a raindrop in the ocean

Tomorrow is save the puppies day.

So many dogs here are wild, and the ones that have a family generally aren't spayed and neutered.

This means, many puppies.

Here, people think the only solution is to drop them off in the wilderness, allowing them to die.

Sometimes, they're nicer and kill the puppies quickly so they don't suffer by starvation.

Well, one of the people we have painting Casa Paraíso has 5 puppies.

We can't take one of them, as we have already agreed to take one that is currently in another dog's womb.

Taking one more would put us over the edge with insanity.

6 Bathroom Buddies are enough.

Seriously.

Anyway, when our great painter/Spanish tutor came to work at the house today, he said he and his cousin were going to bring the dogs into the wilderness to let them die, because they can't keep them.

I begged them, "Please, don't do this today.  Tomorrow I will bring them to the AAAS and surrender them."  I explained he'd have to surrender the mother as well for the babies' sakes.

He agreed to the terms.

I know full well that even though I can't do this with every single cat and dog in the country, at least I can do it for one litter.

Sometimes, I just can't handle all this.

The other day, I was frantic when I saw a girl throw a dog into the water with all her force.

I'm not talking play.  I mean it looked like Serena Williams serving in a tennis match.

The rip tide here on our side of the island can drown a human, never mind a small size dog.

Didn't matter to her.

Every time the dog would run back out of the waves, she would pick her up (usually by the collar, choking it) and with every bit of her strength, she would throw it into the ocean one more time.

The dog would eventually surface, gasping for air, ears back and whites of her eyes showing.

This is how she was 'washing' her dog.

I expected her to stop after the 2nd time, but upon the 3rd, I ran to her, screaming in my broken Spanish, "Please stop!  Look at your dog!  She's shaking because she's afraid to drown!  You will kill your dog!"

Then to add an empty threat to the monologue, hoping she wouldn't take me up on it, I added, "If you don't want that dog, I'll take her.  She needs love.  You're going to kill her."

The girl simply apologized to me as if it was only a matter of my problem being sensitive, not having any regard for the animal and what she was doing to it.

Everyone else who watched her do this thought it was normal.

They laughed at me and my panic.

This is one of the hardest things about living here in the Dominican Republic.

The lack of respect for animals.

Then there's road kill.

There are no predators here, so when there's a dead dog at the side of the road, it sits in the sun until it rots.

You see road kill at least once every 2 days.

Then?

You see the remains for a good week after, and being that there is only one road you can travel, you are forced to see it time and again.

The last remains we saw were there for so long that after a while it was completely unrecognizable as a dog.

How does an animal lover get past this?

You don't, I guess.

I suppose all I can do is bring those 5 adorable puppies in and surrender them and the mother, in hopes that they will all keep their lives and find a family.

Tomorrow, we save 5 puppies and a mother.

It's like a rain drop in the ocean compared to all the other that are dying.

i accept what i can not change

hungry?

Dominican dogs are not like Canadian dogs.

They're hunters.

Some are starved and will go after anything to eat.

It's been inbred in them for many generations.

They don't have the pampered lifestyle like we're used to.

Even Pathetic Puppy.

We got her as a baby, but she's still a wild loon in search of crabs, rats, geckos, frogs and anything else she can find to hunt.

She's not too keen on kibble.

She'd probably prefer the rice 'n beans diet most dogs have here.

Then there's Old Ghost Face and The Thug.

They have serious hunting mentality.

Especially when they want to kill the cats.

Which they tried to do the other night.

I was happily working my way through to the Dexter finale, when I heard Papi screaming, then tumbling above my head.

At first I thought it was a plain old dog scrap that we've become accustomed to, and cringed as I assumed Papi would use the greatest technique he's found; The Wheelbarrow.

Simply grab The Thug by the back legs and pull him off.

He can't fight while he's balancing on his front paws.

What I didn't know, was that when Papi tried to pull The Thug off The Mrs., well, Old Ghost Face went in to finish the task.

I could hear the fighting wasn't stopping.

Quickly I knew this wasn't a normal dog fight and my mind jumped straight to envisioning cat intestines strewn across the floor.

When I finally snapped out of the sights that had me frozen, swirling in my head, I hobbled upstairs as fast as I could, creating a lot more pain for my ankle.

When I got to the top of the stairs, all the dogs were outside and Papi was screaming, "It's not good!  It's not good!"

I figured my assumption was right and that I'd walk into a scene straight out of the Dexter show I was just watching.

But instead, I found lamps strewn across the floor, cables in a mess, and a cat in shock.

We thought she had internal bleeding or possibly a broken back, or both.

She wasn't moving.

Through our tears and panic, we called the emergency number for Dr. Bob, who told us to immediately go buy a serum.  "If anything is going to keep her alive through the night, this is it."

The next morning, we reached under the bed and thought she had passed in the night.

She wasn't responding when we touched her, but I got in close enough that could feel her chest cavity moving with her breathing.

I pulled her limp body out from under her hiding place, we brought her in, and were relieved to find that she is merely bruised.

Nothing broken, no internal bleeding, and no neurological damage.

Yes, she is VERY sore, and will take a few days to heal, but he said, "Her fur saved her."

Normally, we shave her, because she's always so hot with that thick, black, Persian fur, but we haven't found an adequate groomer.

Her fur saved her life.

Her fur is her super power.

She still hasn't come out from under the bed since the whole disaster, but she's eating.

This is not the life I thought these cats would have.

I thought they'd be chasing butterflies and geckos, enjoying their new country.

I guess it's just as well.

Here, people eat cats too.

Ours would make a nice meal.

Just ask the dogs.

every day, i learn more

Send In S.W.A.T.

I think the move here has Papi and I living in some kind of battle zone.

I honestly don't know what the hell is going on.

Papi's done enough damage to his own body, and it seems that I'm trying to maim every limb of my own.

Started with Mr. Lumpy, but I guess a boob isn't a limb, is it?

Then I progressed to a dog bite on my hand that had me out of commission of playing an instrument for a week.

Next, we move on to my fucking ankle.  I don't need to say more about that.

Then I burned my calf on a motoconcho exhaust pipe.  It's really nasty.  I'll have to really take good care of it so it doesn't look any more infected than it already seems.

Then yesterday, the pin of my crutch fell out, my crutch crumbled and I fell to the ground giving my bitch of a back a run for her money.  I'm not impressed with the fact that I can barely move my neck today.

Oh, but earlier in the day?

I received another dog bite, this time on my forearm and wrist.

Fortunately, that pain only lasted overnight.  It's feeling much better now.

How did I get a new dog bite you ask?  Or maybe you didn't ask, but I'm going to tell you anyway.

Picture a 4 door Toyota Corolla Sedan.

Now.  Picture a massive crate with two cats in the back.  Got that?

OK.  Now add in 6 dogs, which Papi has lovingly nicknamed, The 6-Pack.

Granted 2 are small, but the other 4?  Including The Donkey?

Yeah.  It was something out of a comedy routine.

We were getting our house fumigated for the problem with ants and termites.

All the animals had to be out with us.

It was quite the task trying to find things to do for 2 hours, but we did it.

Then, as we were 2 minutes from home, The Donkey decided she wanted in the back.

The Thug said, "Fuck you and your big fat ass!" and it happened.

An all out dog fight in a tiny Corolla with The 6-Pack and a crate with 2 cats while I'm going 80 km/hr on a highway.

The cats pissed themselves in their crate and I slammed on the brakes so hard that Papi hit his head on the front windshield.

Still, the dogs continued fighting.

I, being the lunatic I am when they fight, screamed my best Psycho shower scene scream and I did it again; I tried to stop the fight with my hands.

I am so grateful that The Thug isn't out for blood, or there would be more than a puncture on my forearm.

I wouldn't HAVE a forearm if he was actually trying to hurt anyone.

But it was bad enough that I couldn't move my fingers.

We got home and I had to pay the fumigator.  Handing him the money hurt bad enough, but then he wanted me to sign for the receipt.

THEN! he wanted to shake my hand!!!

I was sweating bullets trying to keep a look on my face that didn't say, "I'm a dolt who likes to put my hands into dog fights between a Pit Bull and an Irish Wolfhound.

Last night as I was licking all my wounds, I reclined on the couch wondering what the fuck is going on, when The Thug and The Donkey decided my ankle was the perfect place in which to have a wrestling match.

They twisted it to the side and it is now more swollen and I can barely walk on it again.

Seriously.  What the fuck is going on?  I'm afraid to move for fear of doing anything more.

I was afraid to have sexy time with Papi last night for fear I'd sprain my vagina.

Don't worry.  I didn't.

This morning, I have two massive welts on my leg, from what I couldn't tell you, but it kinda looks like a flesh eating disease, one in the shape of Africa and the other like Great Britain.

I won't even go on about the bug bite that looks like I have a new knee on the back of my thigh.

Send in the S.W.A.T. team.

I need back up.

My mind, body and spirit are united for my highest good

 Gratitude Day 8/10
1. I am grateful my dog bite was only a bruising of the bone.
2. I am grateful for ice packs.
3. I am grateful I didn't sprain my vagina.
4. I am grateful I didn't hurt myself more when my crutch broke.
5. I am grateful I have time to wash my hair today.
6. I am grateful for fresh coconut water.
7. I am grateful I get to look out at the ocean while I write this.
8. I am grateful I can find gratitude every day.
9. I am grateful for this list forcing me to find gratitude every day.
10. I am grateful for dead bugs all over the yard, instead of live ones in my kitchen.

heartbreaking ... fearful

I can handle seeing people being hurt.

I can't handle seeing, or for that matter, even hearing about, an animal being hurt.

I've always been like that.

And as one of the most recent haters, who considers me a HORRIBLE person, so crudely put it, "You have dogs you pamper, while people are starving."

Yes.

I do.

And if I could save the world, I would.

But I can't.

So, I love my dogs and I teach music without charge because children can't afford it.

It's about all I can do.

But the point is, I heard such horrible news about some animals here.

I try to understand.

It's cultural.

It's survival.

About a 45 minute drive from here is a gated community in Sosúa.

This is a place expats go to live to feel 'safe' from the murders, robberies, and to be amongst people who 'understand' you, because they came from your own culture.

Yeah.

We don't live there.

We live with people who are really from here.

Anyway.

This 'safe' place had a horrible experience.

All their dogs, as in ALL their dogs were poisoned.

The entire gated community's dogs, deceased.  Cats deceased.

Poisoned.

Obviously, their armed guards, who are the ones supposedly keeping them safe, couldn't do much to help this.

Besides, here, The Guard is usually the one to rob you.

Here, thieves poison your dogs, returning while you're in agony from grieving, and rob you.

There is an entire community grieving over Fuzzy Families.

I'm heartbroken over this.

I'm also seeing that we really have to pay CLOSE attention to the possibility that anything could be thrown into the yard.

We have to diligently look for 'treats' thrown our babies' way.

We seem to be getting quite complacent.

We seem to feel quite protected by the wonderful people who live in our village.

The other day, the whole village came running when they heard a few gunshots go off.

They thought it came from our way, but it was a cop shooting at a drug dealer down the road, but still, they all came running to make sure we were OK.

We know, that with the exception of a couple of people, that those in our village are not the ones we're needing to protect ourselves from.

Yes.

They are good people, but they have friends who don't look at us as people to protect.

We are simply white people who have things they could sell to support themselves and their family.

We have beautiful fuzzies that we would be in utter despair if someone took their lives.

Another world.

Another culture.

To me, it's heartbreaking what desperate people need to do to survive.

I'm afraid for my babies.

As horribly behaved as they are, I love them.

i choose to live in freedom over fear

here comes the fight ...

Bed.

All day yesterday, all day today.

Shots of pain in my foot and leg, and it didn't help that The Donkey did her best to knock me over again today, and I tried to save myself by using my ripped ankle to get her off.

Furthermore, I suppose going out Saturday night wasn't the BEST thing for me.

Housemaid looked at me like I was a wimp and kinda laughed at me when I said I just couldn't come by for the invite for a Sunday party in the village.

Yeah, well, my body isn't quite as strong as it used to be.  I gave up being strong after the motorcycle accident.

I accept these shots of pain as a warning.  I allow them to tell me I've done 'enough'.

I had told her I wanted to lie down for a few days until Papi got here, and I should have followed my intuition instead of allowing for someone to persuade me otherwise.

I feel so bad for the dogs.

I hear them acting out.

I read the sadness in their eyes that they can't be near me.

I sense the confusion.

"Why are these other people feeding me, but we're in the same house?"

It's OK my little loves.

Papi comes home in ONE MORE SLEEP and you'll feel things are back to normal.

I'LL feel things are back to normal.

The cats will be miserable again, because the dogs will be in the room.

That's OK.  They had a lovely week with some isolated time with me.

The inverter went out last night.

It wasn't the best sleep, listening to the white noise of the fan to try to keep me cool.

It was pretty hot, but Papi comes home in ONE MORE SLEEP to fix everything.

Papi's coming home tomorrow!!!!!  TOMORROW!!!!!!

At least I'll have my love to take care of me.

I'm staying in bed another day.

I think it finally hit me, after I realized that I truly have a nasty injury last night.

I can't just up and run about with a cast on my leg.

Housemaid will just have to find someone else to party with.

I know that she enjoys my time, as does Our Fave's Mom, as she called me a total of 16 times yesterday.

I understand, she's back in town and would love me to see Little Angel, but when you're tired and hurting, you kinda just want some quiet time.

I'm just too exhausted to even try to speak Spanish, so I studied it instead.

I spent the entire day filling out flashcards in the awesome new flashcard program I found: StudyBlue.

When I switched from iPhone to Galaxy, I had to make a whole new batch, and that's still considered studying.

An entire Sunday, filling in flashcards, instead of talking.

I'm tired.

I hurt.

I have a lot of healing to do.

I didn't even go downstairs for a healthy dinner.

Chocolate was on the menu, as I didn't have to get out of bed for that.

The novelty of my first cast has worn off and now I'm into the injury depression.

Chronic pain will do that.

I anticipated it, but hoped I could stay busy enough for it not to hit me.

No matter how much Housemaid tried to entertain me, there's just no escaping the injury depression.  It really is unavoidable.

It has arrived and Hurricane Andréa is just around the corner.

Time to mope in my bed, just in time for Papi to return.

You poor soul, Papi.

I am grateful for prozac.

Oh, but I'll fight that bitch tooth and nail, all the way down to the Pit of Doom.

i have the ability to choose happiness

heal

Dog fight.

Old Ghost Face and The Thug.

They haven't figured out who is top dog yet.

The adrenalin I had caused a lapse of judgement in my brain.

I couldn't handle the brawl.

Hence, I tried to grab an available collar.

Instead, my hand got bit.

I knew it was going to hurt when I saw the blood, but I didn't feel it at the moment.

Now, because of the bruising, I can't use my hand.

I'm typing with the other.

It doesn't make for a good flow of story telling.

So I'll keep it short.

Dog fight.

All 3 of us are hurting.

Old Ghost Face isn't moving.

She's limping.

She may need to go see Dr. Bob.

Both dogs have nasty cuts on their faces.

The Thug also has one on his belly.

He was supposed to be here to heal from his wounds and fade his scars, not create more.

He's so gentle when he plays.

MY swollen paw knows his potential strength.

I won't be writing for a few days until the bruising subsides and my pinky can push the letters of this keyboard down.

Not to mention, I wan't be playing music with this hand.

Papi leaves me alone for 16 days tomorrow.

It will be just me and a few dogs that want to kill each other, when they're not looking to kill the cats.

More rest so we can heal now.

i heal quickly

rest

I took the opportunity to sleep in today.

Considering I wasn't going to a lesson.

I was awoken at 5 minutes past 11, the time that our lesson would be ending, by a phone call.

A repeated phone call.

No message.

Someone was definitely trying to get a hold of me.

Perhaps they didn't see the email Papi sent?

Papi decided on the sending of the email in the middle of the night while I was sleeping.

I had another friend, who lives here, suggest to walk away and never look back, because we couldn't trust the guy may look for revenge.

But it was too late.

Papi already sent the wife an email.

It was quite nice, just saying that where we come from, this behaviour isn't acceptable, even if it is normal in this culture.

He explained that I had previous troubles with this sort of thing and that it's not good for me to be in this kind of environment.

However, he sent it to her DR1 Forum email.

Not sure how many times she checks that, but we'll see.

None-the-less, with no message on my phone, I have no option but to assume the repeated phone calls are from the predator.

I can't block it until I know for sure, but I can't answer it, because I surely can't talk to the guy.

Hey, I could always change my number a 3rd time.

It's not like I have the hundreds of people in my contacts list that I used to.

I've spent the last couple of days appreciating the ocean and relaxing in the pool.

It has been really good for me to rest and remember why I'm here.

Yesterday, when I went to the ocean, a few of my students from The Garage Band were there with their mothers.

The greetings of hugs I received were so wonderful, and they made up for what I went through on Friday.

They ran to me from down the lane, arms open with glee!

As I kneeled down to accept the offering of sentiment, I was swarmed and squished and loved.

The transfer of energy was of immense value to my heart.

These children are so damn grateful for their lesson and I had a surprise to tell them!

We have our first donation of a percussive instrument!

The Carpenter had come by yesterday afternoon with a gift for myself and the children.

A Güira!

It is an instrument that originates from here in the Dominican Republic, and I love it!

I just might play it in Papi's ear to get him out of bed today.

I want to get him up go to Sosúa beach.

I want to enjoy my days.

I'm not here for bullshit from predators.

I'm here to live a beautiful life, with amazing musicians and loving children.

Oh, and a few psychotic dogs thrown in for good measure.

The Thug is working out quite wonderfully!

Well, other than the 'want to kill the cats' thing.

my life is a joy filled with fun, love, and friendship

donkey. you dog me.

Oh, The Donkey.

So many antics from one canine being.

She's healing up fine from both being spayed, and her little abnormal thumbs being removed, but it was time for a check up anyway.

The vet had told us he'd never seen anything like her before.

That she was a drama queen after her surgery and wouldn't move.

Well, you should have seen the drama in returning for a check up.

There she was, enjoying herself on our drive to Sosúa to see Dr. Bob.

Head hanging out the window, sometimes, trying desperately to get her head out MY window, which was troublesome, as I was the one driving.

I drive illegally now without any care in the world, but that still doesn't mean I want to go killing anyone on the road because The Donkey has chosen MY window to drool out of.

However, when we turned onto the rocky road that leads to the vet, all sense of 'fun' went out the window.

Quite literally.

Suddenly, she whimpered, both paws were out the back seat window, followed by her mammoth body.

I then saw her roll a few times on the ground and I wasn't sure if maybe, perhaps, I'd driven over her legs!

Good thing we were at the right place for broken legs if the problem arose!

I stopped the car in drive with the emergency brake on, not really realizing it, and jumped out to chase her as she was galloping back home.

On the main street.

Where we see at least one dead dog a day now.

Or cat.

Or horse.

But there she was, "Goin' home!  Nope!  You can't make me go back there!"

Fortunately for me, she loves me enough that when I call, she can't resist the cuddles and she came back, I snapped that leash on and in we went to Dr. Bob.

When I told him of her buffoonery and that he should check her body out for troubles, his reaction was not what I expected, "I'm so offended!  Why wouldn't you want to see me?" he asked her.

I almost asked him if he was from the west coast of Canada and upper U.S., where people seem to be personally offended at the change in weather, never mind someone speaking openly and honestly about their feelings.

Oh, don't get me off track on that one.  I'll be here all day bitching.

Back to The Donkey.

Last night, I brought in some small stairs for Sir Bark-A-Lot and Jake-a-Like, so that they could get up to the bed with ease.

Actually, they made it easier for ME to get into the bed too.

Turns out, they also made it easier for The Donkey at 5 a.m., when she decided to go against the rule and hop on top as well.

Both Papi and I looked at what was happening, then merely shrugged our shoulders and went back to sleep.

Well, TRIED to go back to sleep.

Have you ever tried sleeping with a donkey in the bed?

Then I was supposed to drive Our Fave's Mom and the Little Angel to the doctor at 8 a.m.

Needless to say, I am quite tired and am going back to sleep, even though I've driven people around after having had my coffee.

This time, The Donkey is on the floor.

With the other cretins who are too big for the bed.

I've informed all the children in the neighbourhood that I will not be around, because I'm going to be sleeping.

Still, it probably won't stop them from yelling at my gate.

It's yet ANOTHER day of fiesta in this country, where we can't keep up with all the 'days off' everyone gets.

No school for the kids and they'll be coming the the Hector-Brown Amusement Park for sure.

My earplugs are firmly placed in both ears.

life is a joy filled with delightful surprises

waves crashing

The angels DO have a sense of humour.

I was at the hardware store, yet again, where I'm becoming part of the scenery, and I was waiting patiently for The Carpenter to get his wood, concrete, nails etc. that he needed.

I'm really only there to pay, as I'm just a walking wallet.

Anyway, I was waiting for him to return and was missing my HECTOR cohort, wishing we could play some music together now that my bitch of a back is being friendly.

The ticket to get here is quite expensive, so I can't just see my Drummer Boy just hopping on a plane to come make music.

Nor can I see him leaving behind The Turkey, my first godson, so I was just wishing that someway, somehow, I could have tons of cash to fly him here to the Dominican Republic to play some shows.

My Bluelight ex-buddy has enough cash to come here, and I miss her as well, but chances are that she's mad enough at me that she will NEVER forgive me enough to visit.  Chances are I could never trust her friendship again anyway.

But there I was wishing I had money.

I went into the hardware store to pay, and the first amazing thing happened, that worker that I said I'd win the heart of, gave me a hug, saying, "I like you.  You're my friend."  Accomplished!  Won his heart!  Bad Spanish and all!

Then within moments, the PanMan came in.

He's the one the angels sent me the other day, when I really needed to hear some words of wisdom.

I bought a bunch of snacks for for Papi, as he asked how we were doing.

We spoke a while about the ups and downs, how hard it is to live here.  He understood fully when I spoke about having lost our cat, and that Papi is really down.  Really depressed.

Mostly from grieving, but also because we're both stressed the fuck out about money.

He told me there would be an opportunity for Papi to work for him if he liked.  It would be in sales for the land he has, not to mention, the eco-tourism that he needs promotion for.

I explained that it would be a job for me, not for Papi, that Papi doesn't like sales, but I'm a natural born hustler.  I'll work hard, and try my best, even if I fail.

I told him I'd email him again and look at options for working with him.

I strolled back to the car with my bag of bread in hand, looking to the sky for my angels, saying, "You really are funny, you know that?"

So, maybe I need to ask them to help Papi a bit more.

He's really in a rough state, in his own Pit of Doom.

He knows everything he needs to do to get out of his depression, but he just can't do it.

Not to mention, I'm not able to persuade him to do those things, or he'll get upset telling me, "You think I don't know that?  You don't remember I worked in mental health and told people that every single day of life?"

Yeah.

I know you know that Papi.

I just want so badly for you to feel better.

Just like the PanMan said, "You have to ride the waves.  They go up, they come down, but you are never in one place.  If you're down, the law is you have to come up.  But when you're up, you also have to come down."

Couldn't have said it better myself.

Papi and I had gone to the beach yesterday, because it was the country's day off of work.  A day to celebrate workers and they got a day off with pay.

We went to the beach with the masses.

It was my first time to the Sosúa Beach.  As I floated, I looked to the sky and spoke to the angels, "Thank you for this opportunity to play in the waves.  Thank you for giving me a break today and letting me just float here.  Thank you for the ocean."

I have more to thank than for just the relaxing day we finally got to have.

I have to thank the waves for allowing me to ride them.

Come back up Papi!

Your wave has to come back up.

It's crashing a little.

i am passionate about doing what i need in order to increase my fortune

Gratitude List, Day 7/10
1. I am grateful the angels keep sending me words.
2. I am grateful I keep looking for the angels words.
3. I am grateful I worked to get myself out of my depression.
4. I am grateful for the ocean to help heal my back.
5. I am grateful for people genuinely liking me.
6. I am grateful for people who have been mean, so that I know what good people are to me.
7. I am grateful for friends who support me.
8. I am grateful to feel loved.
9. I am grateful for the small opportunity that may be to make an income.
10. I am grateful for Papi to ride these waves with.

R.I.P.

When he took his last breath, it seemed that there was a sigh of relief for him.

He looked peaceful, his deformed jaw seeming less stately.

I touched his little paws with all the affection in the world to let him know I was still there, if his spirit was still in his casing.

The fact that he was no longer in pain was of great comfort to me.

Here, in the Dominican Republic, we don't have the luxury of the option of ashes, so as to place where we can see our deceased Fuzzy Family when we care to say a few words of hello what is left of physical energy.

Here, we must bury our animals.

"I have a graveyard in the back if you'd like," proposed Dr. Bob, "but I think you want him closer to you."

Yes.

We want our love to be near us.

As I asked him how much to pay him for his services, he replied, "No, I don't charge for this work.  To me, this is a gift."

We gave each other a hug, because we both know what that meant.  Truly a gift.

I wrapped his lifeless little body, still warm, in the blanket he passed away in and met Papi at the cement walkway at the entrance of the clinic.

He can't be there for the passing.

I need to be, because I need my little family members to have me as their last vision.

I need them to know that I'm with them while they traverse into that unknown place I secretly wish to visit every day.

I need them to read in my eyes that I love them and will never let them fade from my heart.

I need them to know that they don't need to be afraid, because they're going to a much better stead than what they have here on planet doom, even if it is without us.

They have friends waiting.

I also ask them to stay with me always, and that I will find them when it's my turn to be in that place of serenity.

I've never held a lifeless body before.

It felt so comfortable, that I didn't want to let go.

Please, just let me hold him like this forever.

I can't let go.

He was still warm.

He was still my friend while I had him in my arms, wrapped like a newborn.

I guess in a sense, he was a newborn to a new life.

Papi and I spoke of where to place his body so that he's relaxed and happy.

The coconut trees were much too far away from us.  Also, they're doing work on the roof, so the front of the house was out of the question.

I thought of the perfect place.

On the floor of my veggie garden.

I will see him every day.

He will be part of the life that grows around him.

He will support me as I stand and help my plants grow.

He will be the energy I feel in that space.

We placed him in and covered him with much love, only it still felt so harsh.

I'd never buried a loved one before.

Then, I cried some more.

And some more.

And today, my eyes are as swollen as they were in the beginning of my journey with 'you' here.

I thought I heard his voice last night.

He was always quite the talker.

Sleep my little love.

One fine day, we will be lucky enough to be with you in that place of peace, to become one of the angels I beg to every day for strength.

For now, we grieve.

all that i need will come to me at the right time and place in this life

looking at the good

Sunday Sillies:

The good news is, I found the Sosua Synagogue!!!

The bad news is, they don't have a rabbi, so no services.  I've written back home to Rabbi Laura to ask if she ever found the person who could teach me from afar.

Any rabbis out there wanna live in paradise?

There are places you can move into that are ready made, no problems, and you don't need a gazillion dollars like we need to fix Casa Paraíso.

This house is a money pit.

When you live on the ocean, rust never sleeps.

Just as you think you've finished, there's always something more.

This morning, I happily opened a window to let in the cool breeze from the ocean, only to watch the bracket fall from it's wood to the floor.

Well, at least we got the clean water now.

I had the world's most beautiful shower last night.

It's not crystal clear and super clean like in Canada, but it no longer smells like I'm showering in farts.

Tomorrow, our roof gets started and within a week I won't be dodging monsoon showers in our bedroom.

Tuesday, our bed mattress gets here, which means Papi and I will sleep in the same bed, sprawled out and definitely starfished amongst various animals who are allowed to be there.

100%, The Donkey is not invited, even though she thinks she's one of the little dogs, and the littlest ones think they're as big as her.

Everyone is equal when they're a dog.

I wish they would treat cats in the same light.

I'm a little worried about Old Ghost Face, as she clamped her mouth down upon The Mrs. the other day.

The Mrs. hasn't come out of the closet since, unless the bedroom door is closed and she feels safe.

Old Ghost Face seems to be stalking The Bastard Prince as well, and I have to give her a stern talking to every time.

It's hard to do with an abused animal, because one simple, strong, "No!" and she cowers like we're going to beat her.

At least now she understands her name, so I can simply say it with that slow, man-like, authoritative voice and she walks slowly away from the cats.

I believe she's starting to understand that we're not going to lay a hand on her, unless it's to give her love.

I'm relieved that nobody seems to be bothering Psycho Kitty.

I suppose it's because they all know he's not a threat, because he's dying.

I was worried that because he was weak, the others would try to put him down the way they would in the wild.

So far, everyone just leaves him alone.

The drugs are working SO GOOD!!!

He is cuddling like crazy, as I try my best to hold my breath from the stench of a smell of a dying animal.

I am getting used to it, because I'm so grateful to have him act like he did before.

Up on the counters!!!

He's even ass up in the sink, looking for remainders of human food he can hunt and kill!!!

Something else I'm very excited about is next week's baby shower for our secret godson.

We're just going to keep our tryst a secret, so we don't have to deal with the Housemaid and the wrath of her clique vengeance.

I watch the Housemaid in our cameras, as she stalks our property, looking for us to talk to about the fact that we were speaking with Our Fave's Mom the other day.

It's horrible to feel like we have to hide from her, but I just don't want the work of defending my decision of having Our Fave's Mom as a friend.

I want to live without the village clique trying to tell me what to do to fit in.

Hmmm.

Sounds an awful lot like certain people back home.

People are people.

Everywhere.

Only this time, I get a new slate where I can only receive the good.

I've learned from the cliques back home.

Beware of those who travel in packs.

Unless they have 4 legs.

i choose to see the light i am to this world

more time

The angels really do have a sense of humour.

And cats really do have 9 lives.

I asked the angels to tell Psycho Kitty that he would be free from pain.

They obliged.

However, this didn't mean it was time for our little love to leave our arms.

I am sure grateful I wasn't specific about HOW I wanted him to be free from pain.

If I was clear-cut about what I was asking for, he wouldn't be with us today.

With tears streaming down my face, and Papi looking like he was trying to be invisible, we dragged our feet into the vet's office.

Remember how I was saying he still looks like Psycho Kitty from the eyes up?

Dr. Bob told us he has a few more days in him.

His eyes are bright.

He's eating.

Albeit, he IS on his way out.

So, now it's time for us to do hospice work.

He gave us enough medicine to get him through the weekend, buying us a little more time for goodbye.

What it was fixing us with, was an opportunity to allow him to leave with dignity.

The medicine is to make him comfortable, and ease the pain, but mostly to allow him to be himself and enjoy his last days how HE would like it.

It worked.

He slept on the bed ALL night!!!

This morning, he did his famous forehead bumps!!!

He was also being himself, trying to bite my glasses off my face.

This has always been his favourite pastime; trying to steal my glasses.

He used to do it with G'ma's hearing aid while she slept.

It was always fun to do the hearing aid search at 7 a.m. under beds and couches after that little bugger had played with it all night.

We even saw him try to clean himself.

To no avail, but he tried.

Last night, we cut off all the blood encrusted in his fur from his chest and neck, and feces that were stuck to his tail.

He looks absolutely ridiculous, but cleaner.

It must feel better than being so dirty.

Cats like to be clean.

Waking up to find our Psycho Kitty being himself was really quite beautiful.

The angels did answer my plea.

He is not suffering and we get to see our little friend off how he would want to go; loving us to his last day, instead of hiding under the bed whimpering.

My greatest wish has been that he would go when HE decides.

I just couldn't handle to see him suffering.

It was too much to bear.

Maybe, now he could just go in his sleep, peacefully.

Maybe I could be specific and ask the angels for this?

I'll tell you though, I'm sure grateful I get to see him acting the way he normally would, even if he is a bit smelly and there's blood and drool everywhere.

At least his spirit is here.

He is Psycho Kitty.

He has decided that he gets to live his last days as slow as he pleases, being true to Dominican Time.

We get to enjoy it.

my thoughts are my reality and i'm thinking of a bright new day

it's ok to cry today.

He whimpers.

His jaw is deformed, swollen with infection, leaving only a slit at the front in which his tongue can comfortably lie between his two teeth.

I looked in his eyes and told him that today, he will have no more pain, and we said goodbye.

His matted fur didn't seem right for his usually pristine coat.

There was no point in me cleaning him today.

No primping.

No prodding.

No suffering for his already tormented body.

I simply told him he would be free.

Last night, I dreamed his body was only bones, with not a muscle in sight.

Decayed.

He cried to me in pain.

I knew it was his spirit asking me to help him leave.

When I woke this morning to his whimpering, I invited him up on the bed for our last visit before people came to our door and the insanity of workers in my yard took all my attention.

He came willingly.

He knows it's time for a farewell.

He seemed peaceful in the knowledge that he will be eased soon.

I held my hand in such a way, that I could only see him from the nose up, as his eyes and ears still remain a part of the cat that I have known for these years of friendship.

I didn't want to look at the image he has become.

I looked at him as he was.

Psycho Kitty!  Terror of the neighbourhood!

Not one cat would pass our yard, because it was his territory alone.

When my cats moved into HIS house, he was indignant as he stalked them through windows, eyes wide, ready for the kill.

He marked every window and every door with his scent, in the form of a turd gift, meant for my cats to know that this was his house, and eventually, he would find them.

They would be his prey.

Now, he is timid toward all creatures, knowing his strength is limited to eating and walking to the litter box.

We haven't seen him drink water in days.

However, even in his dying days, he still eats voraciously.

Nothing could squelch his appetite.

He still purrs louder than the healthy cats.

That sound, coupled with his food intake is confusing, as it makes us think he must still be fighting.

In our hearts, we know he isn't.

I could see it in his eyes today that he's searching for peace.

I begged the angels to tell him he would be receiving it today.

Today, we lose him.

Today, the angels gain him.

He will visit all those who have risen to the angels and they will welcome him into their peaceful realm.

One day, one beautiful fortunate day, I too will visit this realm.

I will be a part of him, and all the others who have left a whole in my heart.

Each one that passes doesn't get easier, yet it doesn't get harder.

It is just painful in the same way it is when each of them leaves.

Grief.

One of the workers saw me cry today and I had to say it out loud, "Mi gato, se está muriendo," but I had practised the sentence, so he understood fully.

These men who work for us are really quite lovely.  They have good hearts.

So, it's ok to cry today.

I allow myself to feel these feelings.

i embrace the rhythm and the flowing of my own heart

so done.

Mounting.

Stress.

Last minute things to do.

Migraine is back.

Done having sad faces to miss.

2 sleeps left.

Sleeping on the floor.

Cats are not happy.

Nowhere to relax.

No time to relax.

People finding out where we're going and inviting themselves, wanting to be my friend again after a year of no speaking.

Inviting themselves!!

Rude.

Ridiculous requests to see people at the last minute.

Pain from doing way more than I should.

Lack of cuddles from Papi.

Rushing everywhere.

Not feeling like speaking.

Wanting to hide.

More to do.

Don't want to do it.

Surprises of more to do that we didn't know about.

Scared.

Nervous.

Sadness verging on depression.

Excited.

Anxiety.

Gratitude.

Happiness.

Looking forward to being off morphine.

Looking at my hammock outside Casa Paraíso every day I turn on my computer.

Thinking of the warmth removing my pain.

Thinking of the feeling of floating in the healing salt water.

Feeling more real.

2 more sleeps.

Ready now.

Wish we were gone already.

Done.

So done.

Tired.

Cold.

Done.

my thoughts are my reality and i'm thinking of a bright new day

grant me the serenity ...

Ah, the holidays.  A chance to be with ones you love, and practise tolerance for the ones you don't.

Alas, both we and them are human, and we can only tolerate so much.  Especially when they say things like, "Why do you have to move all your cats when you go?  Can't you just get more there?"

... love and tolerance andréa ... keep it together ...

The only thing that got me through that one was the grace to give my mother a nice evening and not start an all out brawl.

How do you explain to someone what family is, if they don't have any concept of love?

Every day, I write my gratitude list to My Gratitude Buddy, the Sweet Ex and my MC Guru.

At the end of the gratitude list, we give forgiveness, which most of the time includes ourselves.

After last night, I've decided that the once in a while forgiving isn't going to work on this guy.  I'm going to have to do it every day to try to grant myself peace concerning him.  Every day, I will forgive this person, in hopes that I will let go of my anger towards him.

It's very hard, especially when they belittle your mother, but you know you have no option but to let her be in that relationship.

She wants to be there.

So, here I am, just on the cusp of learning what it is to 'pray' in my own way.

I won't call it 'pray', because it reminds me too much of my upbringing and makes me wanna toss my cookies.

I'd say it's more like talking to the angels that surrounded me the day of my Soul Activation.

So, I started with, "Please, do you think you could help him be a better person?"

Then it went to, "Please, do you think you could help my mom see that she deserves better?"

And then, it started getting really un-spiritual, "Do you think you could just kill him off?  The world would be a much better place and my mom would be free."

That's when the anger set in and I had to get out of bed and hang out with Papi watching television re-runs.

"I'm having anxiety."

"About the DR?"

"No, about Mr. Homophobia."

Seriously.  Papi stuffed a clonazepam down my yak pronto.  The 'talking' to my spirits caused me to roll out of bed and feel my migraine come back to haunt me.

This morning, I remembered that when I talk to the angels for anything, it should be strength for myself, so that I don't allow my anger to brew.

Anger only hurts me.

I also remembered a saying in that group of anonymous drunks that came into play: the only person I have control over is myself.

I need to be stronger and not allow people's crap to infiltrate my well being.

I suppose my lack of peace also came when I ate my allergy food.

There I was, snacking on ginger bread angels, snowmen, candy canes, then moved on to the shortbread and finally finished it all off with a great piece of apple pie.

That binge had my poor little brain inundated with the poison running through it once more, and Hurricane Andréa was in full swing.

Especially when someone said Papi and I looked alike in a recent photo.

I lost it!  I hate it when people say that, and now that's 3!!!!  How could we look alike?!  Papi's all handsome like, and I'm all femmed out!

But I calmed down after I did a poll and found more people don't see the resemblance than do.

I'm going with the majority.  I'm on their side.

Papi just says, "Well, if we look alike, then I guess we really dig what we look like."

I didn't get it at first, but after it made me chuckle when I realized it means we look in the mirror and we each say, "Damn, I'm hot!"

Then when we found each other we said, "Damn!  You look like me and I'm HOT!  Wanna fuck?"

I guess it's sorta funny now.

Certainly wasn't when I had the evil sugar and wheat pumping through my veins at high velocity!!

Anyway, I'm feeling much better now, and all I want to do is ask my angels for strength.

Strength to stay away from the sugar.  That's really all I need.

The rest will fall into place after that.

i release all anger

death is really a new beginning

Sometimes, I stare blankly at this li'l, white, blog page and wonder, "What the hell am I going to write about today?"

Other times, I have such pressing news about vomiting cats or silliness of the Papirazzi, that I feel I have to write it the night before and do my edit check in the morning.

Today is the, "What the hell am I going to write about today?" kinda day, which to me, is a good thing.

What that means to me, is there is no pain going on emotionally for me right now.  Perhaps I'm feeling some peace?

I won't bore you with the physical pain.  I'm sure you all know I could go on about my bitch of a back until we all die in 5 days.

I'm kinda excited to see the 'end of the world' on Dec. 21st.

While others may think we're going to implode, I'm actually thinking it's like the deck of tarot cards.

The death card is something people are afraid of, but it's not something to fear.

Death of one thing means birth of another.

What if all of a sudden, there was the birth of peace on earth?  Wouldn't that be a mindfuck?  We wouldn't know what the hell to do with that.

With my new found spirit friends, I actually ask them for this.

Peace on earth.

No massacres.

No wars.

No predators harming children and women.

No gangs.

Well, that gang one could be tamed a little if our fucking Prime Minister would get on the marijuana legalization train.

There would be less for those morons to fight about if people could freely get their peace pipes puffin' without the hassle of getting their goods from a dude named 'Spider' down on the corner.

Anyway, back to death.

I'm so not afraid of death, it's life that scares me.  If I'm here living, I want to feel like I've left behind something before I pop off.

I need to feel like I've made a change somewhere, somehow, to something or someone.

I need purpose.  I mean seriously, I didn't survive that motorcycle accident for nothing.

I'm here for something.

Every day since the Soul Activation happened Tuesday, I feel like I'm ready to find out my purpose.

I have so many ideas of how to help people, animals and the planet, that I think my mind is a bit obsessed and overwhelmed with all the options there are out there.

For myself, I need to feel what it was like before I got hit.  I have a yearning to be able to play my instruments for more than the half hour to hour I can do currently, before the pain sets in and I'm back to lying out flat asking, "What's my fucking purpose?"

Playing my instruments is my only version of meditation.  I'm taken somewhere that doesn't exist on this luminous body we call earth.

The Countdown to when I get to experience life without pain killers and without the exhaustion of pain is dwindling.  Day by day I'm closer to feeling my meditation again.

I'm feeling the pull of my next door opening.  It's as if it was a suction of air that drags me out of the plane door at 19,000 feet above the earth's crust, only in slow motion.

Yet first, we have to get through Dec. 21st and our new beginning.

If you could think about the new beginning for you, what would it be?  You know that you can choose whatever you want and make it happen, right?

I can't wait to see mine come to light, whatever it may be.

Well, I suppose I figured out what I was going to write about, and somehow, I still don't know the answer to my own question.

i believe strongly in my powerful, positive self-esteem

squirmy shudders!!!!

Oh, but the Tom Cat Operetta was in full swing.

We needed to get the Fuzzy Family cats their microchips for traveling.

We had 2 cats in one cage, one in another.

Not to mention, we brought along 2 dogs for the trip, if you can call a Chihuahua a dog.

And by 2 dogs I don't mean we had the ashes of our dead dog.  We have a visitor to Our Closet.

Remember The Galloping Gazelle?  He's back!

Actually, lives in our building.

Actually, his mom is our landlord, who lives in the building.

She's away and The Galloping Gazelle is staying with us.

The cats are NOT impressed.  At all.  Psycho Kitty is losing more hair.

Anyway, we had to get their microchips.

The needle man!  I've never seen anything thicker in my life.

I was wondering how Dr. Bob was going to put that chip in there.  I thought at least they'd have a numbing agent before he went to town.

I asked if it was going to hurt, not knowing how it was done.  He just laughed at me.  I wish I didn't go in there.

The entry point of this long needle was extremely visible.

You know how the needles we get, you'll have to squint to see the entry point?

Oh, not this one.  Big.  Not to mention, the gizmo to push it into their skin.

Poor Psycho Kitty.

He has thick skin and Dr. Bob couldn't get it in there!

He had to push a few times to get it to go in.  I asked him if the needle was sharp enough!!  Maybe it was flawed!!  Good g*d man!!!

Of course, he just rolled his eyes at me, because I was being 'dramatic'.

I was almost sick to my stomach.

In the other two, the needle just went in like a knife through butter that's been left on the counter for the day.

They were brave.  That was of course, until they had to go back into the cage.

I would hate to share a kennel with The Bastard Prince.  He gets scared and craps himself.  Then The Mrs. has to hang out with that stench until we get home.

Imagine how much fun she'll have being stuck in there for a plane ride?

Overall, I do have to say the cats did very well.  I'd be squirming all over the place with that thing stuck in my shoulder blades.

The singing in the car though?  That was something.

So there they are, all 3 of the cats are squealing and along comes a siren.

Now we've got 2 small dogs howling and 3 cats squawking.

Well, the Fuzzy Family is being tracked by big brother.  Except our visitor, The Galloping Gazelle.  We didn't get him a chip.  I'm sure mom will be happy about that.

Hey!  How about you bring your pets to Andréa and Papi's house!  The visit comes with a free microchip and trauma to go along with it!

But seriously.  The amount of paperwork they need to go visit another country is crazy!

There are a gazillion strays there and they want to know every single thing about our animals.

I'm surprised they didn't ask for a stool sample or a DNA swab.

Do they have that for animals?  DNA swabs?

Anyway, I'm still shuddering from the experience.

i am pleased with how i handle my emotions

chemo cat & cake

G*d I love peanut butter on toast.  It's gotta be the best treat out there.  I sometimes go to bed anticipating my morning glory, peanut butter celebration.

Just had to share that.

Don't worry.  This is not a blog about peanut butter toast.

Nor will it be a blog about complaining of how little sleep I've been getting this week, yet last night was the first night I slept all the way through without drugs to help me.

I will also spare you the details about how I'm suffering through the weather erupting my bitch of a back.

So what's left to talk about?

Cat's on harnesses and Papi's birthday.

Let's start with Papi's birthday.

Every year, I buy him his favourite cake.  Of course, it's very difficult for me to keep in mind which is the flavour he likes, because it's only once a year I buy it for him.  My brain injury does not do me justice in the memory department.

There I was staring at Safeway cake, ...

... just fyi, it's the only one he ever asked for ... i would never buy him this by choice ...

... trying to recall which vanilla cake he prefers.  Is it the one with the filling of vanilla icing?  Or the one with custard filling?

I banked on the custard, because he has such strange taste buds.

Only one problem; there were no 'single' slices of the vanilla custard cake.

Only one thing left to do!  Buy a whole cake!  Yeah!

I proudly took the bus with his cake, with onlooking passengers drooling at the sight of a flat of sugar.  I prayed my brain injury didn't give me balance issues, as I limped with the weight of the package.

I waited patiently until Papi slept off the Graveyard Coma, and, "Happy birthday!" I screamed at him while he was still wiping the sleep from his eyes.

Oh, I got the right cake!  I was so pleased.

Alas, there was one 'wee' issue.  I forgot that last year, he asked me not to buy him the cake anymore because his tastebuds have changed since starting on hormones.  He doesn't eat sweets anymore.

Well, I hope the ladies at his job enjoy it.

Let's move on to cats in harnesses.

We have to train them to be on harnesses so that we can bring them outside for their piddling.  This is how they'll be traveling on planes.

Pee breaks on leashes.

Well, I got the harnesses on the cats, but the cats were not impressed, to say the least.  I can't tell you how many bite marks I'm nursing, but I did it.

Now picture this: Cats walking with their belly so low to the ground you'd think they were hover cats with legs 1/4 the size of a normal feline.

It was odd to witness our cats not moving from one spot for hours at a time.

Oh!  But when they did move, it was in reverse, as they were trying to back out of the nylon, pseudo straight jackets they were in.

Then there was Psycho Kitty.  He was so distraught with the prospect that he started to lick his fur off his body.

He already has a kitty version of male pattern baldness from the stress of being trapped in Our Closet of 454 sq. ft with The Bastard Prince.

Now?  His loss of hair has extended all the way to losing some of his tail fur.

Good thing we never made it onto Psycho Kitty TV.  This hair issue just won't do for his national debut.  He would need a toupée.

Normally, he's such a pretty kitty with all that long grey fur.  However, he now resembles a cat on chemotherapy.

I figure he'll look really good with a shaved lion cut.

Silver miniature lion!  A rare breed.

So there ya go.  Papi's birthday and cats on harnesses.

Aren't you glad you stopped by?

everything i do turns into success

grief hurts us all

They call me Sir Bark-a-Lot.

Really, I only bark to protect my dog they call, 'The Golden'.

Yesterday, they took him out without me, but they never brought him back.

I'm still waiting for him.

They brought his collar home, so he has to come back for them to put it on, right?

I sniffed around his bed today.  Something smells different.  It's not right.

Not to mention, his bowl isn't the same.  It's clean.

I'm feeling really tired.

There's something else that was out of the ordinary; they never take me out for walks alone.  I always have my big one eye.

I don't want to leave Papi's side.  I'm kinda scared.  What if I'm stuck here with 3 cats and no big brother?

One dog.  Alone.

My bitch person says I'm not a dog, but I am!  Really!

I feel the same as my one eyed brother, only he's a gentle giant.

My people keep crying.  I know something must be really hard for them, so I'm just going to be sad along with them, so I feel like I belong.

I don't know why they seem different when they hold me.  It feels like they hold me a little tighter.  I guess I'll endure their obsessive cuddling.

Even the cats are acting different.

The Bastard Prince won't even go on his bitch person to claim her.  He's acting weird.

It's also much quieter here now.  Not just the sound, but the energy.  Quiet.

When I came in from my walk, I expected my brother to be here.

Something is definitely wrong.

It's not right without the one eye.

I'm pretty sure he'll be back for tonight's shift.

He has to show up for work.  He has a job to do.  He makes everyone feel so happy.  He would never leave those ladies alone.

I'm so confused.  I'm never without him.

It smells so different around here.

The call me Sir Bark-a-Lot.

But I only bark to protect my big brother.

I don't feel like barking today.

R.I.P. ol' one eye

the kindness of others

I have so much to talk about, but what is most pressing?

The Golden.

He's not doing so well.  We're pretty sure he's not going to make it to the Dominican Republic.

In less than a week, a lump bigger than a fist has appeared on his leg.  At the same time, he started to refuse food and water.

He just lies around looking sad out of his one eye.

We can never really know when a pet is in pain.  They don't show it to us like we do.

I mean really!  We ridiculous humans, make a big fuss about our pain, whining all over the place and begging for attention.

Dogs and cats just sleep more, and maybe get a little cranky.

When we were outside making a big upset scene about it all, with a neighbour who has a sweet li'l bull dog, she was very sympathetic.

Of course!

We all know what it's like to lose a Fuzzy Family member.

However, never in a million years did we expect what was going to happen next.

I was all nestled in bed, trying to trick my brain into not panicking about there only being 60 days left, when I heard both the dogs freak out at a high pitched 'yelp' and a low pitched 'woof'.

I'm sure you can figure out who's was who's.

Then I saw Papi quickly, and with much exhausted instability, run to the door.

Naturally, I thought the worst.

Home invasion!!!!!!  Holy shit!!!!!!

So, in all my glory of earplugs and a night eye mask on, I ran out to see what the hell was going on.

This,

was what was going on.

Our sweet as can be neighbours decided to bring us a token of love.

We've only spoken to them a few times when they've been out with their dog.

Usually, it's them trying to get away from me, because I just want to see their dog and all they want to do is get the poo out of him.  I tend to delay their process.

Yet, there they were at our door, with gifts of love.

They understand.

They gave us a card that read:

To Our Neighbours

We are sorry you are going through this difficult time, but the memories of your cherished four legged loved one will last a life time.  If you need anything, let us know.

From #13: TJ, Shane & Ruca

They gave Ruca's signature a puppy paw, just to make sure we knew who was who in this family stew.

The kindness of others is truly what makes this world a better place.

A simple card, candle and stuffy made our night that much better.

That small token will transform into big support today, as we bring that old fart into the vet to make our decision.

We've pretty much surmised that he's in pain.

We've pretty much accepted that he's not really living his quality of life.

We've pretty much seen the sadness in that one eye that keeps telling us, "I'm ready."

The best part about having a Fuzzy Family is all the love and laughter we get from their presence.

This right here, is the worst.

i have abundant courage