Now that Teddy is feeling better, I want to tell you about Livie. Livie was my dog before we brought homeTeddy. She came to our house when Nick was in kindergarten. That was a really tough year. I was feeling so sick, I'm amazed I made the decision to get another dog then. That was just before I learned about my trouble with sugar and I was having severe low blood sugar issues and could feel when I ate too much sugar and my insulin levels couldn't keep up. I was being poisoned, but it was my own doing and I had no idea.
Six months after we'd lost our old baby-dog, Indiana, I had begged until Mike agreed that we could start to look for another dog. I found Livie on PetFinders, a two year old lab/pit mix. I got to checking on her, hoping that I'd see that she'd been adopted. Weeks went by and she wasn't. Mike liked that she looked like Indiana. She really did, that is, before I got to know her. Isn't it funny, how, in my mind, she changed so much as to not look like Indiana at all. But when we all went to see her to see if she might fit into our family, she looked like Indiana.
Livie had been abused, but she loved her shelter home. I was never worried that she'd be skittish or fearful at our house. She just wasn't that kind of character. She assumed the best of the people she met. I had actually met her at an adoption fair a few weeks earlier, but came home without her because she seemed disinterested in me. I wanted to be wooed. It's funny how she transformed from a low dog with dull eyes and her head down at that adoption fair to the prancing elegant, though not graceful, girl she became at our house.
Livie was tall with a deep chest and very soft thin black fur. Like Indiana, she had a white freckled blaze on her chest. Her nose was a little boxier than Indiana's had been and I was sure she had some other breed mixed in, possibly hound because her bark sounded like baying. I loved that sound.
Livie had one flaw. Now that I think about it, it was such a petty thing, but it was what Mike and I latched onto. He, especially, was annoyed at first that she wasn't Indiana. Indiana had been his lifetime dog, his one and only. There was never going to be another Indiana. Livie's one flaw was that she'd tap her nose to your hand over and over. If I'd been abused as a puppy, I'd want that kind of reassurance too, but it annoyed me at first. I got to walking around my kitchen with my hands up like a surgeon who had just scrubbed in. If I didn't do that, I'd have to wash my hands again before I ever got started cooking. Eventually, I got used to it. Even Mike got used to it.
Other than that one flaw, Livie was perfect. She let me be a lazy mom and ran up and down the stairs after tennis balls when I was too exhausted to go to the park. I always felt a little guilty that I couldn't make myself get out for walks while Nick was at school. I didn't realize that I was just too sick.
After Seth got used to Livie and stopped hissing, she used to romp through the house with him chasing her, knocking books off the bookshelf and making a sound like a horse galloping past. They loved each other. I think of our favorite time of the day, after I got Nick onto the school bus. Livie never liked going that close to the highway, so I left her in the house while Nick and I walked down to the highway to catch the bus. It was part of her training that I figured she already had down - don't go near the road.
When I finally came inside from getting Nickie onto the bus, she would stand on the couch, waiting. I might make myself a mocha and she'd stand there, waiting. I might even heat up a pumpkin muffin in the oven and she'd stand patiently. Then, I'd sit down, pop the footrest out, cover myself with a blanket, and then Seth would jump into my lap. Only then would Livie stretch out on the rest of the couch and lay her head in my lap, her nose snuffling Seth's fur just a little bit. Then I would put one arm over her and pat her side. I usually found the very soft spot under her front leg where there wasn't much fur.
When I was little, I had a stuffed toy, a bulldog about the size of my fist, that I could not sleep without. He was made of a fine cordouroy and filled with sawdust. I wore the fuzz off of his little ears rubbing them as I fell asleep. Sometimes I wondered if I'd wear out the soft patch under her front leg when I'd fall asleep rubbing. She never seemed to mind.
One morning, just as I was waking up, I wondered who was popping popcorn. This was about a month after Livie had come home with us. I realized that I smelled that same smell every morning as I woke from my nap and no one had popped popcorn in our house in months. I leaned over to hug Livie and took in a deep breath. It was Livie that smelled like popcorn. No kidding. Oh, she had a little of that doggy smell too, but there was definitely popcorn. I loved that smell and how she'd lean into me whenever I hugged her and breathed into her fur.
Another thing about Livie was that she was honor-bound to go to her bed in Nickie's room at night. He was her boy and she made sure he felt comfortable falling asleep alone. She never made a sound at night, not even in the morning before we came to take her out. Sometimes I wondered if it was good training or just her nature to be patient.
The last part, here, is very hard to tell you. One night I'd gone to my friend's house for a party and Mike and Nick were home with Livie. He had let her out to pee and she ran down to the road. She was hit and instantly killed by a car. It was an awful time at our house. We all felt guilty. I had shirked my training duties. I hadn't exercised her enough. Mike had let her out on her own, which we usually did, but he felt especially bad. It silenced him for a long time, that pain and guilt was so deep. He knew that Livie had been my dog and he thought it was his fault. In my usual style, I talked to people about what hurt. In his, there was silence.
I am sure that losing Livie was the reason we waited six years before getting another dog. I know I needed a lot more time to grieve this time. I don't know what Mike was thinking, but even in the last couple of years, he held out, saying he wasn't ready. I'm glad we finally got ready because Teddy is a very sweet boy.
I have a pendant made of lapis lazuli. It's not a spectacular stone, but somehow it came to remind me of Livie. I wear it on days I need to be near her and can't. I can picture Livie in heaven, waiting for me. Yes, I believe that dogs go to heaven. Her gentle nature assured me of her acceptance there. When people tell me that they don't think dogs go to heaven, then I tell them if they aren't, I don't want to go there either. In heaven, Livie is a tall, gawky girl in a pink tutu and she is standing on that old couch waiting for Seth and I to arrive. And I can smell the popcorn.
Thank you for listening, jb
Six months after we'd lost our old baby-dog, Indiana, I had begged until Mike agreed that we could start to look for another dog. I found Livie on PetFinders, a two year old lab/pit mix. I got to checking on her, hoping that I'd see that she'd been adopted. Weeks went by and she wasn't. Mike liked that she looked like Indiana. She really did, that is, before I got to know her. Isn't it funny, how, in my mind, she changed so much as to not look like Indiana at all. But when we all went to see her to see if she might fit into our family, she looked like Indiana.
Livie had been abused, but she loved her shelter home. I was never worried that she'd be skittish or fearful at our house. She just wasn't that kind of character. She assumed the best of the people she met. I had actually met her at an adoption fair a few weeks earlier, but came home without her because she seemed disinterested in me. I wanted to be wooed. It's funny how she transformed from a low dog with dull eyes and her head down at that adoption fair to the prancing elegant, though not graceful, girl she became at our house.
Livie was tall with a deep chest and very soft thin black fur. Like Indiana, she had a white freckled blaze on her chest. Her nose was a little boxier than Indiana's had been and I was sure she had some other breed mixed in, possibly hound because her bark sounded like baying. I loved that sound.
Livie had one flaw. Now that I think about it, it was such a petty thing, but it was what Mike and I latched onto. He, especially, was annoyed at first that she wasn't Indiana. Indiana had been his lifetime dog, his one and only. There was never going to be another Indiana. Livie's one flaw was that she'd tap her nose to your hand over and over. If I'd been abused as a puppy, I'd want that kind of reassurance too, but it annoyed me at first. I got to walking around my kitchen with my hands up like a surgeon who had just scrubbed in. If I didn't do that, I'd have to wash my hands again before I ever got started cooking. Eventually, I got used to it. Even Mike got used to it.
Other than that one flaw, Livie was perfect. She let me be a lazy mom and ran up and down the stairs after tennis balls when I was too exhausted to go to the park. I always felt a little guilty that I couldn't make myself get out for walks while Nick was at school. I didn't realize that I was just too sick.
After Seth got used to Livie and stopped hissing, she used to romp through the house with him chasing her, knocking books off the bookshelf and making a sound like a horse galloping past. They loved each other. I think of our favorite time of the day, after I got Nick onto the school bus. Livie never liked going that close to the highway, so I left her in the house while Nick and I walked down to the highway to catch the bus. It was part of her training that I figured she already had down - don't go near the road.
When I finally came inside from getting Nickie onto the bus, she would stand on the couch, waiting. I might make myself a mocha and she'd stand there, waiting. I might even heat up a pumpkin muffin in the oven and she'd stand patiently. Then, I'd sit down, pop the footrest out, cover myself with a blanket, and then Seth would jump into my lap. Only then would Livie stretch out on the rest of the couch and lay her head in my lap, her nose snuffling Seth's fur just a little bit. Then I would put one arm over her and pat her side. I usually found the very soft spot under her front leg where there wasn't much fur.
When I was little, I had a stuffed toy, a bulldog about the size of my fist, that I could not sleep without. He was made of a fine cordouroy and filled with sawdust. I wore the fuzz off of his little ears rubbing them as I fell asleep. Sometimes I wondered if I'd wear out the soft patch under her front leg when I'd fall asleep rubbing. She never seemed to mind.
One morning, just as I was waking up, I wondered who was popping popcorn. This was about a month after Livie had come home with us. I realized that I smelled that same smell every morning as I woke from my nap and no one had popped popcorn in our house in months. I leaned over to hug Livie and took in a deep breath. It was Livie that smelled like popcorn. No kidding. Oh, she had a little of that doggy smell too, but there was definitely popcorn. I loved that smell and how she'd lean into me whenever I hugged her and breathed into her fur.
Another thing about Livie was that she was honor-bound to go to her bed in Nickie's room at night. He was her boy and she made sure he felt comfortable falling asleep alone. She never made a sound at night, not even in the morning before we came to take her out. Sometimes I wondered if it was good training or just her nature to be patient.
The last part, here, is very hard to tell you. One night I'd gone to my friend's house for a party and Mike and Nick were home with Livie. He had let her out to pee and she ran down to the road. She was hit and instantly killed by a car. It was an awful time at our house. We all felt guilty. I had shirked my training duties. I hadn't exercised her enough. Mike had let her out on her own, which we usually did, but he felt especially bad. It silenced him for a long time, that pain and guilt was so deep. He knew that Livie had been my dog and he thought it was his fault. In my usual style, I talked to people about what hurt. In his, there was silence.
I am sure that losing Livie was the reason we waited six years before getting another dog. I know I needed a lot more time to grieve this time. I don't know what Mike was thinking, but even in the last couple of years, he held out, saying he wasn't ready. I'm glad we finally got ready because Teddy is a very sweet boy.
I have a pendant made of lapis lazuli. It's not a spectacular stone, but somehow it came to remind me of Livie. I wear it on days I need to be near her and can't. I can picture Livie in heaven, waiting for me. Yes, I believe that dogs go to heaven. Her gentle nature assured me of her acceptance there. When people tell me that they don't think dogs go to heaven, then I tell them if they aren't, I don't want to go there either. In heaven, Livie is a tall, gawky girl in a pink tutu and she is standing on that old couch waiting for Seth and I to arrive. And I can smell the popcorn.
Thank you for listening, jb
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