Posts Tagged ‘sad’

Thank You, Tiny.

Returning to Nature

Taking Comfort in our Great Mother

Before you go, I want to tell you how grateful I am to have known you.  I want to say thank you, my four-legged friend.

Thank you for being such a dear loyal friend to my son.  Thank you for communicating with me during times when he, and you, needed me.  Thank you for loving him.

Thank you for your tremendous patience.  You’ve lived a life of many stories, my dear friend, and I will never forget them.  I will never forget you.

I will however remember the fun times, because my girl Free, who lives where you are going, taught me this is the best way to let a beloved Dog go to, “The place that’s the best,” with, “The Spirits in the Sky.”

Thank you for loving my son, especially when he wasn’t well.  Thank you for always thinking of him, letting him know you loved him, no matter how far away you were from each other.  Thank you so much!

Thank you for making people laugh with your playful antics.  Thank you for sticking by us through thick and thin.  Truly, you have, and I am in tremendous gratitude.

Thank you for never biting anyone.  You scared me a few times, but it is best that you didn’t act on your instincts, even though they were correct and the people may have indeed deserved a nip, or two.

Tiny, thank you for loving me.  I wasn’t sure if you would like living with me, but you did,  I could always tell. 

I know you feel closest to my son and I love you for that, but when he wasn’t here, I always felt proud that you followed me around, watched out for me and slept at the end of my feet.  You were such a great little, “Foot-Feller.”

Tiny, I will always love you.  Always.  You will live in my heart because there is a place in it shaped exactly like you.

I’d also like to say thank you for loving my girl.  She was afraid of so much when she first left that stinky shelter and came to live with me.  She sure wasn’t scared of you! 

I’ll never forget what it looked like to see two dogs fall crazy in-love with each other.  I did and it was beautiful.  My new girl’s eyes widened big and her mouth literally dropped open when you walked in our door.  She was stunned!  It was so funny.  I could see the love she felt for you!  It was amazing.

Thank you for always treating her like a Princess.  She thinks she is one now, I guess.

She sure has been a good nurse hasn’t she?  Boy, I’ll have to do something really special for her, like take her for a walk where she can pretend she’s hunting squirrels.

She will miss you Tiny.  We all will.  I will give her lots of hugs and extra love.

I promise, per your only request of me during the past few months, to be here for your true Master.  He is my son and you know I love him with all my heart and soul.  I’m honored that you asked and very grateful that I heard.

I will do the best I can to keep my head up.  I know I got pretty sad when the Vet told me you had cancer.  I did and I have cried a lot, but I promise I’ll be okay.  I may cry for a while, but you know me Tiny.  I do cry.

I will help your best friend get another four-legged companion when the time is right.  I promise.

Thank you, Tiny.  You are the most amazing boy dog I have ever known and loved.  You are my grand-dog!  Thank you for being my friend and sweet foot-feller.

I could say a lot more.  I could.  I could thank you for all the times you’ve been there for us, but I must stop writing.  I want to come lie down beside you.  I guess, it is our last night together.

We will go to the Vet tomorrow.  We will go.

Thank You, Tiny.

We Love You Forever!

Photos of Tiny in this post.

Bye Jack…

King Crown Tail

Image by J-Joyce via Flickr

The woman at the pet store pushed him on me.  I told her I had never cared for a fish and she said they were sooo easy.  She said all they needed was a bowl, some rocks, a small plant and some food.

Well, that is total bullshit!

I was crying, but now I feel angry, which honestly is easier to feel.

Poor Jack.

I could see he was sick yesterday, but I didn’t know what to do.  My son thought he was fine, but I didn’t.

I was going to get a real tank after having gone online to discover that Jack needed at least 2 gallons of water and a few more plants.

I didn’t have time yesterday and today, when I woke up, well… He is still over there in the bowl.

I can’t believe how it hurts.  I can’t just throw him out.  I guess I’ll put him in some paper and bury him.  I guess.  I don’t know what people do with a dead fish, at least, people like me, whose heart is as tender as my little Ruthie Mae’s is.

Jack made my son smile from ear to ear.

I took my son home yesterday and I’m glad he doesn’t have to see Jack now.

I’m mad because the pet store shouldn’t sell those fish telling folks they will live in a bowl!

Then too, like everything in my life that is sad or goes wrong, I feel like it’s my fault.  I must have turned the heat down too low last night.

Poor Jack.

I wonder if I should give up my idea to give my son a fish tank.  I was thinking about just buying another Betta, with a tank, a filter and a heater of course, and not telling my son that Jack died.  I think he would know.  He’s like me.  We feel lies like we smell onions.  Clearly and strongly.

I know it’s just a fish, but I am not ashamed to say, that I will likely cry again when I go over there to get him out of that bowl.

Jack was beautiful and when we first got him, he felt great.  He would swim the very short distance to the side of the bowl and stare directly at my son every time he walked up to him.  He was an iridescent black, blue, and red fighter fish.

Honestly, I loved him.  I know my son did, or does.  Sigh…

My son doesn’t like his apartment.  He is lonely.  I thought if he could have a pet that he might like his apartment, but he hadn’t taken Jack over there yet.  He didn’t want to either.

Maybe a rabbit?

I wish we could afford another dog.  I would go to the shelter today if we could.  I’d take my son and let him get a dog that would be good to have in town.

Our older dog is my son’s dog, but he’s aggressive to other big dogs, so he stays with me.  He also has terrible seizures.  Ruthie and I take care of Tiny.  He’s been with me five years now.  He’s been our family member for ten years now, since he was a baby.

We are able to care for our two dogs because we have Care Credit.  We use it to pay for the vet visits and then we pay monthly.  It is a great credit card to have.

I wish so much my son could have a pet in his apartment.  I can’t imagine living without one, particularly a dog.  I lived without my girl Free-girl for a month and that was before my son’s dog, Tiny, came to live with me.

It was one horrible lonely month!  I would go somewhere and then realize I didn’t have a dog at home, so I wouldn’t come home.  I’d wander around like a lost child downtown.  I began helping homeless drug addicts.

I helped a few get to a recovery house, but it was not my calling in life.  I needed a dog.

Fortunately, I had a friend who had been Free’s very good friend.  She knew more than I did what I needed, which was a new dog.  She talked me into going, “just to look,” at the shelter.  I met Ruthie that day and we haven’t missed one night together.

But now, I am sad to have lost Jack.

My gut is churning and my heart hurts.  Over a fish, I know, but it is true.  I feel awful, especially because I think I may have killed him by turning the heat in the house down last night.

Normally, I try, believe it or not, to offer readers something positive in my blog posts.

In this post, I can’t do that, other than to say, Betta fish need more than a bowl!

I’m sorry Jack.  I really am sorry.  I didn’t know what to do.

Bye Jack.

We love you.


About Betta fish:

Along with the fact that they need way more than a bowl of water to live in, they also need an entirely different environment than what he had, which is why I feel angry at the pet store.

“They also need a filter and heater to ensure a long life. Betta fish like warmer waters, upwards of eighty degrees, so they can not live at room temperature.”  (Source:  See Related Articles below)

Well, after reading that, I feel worse.  I did let it get too cold in the house.

Related Articles

Refusing defeat

Sometimes life is hard, but we must keep on going


Have you ever had a day where your body should have given out but it didn’t?  A day when you were amazed that you could stand up, much less walk a mile or more, but you did it?   A day when your tasks ahead weighed more than the world yet you couldn’t quit? A day when by night fall you finally looked at your phone contacts, your friends or maybe family, but you realized that you had to go at it alone?

I couldn’t remember what time I had gotten up that morning.  But then I wasn’t sure if I had gone to bed the night before.  I had slept, but when and where I wondered.  On my sofa?  In my guest room?  It didn’t matter.  I had a million things on my mind at once.

Finding a parking space at the hospital right away was a good thing, even though it irritated me that I had to endure the enthusiastic folks we share our hospital parking lot with for certain events.  I wasn’t in any mood for celebrating.  Plus, anything had potential in irritating me.  I was keeping up with any good things and not having to walk half a mile to the elevator was one good thing.

I had stopped at the ATM on my way but was too tired to get out of my car.  Somehow walking from the parking deck to the hospital seemed easier than taking the time to get some cash to pay for Valet parking.  I was not thinking clearly.

I forgot the number of my parking space but it was too late to turn back.  I knew what level of the deck I was on.  That was good enough.  On to the other million-minus-one thoughts taking over my mind.

“I love the way you walk,” someone I once knew used to say to me.  “You walk strong and tall with confidence.”

Oddly, I remembered this as I was passing people while crossing the walking bridge.  I slowed down and took shorter steps.

I began thinking about how severely fatigued I was.  It was more than fatigue.  I kept spacing out.  Earlier that day when I was feeding the dogs I had already measured their food and put it in their bowls, yet I stood there, staring off into space with their full bowls on the counter.  Both dogs stood by me waiting and watching, obviously wondering what was up with their human.  Finally, our older dog, who has a deep bark and only speaks one time when he has something to say gave one strong,  “Rrruuuff!”

The sound brought me back to the moment.  I put their bowls on the floor.  I thanked my dog.  He had done his job.  The perfect therapy dog and he hasn’t even been trained.

Walking slowly across the bridge, the past 48 hours of stress rolled around in my mind.   I was hungry and tired, but I was still going.  I had a bag of clothes for my son on one shoulder and a leather purse on the other.  They felt like they weighed a ton, but they didn’t.

I told myself I didn’t need to walk strong and tall.  I didn’t need to be confident.  I decided to walk the way I felt.

There was a peaceful feeling in accepting the physical weakness.  I felt confidence in not hiding.

The cafe was at the entrance I chose, but time wasn’t on my side.  I continued on.  The hospital’s walkway to the elevator seemed more daunting than ever before.

Acutely aware of pain and fatigue, I started to walk how I felt.  Another person I know used to say, “You gotta walk through it man.  Whatever it is, you gotta walk through it.”

A hospital is a fine place to collapse I thought.  I might walk through it, but I wasn’t sure that I would make it to my destination.

Reaching the elevator I noticed some wonderful photographs on the wall.  I was captured for a moment and then I saw the coffee shop sign.  Slowly I moved on, carrying my bags and my body.  The pastries caught my eye.

“Can I help with you anything Mam?”

I heard something in her voice.  Was she responding to what I was feeling I wondered or was it the striking red streaks in my eyes?  I wasn’t indulging in my feelings or I would have fallen down in a puddle of tears.  I desperately wanted a friend.  If ever I needed a shoulder to lean on, this was one of those times.

“I’m going to look at your pastries,” I said to the woman in the coffee shop, but she looked concerned, which she was.

She walked around to my side of the counter bringing me a glass of water.   My eyes were so tired I couldn’t read the labels on the drinks.  I chose a plastic juice for my son and a bottled soda for myself.  I looked at the pastries, but I didn’t want anything.

“Do you want some real food or a snack?” the woman asked me.  “We have these egg and sausage croissants and…”  I forgot what else she offered.  Nothing sounded good.  I was trying to keep myself composed.  “What about peanut butter and jelly?” she continued.

“These are the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I’ve ever had,” she said.  “They have peanut butter on both sides and jelly in the middle.  I’m serious.  They’re the best.”

“Yes.  I like peanut butter.  I’ll take one of those,” I said.  My words were barely audible.  My voice shook.  My hands shook.  I slowly put my bags on the floor and paid the bill.  I was able to smile.

I began to feel a little better.  This stranger’s genuine concern warmed my spirit,  lifting some the weight of the world I feel on my soul.

I remembered the last time my son was in the hospital.  I had a shoulder to lean on that time.   He had driven to the hospital as soon as he could when I told him what was happening.  He waited with me in the emergency room lobby for several hours.  He bought me snacks.  He held my hand.  I felt strong having someone there for me, while I was there for my son.   Times like this was why I believed the man who came for me truly loved me.  I was wrong.

As I crossed a walking bridge on my way to the elevator, I saw my shadow.  Strangely, it gave me strength.  I remembered a part of who I am.  I remembered that I am strong.  I felt stronger alone with my shadow, than I had with a person who was only pretending to be my friend.

I decided to refuse to be defeated by the day and instead, embrace the desperate way I felt inside.

My visit with my son was not so great.  He didn’t feel like talking.  There were several people around.  Two women were sitting close by us.  One talked too much.  I wanted to talk to my son but he didn’t feel like it.  The other woman stared at me the entire time.  I felt like she was looking into my soul.  She told me her name.  I said hi and we shook hands.  She kept on staring at me.

“Is he your husband?” she finally asked me.

“No.  He’s my son,” I told her.

I used to feel complimented when people said I looked like my son’s sister, but now, I really only want to look like his mother.

“You look sad,” the young woman added.

“Yes,” I responded.  “I’m sad.”


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