Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Requiem for a Jack Russell Terrier

When I got home from work yesterday, Lisa was in the kitchen cooking dinner. And crying. I hugged her and asked her what's wrong. She told me, "Mom had to put Tasha down." I thought, "Ah s...". Fill in the blank, if you must.

My mother-in-law Meki is a strong woman. Once though, she definitely wasn't. That was when Harry, her husband and love of her life, died. This was five years before I even met Lisa online through ABDK, 1995 I believe. The two things that really let Meki get back on her feet were the several months that Lisa moved in with her, and the year-old JRT her son Rusty brought her one day. Tasha.

I never knew the dog Lisa described to me, the short-legged little bundle of energy that could jump up onto the kitchen table and couldn't be held back from licking your face because she was so glad to see you. The one that would have held off a bear that threatened her people.

The dog I knew had a hard time jumping up onto an ottoman to sleep by your feet, was half blind from a cataract in her left eye, and was too often incontinent when her mistress left to go to work. The dog I knew was often scooped up from the floor by that same mistress, called very silly names, and kissed and kissed.

The dog I knew was the same one Lisa told me had been neglected, had been left chained up in a trailer park as a puppy, left for much larger dogs to terrify, and still trembled at every hand that reached down to pet her. Except for Meki's.

The dog I knew barked when she was hungry or thirsty, pranced across the hard wood floor to stand by the door when she needed to go out, and thrived on attention even as she trembled. There are some reactions time does not erase.

The dog I knew helped heal a woman I love and admire, and helped shape my wife into the woman she is today.

The dog I knew had a stroke that left her unable to move her hind legs, and according to the vet, in agony that there was a 50-to-1 chance would never end. So, Meki did the hard and compassionate thing, and held Tasha as she went to sleep for the last time.

I grew up on a farm, and I put down more than one badly injured animal. It was a fact of the life. I've not had to say good bye to a companion that was part of making me whole after the most devastating loss I can imagine. Meki did.

For now, please excuse me. In my mind, I hear claws clacking across a hard wood floor and Tasha's bark, telling me she has to go. I've got a door to open. Godspeed, little one.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Today's postseason musing

When will the Yankees win it all with A-Rod? Probably around the time that Curt Schilling folds in the playoffs...

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Missed Birthdays

Andy turned 17 on September 6th, and Gigi turned 19 on October 5th. I have no excuse for missing them, since I wrote about both David and Mom on their birthdays. Let me simply say, guys, happy belated.

Lisa's birthday was last Saturday, October 13th, and I'm going to be a gentleman and not give my wife's age. I will say that Bianca's is just as much the most romantic restaurant in Greensboro now as it was when I proposed to her there on October 13th, 2003.

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

Summer memories

Yesterday, Sports Illustrated senior writer Jack McCallum recalled his father's love of the Philadelphia Phillies and how that translated into his own love of baseball. Similarly, my father introduced me to baseball. He was a fan of the Yankees teams of the 1950s and early 60s, Mantle and Maris and Yogi Berra. I started playing baseball because it was a way to spend time with my dad. He worked swing shift at a paper mill and farmed full-time. Any time I could spend with him was necessary and precious. Thus, I became an outfielder on a Little League team...actually, in rural North Carolina, it was a Dixie Youth League team.

So began my passion for baseball. Ironically, my dad is not a baseball fan today. There was no one thing that drove him away from the game; no, he gave his time, his interest, indeed his life to his farm, his family, and his church. And since he retired at 72, woodworking has replaced farming.

I had a stretch in my life when I put aside baseball for the sake of a relationship. That relationship ended, not well, and baseball came back. It's stayed with me through other relationships, an old friend. And, like old friends should, it has its niche in my life. Not first, not last, but just right.

I treasure the game of baseball, and just as deeply, I despise the business of baseball. Its place in the entertainment industry seems to have dislodged its place in sport. In that, it is like much that is American. The ideals are there, but the practice hides them.

Give me what happens between the foul lines, please, and leave the rest outside the stadium.