Wendy is a mulish, grey, bossy, opininated American Bully who for some strange reason has completely captured my heart. I fell in love with her six years ago when I decided we needed another dog and we went to City Dogs Cleveland with Clark to find him–and me–a companion. I fell in love with her when she tenderly kissed Clark. I knew she had recently had puppies and my tender heart imaged she viewed Clark as a substitue for her puppies. We couldn’t take her home that day because she had to be spayed, but when my daughter went back to fill out the paperwork and they put the sign on her cage saying she was adopted, she smiled and when I saw the picture I knew for sure she was the one.
Arriving at our house, she was overwhelmed and slept the whole first day. She was demure and well behaved, as if she thought if she acted out we would take her back. A year or so after we got her, we got bad news from the vet that her liver enzymes were off and learned she would have to take a drug called denemarin. It was either the denimarin or feeling comfortable in our home that had Wendy going from demure and scared of her shadow to outgoing, bossy, and puppish. She became much more playful and she started telling us what she liked and disliked. Some of this dislikes include working at the dining room table, as it is only for eathing; sitting in someone else’s chair at the dining room table; and staying in my home office too late. She also started to demand to go outside when it was sunny, just to sit and soak up the sun.
She annoys me a lot of the time because I will be in the middle of something and she’ll cry to be taken outside 15 minutes after she has come in. And there are times I snap at her, but then I remember that her time on this earth is limited and that one day I will miss the crying and that makes it so much easier to stop what I’m doing and take her out. And although I hate the fact that she gets into the garbage, I also know that there will be a day her garbage raiding exploits will be the stuff of legend, just like her big brother Luke’s butter eating is now the stuff of sweet tales of remembernce.
As the vet said she as three to five when we first got her, I know she is between nine and eleven, which means there are fewer tomorrows than there are yesterdays. It breaks my heart to know that someday, I will no longer wake up to her feet in my face, hear her screeching cries, or feel the weight of her soft head on my lap. Someday, I won’t be able to cuddle with her in the giant dog bed on the floor. I also know that the thanalogical term for what I’m feeling is anticipatory grief.
I hate knowing one day I will have to say goodbye, but it also serves as a reminder to love her as much as I can while she is still here and to make sure she knows that she is loved. We will walk, we will cuddle, and I will love her with my whole heart.
