This week you invited a friend over. Sam is 4, from England and attends your preschool. You two play sometimes, you said. He told you “It would be lovely to come visit with your chicks, Orien.” Okay, you told him and planned the visit. Wednesday we will make cookies and have Sam and his mom, Emma for a play date, as its called. Can you eat cookies? You asked him this morning. “I certainly hope they are chocolate chip.” Sam suggested slurping and rubbing his tummy. We have to make them, you told him. Chocolate chip it is!
You mailed Shelby a picture of the two of you then another to ask her to come play. Last week you went over there for water play and dinner and ended up staying the night. You were so happy about your play and told me that Shelby’s mom, Katie is your best friend.
Your drawing of you, clearly on the left, (the tiny line between the two legs) and Shelby on the right holding hands. You want her to join you on an airplane trip because she would really like to fly, you decide. You want to be the pilot, you told me. “Maybe even have a plane with floats to land on Echo Lake. And I’d better take my chicks so they aren’t alone.” The plane you designed has low windows for shorter passengers and upper windows for grown-ups. It has many wheels because two makes landing too bumpy. You are thinking and planning like a four-year old!
And melting down like one, too. Kick, scream, grunt and groan. Its bedtime again. Sleep (my favorite book this week) You are overly tired and have to get to sleep. You and grandpa are at odds. You are at odds with yourself. We put you in our bed to cry awhile (or Ellie will be awakened). You say through your tears, moans and sighs, “Life is too hard. And I’m confused.” Jeeze. You got it, buddy. It sure is. Good “using your words” to express that. This moment will be revisited many times over, little one. Again and Again. I lie with you as your sadness pours out until you fall asleep damply on my pillow.
Ellie dragged her blankie into school, sat down with little Eva and poured some milk, said bye bye, blew a kiss and focused on a warm pancake snack in front of her made by the four year olds in the next room. I’m on my own today. For the first time in a long time, I have all day. Ahhh. Now I can deal with Metro. I can’t let him spend his final crazy dog days in a shelter, moaning for home and then be put down because no one took him home. There has to be a better way. When a dog is miserable, embarrassed, mad, sad, worried all the time. His tumors cause him to build fluid in hid chest that has to be drained every two weeks. We tried drugs to relax him. He peed all over and laid in his own pee puddle. My vet won’t consider euthanizing. We have come to know that is best. None of the leads for a placement have panned out yet. I long for a sleep filled night. And to stop worrying over my dog. None of it is good.
I don’t want you and Liza to see me not loving him.