IN MY OPINION
My Favorite Video Blogs
(for others, see Links page)
New on My
Support liberty and justice for all
(with the hope that everyone in my family will think about making a similar list before their birthdays and/or Christmas roll around!)
MY SWEET BABY
30 May 2006
I had started an entry called "The Ricochet Puppy," where I said that I thought I gave Peanut the wrong name. I called him "Peanut" because he was the smallest in the litter. Now I was thinking I should change his name to "Ricochet," because he just keeps coming back.
That's about as far as I got on the entry. I had heard from Ashley that Peanut developed diarrhea again and that the family where he was staying was afraid they weren't going to be able to stay on top of it. Ashley wanted to know if I wanted to take Peanut, this time with his pal Bentley, back again.
I said that I had really missed Peanut and would be happy to have them back. I particularly was glad to know that he would come with Bentley, because I knew that he needed a buddy, someone more his size to play with...and I had been tickled to hear how the two of them got along once Peanut discovered that Bentley was just a little kid like he was.
I asked for a fence this time, in case there were problems with Sheila. But I was really happy to hear that Peanut was going to come back.
I knew that my friend Diane, who is coming to spend a few days with me next week, and who falls in love with all of the puppies she reads about in this journal, would be ecstatic to hear that she would actually be able to play with Peanut. I was a little worried about how things would go between Sheila and Kimba, but I really wanted this to work.
The plan was that the family would bring Peanut here when we got home from Bill's memorial, but the hour was getting late, and when I last talked with the Mom, we decided that she'd keep him through the night and bring him over in the morning. She said she'd been keeping him hydrated (injecting him with fluids) and giving him medication, but she was afraid he was allergic to the medicine because he didn't seem to be able to keep it down.
When I talked with her in the morning, she said that Peanut had taken a turn for the worse during the night. He started frothing at the mouth and they decided to consult with a vet.
I had planned on taking him with us today when we went to the annual Paul Memorial picnic, a picnic that Paul's friends have each year which is as much about Paul as the Gilbert dinner is about Gilbert--it's just a chance to get together and socialize, but it always takes place around the time of Paul's death.
I figured that with a fence to put the two puppies in, having them at the picnic would work and I knew all the little kids would enjoy having puppies to play with. It never occurred to me that Peanut would get so sick.
Our friends Dick and Gerry, who had driven up from Santa Barbara for the memorial, came for breakfast and we had a wonderful time visiting with them. It was 1 p.m. before they left and by then it was so late I decided that I really didn't want to go to the picnic. I decided I'd rather stay home and wait for news of Peanut. I didn't want to bug the family who had him, but I just felt I needed to stay as on top of things as I could from a distance.
I was convinced that once the vet was involved, there would be a magic "thing" for Peanut and that he would be "home" by the time Walt got back from Berkeley.
I was even starting to think about all those people who told me we should just adopt him. After hearing about his various relapses, I had pretty much decided that if we could work it out so that Sheila would enjoy Peanut and leave Kimba alone, I would keep this puppy. Someone told me in a guest book entry that she felt this puppy was special and I should adopt him.
I was beginning to think that she was right.
At 3:30 I checked my e-mail and there was a note from one of the SPCA volunteers asking me to call her. I was sure it was good news.
Peanut died. There is no point in doing any sort of autopsy on him, so they won't know for sure what was the actual reason, but because of his many bouts with diarrhea and the fact that he was so much smaller than his siblings all along, this was probably just a puppy who wasn't supposed to live.
It helps to hear that, but not much. As I write this, I am sitting here sobbing and can hardly see the screen for the tears.
I am remembering the times that he cuddled up to my face and I whispered "my sweet baby" in his ear.
This one hurts.
PHOTO OF THE DAY