Piecing It Together

I wish I hadn’t cheaped-out. If I had just brought all of the video tapes instead of a select few to be transferred I would have the video I’m in need of right now. I picked out births and christenings, when I’m really in need of “pick of the litter footage”. I thought I had time. But unfortunately when your dog's lymph nodes are 10-15 times the normal size they should be, and your vet says maybe she has a few weeks, all you and your kids want to do is watch the video of the day she became a part of the family. Time is of essence. Until I can find that tape, get it transferred, my memory will have to suffice.

Admitting I cheaped-out is the first step to this mea culpa. Next is to openly say I was not on board for getting Maisy. Thirteen years ago there was a non-stop six year-old with a social life of a sixteen year-old and a three year-old just shy of months of medical madness, MRI’s, cardio surgery, oh and poor eye contact, all under the roof of a house that was in need of new roof. There was no time for a puppy. There was nothing extra for a puppy. But I was urged to just “look” because I was told every kid deserves to grow up in a house, regardless of the peeling linoleum floor, with a doggie.

So off the four of us went to “look” at a local breeder’s litter of cockapoos.Next admission of guilt...she was not the first in the box of jumping girls that I had my eye on. It wasn’t until her left white paw that resembled a little sock among all of her soft curly black fur was pointed out to me that made me notice her. Legend has it when I first held Maisy I asked out loud: “Did you bring the checkbook?”

The videos that did make it to a flash drive show beaming proud new parents determined to document first steps and first days, block parties, and a swing set that took weekends - and neighbors - to build. A bouncing curly haired pre- schooler who wasn’t the least bit camera shy ruled the screen and a babbling toddler who ran from it. Almost every snippet always started with a sweet hopeful wave to the future. There were compliments and kindness. Protectiveness and discipline. Younger, with more hair and loving smiles made the harmonious couple almost foreign to me. But really who takes out a video camera on the nights when you repeatedly ask your husband, “what’s wrong?” or on the morning you quietly pack his bags? Reality TV stars we were not.

We left it mostly to the kids to name her but not long after the nickname “Woo” came out of my daughter’s mouth and it just stuck. When social media came rolling around I publicly shared with complete lightheartedness what a nuisance she could be. At times it was like living with a raccoon - minus being nocturnal and rabid. The struggle was real at times. Suddenly running this ship solo with a dog who seemed intent on destruction was a bit much for me.It’s one thing to come home to an oil burner flooding a basement, hand over the AMEX to fix it, it’s another to see your limited baby pictures or cherished It’s A Wonderful Life collection eaten to pieces. I unleashed wrath and threats. I screamed, posted and at times wished her away. Nobody would fight for custody of Woo. Toughest admission yet. Still have one more to go.

I was no better Woo. I now realize how you must have felt each time two kids with backpacks left you for the day. When I tugged at your leash to “do it” - wanting you to quicken up the pace because I had the pressure of a long commute ahead of me. The circling for a perfect spot like you were picking out real estate driving me mad as I stood out in the cold feeling like I had better, more important things to take care of. If only I knew that when I picked up the pieces of someone’s science project or a pack of gum (you loved gum) that you were as frustrated as me. And how a marriage of 14 years, if left unattended for even just a short bit, can be ripped at with the same ferocity as a dropped pack of tissues. (You really loved tissues.)

I too was guilty of a smashed picture frame. Abandonment can have that effect.

But it was those behind the scenes never released moments that no one saw. When I was distraught with painful discoveries, unable to sleep, or those first weekends with no one to mother was when our bond began to really take shape. A wag. A lick. A belly rub. Following me around the empty house, reminding me that I was not alone. All of it helped me to stop crying into a pile of laundry. I’m not going to lie and say long walks soothed us. We both know that never happened. Walks were not our thing, for some reason they were like laxatives to you and that was not fun for either of us. Instead we did spend some quiet moments in the warm summer sun or a crisp fall breeze, on the porch that was once built on dreams.

I chalked it up to you getting up there in years when you no longer found your way to say good morning with your two front paws on my footboard, trying with all of your spunk to reach up to me in bed. But middle of the night panting led us, I mean me, to stand alone before an x-ray of your gray filled lungs, Handing over the AMEX card was not going to fix you. When the vet said “Your dog is not well,” it resonated and reminded me that you were once an “our dog”.

How you kept me company when things were falling apart was instrumental. How you brought me and the kids together during transition months, years, was just what we needed. For that I say thank you. The laughs we all shared about your naughty antics were well worth the cost of a new couch. You brought out our humor and gained a handful of your very own loyal Instagram followers. Why do I feel like you know I’m in a better place? How we’re all in a better place. Forgiveness has a way of doing that. Funny now that I think about it, as you lay stretched out beside me with your shallow breaths, that even though you tore at our house, our belongings to pieces, you were actually a bit of glue for us.

I hope George Bailey’s toothy grin tasted good Woo. And I really do hope you had a wonderful life.

Editor’s note: Maisy “Woo” passed away a day after this was written surrounded by her family of four.