Once upon a time, long ago and far away, my husband and I were trying (and failing) to have children, so we did the sensible thing: We got a dog. He was the world’s greatest dog right up until I ended up home on bedrest when I was pregnant, at which time he appointed himself Lord High Grand Defender Of Me and tried to kill anyone who came to the house, and tried to kill HIMSELF when we dared to leave him home alone (after I went back to work). He was… a little neurotic. He chewed through an air conditioner and got himself wedged halfway out one window and had to be rescued by our neighbors’ kids. He ate half a venetian blind. He tore up the kitchen floor. He tangled with a skunk and got sprayed in the MOUTH and had skunkbreath for a month. And once the kids were running around, he regularly “herded” them into walls.
He was a handful. But also very sweet.
When the ex and I separated, I couldn’t handle two kids and a mentally ill dog. I told him to take the dog, and he didn’t feel he could in his various living arrangements as he got settled, and I suggested he pass the dog along to someone in his family, and he accused me of never loving the dog, and discarding him as soon as he became difficult (much as I had our marriage, naturally), and it was a huge bone of contention and a very rough time. I felt incredibly guilty but also felt that the dog was also unhappy and needed a better home.
Eventually the dog was moved to a nice farm out in the country with a family member and another dog to play with and all was well and I was pleased that the dog was living a nice doggie life rather than spending most of his time here in his crate because I couldn’t convince him that the nice UPS man with the Zappos boxes is our friend.
This morning my ex called to tell me that the dog was killed, probably by a deer kick. They’re not sure. I am trying very hard to convince myself that whatever it was, it happened instantly and he didn’t suffer.
Notes to my ex:
1) I did love that stupid dog, you know.
2) Next time maybe you could wait until AFTER my nerve-wracking surgeon and mammogram appointments to share news like that.
I’m sorry, Huckleberry. I hope there are lots of tennis balls and squirrels where you are now.
Poor Huckle! I’m sorry, Mir. Seeing that he’s a border collie, that explains a lot. They are a bit tightly wound and bossy. But very sweet.
Happy trails, Huck. And yes, Mir, there are lots of tennis balls and squirrels. Oh, and Hobbes, my golden retriever. Huck’s having a grand time.
K.
Damn, that sucks. Sorry, lil’ doggie. We hardly new ya.
He’s probably chasing some cat (because cat hell also serves as a portion of dog heaven) right now.
It’s always rotten when a pet goes. Even if they haven’t been in your household for awhile.
Sorry Mir, that’s really crummy news anytime. I’m thinking happy thoughts for you today at your appointments.
Poor Huckleberry! Sorry you had such sad news, Mir. Best of luck at your appointment today. I’m pulling for ya.
I’ve complained for years about the amount of dog hair MisterMister could produce–everywhere, all the time. A few days ago he suddenly died, and now I can’t bear to vacuum the damned hair up.
It’s true for dogs as well as humans: no matter how crazy they drive us, we love them and we miss them when they’re gone.
Of course you loved the dog. And of course he is in the best place of all.
As Will Rogers said (or was it Mark Twain? No, I am pretty sure it was Will)
If dogs don’t go to heaven, then I want to go where they go.
Amen and I hope you hear the best news possible today
Oh poop. I hope he didn’t suffer.
On a side note, why is it that dogs our parents get rid of always go to a “farm in the country”?
My Dogs tend to stick around longer than most of my husbands did (current hubby excluded.) And it hurts longer when they die (Kya, not my ex’s they are still around.) But I definately will get a new dog everytime.
Vya Con Dios Huckleberry
Awwwww, I’m so sorry! You know how much of an animal lover I am, and I’ve known you long enough to remember some of your adventures with Huckleberry, back when you were pg with Chickadee. Sniffle. Along with Hobbes, he’s got Asta and Kelly to keep him company and get him settled in to his new digs. They’ll all take good care of him.
I’m sorry to hear about Huckleberry hon ((hugs))
I’m so sorry to hear about Huckleberry.
Aw, Mir, I’m sorry. I hope your day doesn’t completely suck…I know the odds are slim, but I’ll be prayin for ya.
I’m sorry about Huckleberry. It is so sad to lose a dog.
Good luck with the mammogram and surgeon appointments.
My original last name was “Finn,” so I was called “Huckleberry” all the time by boys who thought they were clever. What a great name it turned out to be! He’s totally fine–I’m sure he is hanging out with my Nikki, and the feline Samantha is looking at them like they are both weird before going back to sleep.
Poor guy. I’m so sorry.
On the other hand, I have two rabbits on that farm, and I hope he’s not chasing them.
If so, Thelma will play along, but Louise might give him some trouble.
Huck is playing with my dog Licorice, a black lab-mutt that was also a very sweet handful. They are running and chasing and digging up a storm and having a ball.
Thinking good thoughts for you today — CH
Mir,
You obviously cared for the dog. You loved it enough to know when you couldn’t give it what it needed most. And to find a place where he could get that. We currently have a dog who sounds a lot like Huckleberry. (Border collie mix too) These poor guys have separation anxiety and need more exercise then us normal folks can give. We don’t have a family member with a farm so I’m hopeful that age will chill ours out. (He is like 10x better then when we first got him.) Your ex is/was just trying to push your buttons.
I’m sending lots of good karma vibes your way today. It’ll be ok.
Aw…my condolences on your loss. Thank you for sharing the memories.
Blessing to you.
I’m awfully sorry to hear about Huckleberry. I hope the rest of your day wasn’t too awful.
So sorry to hear about Huckleberry. Rocky and Jelly send their doggie condolences, too…
I am so very sorry. I have a Nikki in doggie Heaven for him to play with too. And several others I hope to be reunited with one day. In fact, I am going to need a farm out in the country there if I get back all of the dogs I have had and currently have (5 now). Anyway. I know it hurts, and I am very sorry about Huckleberry. I hope you have better news at your appointments.
Sorry about Huckleberry, and I am sure your ex was wrong about how you felt about him. Reading Marley and Me helped me get over the loss of my dog.
I am so sorry about your Huckleberry. This is one of those times when you really wish they could figure out a way to send a hug via email. I will be sending good vibes and prayers your way for your doctor’s visit.
Awww…I’m so sorry.
I’m so sorry, Mir.
I’m sure Huckleberry didn’t suffer, and I bet if he could have chosen in advance – getting close enough to touch a running hunk of venison is probably exactly how he would have wanted to go.
I’m so sorry. Our first dog is neurotic as hell and we STILL have her, but she hasn’t tried to kill herself yet (although I’ve thought about killing her a few times, particularly when I have PMS). Good luck with your appointments.
Now, this has been bugging me all day:
which half of the venetian blind? And, was the pooch OK?
Also, missy, it’s like Beer-thirty your time and we haven’t heard anything about what your wacko doctor has to say. It had better be good news or I’m coming to beat somebody up.
Aw, Poor guy. I’m sorry Mir.
Sorry about Huckleberry. It’s always tough to lose a loved one.
i second hope’s suggestion about reading ‘marley and me.’ it’s wonderful for anyone who has *ever* loved a dog, and might be particularly good for while you’re still saying your goodbyes to huckleberry. blessings