A few months in the rear view, on a cool crisp fall evening, the Boy (this was BW - Before Wyatt - he was in utero at this point) and I went to get dog food at Petco. Just your typical week night errand. It was somewhat out of the ordinary in the fact that I often don't run errands on a school night, but not that big of a deal either. Nothing special. Something we do once every month and a half, how ever long it takes Sophie, a.k.a. Dog Dog to go through a 40 pound bag of food. Not that you care about the subtext, dear reader, but the reason I was going to get the dog food, was because my lovely bride was with child, and for those who've been in that condition, lugging a 40lb bag of dog food thru Petco and then to your car is no es bueno. Back to my point. For some reason, the Boy remembers this impromptu dog food run with a great fondness. He'll often look at me and say, "Go buy dog food." I'm not sure if it is because we dinked around Petco looking at the fish, guinea pigs, ferrets, parakeets, etc. which he digs. Or because he got a pay-off of a gum-ball when we were finished? Maybe it was that special one on one time with me? Or could it be the ride over in the 'truck' to get the food? The mind of a toddler is a wondrous thing, something I'm not sure I can or will ever want to fully understand. The point is that he often (we're talking a min. of once a week, sometimes, more) will ask to, "Go buy dog food." He's oblivious if the dog in fact, needs food. He just wants to "Go buy dog food."
"Go buy dog food."
Even farther in the rear view, on a hot sticky summer morning, driving to work, listening to Pat Benetar's Hit Me With Your Best Shot. It hit me. Sophie needs to be put to sleep. My thoughts quickly went from MTV infancy (who can ever forget a young Pat Benetar in her early videos, those skintight leotards with camel toes front and center) to the fleeting reality of time. But that's not the beginning either. It actually starts even earlier, more than a decade in the rear view (are you keeping up?) It began with a brown haired girl, a beat up red Sentra, and a red hand me down doberman, named by an ex-boyfriend, (who by all accounts was a dickhead) in honor of Sophia Loren.
"Go buy dog food."
My first vivid thought of the woman who would become my wife, was (is) the image of her and Sophie zipping down the North Dallas Tollway in a piece of shit Nissan Sentra. Carter and I had just started dating, and I had called her house only to get the answering machine. When she returned the call, she told me she'd been at her parent's house with Sophie and that her and the dog had just came home via the Tollway. Not sure why, but in hindsight, probably the first sign that Cart was the one, as I formed the most vivid image of her and Sophie driving home on the tollway. A picture in my mind. Vivid. To this day, I still remember the image. Quite strange.
"Go buy dog food."
Back to now. Sophie is 14, hell, maybe 15. In dog years, well you can do the math. She's old. Her quality of life has been slowly slipping for the past year. She has good days and bad days. Some days she is befuddled. Others she is bright eyed, and reminds us of a dog half her age. Some days she lies in her bed and whines because she is nervous (or in pain?) We're not quite sure what is going on with her. Other days the elder Boy goes into terrible two mode and terrorizes her. The point. We've been having a dialogue for some time about when we'd put Dog Dog to sleep. Is it time? Now? We don't want her to suffer. Is she in pain? Now? You think you'll know when its time. For us, it hasn't been that easy. Self doubt. Holding on to tight? Not sure. I can honestly say I'd love nothing more than to walk in one morning and to find her peacefully laying on her bed, in the eternal sleep. But, life ain't that clear cut, and easy.
"Go buy dog food."
The other day Carter tells me that she is going to put Sophie to sleep after the current supply of dog food is gone. We have a nearly full, 40lb. bag. She generally gets three cups twice a day. On particularly tough days on Boys patrol, we might forget to feed her twice. Each cup scooped into her bowl brings her closer to the inevitable end. On the surface this sounds cold, and to me (who most know, has a very dark sense of humor) slightly funny. My current gag at the house is to feign throwing out a cup or two of her food when Sophie is driving us nuts to go on a walk, or underfoot when we're dealing with the Boys.
"Go buy dog food."
Like clockwork, Ethan asked again. For me it is a moment of extraordinary poignancy. He's a smart boy, but I don't think his question is akin to a Governor's death row reprieve. Carter is correct (so don't send her any hate Email), it probably is time. There is sound logic in the reasoning to wait until the current bag is depleted. I won't bore you with that here.
"Go buy dog food."
It opened the floodgates. Vivid memories hit me, as well as a fast forward "this is your life" montage of the past 10 + years. From courting Cart, to living in sin with her. Marriage. Life. Kids. Homes. Everything. Sophie was there. But more so, she is a link to the early days. I can look at Sophie and hear her nervously clip clop clopping on the hardwood floors of the Love Shack that Tom Brandt and I rented on Prospect. Thoughts of walking her to the dog park when we lived on Martel. Her fondness for Gert, the little old lady who lived next to our rented pad on Westwood Drive, who fed Sophie bacon treats. Sophie greeted us at the door when we brought Ethan home from the hospital. Sophie was there when we brought home Wyatt. Rolling in the grass in our front yard. Hundreds, hell, thousands (just like all the walks we've taken) of moments with Sophie. As long as there has been a Carter and Stuart. There has been Sophie. I've known that dog nearly as long as I've known my wife. That happy goofy smile in her face/eyes. Sophie. Our Dog Dog.
"Go buy dog food."
Sophie is a connection to a time when Carter was a Kincaid, and Team Tinsley was nothing but a hopeful dream - a maybe?
"Go buy dog food."
I do believe in ET"s (E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial - not Boy #1) "I'll be right here." mantra - knowing I'll always remember her - but that doesn't diminish the pain, or the fact that it hurts like hell to think that soon will come a day when we'll be going on a walk, and that damn dog won't be with us.
"Go buy dog food."
Indeed.
Until I BLOG again...peace.
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