed at that turd, but no longer hurt. I felt strong and fine, and ripped the lid clean off my test strip bottle. Easy there, Muscles. :D

Good grief

I feel a little better now after a shower and tears. I'm feeling sad, disproportionately angry, and very lonely. I'm feeling very down on myself and struggling to keep it observational, but I do not like how I feel or the state I am in. The despair feels familiar and permanent, as if I always feel this way, but I don't believe that's true. I feel angry and shortchanged about everything except Riley, but I know that's not accurate either. I feel like I'm just now crawling out of a huge hole of grief and loss and now I'm headed into another, but I know it hasn't been a solid four years of grief. It's been four years of lessening grief with widening moments of happiness and gratitude, but in these moments, it feels like grief just lives here. It is so difficult to treat feelings as anything else than absolute truth.

For those who loved Riley

It's too early to be up before a long drive, but this time I've got a passenger who can spell me, and this time especially, I feel like I'll need it. I haven't really packed. I feel all hollow and sad and I keep coming back to her last moments. Riley was so good, as she always was. We spent about an hour outside under a tree. She laid down in the grass between Dad and I, and just smelled the breeze. It was a really nice day- warm like bathwater, and it was really comfortable in the shade. Nap weather. She watched and listened to the activity around us, and gave me pointed looks whenever I stopped petting her. She was clearly tired, and was ready to sleep. I carried her back inside and she went straight to my room and curled up.

Kate told me days ago to listen to my instincts, and that day especially, it was so important. I went to get a towel from the car and caught the vet as she drove in. I had given the people my building number, but that information didn't make it to her, and it's difficult to find me based on apartment number alone. Those were the kind of moments I had all day, when I listened intently to my inclinations, and it went so smoothly it felt like water. This, of all days, was a good one to be tuned in.

The vet came up and explained the process again. She made some suggestions, including having some treats available to distract Riley during the initial sedation. I had been able to give her her meds that morning in the continued efforts to keep her comfortable, but she had refused her last pain pill, even though it was covered in cheez whiz and rolled in bacon. I had asked about interactions between the meds, but I was told there would be none. I wonder if that pill would have affected her coherence or comfort, and I feel as though she didn't eat it because she didn't need it.

For Riley's last meal, we gave her what she craved and constantly scavenged for, the one thing she was never allowed to have: cat food. She required more and more enticing in those last few days, and at first she was all about that cheez whiz. She ate probably four pieces of bacon that day. I think it was Dad who pointed out that if she was after cat food, so be it, so we'd already tried that with great success. I woke her from her nap one last time and carried her into the living room.

I sat on the couch, and we settled in. Dad gave her a handful of cat food and she gobbled it up while the vet gave her the first sedative. She was briefly distracted by that, and it took only the slightest encouragement from me before she returned to her meal. Dad gave her another handful and she happily ate it right up. The sedative worked fast, and she laid her head down in my arms and I smoothed her crazy hair. I put my favorite sleep shirt over her and rubbed her belly as the vet worked on her back leg. I kissed her warm head and whispered my goodbyes in her ear and felt her leave this world as quietly and peacefully as snow falling.

I wake up at night and scan the floor for her. I put trash in Riley-proof cans. I go to bed without one last trip outside. I leave the house feeling like I am missing something, because I am.

Dad said it will be coming home that's hard, and I agree. Even old as hell, mostly deaf and mostly blind, passed out cold in my closet, she would always know I was home. She'd catch a scent in her dream and roll right awake, reaching her nose in my direction.

This dog.

Dad said I should give her that last month and call her 16 years old. So I will. My 16 year old, lovely, silly, grumpy, loving, spoiled, happy, crafty, sweet little girl. I will miss finding her waking up with bed face, sprawled halfway off her bed, not ready to get up yet. She moved 12 times with me, rode across the country in my lap and went on countless road trips to fun places. She went missing once during a big storm, and survived many other incidents through her life, including a phenobarbital, red ants, a 15 foot fall off the porch at Topaz, a foxtail in her ear, raisins, dark chocolate, and two leaps from a moving RAV4- one intentional, one not. Her happiest day ever was at Yosemite, hiking all day and scaling boulders to chase squirrels. She caught two squirrels in her life- both here in this neighborhood- and once surreptitiously tasted a pet ferret at Topaz when she thought no one was looking. She lost a bottom tooth on the vacuum cleaner when she was 6 months old and they remained sworn enemies. She loved barking at splashes at the lake and fell into the water many times while trying to bite them. She loved boat rides and wandering freely along the shore where she would find sticks or something disgusting to chew on. She liked to sit up on the back of the couch like a cat, and you had to be careful because she might start humping your head. She'd eat Tracy's mac & cheese if it was left alone for a nanosecond, and she knew and loved her aunt long after we'd moved away. Her favorite spot to be petted was just under her hip, and she'd raise her leg, sending all the kids screaming because they thought she was going to pee on them. She did pee on many vets and groomers and once bit a FedEx delivery man.

Riley loved cheese puffs and broccoli, little male dogs, and napping in a towel on my lap after a bath. She liked to comb the dog food aisles at PetSmart for loose kibble, and would drag me to the cashier for a cookie, pushing through anyone in line. She preferred walking on my left side, off leash. She loved cats and was very good at making friends with them. She was such a food hound that she would jump up on the couch, put her front paws on your leg with as much pressure as she could manage, and stare into your eyes. When Ant was little, she'd eat his afternoon snack right out of his mouth, which entertained them both to no end. She liked to rub her face on her bed after a particularly good meal. She had a great mohawk and a curly butt. When she got really happy and excited, she would bite my nose. She was part mountain goat.

She was my ladybug, my little girl. I know now why I'm having a hard time leaving today. When I come back, it will never be the same.

“You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.”

― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan