Is eyeball dehydration a thing? Because I think I have it.
By some cruel twist of fate both Bossy and I have been experiencing the loss of our beloved pets simultaneously. There’s been a heck of a lot of ugly crying going on over here at ol’ Quitter and Bossy. Life can truly be shitty sometimes.
But rather then dwell on my sadness I am choosing to “write it out,” by sharing some of the life lessons our sweet, furry girl taught us in our time together.
Cali was a rescue dog who spent the early part of her life being starved and beaten. When she first moved in with us she refused to make eye contact and spent the majority of her days hiding in a dark corner. It took time, but eventually she grew to trust us and blossomed into a snuggly, 54 pound bundle of waggy love. Our time with her has reminded me of the capacity to recover from terrible things. To be able to trust again. To love again. To find joy again. She was the four-legged embodiment of resilience.
Life is Unfair
We only got to be with Cali for three years. As if fate wasn’t cruel enough to her, eight months ago she developed what would ultimately be diagnosed as a rare and aggressive form of incurable cancer. For weeks after her diagnosis I felt so much anger over the hand she had been dealt. Cancer? Really? Her start in life was so horrific, hadn’t she suffered enough? But life isn’t fair and expecting it to be is a fool’s errand. The moment I surrendered myself to that truth I was able to let go of my anger and face what was in front of me. It changed me.
It’s Just Money
We spent a “fuck-ton,” of money on our dog. (Sorry Mom, I know you hate it when I swear on here, but it truly was a “fuck-ton.”) Between vet bills, surgery and medication the end tally was in the five figures. But I wouldn’t change it. If you knew there was a chance to save someone you loved wouldn’t you do everything in your power to help them? Cali was family and knowing we did everything we possibly could for her means everything to me.
As I type this I am balling my eyes out. Cali just passed this morning, but it feels like she’s still here. I’m still looking for her. I’m still expecting her to push her way under my desk and sit on my feet, to rest her muzzle on my thigh and grumble until I stroke her head. It’s hard to put into words how much I loved that dog and how much she loved all of us. We were connected. We were her pack. We made her feel safe again and for that she gave us absolutely everything she had to give. So, so much love.
So goodbye my sweet girl. Thank you for the lessons and all of the love. We will miss you everyday. Until we meet again.