Washington to Washington to Washington

A Warning: Long and epic post to follow. 

So we did it. We went on vacation. I had my reservations about doing this, no pun intended. I was worried about being on a plane, being near other people, and bringing my East Coast body to a very stable West Coast county. I was worried about the baby. I was worried about entering their house. I think though, everything is alright. And we're alright. And they're alright. That's how I feel.

We flew out super early in the morning on Friday (September 18). Flying back in time is nice, and we landed at a time where we'd be relatively awake, alert, alive on the East Coast, so it worked well for the West. 

Doug had flown us into Seattle, even though it is over 3 hours from Aaron's. It was 200 dollars cheaper to fly there than to Portland. And we could enjoy a scenic drive. They were expecting us around dinner time, so we had time to burn. It was before noon, so let's explore. 

We drove kind of west and north and west, dancing over Puget Sound's bridges, and headed towards Harstine island where Doug saw signs for Jarrell Cove State Park. 

Doug followed the signs. 

We got out, took a stroll in the drizzle, enjoyed the beautiful green trees, the green water, the low tide. People thought we worked there and asked us questions. 

We must look the part? 

The island that the park is on has its fair share of beautiful views, and really fancy gated communities with soaring iron gates and barbed wires. I thought it weird to see how much high-tech and sharp protection these communities had put into place. 

I wondered what exactly they were protecting themselves from. What kind of predators. What is it like being this wealthy, this close to Seattle? [read more after the break]

West Coast Yes Please

Last night my husband talked to his mom, and she told us she didn't want us to come help her with the move to the condo, yet. She waved us off while telling us how much stuff there is to do. 

She closed in August. she's been measuring, looking at things, astonished that the furniture she wants which is hand made will take 6 weeks to build (Ohio Amish). Had she just, I don't know, taken a tape measure and measured the space back in oh, July, like I told her to, she'd have furniture being delivered now. 

She's complaining about how many things need to be done, but our willing hearts and hands I guess aren't the ones she wants right now. 

The first time she did this, Doug and I were frustrated with her, but we are over it. She's doing things at her pace. She has time to do it. She doesn't have to be out of her house for a closing or anything, so .... more power to her.  I don't like being at her beck and call. I think it is ridiculous for us to not come up there now, and do all the cleaning; to have Doug help with things in the yard at the original house. 

There is a lot that can be done. But whatever.

The issue is, her indecision messes up our planning. We canceled a trip up there in August, now we are canceling September. Doug is not even planning ahead for October. We can go up there alone for a weekend or some shit, when she is ready.

Doug just booked us flights to Seattle on a Friday morning, 

The plan pretty much is to rent an RV/Camper Van in Seattle and then make our way down to Vegas to arrive 8 days later, return the van, spend a night there, and fly home on the Monday following. 

His fantasy trip that I wrote about a couple weeks ago is now slightly different. I've never been to Seattle, we'll hopefully see Aaron and the new baby, and many friends and vistas along the way. 

We are going to have a blast and a half. 

I love vacation planning Doug. Even if we just go away for the weekend, I love him plotting and picking things to do and places to see. Basically we gotta go see the baby. After that, everything is whatever until we get to Vegas. 

My cousin and his wife live near Salem, OR. I would love to see them. We went to college in Ashland, OR so I'd kind of like to possibly visit there. I have a friend in Reno, NV and I'd really love to see him. 

Aside from that, show me mountains, big skies, and stars, and let's hope we don't have to drive around some big fires along the way. 

And wish me luck for when it is my turn to drive the camper van.

And that's why, your honor, I had to kill him

(There is a lot of me swearing in this post. If that kind of writing does not delight you, dear friend, move along).  

In my last entry I mentioned that I got mad at Doug and at my mom. 

I'll start with Doug. 

We got home from the vet and he did his flurry of de-Brodifying the living room. That didn't bother me. I fully understood the why. I even appreciated it. 

I got mad about the stuff getting put on the porch. 

We discussed his thoughts and my opinions. He said for now that's where it is all going. Dejected,  I took my sad ass to the bedroom and laid down, sheets over my body, fan on to drown out noise. Perchance to dream?

The day before all this happened, he had broken the blinds on his side of the bedroom. He had set them in the corner to fix later. Which I presume would be, based on previous experience with him, November. 

No. 

He picks right then. Literally right then, while I am attempting to hide from him and all manner of things. 

A piece had fallen off of the holder doohickey up in the window frame, so he had to find it. Which entailed moving his side table.

Oh, and he found it but now. Hmmmm. It's kind of a mess over here, isn't it? It hasn't been cleaned in a while. So let's pick now to clean it!

Now. Let's rummage around for tape for 20 minutes and then ask Chris (who is now playing with her phone because why not) where the good tape is. 

It is in the basement on the shelf in the laundry room where all the tools, glue, tape, things belong. Always look there first because if I find stuff like that all around the house, that's where it goes when I find it. 

He comes back with tape. 

Instead of taking the tape, the broken piece, and the blinds out into the back porch where I usually work, and getting out of my fucking space, he sits on the floor. Makes all the noise pulling the tape apart, futzing with the tape, making noise with the blinds, muttering under his breath. 

I got up and went to the guest room. 

The blind repair didn't go too well, but the blind is in place and cannot be pulled up or down, lest the same thing happens. 

He comes in to tell me that like I intend on going in and pulling the blinds up and down. I look like I want to fucking do that right now. Don't I?  

My sister and her husband fight a lot more than Doug and I ever do. So when I'm mad about something Doug is doing, has done, will do, might do, it is extremely rare. But my sister always will say in the midst of her fights with Ronnie, "And that's why, your honor, I had to kill him." Sometimes when they are in the midst of something I will yell that and they will both laugh. 

And that's why.... your honor.... 

He then tells me that we've gotten to the "Cloves and Tom Collins Mix" level of groceries, that he is going to the store. 

He went to Aldi, and did bring me back a monkey that is solar powered so it swings by its tail. 

I think that he just wanted to be with me and not be alone, but unfortunately I am a cranky baby and needed to be alone and thus got to murdery levels with him. And I don't recognize that is what he wanted. And I'm sorry that I was mad and didn't make space for his feelings and the manner in which he attempted to communicate them to me. 

While he was at the market, I called my mom to let her know we let Brodie go. 

"Good, it's about time." 

Oh okay. Thanks. "I'm sorry" would have been nice. 

"Oh, yeah I'm sorry. She was a good dog. How old was she?" 

14 and a half, I said with a sigh. 

"Good long life. You didn't tell me when it would be good to call Doug's phone to test if calls go through."

Backtrack to Wednesday, I was having some sort of problem with my phone, where folks calling me would get some recording after a couple of rings. They'd hang up, try again, the call would go through. No big deal.

I was having a problem making outgoing calls. Ring, disconnect. Ring, disconnect, Ring, success.  She calls my sister who texts me to let me know that mom is having a hard time reaching me. I call (have to call twice) and talk to her about whatever it was she wanted to talk about. She told me about what was happening and I told her maybe we can test with Doug's phone on Friday. 

I'm thinking to myself, oh Jesus. I do not fucking care about the phone right now. I do not give two shits if calls are going through, or if you have to rough it and make a second call. I JUST PUT MY DOG TO SLEEP FOR FUCKING FUCK'S SAKE I DO NOT WANT TO PLAY TECH SUPPORT RIGHT NOW! 

I didn't say that to her in quite those harsh of terms, but I did say that it wasn't a priority for me to test things right then, so we could try later. 

She called me on Saturday to let me know that after we'd gotten off the phone the night before, she immediately went to tell her neighbor Ernie that we put Brodie down. First, she tells people my business, so I literally don't tell her anything. But she knew about this for a month or so and kept asking me when we were going to put her down. 

"When we are ready," was my reply. "As long as she can pee and poop outside, as long as she is eating and drinking, and as long as she isn't in pain, then it isn't time." Time came on really fast. We went from Wednesday to Friday and the decision to do so was unanimous. 

"Ernie said you kept her alive too long, and you should have done this sooner, so he said good. It was about time." 

What I should have said was Fuck him, and fucking stay out of my decisions to do things. You weren't on this walk with her, either of you, so keep my name out of your mouths. And my dog's. And shut up. Forever. 

I don't have a "and that's why, your honor..." for my mom. It's annoying to not have been supported by my mom right now when I needed it. Friends and acquaintances on Facebook were unbelievably supportive and loving. I got over 600 posts with pictures of friends' pets (or ducks, or squirrels, or small children who are like small pets). 

It's all been exhausting.

Greetings from the Sad Couch

Hello readers, all three of you. It is Monday, Labor Day weekend. I knew my heart would be broken, and I'd be mopey and sad. So I've ruined everything for everyone on earth by just wanting to sit here on the couch or tidy things up and then getting mad because people are in my way.

That's an exaggeration. I haven't ruined everything for everyone but I certainly have been pathetic, and I know that is allowed. Folks don't have to tell me. This is the fifth dog-related heartbreak I've done. I'll be okay. 

But for right now.

I've burst into tears over dumb ass things (keep reading). And I've slept a lot. 

Friday was, obviously, hard. I cried throughout the evening and sat on my bed. I got mad at Doug and my mom, that's an entry of itself. 

I don't remember dinner. 

When we got home, Doug spent time tidying up all of the Brodie things, cleaned out her dog food bin (it was all 3 dogs' dog food bin at one point, we've had this rubbermaid container since the Brown House, so ... 13 years? )

He packaged up the leashes, washed and dried the dishes and bowls, ziplocked the cookies, cleaned the brushes, the nail clippers, the collars, the harness that she had been wearing for two months that really helped us help her. He packed up the dog bed, which I had washed just on Thursday after a rough night on Wednesday. 

I should have been thankful and appreciative. But I was a bitch about it all. Not about the swiftness that he went through cleaning everything up with, but... 

He put all of the items in the back porch. 

I didn't want them on the back porch, where I work all day, sitting there and looking at me. I also didn't want them on the back porch because things get a musty back there if you're not vigilant. I should know - I work back there every day.

I cried a lot and told him not to do that. 

I wanted to give away the fresh bag of dog food I bought 2 weeks ago (optimistic on my part), and the dog cookies. I wanted to throw her dog bed away but he wanted to keep it, saying "we might need it." No, I said. Another dog isn't going to want to sleep on her 3 year old flattened dog bed, I'd like to give a new dog its own fresh, lovely bed if a new dog comes to my house. 

"Well maybe we'll buy the same style and we can have covers to switch back and forth?" He is sometimes cheap and practical. So, I lost that battle. 

Geoff just moved all of the items into the basement for me so I don't have to look at them whille tryiinig to focus on work tomorrow. It is cool and dry down there, and we can just deal with things later on.  

I don't remember much from Saturday, either. It wasn't a lost day because I was drunk or anything - I just literally don't remember what I did. I remember Doug making burgers on the grill, and he asked me to make coleslaw. That's literally the only thing I remember fully from Saturday.

I think one thing I tried doing was cleaning in the living room. Doug decided to flop on the couch in the middle of everything where I wanted to put Guster on YoutubeTV and just clean and clean. Flopping in the living room to read turns into taking a nap. And so I knew I wasn't going to be able to do all the things I wanted to do at the volume I wanted to do it. 

Fuck it whatever I'll just go and lie down too. 

Yesterday, Geoff was aching to go out somewhere and use some of the pent up energy he has. Doug suggested we go to the Maryland side of the Great Falls, to Olmsted Island. He and I had gone there before, I think it was literally right before the pandemic. We had parked to the south at the Old Angler's Inn and walked up to the Visitors' Center and the overlook, about 3 miles each way. We came back in the dark and sat at the patio at OAI, had some overpriced (very) appetizers and two beers to congratulate ourselves on a 6 mile walk. 

Sure, okay. Yeah. Let's go back. We parked at the visitors' center instead of OAI because we didn't want a six mile round trip hike this time.

We got out of the car and I realized I didn't have my mask in my pants pocket. 

I had decided not to bring my purse, which is usually where the mask safely lives.  I had pulled the mask out, and thought it went into my pocket. 

It was nowhere in the car, and not on my person. 

I started crying, like fuck - the one thing I actually need and I don't have it. I looked around the very crowded parking lot and the very crowded trail and knew that I'd want a face covering. 

Doug offered to cut his bandana in half, he was being very kind and supportive and laughing like baby, it's okay. In his very Doug way.

It was not okay. I was not okay. I just started bawling.  This was not funny. I should just stay here at the car. You guys go. I suck. I am the worst. How can I let this happen when literally on the way out the door I shoulded to Geoff "do you have a mask or bandana?" 

We rummaged about in the car and found a pair of clean gym socks (I knew they were clean because they were balled the way I do them when I fold laundry) which Geoff must have left in the trunk at some point back when he was going to the gym regularly (March?). Doug found a long piece of rope (about 6 feet) that we use to tie the trunk closed sometimes if there's a need. He wrapped the rope behind my head and tied the sock to my face, laughing and smiling like "there you go babe! All set!" I tucked the length of the rope into my pocket and we went for our walk. 

I felt like a complete tool. 

Crap on a cracker, I've got a fucking sock tied to my face. Then, I realized how many people did not have face coverings on, were not practicing any kind of social distancing, and I started to get angry at them. 

I tied a gym sock to my face you shit heels and you can't wear a mask? The fuck is wrong with you all! 

I think my eyes may have told that story, especially to the asshole in the Baltimore Ravens disgusting purple ugly nylon golf shirt who walked past me without a mask on an snickered. Every other person in his family had one on, but not him, not ole Natty Boh Old Bay stink boy. Fuck you, ya motherfucker. 

As you can tell, your humble narrator was having a moment. 

The overlook was lovely, too crowded, we didn't spend long. I did volunteer to take a picture for a couple who were trying to selfie with their baby. 

The thing I do.

Doug and Geoff walked further down trail to the north end trailhead of Billy Goat Trail. Geoff said he'd like to take that sometime. I told him he needs to be prepared and in good shape, with plenty of water. 

Geoff seemed to really enjoy going here, which made me happy in the end, sock tied to my dumb stupid face and all. 

I kind of feel like we should drop him off there, and let him walk to Lock 7 near Glen Echo while we sit at the Irish Inn and wait. What's a 7 mile walk for him? He'd love it. It's flat. He can just go and go. 

He ran up a side trail into the woods just to see where it went while Doug and I were resting back at the visitor center. He came back with a smile on his face, said it reminded him so much of Boy Scouts and being out in the woods with the Troop. 

I didn't take pictures at the overlook or on the boardwalk there, which I did last time we went. The Great Falls trail to the island is really cool, and the overlook is neat. I did like seeing this lock boat sitting, ignored and neglected, it made me think of an old song by Brooks Williams called "Inland Sailor." 

Not exactly the ocean journey he sings of for this boat normally pulled by towpath mules, but seeing all the grass grown up about it, I couldn't help but take my mind there. 

Today I did some house cleaning, still working on the living room, which for months was basically Brodie's room. Vacuuming, dusting, moving around places where there was a dog bed, and other obstacles. Will tackle my coffee table and table where the mail lands, which has been neglected for a few months. Will sweep where I moved a bookshelf. May move into the dining room which Geoff has kind of claimed as his for school and homework.  For sure will load and run the dishwasher. 

Celebrating Labor Day like a boss.

And this is goodbye

Today we took Brodie on her last car ride, to the vet. For. 

You know. 

This picture is from last night - Doug and I have been taking turns sleeping on the couch. Last night was horrible for her. And for me. 

She just cried and cried. And so did I.

The past couple of months, I've shared her story. 

It is a story of decline. In June, she was able to jump up on the couch and look out the window, sit with me while I did tech support. 

In past days, not being able to lift her head or stand up at all. Peeing while on her bed, distressed about it (because she knows you are not supposed to pee inside). Unable to eat, but hungry. So thirsty, but only able to sit up for a little while and lick the water. 

Last night I was holding her and a bowl of water, and she threw her anvil head around, spilling the water everywhere. All over me, the rug, her bed, herself. Everywhere. Such a small amount of water, but she managed to send it to all points within reach. 

I admit, this was about the most frustrated I got with her. I let her slip out of my lap, onto her wet bed and I went in the bathroom to cry.

It was time. 

Doug was of the mindset that she was going to pass soon. And he wanted for her to do that here, at home, with us. The way our county works, if you bring your dog to the vet, you can't go in. They come out to meet you, take your pet inside. Your pet gets shots, checkup, whatever. 

I had called the vet to ask about this and if we could be inside with her and they said no. They gave me the names and numbers of two companies that do in-home visits, but this afternoon it was clear. Doug and I decided we just wanted to go to their office. 

We had Geoff say goodbye before he left for work. Part of me thought we could go one more day to get to Saturday, and call one of the at-home companies. but. 

It was time. 

Not being allowed to go inside with your pet, it is hardly a fair set up, but "due to these uncertain times..." it is the rule of the county. 

I feel I cannot be too mad. 

I have a friend who was forbidden to be at her papa's side as he died in a Boston hospital a few months ago. He did not have Covid - he died of brain cancer. But the fact that she was not allowed to be with him in his hospice situation, that they took his phone away so she could not call and do evening prayers with him, I know.

 I know. I had a place I could turn my loved one over to, with confidence and no fear.

There are people with people who have suffered amazing indignities and loneliness in the past few months. Things that outweigh and out matter. 

I know.

We told her we were going for a ride. 

Doug picked her up and I brought her dog bed to the car. We settled in. She seemed unconcerned. It wasn't for quite a bit before she noticed we were in the car, and lifted her head. 

Going for a ride was always a top 5 favorite thing for her. But she was oblivious to what we were doing for the first ten minutes until she noticed... car! She sat up, looking around. Excited.

I told Doug to roll the windows down, and I held her up and showed her outside. It gave me so much joy to see her interested in what was happening.

She sniffed a lot, and hard. I couldn't quite scoot over to stick her head out the window, but this girl always did love a car ride. 

At the vet, they met us in the parking lot. Part of me wanted to take a picture of the beautiful vet tech just holding her in his arms with confidence, and the look on her face of being ... unbothered. I kissed her. I told her she was amazing and brave. The girl told me she would be right there, and that Brodie would know she was cared for, and loved. I believed her.

While I felt confident handing Brodie over to my vet's office and their beautiful and capable staff it fucking sucked whole ass and I'm shook to the core that for the first time since 1994, I have no dog.

I have no dog.

To me, this is unreal. 

We started with Missy with a trade for a cat, and while we had Missy we obtained Kinger. Missy had to be put to sleep, and then Kinger was alone. so the kids begged for a friend for him, so we got Jack. Kinger was hit by a car,  and then Jack was alone. The kids felt Jack now needed a friend so we got Brodie. Aaron and Michelle separated, and we ended up with Gonzo.

So at that point, we had three dogs at once. And today, today we have none. 

It is so weird. 

I want to write a lot about her. I feel like Jack was always the best dog I ever had, and Gonzo was the smartest, but Brodie, I want to tell her story and remember her always as the sweetest thing.

I may need a little time. 

A lot of time.

Pictured here - me and Brodie,  June 2006. Right after we got her. I still have that T-shirt.